Two other officers in the same uniform came running across the lawn with their sidearms already drawn.
"Get your hands off him!" one of them yelled.
I didn't move my hands fast. I moved one hand, slowly, into my jacket, and I pulled out the badge. I held it up where both of them could see it.
The badge says what it says. Internal Affairs, Office of the General.
They froze. Both of them. Their guns were still up and their faces were doing something between confusion and terror.
"General Marcus?" one of them said, like he was asking permission to breathe.
Briggs went gray under me. I could feel him stop struggling. I could feel him start to shake.
None of them fired. I want to say that clearly. They pointed their weapons at me and they did not fire.
I told them to holster their sidearms, and after a long second, they did.
I stood up slowly. I didn't dust off my jacket. I kept looking at Briggs.
"Officer Briggs," I said, "you're going to explain what just happened. And you're going to explain it with witnesses."
There were witnesses, too. A woman on the far bench with a stroller. A jogger who had stopped and pulled out his phone. I looked at the jogger and asked him to keep recording, and he nodded.