Chapter 27-28 - Former CIA, Now LAPD

Chapter 27 – The Third Option

February 28, 2016 – 1:17 PM

Western Division Outer Yard – LAPD

The heat was intense. The asphalt released waves of dense air. The patrol car was parked in precarious shade, near the maintenance block. Athena was adjusting the holster on her waist. Mike was outside the patrol car, opening the rear compartment to change the black shirt he'd soaked with sweat after running to restrain a fleeing suspect.

She was distracted until he lifted his shirt and revealed, for a brief second, the right side of his abdomen. A thin, black tattoo, close to his ribs.

Simple. Direct.

"Third Option"

In serif letters. Below, the silhouette of a dagger pointing downward.

Athena paused.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Mike quickly put on his dry shirt. But when he turned, her eyes were already on him—vigilant, but nonjudgmental.

"You saw."

"I saw."

There was a pause.

Neither of them tried to fill the silence.

She walked slowly toward him.

"Third Option." She repeated, as if deciphering a strange language.

Mike took a deep breath.

"It's the motto of Ground Branch. The operational arm of SAC—Special Activities Center. It was our brand. We only used it among ourselves."

"And what does it mean?"

"It means that... when diplomacy and conventional force fail, we are called upon. The third option."

Athena stood there, looking at him. Then she asked calmly:

"Do you regret it?"

Mike lowered his eyes.

His hands were on his hips.

His breathing was controlled.

— "No. But sometimes I wish I hadn't had to earn it."

1:45 PM – Police car moving, heading toward West Adams

The city bustled as if nothing had happened. But inside the police car, the air was thick with something denser than the midday heat.

Athena broke the silence first.

— "How long have you had this tattoo?"

— "Two days after I left Ground. We were at a transition base in northern Jordan. Me and two operators from the old formation. We got it done at an underground tattoo parlor in Amman. It wasn't about aesthetics. It was about closure."

She listened intently.

— "And why there? On that part of my body?"

Mike smiled slightly.

— "Because almost no one would see it. But every time I woke up, bent over, stretched... I would remember that I had survived. That I carried something I couldn't tell—but also couldn't deny."

Athena leaned her arm on the open window.

"You know, for a lot of guys, this would be a trophy. Something to show off."

"For me... it's a living epitaph."

2:32 PM – Routine Call: Parking Lot Disagreement

While waiting for the supermarket manager to arrive to mediate a disagreement between two customers (nothing serious), Athena and Mike sat in the shade beside the police car, sipping bottled mineral water.

She looked at him, now more relaxed. The sun was beating down on the side. He kept his arm on his knee, his profile calm.

"Do you realize you always show more of yourself when you think no one is looking?"

Mike smiled humorlessly.

"Maybe it's the only way I've learned to share."

"But now you're different. You tell us things. You explain the past. You have dinner with us. You even play with Harry."

Mike looked at the ground.

— "Athena, I don't know how to live an ordinary life. Not yet. But I've learned to want to be around those who do. And... that's made a difference."

She reached out and lightly touched the side of his shirt, where the tattoo had appeared.

— "You don't have to hide it anymore. Not from me."

Mike nodded. His look was a mix of gratitude and something deeper. Maybe... freedom.

3:55 PM – Ending the Call | Drive Back

In the police car, with her shift almost over, Athena was fiddling with her tablet.

— "Have you ever thought about removing that tattoo?"

Mike answered without taking his eyes off the road.

— "Removing it would erase what you did to me. And, as much as it hurt, it also brought me to you. To May, Michael, Harry. This new life. If I remove it... it's like I'm saying it was all for nothing."

Athena smiled.

"Then leave it there. But know that now... you have someone to share the burden with."

Mike looked at her.

"Thank you," he said seriously.

"That's what partners do," she replied.

And for the first time since joining the LAPD, Mike felt that tattoo, silent as always, was no longer just his.

It was part of something bigger.

Something alive.

Something he finally... belonged to.

Chapter 28 – Contracts and Silences

March 2, 2016 – 7:08 PM

Grant Residence – Dining Room

The smell of pesto pasta hung in the air. May placed the Parmesan cheese on the table, while Michael brought a white wine for Athena and a bottle of grape juice for Harry.

Mike wore a gray t-shirt and dark jeans, as discreet as ever. But in that house, he was no longer the guest. He was a point of balance. A constant presence.

Harry ate in silence, his gaze fixed on the checkered tablecloth, until, like throwing a stone into water, he broke the silence with a question:

"Mike... do you know Blackwater?"

Everyone turned to him, except Mike, who slowly looked up.

"Yes, I do."

"I saw a story on TV today. In the school newspaper. They were talking about a case in Iraq. 2007. They shot civilians."

Athena shot a quick glance at Michael, but no one interrupted.

Harry continued:

"And they also talked about the GRS. That they were like CIA soldiers, but paid. And I was thinking... if they're not military and they're not spies... what are they?"

Mike calmly put down his fork, wiped his lips with his napkin, and answered with that calmness only those who have seen hell can maintain.

"They are... what the government needs them to be when no one else can be there. But that answer is too short, Harry. If you want, I can explain further. Calmly. But this involves heavy stories. Some... that don't have happy endings."

Harry nodded.

"I want to understand. You always tell the truth."

May, 15 and much more critical, commented:

"And since when do we let Harry watch documentaries about mercenaries?"

Michael, already laughing, replied:

"It was in the school newspaper. It's not our fault that current events are brutal."

Athena nodded to Mike. He could continue.

7:25 PM – The Truth About PMCs

Mike looked at Harry sincerely.

"PMCs are Private Military Companies. This means they offer services related to security, intelligence, convoy protection, equipment installation, escorting dignitaries… or even combat. But they are… companies. They operate on a contract basis. And that changes a lot."

Harry asked curiously:

"Like a soldier gets paid more?"

Mike replied:

"More or less. A soldier answers to his country. A contractor answers to his contract. That's where the difference lies. And the danger."

May intervened:

"Blackwater... was the one that killed civilians in Baghdad, right?"

Mike nodded.

"In 2007. Nisour Square. Four Blackwater employees, protecting an American diplomatic convoy, opened fire in a busy area. They said they thought it was an ambush. They killed 17 civilians. Many of them unarmed. It shook the world."

Athena added thoughtfully:

"And it changed the way the public viewed these types of operations."

Mike nodded slowly:

"A lot. But those companies didn't disappear. They just changed their names. Blackwater became Xe, then Academi, and then was absorbed by other groups. Today, companies like DynCorp, Triple Canopy, and other smaller ones do the same work—discreetly."

Harry was impressed.

"And GRS? Are they mercenaries too?"

Mike took a deep breath. That one was more sensitive.

"The GRS, or Global Response Staff, is a CIA security group. They protect stations, field officers, and embassies. The difference is that they work exclusively for the Agency. They don't freelance. And many of them are highly trained ex-military personnel."

May raised her eyebrows.

"Did you know any of them?"

Mike nodded, his gaze distant.

"I worked with a few. One of them saved my life in 2012, in Herat, when a station was attacked. They don't appear in the photos. They don't receive medals. But they're there. If the building explodes, they're the last ones out."

Harry asked softly:

"You were one of them?"

Mike looked at him fondly.

"I was CIA. But different. I was operational, but in the collection business. Tactical and human intelligence. I passed information to the GRS personnel. They protected the field. I surveyed the terrain."

Athena watched him carefully. The ease with which he now shared this was new. Before, everything was secret. Now, it was... table talk.

7:45 PM – A bit of history, uncensored

Mike sipped some water and continued:

"PMCs exploded after 9/11. The US was fighting two wars, and there weren't enough soldiers for everything. So the government started hiring companies. Not just for security—but also logistics, transportation, interrogations, even intelligence gathering."

May, attentive, commented:

"Like outsourcing the war."

Mike nodded.

"Exactly. It was faster. No need to go through lengthy recruitment processes. And more... disposable. If something went wrong, the government could say, 'They weren't our soldiers.'"

Harry looked at him, curiosity now replaced by something deeper.

"And that's right?"

Mike answered with brutal honesty:

— "No. But it was useful. And in the middle of war, sometimes... useful wins out over right."

8:10 PM – The Hardest Question

Michael cleared the plates, and Athena brought coffee for the adults.

It was then that Harry asked something that made the silence fall hard:

"Have you ever killed someone on contract? Or seen someone do something wrong?"

Mike was silent for a moment. Then he answered with the calm of someone who measures every word.

"I saw wrongdoing, yes. I saw arrogance. I saw unpreparedness. I saw people who thought that because they had a dollar contract, they could act without consequences. But I also saw honest men. Who protected with their lives. Who avoided massacres. The problem... is that in this market, the good and the bad wear the same uniform. And the same silence covers them all."

Harry nodded slowly.

Mike looked at him.

"Do you know why I'm telling you all this?"

"Why?"

"Because I want you to grow up knowing there's a difference between being strong... and being paid to appear strong. And you, Harry... are the kind who will do the right thing. Even when it's hard."

Athena stood and kissed her son's forehead.

Michael placed a hand on Mike's shoulder.

May watched, silent—touched, thoughtful.

9:15 PM – Porch

After the kids went upstairs, Athena and Mike stood on the porch.

"I never thought I'd see you talking about PMCs over juice and pasta."

Mike laughed.

"Neither did I. But their world is getting closer to ours. And if I can show that truthfully... better than letting an incomplete documentary do it."

Athena looked up at the night sky.

"You're becoming a teacher, Mike."

He looked at her.

— "No. Just someone trying to make the world a little less gray for those who still see in color."

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Chapter 14 - Chapter 27-28