The air in the police station seemed to freeze, transformed into a mass of lead. The flashing lights of the military off-road vehicles parked outside cut into the darkness, highlighting the pale, terror-twisted faces of the local police officers. Officer Johnson, who had felt all-powerful in this place just minutes before, now stood in the middle of the room, fixing a glassy stare on the general as he approached the holding cells with a sure, measured step.
The general stopped right in front of the bars behind which I stood. His stern face, etched with wrinkles, expressed a mixture of dark anger and professional rigor. He glanced briefly at my cheek, reddened by the slap, the clotted blood at the corner of my lips, and the torn collar of my shirt, before turning his attention back to Johnson, who was trembling all over.
« Colonel Bennett, » the general said in a firm, resonant voice that made the orderly on duty buckle. « Give your report. What’s going on here? »
I straightened to my full height, feeling the pain in my bruised shoulder fade at the thought that justice would finally be served.
« General, while on my way to the wedding of my subordinates, I was stopped at an illegal roadblock by local department officers. Officer Johnson extorted cash from me under the pretext of a non-existent speeding ticket. When I refused to comply with this illegitimate demand, I was physically assaulted: Officer Johnson punched me in the face, another officer violently grabbed my hair, and my personal belongings—my motorcycle—were intentionally damaged with a blunt object. I was then taken to the station on fabricated charges, and my identification and communication devices were confiscated. »
Each of my words landed on the concrete floor of the station like a cannon shot.
The general slowly turned toward Johnson. Under his icy, piercing gaze, the police inspector took a step back, swallowing nervously. All his feigned bravado, all his cynicism and confidence in his own impunity had evaporated in a few seconds.
« You… you’re a colonel? » Johnson whispered, staring at me as if he’d seen a ghost. His fingers fluttered nervously as he buttoned the rumpled uniform. How could I have known… You were on a motorcycle, without a uniform…
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