by Alex Ander
Hardy leaned forward and pushed the coffee across the table, until the paper cup peeked at Charity from around her laptop. “What do you mean?”
Charity saw the cup. She gaped at it as if she had never seen one before. She peered over the laptop.
“You need that more than I do.” Hardy shoved the last of the bagel into his mouth.
Charity stopped what she was doing and grabbed the cup with both hands. Lifting it to her nose, she closed her eyes and smelled the aroma before tilting the cup toward her waiting and eager lips. Taking a slow sip, followed by a second and third sip, she lost her train of thought. This is good. She dragged out the last word. The taste lingered on her tongue. Glancing at Hardy, she mulled over the kind gesture. He gave up his coffee for me. Last night, he argued with Jameson and left without even acknowledging me. Today…he does this. Not knowing what to make of his behavior, she put the past behind her and started fresh. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible.
Hardy nodded his head and swallowed. “If I’d known you were planning a sleepover, I’d have gotten you some breakfast, too.” He pointed his chin at her. “You were saying.”
Charity took one last drink and nodded her head emphatically, placing the cup on the table as if it was a precious commodity. “Where was I?”
“You said something about looking for a man, instead of—”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. All this time, we’ve—I’ve—been searching the video footage for a man. What if it was a woman who killed Sayed and took his phone?”
Hardy leaned back in his chair, interlocked his fingers behind his head and stared at the wall. Her theory was something he had not considered.
“I mean it’s not that far of a stretch to think that a woman could have pulled this off. She could have charmed her way close to Sayed and taken him by surprise.” Charity’s fingers glided across the laptop keys. “So, to that end, I went back over the video footage from last night and found instances where four different female figures were near that trash receptacle right before Sayed’s phone stopped moving.” With a forceful stroke on the laptop’s touchpad, she added, “Take a look at this.”
Hardy moved around behind her. The laptop’s screen was divided into four smaller screens, each one showing a different image.
Charity pointed. “These two here, I was able to input their images into facial recognition software; they’re nobody’s—ordinary people with normal jobs, just out on the town, having fun,” she flung a hand into the air, “whatever.” She touched the third split-screen. “This one here, I haven’t been able—”
“That one,” Hardy pointed at the fourth quadrant, showing a woman with long bleach blonde hair, “What about her? Were you able to get anything on the blonde?”
Charity followed his finger. “Ah, you mean our mystery woman.” She tapped the touchpad a couple of times and images appeared. “I found several individual stills from different cameras in the area.”
Hardy rose to his full height. “Tell me you got—”
“And, not one of those stills showed a clear picture of her face. It was almost as if—”
“She knew exactly where the cameras were and intentionally turned away at the right time.”
“Exactly,” said Charity, pivoting back to the computer.
Hardy leaned forward and scanned the images. “The second one from the left,” he pointed, “can you make it bigger?”
Charity enlarged the image, but it became blurry. “That’s the best I can do, while maintaining some kind of clarity.”
“That’s good enough.” Hardy studied the image, while slowly nodding his head.
Charity rolled her eyes toward him. “Do you know her?”
“Yes and no,” he replied. Hardy stared. Even though the photo was grainy, he could clearly see the woman was wearing a short black mini skirt under a black overcoat. He also caught a glimpse of red under the coat and above her skirt. The long bleach blonde hair was the final clue. He walked to his chair and stood behind it. Resting his crossed forearms on the chair’s back, he pointed at Charity. “You know her, too. She’s the woman I bumped into at Goodmans.”
“I do?” Charity frowned, thinking of how she would know the woman. She raised her eyebrows. “You mean that sexy, sultry voice I heard over the radio belonged to her?”
Hardy nodded.
“Do you think she had something to do with Sayed’s death?”
Hardy thought for a moment, re-living the moment in the bar. He shook his head. “I’m not sure, but my gut tells me, yes. She looked like someone out on the town trying to pick up men, but there was something different about her. Beneath her beauty, charm and feminine wiles, she had a…a cold and determined demeanor. I’ve seen that same look in the eyes of many hardened men…killers.” He paused. “Now, that I think about it, I saw that in her eyes, as I held her in my arms.”
Charity’s eyes widened and she tilted her head slightly. “You held her in your arms?”
Realizing the implications of his words, he waved a hand at her. “It’s not what you think.”
Charity was about to say something cute, but she heard the elevator door open and turned back to the laptop. “I’ll run her voice from that conversation through my computer and see if I can get any hits on her speech pattern. I wouldn’t hold my breath, but it may turn up something.”
Director Jameson heard the last part of their conversation, as he entered the OR. Sitting at the end of the table, he eyed Charity. “What have you got?”
Charity told Jameson everything she had discovered, and Hardy followed up with his observations about the woman from the bar.
Jameson slowly nodded his head, staring at the table in front of him. “That’s an interesting theory, Cherry; however, without any concrete evidence to back it up, we’ll have to put it on the back burner. Only pursue that lead when you have dead time.” He held Sayed’s phone in his hand. “Our top priority is coming up with a plan to deal with this.”
Hardy, who had been standing behind his chair, spun it around and sat. “What did we find?”
Charity took a drink of coffee and leaned forward.
“Our tech guys upstairs hacked into a Gmail account that had been activated less than a week ago. There were no messages sent or received during that time; however, there was a message in the draft folder,” Jameson took out a piece of paper from his pocket and opened it, “that read, ‘Allah be praised. All of you should be proud. Your time has come.’ There is a date, a time and an address.” He handed the paper to Hardy.
Hardy read it again. “Smart,” he said. “That’s what I would have done, too—only use the draft folder and never send out any messages. Only the people who have access to the account can see any communications.” Hardy slid the paper to Charity and checked the date on his phone. “So, it’s going down at nine o’clock tonight. Do we know what’s at that address?”
Jameson opened his mouth to answer, but Charity beat him to it.
“There’s a two-story house in a nice little neighborhood, just north of Bedford Hills.” She had brought up the address on her laptop. “There are several houses nearby and a lot of trees. It’s going to be tough to get eyes on that place.”
Jameson pointed at her. “But, that’s exactly what I need you to do, Cherry. We have less than twelve hours to come up with a plan and be in place before these people begin arriving at that location,” he gestured at the note, “if that’s what’s going to happen. Sayed was one of them. We don’t know how many more there are, but we need to be ready.”
Hardy looked up. “Sir, I think we need more manpower on this.”
Jameson shook his head. “I don’t want to bring in any local police. We don’t know what these people are up to, and I want to keep this quiet, until we know what they’re planning.”
“I’m not talking about the police. Where’s AR-1?” Hardy was referring to a three-person team Jameson had put together to support Hardy when he was on missions. Tom Henderso
n was the team leader and one of the best snipers Hardy had ever seen in action. Eva Draper was the medical specialist and Tyler Pendleton was an expert in explosives. All of them were former Special Forces operators and had extensive training in weapon’s handling, covert assaults and search and rescue. In fact, the ‘AR’ in AR-1 stood for Assault and Rescue.
Standing, Jameson retrieved his phone from his coat pocket and tapped the screen. “I’ll have them here within the hour. They need to be a part of this, too.”
Chapter 7: Assault
8:51 p.m.; Bedford Hills, New York
Two blocks away from the target house, Hardy sat in the passenger seat of a black Chevrolet Tahoe. Eva Draper was behind the wheel. A computer on Hardy’s lap showed a live video feed of the front and back of the property. Henderson and Tyler were on the other side of the house and had access to the same feeds.
Six hours earlier, Hardy and Draper had posed as satellite/cable repair technicians and attached a video camera to the satellite dish on the home across the street from the one on the computer screen. Henderson and Tyler had done the same thing at a residence on the backside of the target. The teams had a complete view of the entire perimeter, except for a small area on the northwest corner of the structure. From Washington, D.C., Charity was seeing and recording the live action.
In the darkness of the SUV, Hardy’s face glowed from the computer screen. The blacked out windows hid the light from passersby. He had to give Charity credit. She had spotted the satellite dishes and came up with the plan. She had found the two best locations for the surveillance equipment, and dug up every piece of information she could on the homeowners. The first house belonged to a man who was away on business. He had recently used his credit card to make a purchase in California, so no one was home. The second house was for sale and no one was living in it. Anyone seeing a repair technician on the roof would assume the new homeowners would be moving in soon and wanted television service available when they arrived. Both teams could watch the house from a safe distance without drawing unnecessary attention.
Draper leaned to the right to get a better view of the screen. “So, do you think the Lions have a shot at winning the division this year?” Draper was twenty-seven years old and stood five-feet, three-inches tall. Her black hair was cut short, stopping at her neck, an inch below the collar of her shirt. The bangs covered her forehead and ended at her eyebrows. Even though she was in her late twenties, her petite facial features gave her the look of a woman ten years younger.
Having grown up in the same state as Hardy, Draper and he had made an instant connection. They were die-hard fans of the Detroit Lions, suffering through many years of disappointment, while the team lost game after game. Draper was glad Hardy had wanted her on his team. The two of them worked well together and had good conversations during the lull times of a mission. Since they had been in the same vehicle for the last six hours, watching a computer screen, this constituted a lull time. When Hardy did not respond, she nudged him. “Halfway through the season and we’re playing five hundred ball.”
Hardy remained motionless. “Four and four is not exactly where I was hoping the team would be at this point.” He shook his head when the team’s last game came to mind. “The defense is playing well, holding opponents to less than ten points a game. Once again, the offense can’t seem to score any points.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you lose one of the best wide receivers ever to play the game. That’s a lot of production to have to make up.”
Hardy shrugged. “What about last season when he was still playing and the team couldn’t score?” He raised his eyebrows and waited. Before she could say anything, Henderson’s voice came through their earpieces.
“If you two really want to talk football, then I suggest we talk Patriots and their dominance in the league.” Henderson was a huge New England Patriots fan. To prove his loyalty, he always wore a Patriot’s t-shirt beneath his tactical shirt.
Draper rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started on the Patriots, Henderson. You call it dominance. Others—”
“Look alive everyone.” Hardy had turned back to the laptop. “We have a car pulling into the driveway. Are you seeing this, Charity?”
“I’m here.” Charity was glad the football chatter would now end. She did not enjoy the game as much as her teammates did. “As soon as I get a shot of the plates, I’ll run them.”
“Good,” said Hardy.
The car stopped and the brake lights remained lit. Two flashes of white were emitted from below them when the driver put the vehicle in ‘park.’ The man got out, closed the door and hurried to the front door. The car’s headlights illuminated him in the darkness. He approached the front door and stood, waiting. The headlights from the car shut off. Moments later, he opened the door, walked inside and shut the door.
Hardy stroked his chin. “Charity, run back that footage and see if you spot anything inside the house when the door was open.”
A minute passed, while she scanned the video. “It was too dark. I couldn’t see anything.”
The teams waited another three minutes before another vehicle, a taxicab, parked in the driveway. A person emerged from the backseat and handed something to the driver. The taxi backed up and left. The man went to the front door and waited. A few moments later, he went inside.
Less than a minute later, a third vehicle arrived. The driver parked alongside the first car. Standing at the front door, he touched something to the right of the doorknob and waited. After a few seconds, he tapped it again. He hit it a third time before opening the door and entering the house.
“That’s odd,” said Hardy, under his breath.
“What,” said Draper?
“Not once did anyone on the inside come to the door. Each man let himself inside.” Hardy was unsure of what to make of the detail. He had learned that everything, no matter how small, meant something. The hard part was deciphering the clue and determining if it was an asset or a threat.
Draper shrugged. “Maybe the owner’s lazy.”
Hardy checked his phone—9:03. “Did you get anything on the plates, Charity?”
“They’re both licensed to a local rental car agency. I’m trying to contact the agency to get the names of the people who rented the cars.”
Fifteen minutes passed and no other vehicles arrived. Charity got picture identification of the two men who rented the vehicles and sent copies to both teams.
Hardy glanced at his watch. “All teams gear up and get into position. On my mark, we go in two minutes...Mark. All teams maintain radio silence.”
Henderson’s voice boomed over the airwaves. “Copy that.”
Hardy and Draper readied their weapons, MP5 rifles—chambered in nine millimeter—with sound suppressors. Each rifle was outfitted with a laser, flashlight and red dot scope. The weapon held two magazines, one in the magazine well and a second one attached to the first via a coupler to facilitate a quick magazine change, if needed. All team members were dressed in black tactical clothing with a bulletproof vest, helmet and night-vision goggles.
Hardy and Draper exited the SUV, ran to the house and took positions near the front door—Hardy on the left and Draper on the right. He checked the time on his watch. A few seconds later, he got Draper’s attention. She nodded her head. He held up a forefinger before adding his middle finger. A second later, he pointed at her.
Draper swung back a one-person battering ram before driving it into the door, above the doorknob. The door flew inward, splintering the doorframe. She dropped the ram and raised her rifle.
Before the door had fully opened, Hardy charged inside, swinging his rifle left and right, while moving further into the living room; it was not empty. Three men lay motionless—face down—in front of the couch. Streaks of blood, staining the carpet, trailed behind them toward the front door. He approached and kicked each one before kneeling and checking for a pulse. Draper covered him, her eyes shifting left and right.
Hardy stood and rushed past Draper. Their eyes met and he shook his head. Charity had provided a layout of the house, so Hardy and Draper searched the main floor, while Henderson and Tyler cleared the second level.
As Hardy and Draper stood in the kitchen, looking at a man tied to a chair, his head hanging down and off to one side, Henderson and Tyler made their way down the stairs. Making eye contact with Henderson, Hardy tilted his head back slightly.
“All clear,” said Henderson before adding, “What do we have here?”
Draper was on one knee, examining the body. “He’s been worked over a little bit, but the bullet to the eye socket is what killed him.”
Hardy motioned with his head. “There are three more in the living room. They appear to be the late arrivals to the party.” He pressed Draper. “What about him, Drape? How long has he been here?”
Draper stood and removed the rubber gloves she was wearing. “By my estimate, he’s been dead for…ten to twelve hours.”
“What…twelve hours?” Hardy moved his head back and forth from the dead man to Draper. “Are you sure?”
“I said ten to twelve hours…no more than that.”
“That means the person who did this has been in here all day. Henderson, was there anything out of place upstairs?”
Henderson shook his head.
“A window,” said Tyler, “was open a crack in the northwest bedroom.” He adjusted the weapon sling around his neck. His blonde hair stuck out under his helmet, while he twisted his head back and forth, trying to loosen his neck muscles. “I looked outside, but I didn’t see anyone.”
“Charity, this is Hardy. Are you there?”
“I’m here. Go ahead.”
“Check the footage from the backyard camera. Start from two minutes before we entered the house. Focus on the second floor near the northwest corner. I know it’s a dead area, but maybe we’ll get lucky and spot someone close by in the field of view of the—”