Chapter 23 – The Middle Line
February 20, 2016 – 6:58 AM
LAPD Western Division – Squad Parking
The sky still carried the bluish hues of night. The streets were quiet, and the air was cold, smelling of night rain on dry asphalt. The station yard seemed quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just the knowledge that this would be Ashcroft's last shift.
Mike arrived first. He was wearing tactical pants and a black long-sleeved t-shirt under his light vest. On his left arm, discreetly clipped to his holster, was a small metal badge with the CIA crest—worn, almost invisible.
Shortly after, Athena arrived with the same steady stride as always, holding two cups of coffee. She handed one to Mike without saying a word. He accepted.
"Is Ashcroft here yet?" she asked.
"He was in the lobby when I came in. All changed. Impeccable, as always."
"What do you think he'll take from all this?"
Mike thought for a second.
"The shadows. The noises that don't exist in the reports. The way right and wrong don't always have a label."
Athena nodded.
"And us? What do we take from him?"
Mike gave a slight smile.
"The certainty that, even on opposite sides of the ocean, there are still police officers who want to listen before shooting."
At that moment, Jonathan Ashcroft emerged from the side door of the police station. Collected, with his radio clipped to his side, his hair neatly combed, and his expression serene.
But there was something in his eyes—that mixture of respect and farewell that you only see in those who have been in the silent trenches with you.
"Gentlemen," he said, approaching. "Last day. I wonder if the universe has prepared something special."
Athena took a sip of coffee and smiled.
"The universe is Los Angeles, Ashcroft. He's always up to something."
Mike opened the rear door of the patrol car.
"You're in the front seat today. They promised you real-life experience, so you'll see the world the way we do: through the windshield."
Ashcroft smiled.
"I accept the privilege."
7:22 AM – Patrol Start | Fairfax District
The streets were still waking up. Trucks were unloading goods at bakeries, school buses were beginning to appear, and traffic lights were flashing yellow for lack of traffic.
Ashcroft stared intently out the window.
"It's strange how such a large city can, for brief moments, seem vulnerable."
Mike drove calmly.
"It's in these moments that it breathes. And so do we."
Athena checked the tablet on the dashboard.
"Nothing urgent so far. A few alarms going off, a report of graffiti at a public school. Do you think London is more predictable, Ashcroft?"
He took a moment to answer.
"I don't know if it's predictable. But it's more... contained. In London, the city is like an old man: proud, methodical, with its own rituals. Here, Los Angeles is an angry young woman—unpredictable, emotional. And sometimes very, very dangerous."
Mike nodded.
"But every city has its own version of pain. The question is how it hides itself."
8:17 AM – Call for support: neighborhood with gunshots
The radio crackled:
"405, we have gunshots heard by multiple residents. Area: Crenshaw and 40th. No visual confirmation. Units requested for verification."
Athena picked up the radio.
"405 en route. ETA three minutes."
Mike turned on the flashing light and made the turn smoothly. Ashcroft positioned himself, right hand on the radio, left on the holster—a firm but controlled stance.
"You don't seem nervous," Athena commented.
"I am. But I prefer not to let fear be my driving force. Fear blinds. Preparation brightens."
Mike smiled, never taking his eyes off the street.
"Good philosophy."
8:21 AM – Crenshaw and 40th – Quiet residential street
The patrol car turned off the flashing light as it approached. Mike slowed down. The neighborhood was made up of single-story houses with small lawns and poorly maintained wooden fences. There was no indication of gunshots, violence, or suspicious activity.
Athena glanced out the window.
"It's too quiet."
Ashcroft pointed discreetly:
"There. Third house on the right. Cracked glass in the front window. And a dent in the door frame."
Mike parked carefully. They got out. They approached on foot.
Athena knocked on the door.
An elderly woman opened it, her eyes red.
"You came... it was here. My grandson. He... he was playing with his father's gun."
Ashcroft and Mike looked at each other. Athena stepped forward.
"Is he okay?"
"He wasn't the one who got hurt. It was the neighbor. The bullet went through the wall. He was in the kitchen. The ambulance took him away just now."
The woman was trembling.
Ashcroft knelt before her, gently.
"Can I ask you a few questions? You don't need to be afraid. We're here to understand."
Mike, further back, looked at Athena.
"He doesn't act like an observer. He acts like a brother."
Athena replied quietly:
"It's because he understood what many take years to accept: policing isn't about the power to enter. It's about the ability to stay."
9:05 AM – After the service, return to the patrol car
Sitting in the patrol car, the three were silent for a moment. Then Ashcroft broke the ice:
"I never thought I'd spend my last day in a simple house, listening to a grandmother cry over a bullet that came out of her own house."
Mike took a deep breath.
"That's where the uniform weighs the most."
Athena added:
"And where the voice needs to be softer."
12:30 PM – Last lunch together – Deli in Culver City
The table was simple. Sandwiches and soda. But the mood was one of farewell.
Ashcroft put down his glass and looked at Mike.
"You're the first former CIA operative I've actually spoken to. And, ironically, the one who talks the least about what he saw."
Mike smiled.
"Because, after a while, you understand that talking about what you saw… isn't always what people need to hear."
Ashcroft nodded.
— "But the right silence… sometimes it's worth more than a hundred words."
Athena raised her soda glass:
— "To the right silences."
— "To those who listen," Ashcroft added.
They toasted with paper cups, without ceremony.
4:40 PM – LAPD Parking Lot – Farewell
The sun was beginning to set. Ashcroft had his backpack on, ready to return to the main police station and, from there, to the British consulate.
Mike extended his hand.
Ashcroft hugged him.
— "Thank you. For every second. For showing me the truth… not just about the street, but about people."
Mike replied:
— "Go back with that inside. Not in your head. In your chest."
Athena approached. Ashcroft hesitated, but she hugged him back.
— "You were a good partner."
— "It was an honor to patrol with you."
Ashcroft got into the taxi. The car fell silent.
Mike glanced at the front seat.
"He's going to be a real pain in the ass for some bureaucrats there."
Athena smiled.
"And that's a good thing."
The car started. Another shift awaited them. But this time, with a new echo of London within them.
Chapter 24 – Crossfire
February 25, 2016 – 8:13 PM
South Los Angeles – Intersection of Western and 51st Streets
The radio crackled.
"All units, armed confrontation in progress near 1154 Western Ave. Suspects in a silver sedan. Long guns. Citizens injured. Closest unit, respond."
Mike looked at Athena.
She was already adjusting her seatbelt.
"Two minutes from here. Let's go."
Mike accelerated. The cruiser cut through traffic, flashing lights on. Adrenaline surged like a silent, internal tidal wave.
"There are reports of AR-15s. This could escalate," Athena said, radio in hand.
"We'll take the flank. Avoid direct line of fire."
8:15 PM – Scene of Incident
They arrived. Sound of gunfire. Shrapnel. A silver sedan stopped in the middle of the street, doors open. Two gunmen were shooting at a small business a Latino grocery store. The window was shattered. People were screaming inside.
Mike and Athena positioned the patrol car in an L-shape, as a shield. Mike pulled the tactical rifle from the patrol car, Athena held her pistol firmly.
"There are civilians inside. One is bleeding. Left window."
Mike took a deep breath, then:
"ATTENTION! LAPD! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! NOW!"
No response. Just more gunfire.
Athena yelled into the radio:
"Active fire. Urgent backup. Two shooters, heavy weapons. Location confirmed. Requesting SWAT and medevac support."
Mike scanned his blind spots.
"The side of the grocery store has exposed gas."
"If they hit…"
BOOM.
He didn't finish his sentence. One of the shots hit the gas line at the back of the building. A small explosion, but enough to start a visible fire on the side of the grocery store.
The flames grew in seconds. Black smoke was already billowing into the sky.
"Fire in progress! Call the Fire Department!" Mike shouted.
Athena activated the direct channel:
"118, this is LAPD. Commercial building fire with active shooting. Critical situation. Location: 1154 Western Avenue."
8:18 PM – Station 118 receives the call
At the 118 station, the alarm sounded. Captain Bobby Nash heard the description and didn't hesitate.
"Full team. Hen, Chim, Buck, Ravi, Eddie. We're going with full support. Possible rescue with risk of structural collapse."
The siren cut through the Los Angeles night air.
8:23 PM – Back on Western Avenue
The fire had already consumed part of the store's roof. The shooters fled, abandoning their car and disappearing into an alley.
Mike and Athena ran to the grocery store door. A bloodied man lay behind the counter. A woman cried, holding a 6-year-old child.
Mike pushed open the broken door and entered, ducking against the smoke.
"LAPD! We're here! We're going to get you out!"
Athena went straight to the woman.
"Can you walk?"
"My son! My son, he's breathing hard with smoke!"
Mike held the boy in his arms, pressing a damp cloth to the child's face.
"We're going to get out now. Slowly. Stay low."
Meanwhile, the roof creaked. The smoke was getting thicker.
8:26 PM – Arrival of Station 118
The siren got closer. The ladder was quickly positioned. The hose was connected. The team in masks moved forward.
Bobby got out of the patrol car, quickly assessing.
"Front entrance unstable. Hen, Ravi, go through the back. Buck and Eddie with me. Chim, keep respiratory surveillance. Watch for collapse."
Chim looked around:
"Mike and Athena are inside."
Hen was already putting on his helmet:
"Let's get them out."
8:28 PM – Rescue in progress
Mike appeared at the broken door with the child in his arms. The boy was coughing but breathing. Athena held the woman, helping her out.
Bobby saw them.
"Here! Bring the child!"
Mike handed the boy to Hen. Chim was already preparing oxygen.
"Is there anyone else?" Bobby shouted.
Athena replied:
"The cashier! He's slumped behind the counter! Unconscious!"
Buck and Eddie rushed in. Smoke had already obscured half of the interior.
Bobby looked at Mike.
"Are you breathing okay?"
Mike nodded, panting.
"I've breathed tear gas in Tehran. This is a vacation."
8:32 PM – Last Rescue
Buck and Eddie came out with the cashier in their arms. Chim and Hen administered CPR on the sidewalk. The crowd watched. The flames were almost under control.
Mike and Athena, sitting on the curb, were coughing. Their clothes were singed. Their faces were sweaty.
Bobby approached.
"You guys got in before the fire department. Again."
Athena replied, panting:
"There was a child in there, Bobby. I wasn't going to wait for protocol."
Mike laughed, a little dizzy.
"And let's face it… you guys don't take long, but the fire is faster."
Hen approached.
"You need medical attention. We'll take care of everyone, including the stubborn ones in blue uniforms."
9:30 PM – Ambulance on scene
Mike and Athena were examined, hydrated, and monitored. Chim handed Athena a heating blanket.
"You saved that kid."
She nodded wearily.
"Mike too."
Hen looked at him.
"And you went in without equipment. Again. Go become a firefighter when I grow up?"
Mike smiled.
"Maybe. I like going into the fire to get people out who shouldn't be there."
Bobby approached, his expression softening.
"Thanks for holding the line. Both of you."
Mike held out his hand. Bobby shook it.
"See you next time, Captain."
"I hope it's a while."
10:45 PM – On the way back to the station
Athena looked at Mike, who was driving calmly.
"You realize we were almost swallowed alive today, right?"
"Yes. And I'd do it all over again."
"Do you think this will ever stop happening?"
Mike replied, looking at the street:
"Not as long as there are people trapped in the fire."
And they continued.
Another day.
Another life saved.
Another silent scar.
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