The premier investigative agency in the whole wide world investigated themselves right into the wrong apartment. With a chainsaw. And guns drawn.
They have a defense if the resident wants to file a tort claim. The defense is that they are the government and you can't sue them unless they damn well feel like being sued, oh, and they said they were the FBI after they got inside and then they said, "oopsies," right after learning they were in the wrong place about a half hour after getting in. And okay, so we'll buy you a new damn door 'cause we feel kinda bad about this.
Let's see, so they had an arrest warrant. Assume for a moment they were even in the right place -- which they weren't, dammit -- how long does it take to determine that the guy they are looking for isn't in the apartment, when the only people in there are a kid and a female?
On the other hand, if only there had been some kind of a clue, I'm pretty sure the premier investigative agency in the whole wide world coulda figured it out by the time the panel on the door with the apartment number on it was cut out of the door. But there evidently weren't any clues around anywhere.
Sometimes these things just happen in the never ending war against chemical happiness. In a world where some people refuse to accept unhappiness when they can afford to do something about it, it is up to the government to discourage unearned happiness at gunpoint and with chainsaws if necessary.
There's going to be hell to pay when it occurs to the government bozos how much enjoyment there is in chocolate.