Chapter 9 – Voices in the Silence
January 28, 2016 – 8:12 p.m.
Cop 12-A-49 | South Los Angeles
The night was unusually quiet. The LAPD radio crackled with routine communications, nothing urgent. Mike drove while Athena reviewed information on the tablet on the dashboard. They had just responded to a false report of a noise disturbance—just teenagers laughing loudly on a porch.
"You know what makes me alert?" Athena said, still not looking at him.
Mike answered without taking his eyes off the street:
"When everything seems too quiet."
Athena nodded.
"Exactly."
The radio interrupted the moment:
"Unit 12-A-49, we have an urgent call on 52nd Street, near Broadway Alley. Female screaming for help. Neighbors report sounds of a struggle. Nearest unit, respond immediately."
Athena quickly activated the flashing light, already picking up the radio:
— "12-A-49, en route. ETA: two minutes."
Mike accelerated. The car's engine roared, winding through the narrow streets. Both of them changed states immediately. Total focus.
— "If it's a sexual assault, preserving the scene will be critical," Athena said.
— "And so will treating the victim. She'll need more than just medical attention," Mike added.
8:15 p.m. – Alley at 52nd and Broadway
The car entered the alley lit only by a flickering light. The scene appeared in front of them like a tableau of pain: a woman lying between two trash cans, her clothes torn, her face bruised, shaking. Beside her, a burly man with his pants down and a dirt-stained shirt stood up, surprised to see the lights.
Athena got out of the police car with her gun in hand:
— "POLICE! Hands up, NOW!"
The man hesitated. Mike went around the side, closing in.
— "If you move, you'll feel every bone in your body break on the asphalt. Get down on the ground!"
The attacker tried to run around the side, but Mike advanced with precision. One move, a tactical sweep and he was on the ground, restrained.
— "You're under arrest, you bastard." — Mike growled, with contained rage.
Athena ran to the woman, kneeling down beside her carefully.
— "Hey, it's okay now. We're the police. You're safe. Do you hear me?"
The woman was shaking, her eyes wide and lost. She tried to speak, but all she could do was sob. Athena took off her jacket and wrapped it around her.
— "What's your name, honey?"
— "L… Lucia." — the woman whispered.
— "Lucia, I'm Athena. And that's Mike over there. We'll take care of you. I promise."
Mike handcuffed the attacker, who was now whimpering excuses:
— "She wanted it! She called me! She was provoking me!"
Mike looked him in the eye with cutting coldness.
— "You'll repeat this at the police station. Then in court. And then in the cell, when you have to deal with your shame with criminals who hate rapists."
8:30 p.m. – Arrival of the ambulance
Paramedics from Station 118 arrived quickly. Chimney was the first to approach, along with Hen.
— "Patient stable?" — Hen asked, visually assessing the victim.
Athena nodded.
— "Mild physical trauma, severe emotional trauma. She was conscious, but dissociated. She'll need immediate psychological care."
Mike watched from the background, but his gaze was on Lucia. In her eyes, he recognized an old trauma. The kind of pain that doesn't bleed on the outside, but drowns on the inside.
As the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance, Lucia held Athena's arm tightly.
— "You're... not leaving, are you?"
— "Of course you're not," Athena replied tenderly. — "I'll be at the hospital in a little while. And we'll get the rest of the story, too."
Mike approached her carefully.
— "You're stronger than you think, Lucia."
She just nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
9:05 p.m. – Interrogation Room | Western District
The attacker, Thomas Rawley, 34, with a history of domestic violence and three convictions for minor assault, was now handcuffed, looking at the table with a mix of anger and fear.
Athena and Mike walked in together. She placed a tape recorder on the table.
— "Thomas, this is the moment you start being honest. Or you start digging your own hole."
— "She was there, alone. Drinking. She provoked me."
Mike leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
— "You followed her for two blocks. We have you on the liquor store cameras at 7:48 p.m. She, clearly drunk. You, clearly armed with your intention."
Thomas tried to laugh.
— "You can't prove that."
Athena leaned forward, her eyes fixed on his.
— "You think I don't know men like you? You think this is new to me? You attacked someone vulnerable. And now you're arrested. Nothing will erase what you did, but you'll pay for every second."
Mike approached slowly. His voice was low, almost silent.
— "If you knew what she felt… for a second. If you had some empathy. Maybe… maybe you would cry yourself to sleep, like she will do today. But no. You only think about yourself."
Thomas looked away.
Athena turned off the recorder and stood up.
— "The charge will be attempted rape, criminal assault, bodily harm and false imprisonment. And if she confirms penetration, it will be rape. The best thing you can do now is pray that your cell has thick bars."
10:40 p.m. – Hospital | Observation room – Lúcia
Athena and Mike returned to the hospital. Lúcia was sitting, already in clean clothes, covered by a sheet. A psychologist from the unit was talking to her in a low voice. When she saw them, she smiled shyly.
— "You… you really came back."
Athena held her hand.
— "Of course you did. We're here for you."
Mike sat next to her.
— "He's locked up. And we're going to make sure he stays that way."
— "Thank you." — she murmured. — "I didn't think anyone would come. I screamed… and I thought I was going to die there."
Athena put her hand on his shoulder.
— "You survived. And we're going to help you get back on your feet." Mike finished, his voice firm: "You were a victim today. But tomorrow… you'll be a survivor. And the day after tomorrow, you'll be your own boss again."
11:45 p.m. – Grant residence
Athena parked the car. Mike walked her to the door.
"Do you want to come in? Michael left some leftover beef stroganoff. And Harry wrote you a letter."
Mike smiled, tired but touched. "Does this letter involve absurd questions?"
"Apparently, he wants to know if you've ever fought a shark with your bare hands."
They both laughed. She opened the door. The warmth of the house enveloped them. It was the opposite of the night outside. And for a moment, Mike wasn't a former agent. Nor a police officer. He was just a man who had helped someone not get lost. And that… was more than enough.
Chapter 10 – Words of Steel
January 29, 2016 — 7:43 AM
LAPD West Precinct – Captain Elaine Maynard's Office
The sound of Mike's boots echoed in the hallway as he approached the half-open door to Elaine Maynard's office. Natural light partially illuminated the captain's desk, which was already standing, in uniform, facing the side mirror on the wall adjusting the collar of her uniform with military precision.
Seeing him, she gestured to the chair.
— "Edwards. Have a seat. We have a special visitor today."
Mike sat up straight. She put down the mirror and handed him a blue-covered file with a gold crest.
— "Representative of the Department of Justice. Office for Civil Rights. Name: Michael R. Whittaker. He'll be spending the day with us. Meeting with the sergeants, observing procedures, evaluating public interactions. Part of a national task force to rebuild the relationship between local law enforcement and the federal government."
Mike leafed through the file. There was a thin face, with small eyes and a slight smile from a photo op. A resume from Harvard, stints at the DOJ, the UN, and intergovernmental commissions.
— "And what do you want from me?"
Elaine crossed her arms, direct: — "I want you to be by my side. As someone who understands both worlds. You can speak their language. They trust resumes like yours. I want him to see that the LAPD is modernizing, becoming more human. You're the bridge, Edwards."
Mike took a deep breath. It brought back memories closed sessions with foreign officials, briefings with bigwigs who used the word "stability" as a shield for dirty secrets.
"Okay," he said with a small nod. "But if he's a blind bureaucrat, don't expect me to smile in every photo."
Elaine smirked.
"I don't want photos. I want credibility."
8:27 a.m.—Main lobby of the police station
Michael R. Whittaker arrived promptly, escorted by an assistant. He wore a light gray suit, a navy blue tie, and a leather briefcase. He greeted the front desk with practiced but sincere politeness.
As he approached the captain, he extended his hand confidently.
"Captain Maynard. It's an honor to finally meet your division."
"Welcome, Mr. Whittaker," Elaine replied. — "This is Officer Mike Edwards. New to the LAPD, but a CIA veteran. He'll be joining us today."
Whittaker raised his eyebrows in interest. He shook Mike's hand. — "Ah, so it's Mr. Edwards. I hear we have something in common: bureaucracy coated in adrenaline."
— "And long meetings that could have been classified memos," Mike replied effortlessly.
They both laughed.
— "I like him," Whittaker said to the captain. She simply nodded.
They went up to the second floor, where the first internal presentation of the day would begin.
9:10 AM — Tactical Unit Briefing Room
The room was filled with representatives from different departments: patrol officers, detectives, supervisors, data analysis officers. Mike took his place next to the main table, while Elaine formally introduced Whittaker.
— "Our goal is to show the DOJ how the LAPD is implementing changes in conduct, transparency, and community relations. This is the first step in a series of observations that will last six months."
Whittaker, standing with his hands on the table, delivered his speech calmly:
— "I'm not here to judge or punish. I'm here to listen, observe, and help. Trust between local law enforcement and the federal government is fragile across the country. But you have something rare: an operational team with experience on the ground and, from what I'm told, a new member with international experience."
His eyes turned to Mike.
He stood up, adjusted his belt, and spoke matter-of-factly:
— "I served in the CIA for fourteen years. I saw governments crumble because of a lack of trust among their own agents. Relationships broken from the inside out. And I saw countries rebuild structures based on three pillars: honesty, accountability, and closeness to the people. If we apply those principles here, the chance of success is real."
Whittaker nodded.
— "Excellent. Mr. Edwards, will you join me for the rest of the day?"
— "Sure."
10:42 AM — Observation Patrol | Ride in Car 12-A-49
Mike was driving. Whittaker was in the passenger seat. Athena was in the backseat, by her own decision. She wanted to observe.
— "So, Edwards. What's it like going from the underground world to the blue uniform?" Whittaker asked, with genuine interest.
— "It's like walking out of a darkroom and onto a lit stage. Everything you do, every move, is in plain sight. There are no shadows here."
— "And does that bother you?"
Mike thought before answering.
— "It bothers you… and it relieves you. Because now, at least, the consequences are visible. When we make mistakes, we see who gets hurt. When we get things right, we see who smiles."
Athena smiled slightly behind him. Whittaker noticed.
— "Athena, what is it like working with someone with that background?"
— "How did I train a war dog to live among civilians. He still smells danger before anyone else. But he's learning that sometimes the enemy isn't out there it's inside."
Whittaker was silent for a moment. Then he jotted something down in his leather notebook.
12:20 PM — Station Break Room
Lunch served. Whittaker sipped his coffee, watching the officers move about. He and Mike sat in a corner.
"Do you still carry everything you saw, Edwards?"
"Every day. But here... it weighs less. Because I know I can do something useful now. No secrets, no lies. Just real work."
Whittaker looked at him with obvious respect. "Captain Maynard was right to keep you close to this. Your presence humanizes what the government sometimes tries to standardize too much."
Mike stared at his paper cup for a moment, then looked up: "I just want to make sure that what I learned saving countries now serves to save people."
4:15 p.m. — Return to the captain's office
The final meeting between Whittaker, Elaine and Mike served to align the next steps.
"Mr. Edwards," Whittaker said as he stood up, "my reports will have your name on them more than once. Your presence here shows that the transition between different worlds is possible. And that veterans like you have a fundamental role in rebuilding public trust."
"I did no more than my part."
Elaine approached. "You did more than that. You gave a face to the type of professional we want to train from now on."
Whittaker said goodbye, shaking both of their hands.
When he left, Elaine looked at Mike with a rare smile. "You spoke to him as if you've seen the masks fall."
Mike replied calmly: "Because I've seen it. Now I want to see people."
8:00 p.m. – Dinner at the Grants' house
Mike, wearing a gray shirt and light jacket, arrived with an apple pie in his hands. Michael, upon opening the door, laughed.
"Now you're bringing dessert? It's getting dangerous, Edwards."
May, from the couch, raised her cell phone. "It's going to be on Instagram. Our secret agent knows how to cook?"
Harry, with a tactical cap on his head, ran up to him:
— "Today you have to tell how a lie detector works!"
Mike laughed, handing over the pie.
— "Today I'm going to tell you how I escaped an interview with the FBI director using... a fake allergy."
Athena appeared, already lighter, watching the scene.
There, amidst the laughter, he realized that his new world was taking shape. And it wasn't made of operations or strategies.
It was made of people.
Of daily choices.
And second chances.
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