Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

of her hat. She caught sight of me and waved her gloved hand. She made her way through all the people, some dancing, joining the couple dancing I’d just seen. As she came toward me, she began to peel off her layers, the woolen hat, the scarf and her gloves.

I received a warm, long hug, which only ended when the waitress approached us. She had missed me as much as I had missed her. We ordered our drinks which arrived surprisingly quick.

She took a sip of her drink and said, “I am not sure this is what I ordered, but it’s alcohol and I am happy to see you, so I guess it’s not that important.”

I prodded the wrapped parcel on the table and placed it in front of her. “Happy New Year, Laura,” I said.

She hesitated, as if she didn’t wish to open it now, in front of me. Maybe she hesitated to receive anything from me at all, so I added, “It’s not an expensive gift. It’s a symbolic Jewish gift.”

“I haven’t bought you anything,” she admitted shamefully.

“You weren’t supposed to get me anything. It isn’t the Jewish new year.” She grabbed the gift and opened it like a little girl, tearing at the wrapping impatiently. She took out the colorful object.

“I know what it is,” she smiled. “It’s a hamsa, right?” she said, looking at the hand-shaped object.

“It’s supposed to be hung on a wall near the entrance to your home. For good luck, or maybe against bad luck.”

“If you believe in luck…” She smiled mischievously. “If not, then it is a pretty ornament.”

“Anything to help you be happy.”

“I will drink to that,” she said and raised her glass. After she’d set it down again on the table, she asked, “What are your plans for the future?”

The pianist asked for a ten-minute break and the audience clapped and whistled their thanks.

“They have suggested I remain here,” I answered, once the noise had quietened down, “Your elections have caused concern amongst the Jewish community in D.C. and they feel they need another agent on the ground.”

“They are justifiably worried. The Ku Klux Klan is growing again. Its southern factions are up from 72 to 190.” She took another sip of the golden liquid in her glass and squinted her eyes in concentration. “I still haven’t quite understood their connection to the whole kidnapping affair. What caused them to join up with a radical Muslim group?” Laura asked.

“As far as they knew, they hadn’t joined up with a radical Muslim group. They had hooked up with the white British aristocracy and both of them were against the Jews, the Israelis and the foreigners. He didn’t refer to himself as Yassin Graham but as Mr. Graham.”

A second round of drinks was brought to our table. “That was Yassin Graham’s duplicity game.” Laura said.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “What I didn’t understand was the connection to El Desconocido. What was his interest in investing money and strengthening a candidate who openly declared a fight against him?”

“We also don’t understand it. We’ve tried to look for connections, and believe me when I say it, we’ve looked hard. Maybe he received a promise from the candidate that, when elected, he would redirect interest from El Desconocido’s cartel and chase his rivals instead. We have found no common ground at all, no parties or business ventures together. Nothing!”

“According to what I remember, he said in the video call that it was a personal vendetta. He wants to kick out the other candidates.”

“So now the question is what he has against them? The other candidates, I mean. And is it against them or against their benefactor?”

“Carry on digging. They most probably have some skeletons in their closets, something that causes their nerves to rattle so much that they are prepared to help their sworn enemy.”

“They are not only giving him pause. This campaign has competitors whose stories cause shivers to run down my back too.” And then she put the subject aside and added, “Did I tell you I started dating someone from my office?”

“I guessed that something of the sort was happening with you.” I took a sip of my own drink and it burned its way down my throat. “You look amazing. As if you are glowing from within.”

“He really is good for me.” She smiled bashfully. “Speaking of things that are doing us good, have you heard from Zorro?”

“She returned to Mexico. Things aren’t good there. Her club has been burned down a number of times already.”

“My sister can be very obstinate...”

“Yes. The last time was particularly bad. Apparently, a sous chef remained there to sleep off his drunken state. They found his body the next day. That was the only time she didn’t manage to warn everyone.”

“Maybe it’ll calm Gail down.” She took another sip. “Now that she got her blood quota.”

“Maybe it’ll calm both of them down.” I took a sip as well. “I have told her in more ways than one that I’d be happy to see her by my side.”

Guy Niava,

The end of July 2016

She got out of the shiny red Mercedes-Benz, looking as stunning as ever. She looked like a Hollywood actress in her prime. Her black dress accentuated her curves and her blonde hair. Her sunglasses hid the beautiful eyes I had learned to love, and, as if she had read my mind, she lifted them and placed them on her head. A million-dollar smile reached her lips. Her hair, billowing behind her with each step, revealed her cheekbones. In perfect harmony, her dress also billowed with each step, revealing a perfectly sculpted thigh, delicately muscular, yet addictively soft.

“I am happy to see you have not forgotten me,” she said, as she sat down opposite me. She crossed her legs such that her bejeweled ankle magnetized my stare.

“Not only haven’t I forgotten you, but I even missed you very much. How are you, Zorro?”

“Fine. Good. I am getting myself organized to open up a new place. What