by Jay Giles
“It’s important work, Agent Chance,” the Director said. “Vital to keeping the nation safe.”
Hanna was awed by the offer. “I’d be honored, sir.”
“Good.” The Director sounded genuinely pleased. “Report to Deputy Director Howell, he’s in charge of the task force, as soon as you wrap-up things there.”
Elated, Hanna dialed her father’s number. “Dad, you’ve got to hear this,” she said excitedly when he came on the phone, “I just got off the phone with the Director. He offered me the terrorist tracking job. A senior position. Can you believe that?”
“Oh, pumpkin’, I’m so happy for you. That’s the job you wanted and didn’t think you’d get.”
“I know. I’m still in shock. It’s a senior position, too. I won’t be stuck doing the grunt work. I’m actually going to be able to make a difference. I just had to call, Dad, I’m bouncing off the ceiling.”
“I’m sure you are. We can’t wait to see you and celebrate.”
“Won’t be long. I’ll be home soon. Tell Mom I love her.” Hanna hung-up still giddy.
The hard part came the following morning at the hospital. She thought she’d find Miles in his room, but he wasn’t there. After considerable searching, she found him in the therapy room walking on an ancient treadmill. Miles had on a pair of blue scrub pants, his left arm was heavily bandaged to his chest to keep his shoulder stationary. When he saw Hanna, his face lit up in a smile. “Hey.”
“Do they know you’re doing this?” Hanna chided him, smiling.
“Of course not.”
“Can you stop for a few minutes?” Hanna asked, her smile fading. “I need to share some news with you.”
• • •
Miles watched the smile leave Hanna’s face and had that pit-of-the-stomach feeling this wasn’t good news. He hit the stop button, waited for the machine to slow, stepped off. “So what’s up?” He asked, trying to keep his tone light.
“I got a call from the Director, yesterday, commending me on resolving the Beck/Lohse matter—”
“You deserve it,” Miles said. “It’s good the top guy recognizes all you’ve done.”
Hanna met Miles gaze, held it. “He also offered me a position on the task force tracking terrorist fund and I accepted.” She reached out, took his good hand in both of hers. “Miles, it’s the job I’ve always wanted. I hope you understand, I couldn’t pass it up.”
Miles heard the words and knew what was coming.
“It means I’m going to have to move to Washington.”
“You can’t do this from Sarasota?”
She shook her head. “The job is in Washington and I’m afraid they want me there as quickly as possible. In fact, they’ve booked me on a flight this evening.”
“You’re here to say goodbye?”
Hanna nodded, the pain evident on her face. “We’ll see each other. I’ll fly down for weekends. You’ll come visit me. In between, we’ll talk on the phone.” A tear made its way down her cheek. “I don’t want this to be goodbye.”
“I don’t either,” he said and kissed her. He used his good arm to hold her close. “We’ll find a way to make this work.”
“I know we will,” she said, her head on his shoulder.
“Listen, I can check myself out of here, fly back with you—”Hanna pulled away. “You’re crazy. You can’t travel with your shoulder.”
“Sure I—”
“Señor Marin you should be in your room.” It was one of the floor nurses standing in the doorway.
Miles glanced at her, said, “in a moment,” turned back to Hanna.
“The doctor he is looking for you,” the nurse said sternly, not about to be dismissed.
“You should go,” Hanna said softly. “I have to leave for the airport. I’ll try and call tomorrow to check on you.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips, turned, and walked out the door.
CHAPTER 139
Three months later, Miles was standing at the showroom’s front window, waiting for his first customer of the day, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Larry Jarsman’s squeaky voice. “Miles, we’ve got to talk. My office.”
Miles followed Jarsman into his office, Jarsman closed the door behind them, indicated a visitor’s chair. “Have a seat.” He walked behind his desk, settled in his seat. Elbows on his desk, he templed his huge hands in front of him, studied Miles before speaking. “What’s going on with you, Miles? I know this whole kidnap/murder thing had to have been hard, but its been months, you should be over that by now.” He gave Miles a hard look, shook his head. “You’re not. You’re lethargic, mopping around. It’s got me concerned.”
Miles nodded, a bit chagrined Jarsman had called him out. It wasn’t the kidnapping and murders that had him down, it was Hanna. When he’d first returned from Mexico, he’d traveled to Washington to see her. Two weeks later, she’d flown down to Sarasota for a long weekend. When they were together, things were wonderful—it was time on the wire. When they weren’t together, the waiting was awful. Worse, twice since Hanna’s Sarasota visit, Miles had tried to schedule a trip to Washington only to have Hanna wave him off. Too busy.
“Miles, are you listening to me?”
Miles smiled apologetically. “It’s not—”
“You were a million miles away. Miles, I’m trying to help.
What’s the matter?”
Miles read the concern in Jarsman’s face. The two men had always had a good relationship—almost father and son. Miles didn’t want to burden Jarsman with his troubles, but he knew Jarsman would listen, be supportive. “It’s Hanna—”
“She’s the FBI agent?” Miles nodded. “She’s in Washington. I’m here. It’s the distance. We’re in two different orbits, getting pulled in different directions. I was sure we could make it work. Now I don’t know.”
“Huh,” Jarsman grunted. “It’s not the kidnapping/murder business?”
Miles shook his head dismissively. “No, I feel like if Hanna and I keep doing what we’re doing, we’re going to drift apart. I don’t want to lose her, but I—”
“But you don’t know what to do,” Jarsman finished. He stood, began pacing behind his desk in quick, agitated strides. “What’s keeping you in Sarasota, Miles?”
Miles started to answer, Jarsman never gave him the chance.
“You can find another job. You can go on your trips as easily from Washington as you can from Sarasota. See my point? You’ve got nothing holding you here.”
“I can’t—”
“Pick up and go? Sure you can. List your place with a realtor. Put stuff in storage. Find a place in Washington. Find a job. Start your life again.” He strode purposefully from behind the desk.
Miles stood, assuming their talk was over and Jarsman was about to open the door, send him on his way. To his surprise, Jarsman enveloped him in a bear hug, his giant hands patting him on back. “Go ahead, get out of here. Tell Violet to cut you a check for six-weeks severance.” He gave Miles one final thump on the back. “Win this girl back.”
Miles left Sarasota the next morning, spent his first night in D.C. at the Marriott Courtyard in Fairfax, Virginia. He spent the next morning with the Real Estate section of The Washington Post. After two days of looking, he stumbled on a find.
It was a small, four room, white clapboard cottage on the Potomac. There was nice-sized screened in porch on the back, a small dock at water’s edge. Miles found out why it was still available, the rent was ridiculous high for such a small space. He took it anyway, signing a six month lease.
Housing settled, Miles went in search of a florist. He found one, had a dozen roses delivered to Hanna at work. On the note, he wrote: Would love to take you to dinner any or every night this week. Call me, Miles. Same old cell phone number. New local address.
Flowers ordered, Miles busied himself shopping for furnishings, groceries. He also purchased a Sykes racing scull, figuring with the Potomac right in his back yard, it would be a great work o
ut. Carting everything back to the cottage was a hassle, but not enough of one that Miles lost track of time.
At 3:30, the time the florist said the roses would be delivered to the FBI building, Miles began anticipating Hanna’s call. With each minute his cell didn’t ring, he became more anxious. It was the hardest wait Miles had ever endured. Worse than the three days he’d spent in a Cambodian jail. Worse even than the month in a Costa Rican hospital with Dengue Fever.
At 7:00, he made stir-fry in the cottage’s small kitchen, ate quickly on the screened-in porch. Dinner over, he knew he had to find something to keep himself occupied. Miles changed into his workout clothes, made sure he had his cell, launched the scull. In two strong pulls, he was away from the dock, headed upstream. He concentrated on strong, even strokes, soon fell into a comfortable rhythm. As he pulled, he felt the weakness in his left shoulder and was glad he’d gotten the skull. It provided the perfect strengthening exercise.
Miles rowed for about an hour. The river was smooth. The evening quiet, broken only by his oars swishing the water, birds chirping overhead. When the light began to fade, he turned the scull around, found the pulls easier with the current, the boat faster through the water. As the shadows deepened, Miles’ gaze scanned the homes along the shore, he didn’t want to miss the cottage. He was peering into the gloom when his cell rang.
Miles let the oars drag in the water to slow the scull, looked at caller ID. Hanna. He felt his heart race. “Hey,” he said, happily.
“Hey yourself. I just got back to the office and your flowers were on my desk. They are so beautiful. Thank you. The card says new local address?”
“True, I’ve left the Sunshine state. Home is now a quaint little cottage here on the Potomac.” He gave her the number and street.
“Miles, I’m thrilled you’re here, but what prompted all this?”
Miles let his heart find the words. “Hanna, what I do, I can do anywhere. Your life is here. If we’re going to have a life together, this is where I need to be, too.”
“What about your job?”
Miles couldn’t help chuckling. “Once you’ve sold every model in every color—boring.”
“What about Captain Blackie’s?”
“The land will be developed into high-end condos so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
“What about your trips, your adventures?”
“The guys were kind of bummed when I told them I wouldn’t be going anymore.”
“Miles, those trips are what you live for. I don’t want you to give that up.”
“Who said anything about giving them up?”
EPILOGUE
Between Miles’ new job with an environment think tank and Hanna’s workload with the task force, it was six months before they had a chance to travel. Their itinerary took them to Kathmandu, Nepal, then on to Tibet, where they spent time at the Everest base camp, visited Sera Monastery and the Potala Palace in Lhasa, the former residence of the Dalai Lama, before arriving at their final destination, Shigatse, Tibet.
There, in the Tashilhunpo Monastery built in 1447, whose name in Tibetan means all fortune and happiness gathered here, they were married. Hanna wore a simple white satin gown, Miles a tux. The wedding chamber was the Gyeni Chanting Hall where over a thousand candles illuminated the ancient courtyard and chapel.
As a surprise, Miles flew and helicoptered in Hanna’s parents, her two brothers, his parents and brothers.
The candlelit ceremony was conducted by a Buddhist Abbot and featured a chant by all the monks in residence. Holding hands, looking at each other, Hanna and Miles exchanged their vows in English, the monks oooooming in the background.
For Hanna—the setting, the monks, the ceremony, family, Miles--made it a magical evening with just one tiny exception.
The wedding meal tasted suspiciously like goat.
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