by Alex Ander
Cruz wagged her finger at the dog. “You were supposed to be on my side.” She playfully scolded the dog before stealing another kiss from Hardy. “I’m also partial to you.”
Hardy beamed and he went back to playing with the dog. His eye caught movement out the front window. “It’s snowing.” He and Cruz went to the window. Big snowflakes floated down on an angle. He felt her put her head on his shoulder. After a few seconds, he heard her let out a long and heavy sigh. “What is it?” She did not respond, so he turned his body to face her. “What’s going on?”
“I guess I’m a little homesick.” She was mesmerized by the white dots. “It’s just that our trip to see my mother was a bust, and I didn’t get a chance to visit her on Thanksgiving. It’s been awhile, since I’ve seen her.” She forced a smile. “She’d love to see this.” After a few seconds passed, she let out a deep breath. “Anyway, I don’t to ruin the moment. What do you say—” She stopped speaking, when Hardy handed her the dog.
He had his cell phone in his hand. “Maybe we can do something about that.” He grinned. “Do you think your mother’s up for an adventure?”
Chapter 44: Business Card
7:32 p.m.
Phillip Jameson took a long drink and finished the bottle of beer, while staring at the business card in his hand. Setting the empty bottle on the kitchen table, he never took his eyes away from the card, flicking it between his fingers. Picking up his cell phone, he punched in the numbers from the card. For several seconds, his thumb hovered above the ‘send’ button before tapping the ‘end’ button. He stood and went to the refrigerator to get another beer. Closing the refrigerator door, he heard the chime of the doorbell.
Clasping the neck of the bottle in his hand, he went to the living room after taking a quick look out the window. Not recognizing the vehicle in his driveway, he touched the butt of his weapon, while he went to the door and peeked through the peephole. He saw the back of a woman standing on the porch, her head moving in all directions. She appeared to be searching for something. He opened the door and the woman turned toward him. His beer bottle almost slipped from his grasp. His heart beat faster and his pulse quickened. Though he had not seen this woman in many years, she had not changed a bit. In fact, time had been good to her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Standing in the doorway, he stared at her. His heart had gotten the better of his reason and he could not think clearly enough to say hello or ask if she wanted to come into the house. Breaking the silence, the woman lifted a large white bag toward Jameson and spoke.
“I seem to have bought way too much Chinese food,” said Dahlia. She gestured with her chin at the beer bottle. “Do you have another one of those?”
After leaving Cruz’s house, she had picked up Chinese food and driven around for nearly forty-five minutes. Hardy’s words, ‘As your friends, we’re asking you to keep the door open when it comes to your father. Don’t shut him out forever,’ had been playing in her mind on a continuous loop. Not realizing it, she had driven to within a mile of her father’s house, the same house in which she was raised. Not being the superstitious type, she had to admit that maybe fate had had a hand in this. On a whim, she decided to stop in and see him. To say she was feeling anxious was an understatement. Her father’s silence increased her anxiety. Maybe I made a mistake in coming here.
Jameson attempted to speak, but the proverbial lump in his throat was preventing speech. Not having seen his daughter in nearly seven years, the two were like strangers, meeting for the first time. Gawking at her, he had flashbacks to her as a little girl, wearing her hair in a ponytail and walking around the house in a dress and her mother’s high heels. Inwardly, he chuckled and the laughter helped to loosen his tongue. Jameson stepped back and swung his arm toward the interior of the house. “Of course, I’ll get you one,” he said. He watched her walk past him, taking in her every detail before scurrying to the kitchen.
When Jameson returned with her beer, Dahlia had taken off her coat and was standing in front of the Christmas tree, her eyes scanning the names on the tags of gifts. He stood alongside her and held out the bottle.
“Thank you.” She tipped back the bottle and took a sip before using it to point at the gifts. “That’s a lot of Christmas presents for someone who lives alone.” The tree must have had at least fifty wrapped items of varying shapes and sizes. “I see you still buy gifts for Mom.”
“Not just your mother. Your name’s on half of them.”
Dahlia was in the process of taking another sip, when she stopped and shifted her eyes toward him. Setting the bottle on a nearby coffee table, she lifted and moved presents to view the names on the tags. Sure enough, once she got past the items at the front of the mountain, her name was on most of the remaining ones within her reach. Turning toward him, she opened her mouth to speak, but all she could do was shake her head and stare at him. She glanced at the pile. “I don’t get it. You didn’t know I was coming here tonight. How could you have bought all these for me?”
Jameson took a swig of his beer and set it on the fireplace mantel. “I’ve been buying you presents, since that first Christmas after the incident at the FBI…Christmas…birthdays…sometimes I just saw something I thought you might like and grabbed it.” He regarded the multi-colored wrapping paper and his mind drifted off to happier days with Dahlia and her mother. “After your mother passed, I started getting stuff for her, too.” A barely perceptible half-smile came across his face. “I don’t know. Maybe, I’m nuts. Every year, I take everything out and set it up, adding a few more to the stack. When the holiday’s over, I put them away.” He paused to reflect on what he had said. “I guess…I was just hoping that you’d come home some year and…” His voiced cracked and he caught himself before the tears could flow. He grabbed his beer and took a long swallow.
Dahlia’s lower lip quivered. Growing up, she had been so close to this man. He had been an integral part of her transformation into the woman she was today. Her integrity, her character, her drive for excellence, she had received them all from him. His final gift had been to hone her skills to become one of the best FBI agents ever to pass through the agency. She swiped her fingers across her cheek. If only I’d made one phone call. She had picked up the phone and dialed his number several times. That had been the easy part. Pressing the ‘send’ button had been the greatest hurdle.
Stepping away from the tree, she took a couple steps toward him. She wanted to run, but she refrained.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her draw closer to him.
She lifted her arms a fraction of an inch before retracting them.
Jameson caught sight of the gesture and took a chance. He placed his beer on the mantle and opened his arms to her.
Dahlia closed the distance between them, literally and figuratively, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing the right side of her face against his chest. She hugged her father tighter than she had ever hugged anyone.
Jameson put one hand on her back and the other under her ponytail before kissing the top of her head.
When her arms grew weak and she could squeeze no longer, she released her father and stepped back, drying her moist cheeks. She sniffed and headed for the kitchen, picking up the bag of Chinese food on her way. “I’m going to warm this up, since I’ve got a lot of unwrapping to do.”
Jameson smiled and laughed.
“I feel bad.” Her voice rose, when she entered the kitchen. “I didn’t bring you anything.”
He heard the microwave door opening and closing. “Sweetheart, you brought me the best present a father could ask for,” he said, so only he could hear it.
Five minutes later, Dahlia returned with several boxes in her hands. Jameson met her halfway and took a few of them from her. She went to work tearing into the first present she saw.
Jameson watched her. It was Christmas all over again. She always destroyed the wrapping paper. Every Christmas, the living room resembled the aftermath of a Macy’s tic
ker tape parade. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said. “And, believe me, I’m not complaining at all. But, what happened to make you want to see me? I haven’t exactly made the best of attempts to contact you.”
Dahlia stopped shredding paper and thought for a moment. “Hardy happened,” she said. She rotated her head toward her father. “He made me promise to keep the door open when it came to you.”
A puzzled stare washed over Jameson’s face and he let a puff of air slip past his lips. Fishing out the business card from his pocket, he leaned forward from his seat on the couch and handed it to Dahlia. “Hardy gave me that on the way back from LA…along with some advice.”
Dahlia recognized the numbers written on the card; it was her phone number. Realizing what Hardy had been up to, a wide smile formed on her face.
“Hardy may be a lot of things, but…” Jameson stuck the chopsticks into the box in his hand, pinching the noodles inside. “I never would have pegged him for a matchmaker.”
Chapter 45: Merry Christmas
Christmas Day, 10:13 a.m.; Leland, Michigan
Hardy had used some of the goodwill he had accumulated with the President to arrange for a Gulfstream V to fly him and Special Agent Cruz to Dalhart, Texas. After picking up her mother, the jet transported the trio to Northern Michigan. Arriving at Evelyn Hardy’s home a little after Midnight, Aaron Hardy, Cruz and her mother gave Mrs. Hardy the surprise of her life.
After introductions were made, the foursome spent the next two hours talking and laughing, until Hardy and Cruz could not keep their eyes open any longer. They went to bed, Hardy to his room, Cruz to one of two spare bedrooms, while the two mothers continued getting to know each other well into the early morning hours.
Before going to bed, Cruz had found a Catholic Church in nearby Lake Leelanau, St. Mary’s Catholic Church. She made a request that everyone join her in attending eleven o’clock Mass. Cruz’s mother agreed and after a little coaxing from Hardy, his mother was on board as well.
When Christmas morning arrived, everyone was up and dressed in their best clothes. The mothers were upstairs doing some last minute primping, while Hardy and Cruz were in the living room.
Dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and red tie, Hardy stared at her. She was wearing a short-sleeved red dress that came to her knees with red pumps. A white sweater covered her bare arms and shoulders. Instead of a ponytail, Cruz wore her hair down. A short gold chain with a crucifix attached to it hung around her neck. Hardy put his hand on her upper arm. “You look beautiful.”
“Stop it. You know I blush easily.” Right on cue, her cheeks flushed.
He picked up her long overcoat and draped it over her shoulders. “Come with me.” He led her through the patio door to the deck beyond.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and hunched forward slightly. The temperature was cold and a slight breeze made it feel colder.
Knowing she would not last long in the cold temperatures, he got right to the point. “I’ve never done this before, so I’m not sure how this is going to come out. To be honest, I’ve never really had a girlfriend. I didn’t date in high school and twelve years in the military doesn’t leave much room for dating, so…” he reached into his pocket, “I’m not sure how this goes, but…” He opened his hand to reveal a small black velvet jewelry box.
Cruz’s heart raced. What’s he doing?
He pulled back the cover. Inside was a gold heart-shaped ring with several tiny diamonds around the heart. “Raychel, would you—”
“Yes,” she said, taking the box from him. She slipped the ring over her finger and held out her hand to view it.
“You don’t even know what that’s for and you said yes?”
“Well…what’s it for?” she said, admiring the ring.
“I was going to ask if you would go steady with me.”
Cruz’s eyes shifted to meet his eyes.
“I know it seems childish, but I told you…I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I just want us to see each other exclusively…and I thought what better way to do that than with—”
Cruz grabbed the lapels of his suit coat and kissed him. Five seconds later, she pulled her lips away from his lips and he finished his sentence.
“A ring,” he said.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she said, grasping his lapels in her hands, her eyes going back and forth from his eyes to his lips. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m all yours.” She kissed him again.
Hardy hugged her and held her tightly. His eyes moved toward the sliding glass door. “I think we have a couple of peeping Moms.” Both Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Cruz were staring at them. Their noses were pressed against the glass and they were smiling from ear to ear.
Cruz laughed into his chest and they hugged, until she said, “I’m cold.”
He pushed her shoulders away from him. “I’m curious...what if I had been asking you to marry me? Would you have still said yes…or no?”
Cruz glanced at the ring on her finger before shifting her gaze to his eyes. A thin grin formed on her lips and she said in a low and gentle voice, “Uh-huh,” before walking toward the house, her heels clicking on the wooden deck.
Hardy thought about her response for a few seconds. She was entering the house, when he called out to her. “That’s not an answer, Cruz.” Had he been able to see her face, he would have seen she was smiling broadly, while she closed the patio door.
Shaking his head, Hardy covered the distance to the house, muttering to himself. “It’s easier getting intel from a terrorist during an interrogation.”
YOUR FREE BOOK…
The London Operation is not for sale. The only way to get a copy is to click the image above. You’ll be taken to Bookfunnel to begin the download process. Or, you can send me an email at [email protected], and I’ll send you the link to Bookfunnel.
NOTE: It is recommended you read at least one Aaron Hardy book (preferably The Unsanctioned Patriot – Book #1) to understand the backstory before starting The London Operation (Book #2.5).
… … … … …
.
The
London
Operation
(Preview)
Aaron Hardy
Patriotic Action
Alex Ander
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Chapter 1: Self-Preservation
July 30th; 3:55 p.m.
London, England
Three weeks after Hardy accepts the President’s job offer
CROSSING KING’S ARMS Yard, Aaron Hardy walked south on Moorgate. There was nearly five hours of daylight left, but the tall buildings surrounding him blocked the sun and cast a faint shadow over the cityscape. The temperature was in the mid-sixties. The absence of direct sunlight, coupled with a gentle breeze, made Hardy glad he had grabbed his black leather jacket.
Foot traffic on the streets was increasing. Having been trapped in office buildings for the workweek’s last eight hours, people were emerging and scurrying for a destination—home, the bar, a store, anywhere but where their employer had held them captive for five days.
Hardy passed Basildon House and tilted his head to see around a well-dressed man, a few paces ahead. The man Hardy was most concerned with crossed Moorgate and continued south. The overcoat-clad banker jogged through the intersection at Lothbury, holding out his hand and impeding a car’s forward progress. His arrogance was rewarded with a blaring horn.
Hardy stayed the course. Moorgate turned into Princess St. and the Bank of China passed him on the right. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stared at the sidewalk, keeping one eye on Mahmoud Taziz, who strolled along the opposite side of Princess St., fifty yards further up the street.
The intelligence on Taziz pointed to regular Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoon visits (four o’clock to be precise) to a five-star hotel for a rendezvous with his mistress. Impressive for a man of his advanced years, Hardy had thought, while reading the man’s dossier.
; Hardy eclipsed two more banks on the right, Isbank and Kookmin before approaching the Bank of London. As expected, on the other side of the street, Taziz turned left at Threadneedle St. Hardy shot a look over his shoulder, waited for a car to drive by and fell in step behind his mark.
... … … … …
Her long, straight and dark hair flowing behind her, the tall woman—easily six-foot in her chunky two-inch high heels—rounded the corner at Princess St. and trailed the man in the black leather jacket and blue jeans. Their worlds had collided a few years ago. He seemed different now; his appearance for sure, but his persona was what grabbed her attention. He had been deadly back when they first met. Now, a stronger vibe resonated from him. Searching for the right word, her mind settled on pure lethality. To anyone else, he would have looked like a tourist, sightseeing in London. She knew better. He had a reason, a purpose for being here. In the past, violence had accompanied that objective. Whatever the motivation for his presence, she would find the answer.
Reaching inside her knee-length overcoat, she wrapped a hand around the weapon dangling under her left armpit. Her strides lengthened and she drew nearer to the danger in front of her. The only way to fight violence is with more violence. Her thumb flicked a snap and she drew the pistol, but kept it concealed under the coat.
Farther ahead, Taziz ducked into a hotel. The woman rotated the gun toward the man in black, her long legs making short work of the sidewalk between them.
... … … … …
Hardy picked up his pace and closed to within twenty-five yards of his prey. Following someone from directly behind was more difficult. If Taziz made a detour, Hardy needed to know. Surprises were unwelcome in his line of work. They usually preceded something bad.
Hardy passed by the beautiful columns of yet another bank, the Bank of England. Bartholomew Lane came and went and slowly London took on a more modern look, tall buildings with lots of glass. The stoic and cold appearance of stone and concrete reappeared once past Old Broad St. Up ahead, Taziz darted across the street and disappeared into one of the monolith structures. Hardy started to step off the sidewalk, but stopped when something hard jabbed him in the ribs and a female voice came from behind.
