While There Is Hope Ch 07

Davenport had a map of the area displayed on the large TV screen and was using a wand to highlight aspects of the route and plan. Hope and I sat with ten Deputies, listening and asking questions. The more I heard, the more questions I had. I was just a simple cop, and maybe The Service had their own way of doing things, but not a lot made sense to me.

We broke for coffee and I spoke quietly to Hope. "I don't get it, seems to me that we are putting the witness, the guys in the transport, and frankly me and you, into a meat grinder. And our only hope is the US Cavalry arriving before we are shot to pieces. And to achieve what? Kill a few bad guys? There are plenty more where they came from."

Hope's tone suggested that she was humoring me. "I don't think Dad's objective is to kill the bad guys. I think he's aiming to capture at least one of the cops we saw with the Captain. I assume with a view to turning them against him, and ultimately whichever senior officer he thinks is involved. Why he's so sure that they will be present is anyone's guess. And yeah, he's not so concerned about our safety, or Ashley's. Why do you think he didn't want me involved?"

I was appalled. "So why the fuck are we going along with this crazy plan?"

Hope looked at me as if a piece of my brain had become dislodged. "I'm here because I don't want Ashley getting killed as some fucking collateral damage. I kinda thought you were just along for the ride, a bit more stimulating than policing roadworks, right?"

I couldn't tell whether her suggestion about my motives was a joke, but I believed her own one. Not for the first time, I wondered what the fuck I had got myself into and why.

Hope could clearly see my consternation. "Listen, Bill. There's something else. I don't know, but I suspect. Maybe more than suspect. But not here. Let's take a walk at lunch, OK?"

Back in the briefing session, I tried to stop asking stupid, 'but why?' questions. Time dragged until 12:30 and the lunch break. Hope and I sat on a bench in the courtyard garden. We each had grabbed a sub. She looked around her, trying not to be too obvious. "OK, I guess they could be listening in, but I doubt it. Let's talk."

I vented my pent up frustrations. "Yeah, this is a total shit-show. Do you want to explain?"

"I think, that Dad isn't just worried about some bent cops. I think he believes someone in The Service is involved. I always wondered about how the guys who killed Abebe found us so easily. But I had other things to deal with back then. If I know Dad, he's been gathering evidence. This charade is somehow aimed at flushing out a rat. But how, I have no real idea."

"And he'd risk his only child?"

"You don't know him, The Service is his religion. And it's not like I gave him a choice anyway."

An idea hit me. "Davenport? Do you think...?"

"I don't know, Bill. Maybe. She was just a Supervisory Deputy when I was shot. She was in the same judicial district as me, but I'd never spoken to her until yesterday. I just don't know."

This had not been the most comforting of discussions. I thought of Bianca and debated bailing. But I knew that I couldn't do that to Hope. No, I'd see it through. But I was certainly going to take some additional precautions.

In the afternoon session, Davenport said that none of the people in either the transport or the lead SUV -- the latter meaning me and Hope -- would be wearing body armor. Apparently we didn't want to tip the Cartel guys off that we suspected something.

This was the final straw for me. I was about to explode when I felt Hope's hand squeezing my knee. I subsided, and comforted myself that I would be filing a cross agency complaint about their shoddy disregard for officers' well-being. Assuming I was still alive that is.

I didn't listen to too much more after that. I was instead preoccupied with my own, dark thoughts. My silence continued through dinner as well. Davenport tried to engage me, but I blanked her. Whether due to the suspicions I had raised with Hope or something else, I was unclear.

As I lay in my bed later, I didn't know if I was more scared or angry. The idea of leaving seemed not just appealing but really the only sensible thing to do. What was stopping me from doing just that?

Then, as the night before, there was a knock on my door.

Hope slipped off her PJs before getting into bed. It wasn't just her face that resembled my late wife, she had Valentina's body type as well. Petite, skinny, tiny breasts, but toned, even sinewy in places. Val had been a gymnast just like Hope. I wondered what the chances were that we had met. They had to be astronomical. Then the whole situation had an air of unreality to it, of us being unwitting pawns in some fantastical, Olympian game.

Hope snuggled next to me, as I lay on my back, her lips against my neck, her warm breath tickling. I yearned for her. Yearned as I had never yearned for anyone before, not even my poor dead Valentina. But I held back. She knew what I felt for her, but had said nothing. Deep within me a little resentment stirred. No one likes to be rejected. No one likes to be used.

"What is it, Bill?" I had been lost in my thoughts and unaware of Hope's dark eyes watching me.

Part of me wanted to scream at her. Part of me wanted to kick her out of my bed and out of my life. But a bigger part had very different feelings. "It's nothing, Hope. Just jittery about tomorrow. You?"

Hope squeezed closer. "Yeah, me too. I'm sorry what I said about Ashley before, and about you. I guess that was insensitive. I'm not... I'm not exactly myself right now."

With those words, my compassion won out. Compassion for a woman I loved, and who had been subjected to more than any human ever should. What the fuck was wrong with me? "It's OK, honey. Want me to hold you?"

Hope nodded, and I turned and enfolded her in my arms. She almost whispered. "Thank you, Bill. Thank you for everything. You've been my rock."

I fought to suppress my tears and held her close. "It's OK, I... I... need you too."

Need was not the word I wanted to be mutual between us, but it was something. If there was anything I could do to ease her troubled heart, I'd do it, and let the consequences go fuck themselves.

She was sounding sleepy now. "Bill?"

"Yes, angel."

"Can you call me Esperanza? No one but Mom calls me that. I don't mean always, I'm normally happy to be Hope, but just for tonight, maybe. Is that OK?"

"Sure, Esperanza, whatever you like."

With that, she softly fell asleep in my arms. I lay awake, still so confused about what I wanted, and even more so about Hope's needs and desires.

The next morning dawned bright, with the promise of heat, despite the season. We'd been told to wait while the witness was loaded into her transport, but, as we headed to our Explorer, we both knew Ashley was inside the large, white vehicle idling in the courtyard. I wondered what thoughts were going through Hope's head.

With Ashley was one Deputy as driver, and a second guy who accompanied her in the rear. The remaining eight Deputies, five men and three women, split themselves between the two other SUVs. All were wearing helmets and body armor. I suddenly felt very exposed and deeply regretted acceding to Davenport's request.

The idea was that the US Cavalry held back until needed, Hope and I would be in the only truck actually accompanying Ashley's transport. Sitting ducks I thought bitterly to myself. But Hope was cheerful at least. I'd worried that she would be distracted by Ashely's presence, invisible to us as she was, but my friend seemed professional and alert, stating in a matter-of-fact manner that she would drive.

It was yet another perfect California day as we set out, and for some time, everything else seemed perfect. The danger of potential death awaiting us en route seemed fanciful as the bright sunlight beat down from a clear, azure sky.

But, when things started to go wrong, they went very wrong, and very quickly. First it was the radio. Davenport, back in the comms room at the compound, was in the middle of a routine check, when her voice was replaced by static. No more than thirty seconds later, flames spewed violently from the side of the transport ahead of us, followed almost instantly by a deafening blast.

I screamed. "It's an RPG, they've got a fucking RPG, Hope."

As I spoke, small arms fire riddled the Explorer. The doors and windows were bullet proof, but the tires on Hope's side were shredded. She wrestled with the wheel and the SUV left the road, hitting a Joshua tree hard enough to cave in the front grille.

We scrambled out, hampered by deployed airbags, shaken by the crash, and expecting a second grenade to be launched at us any time. That's when the fire fight started.

A few minutes later, we were pinned down behind our disabled SUV and heavily out gunned. Our radios continued to broadcast only static. Ahead of me, I could see the motionless form of the transport driver, hanging lifeless half out of his door, his body badly burned by the explosion. The occasional volley of bullets raked our vehicle's body work, but our assailants were not so stupid as to squander ammunition. Instead they maintained their position in boulders to the left of the road and waited for us to do something stupid.

I glanced at Hope, a look of grim determination was on her face. "How many do you think, Bill?"

The ambush had been a blur, but you are trained to notice stuff. "I'd say five left. You got two, and I'm pretty sure I got one. Four guys with rifles of some sort, and the male model guy. Seems like he's the leader or something. I think he only has a handgun."

Hope nodded. "My count too. And the male model? I'm pretty sure that's Gabriel Aguilar, one of the top guys in the Emilia Cartel."

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

Hope shrugged. "No clue. But listen, there's the Deputy in the back of the transport. I have no idea if he is OK, or what he's doing. And there are rifles inside. And Ash... Maybe if I could just get to the door..."

"It's locked, Hope."

"Yes, but I know the code."

"But they'd end you while you were typing it in. And anyway..."

Something about my tone made Hope turn sharply towards me. "What Bill?"

I smiled. "I might have made some contingency plans."

Hope punched my upper arm. "I don't need riddles, what the fuck did you do?"

"There are two Remington 870s and a bunch of shells in the back of the Ford. And..."

My smile spread to Hope as I continued. "And two ARs."

Hope's eyes glistened. "Which ones?"

Only Hope would worry about the precise manufacturer and model at a moment like this. "I dunno, M&P 15s..." Her expression showed me she wanted more details. "Fuck, Hope...! I think... I think SBR 556s, satisfied now?"

Hope grinned. "My favorite. The balance is so much better for someone my size. Shall we...?"

I reached up and touched the tailgate button. Servomotors whirred into life and the rear door levered upwards. Bullets raked the car as we grabbed the guns, ducked back down, and regrouped. Hope had one AR on the ground next to her and was rapidly checking over another. Satisfied, she slung one over her shoulder, gripped the other, and took control, just as I had expected.

"Right, I'm gonna try to get the Deputy. And... and check on Ashley. If we are lucky, I'll draw them out and you should be able to pick some off. You sure you want the shotguns? The AR is more accurate."

I told Hope I'd be just fine. Surprisingly, she kissed me. "You're a good guy, Bill. I wanted to tell you. In case... well you know."

I nodded silently, and then Hope was off. She must have been really something pre-injury as even now she was fast. Fast enough that the spray of bullets hit the sand and dirt behind her heels as she flew towards a boulder and dove behind it. She looked back at me and gave a thumbs up.

She had been right. I saw Aguilar's head briefly appear. I considered taking the shot, but stuck with Hope's plan of flushing them out. The lead guy waved his arm and three men moved out of cover and towards Hope, rifles raised. Wait Bill, wait. Let them get closer. You need to be sure.

The men's attention was towards Hope. The first never knew what hit him as I felled him with my initial shell. The second swiveled my way, but I took him down before he could fire. The third had time to duck behind a tree, shielding him from me, but not from Hope. Her rifle rang out and the guy's blood seeped from his head and into the sand where he had fallen.

A tirade of Spanish expletives came from behind the boulders. Then all was quiet. Hope glanced my way again and signaled that she was going to move. She sprinted towards the transport, dodging left and right. There was no hail of bullets this time, but a single shot sounded, and she stumbled and fell. I stood to go to her, then span as I heard a noise behind me.

The sounds of his rifle and my shotgun mingled. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach and collapsed. Holding a hand to my blood soaked abdomen, I opened my eyes and saw a lifeless body twenty feet from me. I took a second to just breathe, and then it hit me. Hope!

I tried to stand, but my legs didn't work. I dragged myself around the side of the car, taking the second Remington with me. I knew full well what had happened, I'd an ugly entry wound in my belly, and no doubt a matching exit wound in my back. But the pain had not yet kicked in. I could still function. I could still help her.

I saw Hope lying on the ground and Aguilar approaching, firearm trained on her motionless body. I could also see two ARs both lying some distance from Hope. I tried to raise my gun, but my arm shook wildly. I was just as likely to hit Hope as him. I couldn't chance it.

He was only a few feet from her now. I did the only thing I could think of. I yelled, "hey, gilipollas!" as loudly as I could.

The man swiveled and I saw his gun pointed directly at me. I closed my eyes and a loud crack sounded. Followed by... nothing. Then, "Bill, Bill! Are you hurt?"

Opening my eyes, I saw Hope, Glock in hand and the guy a crumpled heap in front of her. I gave Hope a not entirely convincing thumbs up.

Hope stood shakily and hobbled towards the transport, holding her leg. She steadied herself against the metal, and I heard beeps as she entered the digits. There was a confirmatory longer beep, and she reached to open the door.

I saw a vague movement behind the frosted, reinforced glass, and the door flew rapidly open, hitting Hope across the face and upper body. She fell backwards, dropping her gun. From the vehicle stepped not the Deputy, but a blonde woman in her mid-thirties. Her face and shirt were spattered red.

I was confused, and the blood loss was not helping. As I tried to work out what was happening and what to do, the delayed pain of my wound hit me like a sledgehammer. The last thing I saw was the woman stooping to retrieve Hope's gun, and crouching by Aguilar's body, then everything went black.

My consciousness swam uncertainly back. And the pain hit me again, like nothing I'd ever felt before. But I was aware of something else, a coldness in my feet and legs. A coldness sweeping upwards. Part of me welcomed the numbing sensation, the part that couldn't stand the burning pain in my abdomen. But the greater part, the still just about rational part, knew that giving into its embrace would be giving up on life. I breathed deeply, tried to bury the agony that was wracking my body, and opened my eyes.

It was hard to focus at first. Around me were signs of carnage. Bodies slumped on the ground, the smell of gunpowder mingling with acrid smoke from the stricken vehicles. Then two figures became clear. Both female. One standing. One lying in the dirt, propping herself up on an elbow, her other hand raised in defense. The pair were not far away, and the mocking voice of the standing woman was all too clear.

"No hope left for Esperanza. None at all. How sad!" I assumed she had to be Ashley, but I couldn't get my head round what she was doing, and where was the Deputy?

Her next words confounded me even further. "You killed Gabriel, you fucking bitch, now I'm going to kill you."

With that she raised the handgun and pointed it at the stricken Hope's head. Ashley's voice was outwardly calm, but something about her clipped delivery suggested raging inner anguish. Her words hit me in the gut even harder than the five-five-six round had.

"Goodbye, Hope."

With that, she began to squeeze the trigger.

To be continued...