December 12th, 0200

"Detective Sanchez," Raydor regarded him. "What exactly is your relationship with the Romero family?"

"I was a few years senior to Ted," Sanchez replied, "and I was his mentoring officer at Foothill Division, when he graduated from the Academy. We became close friends, but after he completed his tour with me, he was assigned to another division, and I made detective, so our relationship at that point was personal and shop-talk only." He pulled the car over, parked, and turned off the ignition.

"When he asked me to be Ignacia's godfather, I was surprised, but I gladly agreed. I became her "uncle" over the years." He turned to face Raydor. "Have you ever been to a Quinceañera, ma'am?"

"No, I haven't," Raydor replied, "but I have seen a few stories about them on television."

"She asked me to dance with her, after she danced with her father," Sanchez was looking past Raydor now. "Of course, I would have done anything for her before this – being a godfather in Hispanic culture is a very serious thing – but if anyone had tried to hurt her from then, I don't know how far I would have gone."

Raydor noticed that Sanchez was looking at her, but not seeing her. "Ted was a detective by this time, and we had worked a couple of cases together, some gangs going into the car theft business. In some ways, he was a better detective than anyone else in the department, and I think that kept me from getting into some trouble."

"How so, Julio?"

"There was a moment, just after his wife was killed," Sanchez closed his eyes for a moment, and shuddered. "I was at the morgue when the ambulance arrived with her body, and I saw her. I asked the escorting officer from Traffic Division if Ted had been notified, and he told me that she had been hit by a stolen vehicle on a case that he had been working on, and he was helping Traffic cover the accident scene." He opened his eyes, and wiped away a tear. "I certainly wouldn't have stayed at the scene doing that, then, but he did." He shook his head. "Captain, I'm definitely not perfect, my temper is not completely under control, but how could I not try harder to control myself, after that?"

"And I do know that a significant amount of police force issues are partially as a result of the difficult task that we, as a department, expect Gangs to do," Raydor replied. "If there was one thing that I have to look back on during my time at FID, that might have been it."

"You would have had a difficult task doing that, Captain," Sanchez replied. "You know that a lot of the gangs don't give a damn about anyone's lives, even their own, when it comes down to it."

"Yes, I remember what happened when Chief Johnson handled the Turrell Baylor case," Raydor said. "And I also failed, because I'm still not certain what can be done to make sure that those officers working in Gangs can be safe while also complying completely with Department policies."

"Being safe is not something a police officer can completely be," Sanchez replied. "Actually, Ted told me, after one bad day for both of us, 'We knew what we were signing up for when we put in our applications down at Room 5, didn't we?'" Sanchez shook his head. "But, yesterday, he didn't."

Raydor smiled. "The evidence says that Detective Romero knew perfectly well what he was signing up for."

Sanchez thought for a moment. "In that situation, that's not anything that's specifically taught in any training I've ever seen." He smiled. "And it almost worked."

"I think," Raydor said, "that there was institutional memory, or genetic conditioning, or something that isn't anything that we can see, involved." She shook her head. "Third generation officer – that must run in the family."

Sanchez turned on the ignition, pulled out into the street. "And Ignacia – she really is something too."

Raydor's phone rang. "Brenda?"

"I can't tell you why I am calling you now," the former chief of Major Crimes replied, tiredly. "But, I need you to go immediately, and alone, to MacArthur Park, by the band shell."

"I'm sorry, Brenda, but it's not safe at normal times, and right now, the situation is definitely not safe."

"I have it on good authority," Johnson replied, "that you will be safe. And it is imperative that you go, now, because there will be some important information for you there."

Raydor frowned. "All right. I will be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Sharon," Johnson sighed, "you have no idea how important this is." She hung up.

"Can you cover the band shell at MacArthur Park without being seen?" Raydor asked Sanchez.

"There's no cover for me to do so," Sanchez replied. "The closest I could be would be about 500 feet, and even that cover is rather thin."

"Too far for you to effectively shoot if you had to," Raydor said. "May I have your sidearm, please?"

"I'm not leaving you at the park alone, ma'am," Sanchez retorted. "But yes, you may use it."

"Is there parking nearby to the band shell?"

Sanchez pursed his lips. "About 300 feet away, to its right." He pulled the vehicle over, and stopped.

"Very good, Julio," Raydor said. "Just what I was thinking." Sanchez got into the back seat and lay down, while Raydor walked to the driver's side. She stopped. "Is there a shotgun in the trunk?"

Sanchez smiled. "I believe there's a sawed-off in this unit."

"Good," Raydor grinned. "It won't save me if something goes awry, but I can't fault you if Dr. Morales has to spend hours trying to piece together anyone who gets in my way."

December 12th, 0230

The Levitt Pavilion band shell was, like the rest of MacArthur Park, deserted as Raydor parked. She walked slowly to the front of the stage.

"Captain Raydor, good morning," a very distinctive voice intoned.

"Commissioner Schmidt?"

"Your memory is as good as Brenda's, I see," Schmidt stepped out from the wings. "I know you have someone with you in the vehicle." He shook his head. "I can't blame you, given the circumstances." He stooped to sit on the lip of the stage. Raydor lifted herself up to sit next to him. "Is it one of your squad?"

"Detective Sanchez," Raydor replied, "he was with me in the car when Brenda called."

"Would he recognize me?"

"I doubt that he would, but I also think that he would trace you if he could, if he thought he needed to."

"I think I should be able to trust him," Schmidt said, "but I think if I speak quickly, I won't need to." He took a breath. "I think you can guess that I was with "the Company" previously, and still have contacts there."

Raydor nodded.

"I think you…no, I won't lie to you," Schmidt continued, "I know that there are people at the DEA and at the White House, not the President himself, but senior people on the National Security Council, that do not want you to investigate this case."

Raydor opened her mouth, but Schmidt shushed her. "I won't lie to you, Special Agent Howard discussed this situation with his wife, and she called me, because they're both worried that you're in very deep water, as it were, with no life jacket, and no boat, and with lots of sharks about." He sighed. "If you're thinking that there's a cover up due to some errors by the government in an operation, you're right, and the people at the NSC and DEA want it to stay covered up."

"But Howard doesn't?"

"He has to follow orders that the Attorney General gives him," Schmidt sighed, "and the Attorney General did give him orders to do what he has done."

"I am willing to yield to lawful Federal jurisdiction," Raydor slowly replied, "as long as all aspects of the assertion of such jurisdiction is within the law." She took a deep breath. "No warrant, no court order, and Dr. Morales' intern physically assaulted – this is not a lawful assertion of Federal jurisdiction."

"And it can't be, as long as they want to cover up," Schmidt agreed.

"Are you telling me to give in?" Raydor snapped.

Schmidt smiled. "Brenda told me that you'd serve neither the king nor the Church, if it came to it." He shook his head. "I know that two LAPD detectives are dead, and an innocent woman is dead, and an innocent young girl is fighting for her life right now, as a result of the situation that was created by the government." He stood up, and proffered a hand to Raydor, helping her stand. "But, please, Captain Raydor, be careful."

Raydor nodded. "I don't care about operations failed or anything in the White House, unless it gets in my way of solving this case." She smiled. "All I want is to bring the murderer of Detective Romero to justice, and if I have to convince DDA Hobbs to make a deal to avoid as much as possible of this alphabet soup nonsense to come to light in open court, I will."

She proffered her hand to Schmidt, and they shook hands. "But Brenda's right, I serve neither the Church nor the king, but I serve and protect the citizens and guests of the City of Los Angeles."

"And right now, you have the daughter of Detective Romero to protect," Schmidt agreed. "If you need any assistance, please let Special Agent Howard know – he is on the same page as you are in this case, whether he looks like it or not."

Raydor's phone buzzed. "Thank you, Commissioner." She looked at the text. "That innocent young girl was taken back to surgery." The flash of anger in her eyes startled Schmidt; the icy calm of her voice matched her eyes perfectly. "The doctors say that there's a 50/50 chance that she won't survive." She walked away, then turned back. "Maybe the king and the Church can explain that." She walked back toward the car.