Chapter 231: The End of Hennessy and Ron's Recruitment
"How exactly are you handling this?" The woman asked as she prepared for bed. Across from her, leaning against the doorframe with a whiskey glass, stood Hennessy. She was Hennessy's wife.
"It's still being dealt with."
The woman frowned: "He injured my brother and used your name to incite your supporters to attack the British military outpost."
"Yes, yes, I'm certain this was all orchestrated by that American operative. I've studied American military doctrine. He used tactics from West Point strategy manuals from beginning to end. Only someone with advanced American military training could execute this!"
"Don't worry, there's nothing I can't handle." Hennessy took another sip of whiskey, drained the entire glass, and spoke confidently.
Grant: So I'm not even American military~ I've brought shame to the Marines.
"You're just too arrogant sometimes!" the woman complained. "I'm going to London, to stay with our daughter."
"I really don't think that's wise." Hennessy, however, stood on his bedroom sofa, turned the whiskey bottle upside down, and shook it vigorously, trying to extract every last drop, looking like a common drunk.
He hadn't touched alcohol in years, but the pressure Grant had been applying recently was overwhelming. First, he'd bombed his London office, then severely injured the men sent to capture him.
Even his own estate wasn't secure. His operatives had vanished without a trace during routine assignments, with no contact since.
Finally, tonight, Hennessy had received reports that several British military outposts on the Ireland-Northern Ireland border had come under attack. Although reinforcements had repelled the assault, the worst part was that the attackers were almost entirely Irish soldiers, chanting "Ireland rises, King Hennessy!" Even his former IRA comrades were texting him constantly, asking when he planned to launch the revolution.
He'd just finished convincing those restless old-timers to stand down. They were living in the past. No one serving in London understood better than he did how much power seemingly weakened Britain still wielded.
He was certain their recent text exchanges were being monitored by British intelligence. Perhaps MI6 operatives were already en route to his residence.
The thought made Hennessy uneasy. He wouldn't be on an assassination list, would he? Probably not. At least, they'd use his status within the established families to stabilize the situation, right?
Perhaps?
"I'm not asking for your permission, just informing you. It's unlikely he knows where our daughter lives. Besides, his target is you, not me," his wife shouted angrily.
"The thing is, if he knows this estate's location, why wouldn't he know our daughter's London address? Do you want to drag her into this? I don't think we should take that risk."
"Then, as you claim, handle it," his wife said wearily. Just as she was about to sleep, she suddenly sat up alertly. "Wait, what's that sound?"
"Sound? What sound? I don't hear anything." Hennessy had drunk too much, and even his reflexes were sluggish. Even when he strained to listen, he couldn't detect anything particularly unusual.
"Listen, no, look!" His wife suddenly pointed to his newly opened whiskey bottle. The amber liquid swayed rhythmically back and forth like liquid in a violently rocking ship.
"Is it an earthquake?" Hennessy finally regained some awareness. He placed his hand on the bedroom wall, feeling vibrations from outside, then suddenly yanked back the curtains. "No, it's our cattle! They've been released!"
"Where are they? Send someone to check the barn! And get all my cattle back!"
Hennessy opened the window and shouted to the security team outside. But as soon as he finished speaking, he witnessed the most horrifying sight of his life.
The cattle, stampeding toward the manor, suddenly erupted in flames.
With thunderous roars, their flesh and blood shattered as they exploded. Blood and fire merged into mesmerizing dark orange blossoms, and the security personnel attempting to corral the cattle were instantly obliterated.
Several guards who survived the initial blast were still impaled by scattered cattle remains.
Hennessy's cousin, who served as his head of security, lay beneath his window, clutching his abdomen with a cow's hoof protruding from it!
"Run, that murderous American is here again!" Hennessy had just finished shouting when he saw something through the window that made him want to claw his eyes out.
Outside the manor, a British Army Land Rover stopped at the entrance. Two soldiers in British uniforms with painted faces exited the vehicle. The berets on their heads clearly indicated their elite origins.
These were MI6 operatives! The British wanted him eliminated!
"Damn it! It's the British! The British are here to kill us! Back exit! Then drive straight to the main road and return to London!"
Hennessy yelled, dragging his wife toward the rear entrance, where a vehicle had been positioned for emergency evacuation.
"See? American military strategy is truly effective. This maneuver is called combined arms tactics. Have you learned anything, Grant?"
Ron casually shot the surviving guard at his feet in the head, proudly displaying his knowledge of military doctrine to Grant.
Grant, following Ron's instructions, had taped plastic explosives—the same type that killed his daughter—to each cow's underside.
In Ron's words, it's called an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Now he fully understood the intoxicating feeling of revenge.
"Right, this is definitely more efficient than slow infiltration. Let's move quickly. We can't let Hennessy escape!"
Grant urged. While he felt relieved, he still experienced a pang of regret: Hennessy, the mastermind behind his daughter's murder and the true architect of the London bombings, had yet to be captured.
"Don't worry, let's clean up here first," Ron reassured him as he retrieved ammunition from a fallen guard. "You didn't really think I went into the forest just to relieve myself, did you? Don't worry, there's only one road back to London, and I've already prepared a reception there. We have plenty of time. Maybe we should conduct a thorough search of Hennessy Manor? See if we can locate his hidden safe or something?"
Although this operation was humanitarian (Ron believed it was, though Hennessy disagreed), Ron didn't pass up any opportunity for profit.
British pounds were worth more than US dollars, and euros were valuable too. It would be even better if he could acquire some gold. It's nearly impossible to trace; if it disappears, it's gone.
That Thailand operation had netted Ron a substantial windfall.
"No, Ron, Hennessy is a legitimate British official. He has shell companies that launder his income, so all his assets are in bank accounts, and we can't touch a penny," Grant explained helplessly.
Ron's money-grabbing instincts were incorrigible.
Grant said regretfully, "If you want money, I can give you my London restaurant. After all, following such a major incident, I don't plan to remain here."
"Tsk! How much is your restaurant worth? Besides, didn't you already give it to your old flame?" Ron winked suggestively. "What's her name? I think it's Sarah, right?"
Ron remembered the woman he'd met at Grant's house. Grant had handed her the transfer contract and restaurant documents right in front of him. Obviously, they had a complicated relationship.
"Don't talk nonsense. Sarah and I are just longtime friends, confidants," Grant explained frantically.
"Tsk, explanations are cover-ups, and cover-ups reveal the truth," Ron said, scanning the area and finding no survivors. He returned to the car.
"I bet you were prepared to die before transferring all that property to her. And the way she looked at you was clearly filled with love. Don't deny it, Grant.
I've dated dozens of women, and I definitely recognize that expression."
Ron shamelessly admitted to being a player.
"But given current circumstances, it seems you can't die. Have you considered your future? You can't live in grief over losing your daughter forever."
As he spoke, a loud explosion echoed from the distant highway. Ron's lips curved into a smile. It looked like the fish had taken the bait; time to reel in the catch.
With a turn of the key, the car started and headed toward the explosion.
"Yes, you're right. And with something this serious happening, I can't remain in England. But I can't just disappear. My situation might implicate Sarah,"
Grant said with concern. His mindset remained rooted in traditional masculine responsibility. Despite making no promises, he still harbored a sense of duty.
Ron's ulterior motive became clear: "How about coming with me to America? Perfect! Bring Sarah along, and come to Los Angeles with me. I guarantee no one will threaten you on my territory."
Despite all this talk, Ron's real objective was bringing Grant to America.
Ron had observed and remembered Grant's capabilities. He was undoubtedly skilled. If he were younger, Ron would have struggled to defeat him in hand-to-hand combat.
Combined with his exceptional tactical expertise and combat experience as a veteran from the world's premier military, he was far more capable than any of Ron's current operatives. Bringing him back to join his team would be a genuine coup.
"No, Ron, thank you for your generosity, but I don't want to live a life of violence anymore. I just want to find a place to spend my remaining years and remember Emma and the others for the rest of my life." Grant decisively declined Ron's offer.
At this point, Ron's SUV reached the explosion site. The vehicle Hennessy used for escape had been overturned by the bomb Ron had prepared in advance.
Ron glanced over. Hennessy in the driver's seat had been struck by multiple steel fragments from the device. He was already dead when the explosion occurred. Only his wife remained, struggling to crawl from the wreckage.
Ron parked directly beside her.
"Please, don't kill me, don't kill me! Please!" The woman's eyes were filled with pleading. Grant didn't know why, but his heart inexplicably softened.
"Ron, how about we just let her go?"
"Ha! Let her go? You've been in peaceful places too long, have you lost your edge, Grant?" Ron laughed loudly and suddenly kicked the woman, knocking away the pistol she'd secretly drawn. "You think she'd spare you?"
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I won't do it again! I have millions, I'll give it to you, just don't kill me! Hennessy did everything, I know nothing!" The woman screamed as Ron stepped on her hand. However, this time, even Grant felt no sympathy.
His compassion had been completely exhausted by the woman's pistol.
And Ron had already pressed the cold muzzle against the woman's temple: "Listen, you benefited from everything Hennessy did, good or bad. Did you ever apologize to the families of those he killed, or share the blood money Hennessy earned with them?"
"No!" Ron shouted viciously, and delivered final judgment on the woman: "Since you, as his wife, profited when he committed those acts, then when vengeance comes, you'll join him in hell!"
"Bang!" With the gunshot, a bloody hole appeared in the woman's head, and she collapsed lifeless. Grant also seemed to lose all strength and slumped to the ground.
"I think it would be best if you came to America with me. If you don't want a violent life anymore, I can find you a position as a facilities manager at my office. If you still want to operate a restaurant, there's commercial space available nearby, and I can even lend you the chef from my base."
"He's an excellent cook. You could exchange culinary techniques when you have time. I have two other older operatives there who are very sociable. Maybe you could form a veterans' club, though you'd definitely be the envy of them, since they're both single."
Ron extended his hand to Grant again, but this time, he didn't refuse. Instead, he grasped Ron's hand and stood up.
"Alright, I agree, but I have one final request. Can Sarah come with me?"
"Of course," Ron agreed happily.
He knew his veterans' program would be successful. He didn't know what kind of dynamics would develop when these experienced operatives came together, but he was certain they'd become the most formidable group of senior citizens in all of Los Angeles.
(End of Chapter)
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