by Alex Ander
Chapter 11: Dead Agents
Hardy and Natasha explained the dead agent on the floor was most likely working for General Popovich, and had been sent to kill the Premier and possibly the President. Once they had finished, the Premier grabbed Hardy’s right hand. “Once again, I am in your debt.” He looked at Natasha. “Thank you. My wife and I owe our lives to both of you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Hardy gestured toward the body. “I’m sorry this man managed to gain access to your bedroom. I’m—”
The Premier held up a hand and shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You have no need to apologize. I will take that matter up with my head of security. It was his responsibility to make sure all members of my security detail were loyal to their country and not to Popovich.” He glanced at Natasha before staring at the floor, where she had been writhing in pain, only minutes ago. “No,” he got Hardy’s attention, “your actions were honorable. I have seen your allegiance to your country, Mr. Hardy,” the Premier trained his eyes on Natasha, “and I have witnessed your fierce loyalty to your friends as well.” He put a hand on Hardy’s shoulder. “I know the both of you have sacrificed a great deal to bring our two countries together.”
Hardy sensed bad news. His chest muscles tightened.
“Because of that, it pains me to have to tell you that your efforts have been in vain.”
Hardy shot a quick look at Natasha. “Sir?”
“I don’t understand.” The President took a few steps toward the men. “What are you saying, Yuri?”
The Russian leader gave his counterpart his full attention. “I’m sorry, James, but I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.” He nodded at the dead agent. “I’m afraid I cannot trust my own people to protect my wife and me. I have a responsibility to my country, but I also have a wife to care for.” He stared at his wife. “And, right now, she is my main concern.”
Desperate to make the summit happen, the President pointed a finger at the floor. “I can have two dozen men here within the hour, dedicated to keeping you and your wife safe.”
The Premier turned. “Thank you for the offer, James, but it is not the same. I need to be able to trust the men, who are caring for us. I’m sure your men are quite good at their job; however, I do not know them.” He pointed with his chin. “I’m sure that you, above all people, can understand that.”
The President nodded. He would never be able to go to another country and feel safe without his own people looking after him and his family. “I do, Yuri.”
Hardy remembered Natasha’s words from their earlier conversation. ‘He has a great deal of respect for you…I wouldn’t take that lightly,’ and he took a chance. “Sir, if I may…”
The Premier clasped his hands behind his back and faced the man who had saved his life. “Go ahead, Mr. Hardy.”
“If I’m hearing you correctly, your reluctance to continue with this summit is out of concern for your family’s welfare, because you can’t trust your own men and you don’t know the President’s agents.”
The Premier gave a slight nod of his head.
“Sir, I can have a team here in a few hours that would be at your side day and night for the duration of the summit. I know these people and they would risk their lives to keep you and your wife safe.”
AR-1 was a team that had been assembled to provide support to Hardy when he was on missions. In addition to their skills in marksmanship, covert assaults and search and rescue, the members had unique specialties. Tom Henderson was the team leader and his specialty was long-range sniping. Eva Draper was the team’s medical specialist and Tyler Pendleton was an expert in explosives. Hardy had worked with AR-1 on many occasions, since coming to work for the President. They were highly skilled and well-trained operators who had come to his aid several times. As a result, he and the members of AR-1 had become close friends, who would do anything for him.
Hardy jerked his head toward Natasha. “That would give us the chance to find Popovich and bring him in.” Not getting an immediate rejection, Hardy sweetened the deal. “This would also be a perfect opportunity to see how agents from our respective countries work together, using the resources of both nations to track down and capture an enemy of the state.”
Studying the floor, the Premier was silent. He walked to Hardy and stood face-to-face with him. “How well do you know this team of yours?”
“I have worked with them on numerous occasions and they have never let me down. Their dedication to the mission is second to none, sir. They are professionals in every regard.” He glanced at the President, who nodded his agreement.
The Premier smiled when he realized the young man did not truly understand what was being asked of him. “Mr. Hardy, I do not need to know their qualifications. I only need to know if you trust them, personally.”
Hardy shot back, “With my life, sir.”
The Premier pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s good enough for me, son. My wife and I are alive because of you. I will take your word that these people will do what you say they will do.” He addressed the President. “James, I will stay for the summit. I will also agree to this joint mission to find the traitor, Popovich.” He pivoted his head toward Natasha. “That is if you are feeling well enough to conduct a mission, Agent Volkov.”
“I am, sir.” New bolts of pain shot to her brain when she nodded, but she suppressed the discomfort.
The corner of the Premier’s mouth curled upward. He knew she was hurting. He also knew she was not going to let the pain dissuade her from her patriotic duty. The notion to send another agent with Hardy popped into his mind, but he quickly disregarded the idea. Hardy and Natasha had built a strong bond. Another agent would only complicate the mission. He let Natasha have the final say, and nodded his head before turning toward the President and raising his eyebrows. It was now the American leader’s decision.
“It’s settled then. Agents Hardy and Volkov, you have a ‘go.’”
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
The President gestured toward the door. “I will show you and your wife to my room. You can sleep there, tonight.” He acknowledged Natasha. “Agent Volkov…” He stopped short. “Natasha,” she smiled at his verbal slip, “would you be willing to share a room with my daughter, until we can make better accommodations for you?”
“I wouldn’t mind at all, sir. She’s a terrific kid.”
“If you and your wife,” said the President, “will follow me, I will—”
The Premier raised his index finger. “James, I would like a moment alone with my agent, please.”
The President escorted the man’s wife and Hardy out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The Premier stared at the floor for several moments, occasionally glancing at the dead man to his left. When he focused on Natasha, his eyes bore a hole through her skull.
Seeing the fire in his eyes, she was unsure what he was going to say, and was growing more uneasy, while the seconds passed. This is worse than being crushed by Agent Fuller.
The Premier folded his hands behind his back. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows lurched downward. “Agent Volkov, this has gone far enough. Tonight, my wife’s life was put in jeopardy. Popovich was able to smuggle one of his men onto my security detail. That man nearly killed her.” The gravity of his words hit him. I almost lost my wife. Blinking his eyes several times, he refocused his thoughts. “When you land in Moscow, get your team together. I want all of you working on this. This situation must be resolved. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Natasha.
His head down, he glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye. “Agent Volkov, I’m authorizing the Nemesis Protocol. You’ll have the full resources of the government at your disposal. I’ll contact the director of the FSB and you’ll coordinate your requests through him.”
Natasha was silent, his words resounding in her mind. This was the first time the Nemesis Protocol had been activated, having been created only a few months ago.
At this moment, she was the most powerful government agent in her country—nothing would be denied her or her team. As realization of the power she held washed over her, she felt an equally strong responsibility to use that power for the good of her nation. “Just so I understand you, sir, what are the operational parameters?”
“All options are in play. I will stand behind whatever decisions you make. You have absolute authority.” He approached and stood in front of her. “I have complete faith in you, Agent Volkov. You’ve proven your devotion to your country. When law enforcement was hunting you for false crimes, your allegiance never wavered. I’m confident you will make good decisions.” He gestured toward the door. “In case I don’t see you before you leave for Moscow, good luck, Natasha. Make Mother Russia proud.”
“Thank you, sir. I will.” She left the inner bedchamber and crossed the main part of the bedroom. Striding down the hallway, her mind was already making plans. She and her team had been training hard for this moment. Months of hard work and preparation were going to be put to the test. Her team would be going operational. She thought about the implications of the Nemesis Protocol and working with an agent from another country. Hardy had been difficult to work with when she first met him. She chuckled. I guess I wasn’t the easiest either. A smile crossed her lips. I wonder how he’ll get along with my team.
Chapter 12: Leaving
Special Agent Cruz sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a black satin teddy with spaghetti straps and red lace ruffles around the cups. The hem of the teddy came to the middle of her thighs. Hardy sat next to her and explained what took place in the Premier’s room.
Cruz crossed her legs. “How were they able to get someone so close?”
“There was a last minute change in personnel and the man who took Demitry’s place—the man who was murdered—was not properly vetted.” Hardy rubbed his face before transitioning to his eyes.
“It must have been a terrifying experience for his wife. How’s she doing?”
He massaged his temples and winced. “She seems to be okay. The President has them staying in his room for now.”
“So, what happens next? Is someone going after this Popovich?”
Hardy winced again. That was the question he had been waiting for and dreading. He put his left hand on her thigh before standing and taking a couple of steps away from the bed.
Cruz saw the mood change. It was subtle, but she noticed it. He was becoming more and more distant and standing with his back to her. From the earliest stages of their relationship, she had detected that he seemed to separate himself from her before a mission. She already knew the answer to her next question. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re leaving to go find him.”
Planting his hands on his hips, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. He nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted this to be the vacation we didn’t get in September.” He paused, feeling an icy glare at his back. “This mission is extremely important in proving our two countries are capable of cooperating on a larger scale to fight terrorism.” Unaware, his tone had become robotic. He stared straight ahead. “The main objective of my position with the U.S. Government has always been and still is—” a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and squeezed, stopping him in mid-sentence.
Cruz had come up from behind him. She pressed her right ear against his back, straining to hear his heartbeat.
Realizing he had misjudged her temperament, Hardy crossed his arms in front of his body, overlapping her arms. He hated doing this to her—leaving and travelling to another part of the world, where dangerous men would be trying to kill him. The only thing he hated more was his actions toward her. He pushed her away. His behavior had become so automatic that he sometimes never realized he was doing it.
There was always a chance he might not return. In his mind, he had replayed the images of Cruz’s reaction to the news of his death. He had conditioned his mind to keep those images at bay. His actions were a defense mechanism that shielded him from his emotions, allowing him to focus on the mission. Sometimes, he felt like that was an excuse for not wanting to confront the issue.
She buried her nose between his shoulder blades. “You’ve,” her words were muffled, “got to stop doing this.”
For a moment, he believed she had read his thoughts.
“I know what you do for a living. Your job is dangerous and it requires you to travel to far away parts of the world. We’re going to be separated from each other for long periods. I understand that. I work in a dangerous field, too. I can handle it.”
Hardy closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He felt her slowly slipping past his self-imposed emotional barrier.
“What I can’t handle is being separated from you when you are standing next to me.” She squeezed tighter. “Please, don’t try to protect me by shutting me out of your life.”
Hardy lifted his left arm and spun around to face her. She never released her grip, so his dress shirt twisted and the tails slipped out of his pants. Putting his arms around her bare shoulders, he held her as tight as she held him. He submerged his nose into her hair and kissed her head before taking a deep breath. Strawberries.
Cruz had been waiting for a verbal acknowledgment from Hardy. Feeling the warmth of his breath, his arms around her shoulders and his hands sliding over the smooth material of her teddy—his fingers occasionally slipping under the straps—she smiled and closed her eyes, determined to enjoy the reply for as long as possible. Unfortunately, ‘as long as possible’ only lasted a few minutes.
Hardy cupped her shoulders and pushed her upper body away.
She tilted her head backward.
He stared into her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I need to go. I’m meeting with Agent Volkov. We have to start planning our mission to Russia.” In his hands, Cruz’s muscles flexed.
He’s leaving me for another woman. Her thoughts were irrational, but they captured her emotions. Her stomach flopped, as feelings of insecurity wormed back into her heart.
Fifteen minutes later…
Hardy slowly shook his head and sighed loud enough to hurt his ears. “Cruz, there’s nothing going on between Natasha and me. We’re colleagues and friends, nothing more.” He turned away and put his hands on his head, fingers interlocked. He was late for the meeting with Natasha.
For the past fifteen minutes, Hardy and Cruz had been arguing over the mission to find General Popovich. Even though she had not directly said so, her words and actions made it clear she was jealous he was going to be with Natasha, whom Cruz now knew was an attractive woman.
“Natasha?” said Cruz, her voice rising. “What happened to Agent Volkov?”
His back to her, Hardy closed his eyes and tilted his head backward. “She prefers Natasha to Agent Volkov. That’s all. She even asked the President to call her by her first…I’m sorry, but I need to go.” He opened the door and turned to face her, one hand on the doorknob. “I don’t know what else to say. There’s nothing between Natasha and me, except business. I…” He let go of the doorknob and pointed. “I love you, Cruz. I’ve told you that many times. I…I don’t know what else to say to make you believe it.”
A few seconds passed. He took in the lines of her figure and the features of her face. She was beautiful. She shifted her body weight from one foot to the other, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her long brown hair came forward over her left shoulder and stopped in the crook of her elbow, covering part of the cup of the teddy. He wanted to stay and spend more time with her, but he had a job to do. He waited a few moments before slowly backing out of the room and closing the door.
Chapter 13: General
Thursday, 6:02 a.m.; near the border between Russia and Ukraine
General Popovich, fifty-seven-years-old, his hair gray and receding to the top of his head, lay awake in bed. He checked the time on his cell phone for the sixth time in the last five minutes. He stroked the thick mustache covering his upper lip before inserting a thumb into the nost
ril of his large bulbous, heavily pockmarked nose. Removing the thumb, he flicked his fingers and slid his hand under his head, fingers intertwining. On his back and covered by a sheet, his large, rounded belly mimicked a camel’s hump.
General Popovich had been the head of the Premier’s security team. Prior to accepting the job, he was a high-ranking member of the KGB, Russia’s intelligence agency, until its breakup in 1991. He continued to serve in the intelligence arena as an FSB agent, until his departure five years ago. Three years later, the Premier had asked him to come out of retirement and lead the Russian leader’s security team. After a failed attempt to kill the Premier, Popovich had been forced to flee Moscow.
The General was a hardliner, who longed for the days when Russia had been a superpower. His country had been feared and respected by other nations. Russian citizens had been proud and could hold their heads high. Now, Russia had become weak. Western culture had invaded its borders, bringing decadence and decay with it. Biding his time, Popovich had waited for the right time to strike back and regain control of his beloved Mother Russia.
Checking the cell phone again, he thought about the man whom he had sent to infiltrate the Premier’s security detail. He should have called by now. He was getting concerned that something may have gone wrong. He dismissed the thought. Nothing went wrong. The assassin was to wait until the Premier went to bed, sneak into his room and kill him and his wife. Getting out and back to Moscow was going to be the difficult part, but Popovich did not care about that. As long as his friend, Yuri, was dead, that was all that mattered. With the Premier out of the way, Popovich could begin the second phase of his plan to take control of Russia. Popovich’s body jostled when the woman lying next to him rolled over, taking the bed sheet with her, pulling it halfway off his body. He had been so focused on the call that he had forgotten about her.