Chapter 17 – Rearguard Lines
February 4, 2016 – 2:21 PM
City Car 12-A-49 | Downtown Los Angeles
The bright sun streamed through the car windows. Mike drove, Athena typed reports on the dashboard tablet. The radio broadcast routine communications: slow traffic on Alameda, a minor collision on Venice Blvd, a reported theft in Little Tokyo.
Nothing indicated what was coming.
Until an urgent voice cut in:
"All units, officer at risk. Code 10-33. Shots fired, immediate backup required. Unit 7-Adam-15 on civilian search operation, ambush confirmed. Location: 14th and San Pedro, abandoned warehouse. Officer Angela Lopez on scene."
Athena immediately dropped the tablet.
"It's Lopez. She's alone."
Mike was already activating the flashing lights and turning the patrol car firmly, cutting off traffic.
"We're less than two minutes away."
"She was on a routine search with an informant. If this turned into an ambush, either the guy sold her out… or he was never who he said he was."
Mike pressed his lips together.
"Let's go in sideways. Slow down before the corner. Assess before going in headfirst."
Athena nodded. She trusted him. In the field, Mike was precise. There was no ego, only tactics.
2:24 PM – 14th and San Pedro Street | Warehouse Perimeter
The patrol car slid to a stop in silence half a block from the location. Three abandoned industrial warehouses. Graffiti on the walls. Trash on the sidewalks. But also… too quiet.
"No patrol cars from 7-Adam-15," Athena murmured. "If she went in alone, she's in."
Mike grabbed his rifle from the patrol car's rack, checked the chamber, and pulled his tactical vest over his uniform. Athena was already doing the same.
"Let's go."
They advanced behind a crooked metal fence. Mike gestured with his hand: inverted diamond formation. Athena on the left, he in front. Communication by signals.
As they approached the side of the warehouse, a sound: dry gunfire. Three, then a pause. A fourth, muffled shot.
"Inside. East wing."
Mike approached the side entrance and pressed his ear against it. Voices. Rapid Spanish. Orders. And what sounded like a muffled scream.
He signaled to Athena: two armed people. One wounded.
"We'll enter by separate routes. I'll cover the south, you go in through the back door," Mike whispered.
"Not until we have visual on her. If Angela's alive, she needs to know we're here."
Mike activated the radio on a private tactical channel:
"Officer Lopez, this is 12-A-49. We're outside the warehouse. You need status. If you're alive, repeat my name out loud in some context."
Silence.
Then, muffled and distant, inside the building:
"...the Mike you're so afraid of isn't here."
Athena looked at him. Mike responded with just a nod:
"She's alive."
2:27 PM – Warehouse Entrance
Mike carefully opened the side door. The sound of dripping water. The smell of oil and cement. In the back, a makeshift room with black curtains. Three men. One with a rifle, another with a pistol, and the third apparently unarmed but with a briefcase.
Angela was on the floor, hands tied behind her back, blood on her forehead. But conscious.
Mike whispered into the radio:
"Three targets. Two armed. Angela alive. Coordinated action in 20 seconds. Initiating left movement."
Athena responded:
"At the back entrance. Waiting for visual contact."
Mike moved. His footsteps were silent. With each step, his body returned to Ground Branch mode. The air seemed thicker, time slowed.
He came within five meters of the men.
"Stop. LAPD."
The one with the rifle turned, firing in his direction.
Mike dove behind a pillar and responded with two controlled shots. The second man ran to the side, but Athena appeared through the back door, gun drawn.
"DROP!"
The second man hesitated. Mike advanced from behind and shouldered him. The rifle fell far away. The third, the one with the briefcase, tried to run, but Mike shouted:
"One more step and I won't miss your knee."
He stopped.
Angela coughed. Athena ran to her, letting go of her hands.
"I'm with you, Lopez. It's okay now."
Angela looked at her with dry tears in her eyes.
"It was a setup. The informant… was theirs."
Mike approached.
"You resisted well. You gave a signal. You were smart."
Angela looked at him, still panting.
"You really were CIA, right?"
Mike smirked.
"You doubted it?"
3:10 PM – Cordoned off perimeter | Arrival of support vehicles
Units from Mid-Wilshire, SWAT, and LAPD West arrived within minutes. The warehouse was surrounded, and the criminals handcuffed. The briefcase, it seemed, contained stolen surveillance data from city cameras sold inside city hall infrastructure.
Angela was sitting on the front step, covered with a thermal blanket.
Mike brought her a bottle of water. She took it.
"Thank you. To both of you."
Athena sat down next to her.
"That's what we do."
Angela looked at Mike.
"You have a way of moving that's not like a cop."
"It's like someone who's spent too much time in the dark."
She smiled wearily.
"Well… today, you were my light."
Mike didn't answer. But the silence said it all.
6:20 PM – Grant Porch
Back at the house. Athena sat on the step. Mike stood, a non-alcoholic beer in his hand.
"You were impeccable today."
"You too. Your deep tackle saved my flank."
"Angela will be fine. But this made it clear how much being on the field… requires more than technique. It requires knowing when to trust."
Mike looked at her.
"And you trust me?"
She nodded, without hesitation.
"With my life. And now… with the lives of others."
He looked up at the sky. It was dark.
But within them… a flame still burned.
Chapter 18 – Quiet Luxury
February 5, 2016 – 9:12 AM
Mike's Apartment – Westwood, Los Angeles
The sound of coffee brewing was the only noise in the clean, functional, and almost spartan apartment. The furniture was quality but understated: a dark gray leather sofa, a neutral rug, and light wood shelves. The walls were bare of pictures—just an old world map marked with black pins.
Mike, in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, sat at a MacBook Pro on the dining table. To his left, a Moleskine notebook with handwritten notes code, date, projection. To his right, a mug with the faded Langley crest.
He logged into one of his accounts an international brokerage based in Singapore.
The dashboard refreshed. And then it appeared:
Total net asset balance: $8,429,173.94
Last month's dividend income: $78,043.22
Mike took a deep breath.
He didn't react with surprise.
He knew the money was there. He knew the clean energy and cyber intelligence assets he'd bought in 2008 had soared.
He knew that some of the contracts paid "under the table" during clandestine missions in the Middle East had gone directly to untraceable accounts, later legalized with the help of an accountant friend in Switzerland.
He knew everything.
But at that moment, there in his kitchen, reality hit him in a different light.
"You're a modestly paid police officer, driving a rented car, eating a packed lunch, and the owner of nearly nine million dollars."
He closed his laptop slowly. And was silent for a long time.
9:53 AM – Thinking with a cup of coffee in hand
He walked around the room, watching the morning light stream in through the window. He remembered years before, when he'd crossed the Esplanade of Ministries in Brasília, wearing a dark suit, inside an armored Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows and two US Marines aboard.
He remembered the feeling.
The smooth engine.
The isolation.
The comfort that seemed to say, "You're protected, even in the midst of chaos."
Mike smiled, a little ironically.
"It's not about power anymore. Now it's about choice."
He picked up his phone. Opened the browser.
He typed: 2016 Escalade for sale – Los Angeles.
11:22 AM – Cadillac Beverly Hills
The showroom was sophisticated, but not opulent. Light marble, indirect lighting, the smell of new leather.
Mike walked in wearing a black button-down shirt, dark jeans, and understated boots. He wasn't wearing a designer watch. He didn't draw attention to himself. He walked over to the black Escalade in the center of the floor: 6.2L V8, all-wheel drive, Platinum edition.
A young salesman approached.
"Good morning, sir. May I help you?"
"I'm looking."
"Sure. It's a respectable model. Does it have a history with the brand?"
Mike calmly ran his hand over the bodywork.
"I've driven a similar version. But it wasn't a street car."
The salesman laughed, not fully understanding.
"Well, I can show you the specs. Entertainment system, 360° cameras, ventilated seats, adaptive suspension. And the safety package."
Mike nodded. He looked at the black leather interior with white stitching.
Everything was familiar. Not in luxury, but in function.
"Is it available for a test drive?"
— "Sure. Come with me."
12:00 PM – Behind the Wheel
Mike turned the key. The engine roared smoothly.
The cabin muffled the sounds of the city.
He adjusted the seat, turned the air conditioning to 72 degrees, and rested his hand on the steering wheel.
He drove through the streets of Beverly Hills with aplomb.
Nothing flashy.
Just… right.
The salesman watched him, trying to understand this reserved man.
— "What do you do for a living, sir?"
— "I'm currently a police officer."
— "Oh."
There was a silence.
Then the salesman commented, almost hesitantly:
— "This version is $92,400. We have a lease. Financing—"
Mike looked at him kindly but firmly.
— "I want to pay cash. Can I use a wire transfer?"
The salesman swallowed hard.
— "Yes, sir. Of course."
1:30 PM – Leaving the dealership
Mike got behind the wheel of the black Escalade. The temporary license plate was in the glove compartment. No license plates yet. The air conditioning was soft. The windows were tinted. The radio was off.
He drove through the city streets with a calm he hadn't felt in a long time.
It wasn't about the car.
It was about allowing himself to do so.
A choice made just for him. No mission. No logic. Just because.
3:04 PM – Parked near Elysian Park
Mike stopped in the shade of a tree. He got out of the car, leaned against the hood. He drank ice-cold water from a thermos, and watched the horizon. Children played. A couple argued quietly on a bench. An elderly man walked an old, lame dog.
He smiled.
"Maybe I'm learning to live."
6:40 PM – Cell phone message
ATHENA (text):
"May wants to know if you're coming to dinner tonight. Harry says he wants to see you arrive in a secret agent's car."
Mike looked at the Escalade. He chuckled to himself.
MIKE (replies):
"Tell him to wait at the curb. I'll be there in 20."
He got into the SUV. Turned the key.
The engine responded.
For the first time in a long time, Mike Edwards bought himself something.
Not for status.
Not for protection.
But out of respect.
For yourself.
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