The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Hardy acknowledged the homeowner. “On krasivoye zhivotnoye. Kak yego zovut – He’s a beautiful animal. What’s his name?”

  “Medved,” replied Denikin.

  “Bear,” said Hardy, repeating the dog’s name, in English.

  “Ty govorish' po-russki – You speak Russian?”

  “YA tol'ko uchus' – I’m just learning.” Hardy stood and faced the general, continuing to pet Bear.

  The general came up from behind Medved, wrapped his arms around the dog and tossed the animal from side to side. The dog loved it, turning its head around and trying to get a playful bite of its master. “Then, we shall use your native language, which is English, I presume. You’re American, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Hardy. The two men shook hands. “Aaron Hardy—Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, and so late at night.”

  Denikin nodded his head. “Do you like dogs, Mr. Hardy?”

  Hardy’s attention went to Medved. “I like shepherds. My parents owned them when I was a kid and I’ve worked with them in the military.”

  “That explains how you were able to get so close to Medved. Most people would not have even thought about petting him.”

  “In my experience, I’ve learned two things are critical when dealing with shepherds.” Hardy held up an index finger. “One, show no fear. Show the animal that you are in command, and he will respect you.”

  Denikin nodded his head. “And, what is the second?”

  “You have to respect the animal as well.” Hardy leaned over and stroked the fur on Medved’s back and shoulders. “You have to respect its power and appreciate its beauty.” He stood straight and added, “Mutual respect.”

  Denikin smiled, tapped his nose with a forefinger and pointed at Hardy. “One hundred percent correct, Mr. Hardy. You are one hundred percent correct.” He glanced at Natasha before turning back to his male guest. “It is nice to find a person who shares my affinity for this amazing breed of dog.” He smacked Hardy on the shoulder on his way to greet Natasha. “Agent Volkov, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gave her a polite hug and kissed her once on both cheeks.

  She smiled. “Thank you, but the pleasure is all mine, sir. I would also like to thank you for your time. I wish it could have waited until morning, but I’m afraid it cannot.”

  The man waved one of his python-like arms toward the room from which he had come. “If you will follow me, we can get down to business.”

  Denikin led them into a room adorned with books from floor to ceiling on three of the four walls. The bookshelves were gorgeous—dark mahogany with ornate trim. A large bearskin rug was in the middle of the room, a couch to the left. On the far and near end of a small wooden coffee table, which sat on the rug, was a fabric chair. Denikin invited them to sit on the couch before he walked to a modest bar that contained different kinds of alcohol, the primary spirit being vodka.

  His back to his guests, he opened a glass lid. “Can I get either of you a drink?”

  Hardy sat. “No thank you, sir.”

  Natasha sat to the right of Hardy and jabbed him with her elbow. “We’ll both have vodka, sir.”

  Hardy turned toward her, his eyebrows furled downward. “What are you doing?”

  She leaned into him. “It’s the polite thing to do,” she whispered. “You don’t have to drink all of it. Just take small sips.”

  The general spun around, smiling. Though he could not hear her, he knew Natasha was educating the American. After handing each of them a small glass, he retrieved his from the bar and sat in the chair on the far side of the bearskin rug, and crossed his legs. He pointed with his chin at the dog that had followed everyone into the room. “I know you did not come here just to play with Medved.”

  Hardy glimpsed the dog at Natasha’s feet, its chin lying on the head of the bearskin rug, its eyes rolled backward toward Hardy. Natasha leaned forward and ran her hand along the right side of the animal. The humor of the dog named ‘Bear’ resting its head on the bear’s head was not lost on Hardy, who smiled and chuckled.

  Chapter 20: Prostitutes

  Natasha leaned back and told General Denikin the reason for the meeting, explaining everything that had taken place, starting with the discovery of Dmitry’s body. She took a tiny sip from her glass. “We would appreciate any assistance you can provide, General.”

  Denikin tipped his glass back and finished the drink in one gulp. Rising from the chair, he poured himself another shot of vodka. He took extra time preparing it, mulling over the details Natasha had shared. He returned, but remained standing, gaping at her. “What have you done so far to locate the good general?”

  “Over the past four-and-a-half months, I’ve exhausted every legal means possible to find him. I haven’t been able to come up with a single lead.” She was going to continue, but stopped when she saw Denikin motioning toward her with his glass.

  “That may be it.” Sitting, he sighed. “Popovich is clever and has a lot of friends. I’m sure he was out of the country within twenty-four hours of the bomb going off in St. Petersburg—once he found out the Premier wasn’t killed, that is.” St. Petersburg was where the assassination attempt had occurred. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s hiding out in a neighboring country, just over the Russian border.”

  Hardy shifted in the couch. “Why do you say that?”

  “As I said, the man is clever, has a lot of friends and money and…he likes the ladies.”

  Hardy glanced at Natasha. “Excuse me, sir.”

  “Years ago, when Popovich and I worked together, he showed a real appetite for…” Denikin glimpsed Natasha, “pardon me,” and turned toward Hardy, “whores, prostitutes, women of the night. In fact, I told him that as smart as he was, his sexual desires were going to be the death of him. Of course, I was referring to him contracting a disease and dying.” Denikin took a drink. “Now, I think his sexual excesses may serve to reveal his location and help,” he pointed, “the two of you catch him.”

  “I’m still not following you, sir.” Hardy leaned forward and placed the shot glass on the coffee table before resting his forearms on his thighs. He liked what he was hearing, but he needed clarification. “How are prostitutes going to help us catch him?”

  “Popovich doesn’t just like ordinary women. He likes the high-class, upscale women that only those in organized crime can provide. Wherever he is, I can almost guarantee he is not far from access to such women. If you want to find him, then you’re going to have to…as you say in America…‘smoke him out.’”

  “How do we do that?” Natasha set her glass next to Hardy’s.

  “Well, you said you’ve exhausted all your legal means to find him. Now, you have to employ the illegal ones.” The general smiled before he finished his drink and placed it on the coffee table. The glass hit the table hard enough to cause Medved to jump. The dog’s ears shot up and rotated toward the noise.

  “I don’t—”

  “We put the word out,” Hardy eyed Denikin, “and a picture of Popovich to all the prostitution rings in the country, asking if they’ve seen the man. If what you say is true, then some girl, somewhere,” Denikin smiled at Hardy, “is going to recognize him. More importantly, she’s going to be able to tell us where she was with him…in essence, smoking him out.”

  The general nodded and stood. “And, I can help you get started.” He went to his desk and scribbled on a note pad. “I know some men who deal in various illegal activities; one of them being the sex business.” Returning, he handed Natasha a piece of paper; two names and two addresses were written on it. “I’ll put in a call and tell them to be expecting you. When it comes to prostitution,” he pointed at the paper, “those two control most of the southern half of the country. Tell them you’re looking for Popovich and they’ll ask their girls if they’ve seen him.”

  Natasha stood. “Thank you, sir.”

  Hardy rose to his feet and shook hands with Denikin. “Thank you, sir.”

 
; The general said farewell to Natasha in the same manner he had greeted her—a polite hug and a peck on each cheek.

  Hardy and Natasha said their ‘goodbyes’ to Medved and walked toward the door.

  “I knew your father, Natasha. He was a fine man. It’s a shame what happened to him. You have my condolences.”

  Natasha spun around. “Thank you.”

  “I can see in your eyes that you have his spirit. He was very passionate about everything he did, especially when it came to his country. When this is all over—and you’ve caught that s.o.b., Popovich—maybe you and Mr. Hardy can visit Medved,” the general patted the dog before glancing up at Natasha, “and, I can tell you more about your father.”

  She smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

  …………………………

  Making her way to the vehicle, Natasha had her cell phone out, dialing Mika’s mobile. Two guards opened the front doors of the Patriot, and Hardy and Natasha climbed inside. As the door slammed shut, Natasha heard Mika’s voice. “Mika, I want you to contact the director and have him start circulating Popovich’s picture to every law enforcement agency in the country. I don’t care how small the town. If there’s a police presence there, I want them to have the picture.” She listened to Mika for a few seconds before shaking her head. “This time, it’s different. I want the police to talk to every prostitute in the area…yes, prostitutes. They are to show them the picture of Popovich and ask if the women have seen this man. If they have, we need to know where and when?” Natasha paused. “Good…I want you to run point on this, Mika. Hardy and I are going to be checking on some leads General Denikin gave us. Call me, if you get anything.” Natasha ended her call and started the Patriot. Driving away from the mansion, she glanced at Hardy, who had his phone pressed to his ear. “Who are you calling?”

  “Someone,” he stared straight ahead, “who’s extremely talented when it comes to computers. While we’re working the illegal angles, I want Cherry to see if she can find any properties that Popovich might own in other countries.”

  Natasha shot him a look. “Cherry? Is that for real?”

  Charity Sinclair—her family and close friends called her Cherry—was an information specialist, located in Washington, D.C. She was highly skilled in all areas related to computers. She began working with Hardy almost three months ago. It was her job to provide the necessary technical details of each mission and assist him when it came to intelligence and technology. She and Hardy had clashed in the early stages of their working relationship, due to his belief she was too young and inexperienced. Gradually, she proved she could not only do the job, but could excel at it, helping to save his life on two occasions.

  Hardy glanced at Natasha. “It’s a nickname. Her real name is Charity.”

  “Anyway,” Natasha steered the vehicle into traffic, “I’ve already looked into Popovich’s legal property holdings. They’re dead-ends. I’ve still got people watching them, in case he makes an appearance at one.”

  “I realize that, but it can’t hurt to have another set of eyes looking at this, can it? Cherry is great at this computer stuff. If there—” Hardy heard Charity’s voice. “Cherry, it’s Hardy. General—” he turned to Natasha, “What the hell is Popovich’s first name, anyways?”

  Grinning, Natasha said, “Alexander.”

  “General Alexander Popovich,” Hardy spelled the last name, “Find everything you can on him. Check his bank accounts, his financial holdings, his investment properties…hell, even his Internet usage…everything you can get your hands on, I want it. And, pay special attention to any properties he may have in countries that border with Russia.”

  Charity wrote the name on a pad of paper. “How soon do you need this?”

  Hardy smiled.

  She heard the gesture through the mobile. “Oh, let me guess…you want it yesterday, or last week.”

  “You’re the best, Cherry. Contact me ASAP, if you find anything suspicious.”

  She knew the routine well enough, but played along. “I’ll get on it right away and let you know if I find something.”

  “Thanks, Cherry.” He disconnected the call and stuffed the cell into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

  Chapter 21: Coffee

  Friday, 3:51 a.m.; Moscow, Russia

  Hardy and Natasha had spent more than six hours driving to the two locations General Denikin had provided, talking with the two Russian Mafia crime bosses. Though neither man was particularly pleased to be cooperating with an FSB agent, let alone an American agent, each man pledged to do what he could to find out if any of their girls had seen Popovich. The actual meeting with the crime bosses lasted less than ten minutes. Frustrated and tired from driving, Hardy and Natasha drove back to the safe house, stopping once to fill the SUV’s gas tank and grab some food and drinks.

  Arriving at the safe house, Natasha backed the SUV next to the closed garage door. Lights were on in the main living area of the house. She had no doubt Mika and Romana had been working ceaselessly, only taking breaks to get coffee and to use the facilities.

  When they were not working, Mika and Romana were two of the most fun-loving people to be around when you wanted to relax and unwind. Romana was quick-witted and talkative. She loved to laugh and had a sharp tongue she used to poke fun at people, good-naturedly. No one was safe from her teasing. Conversely, Mika was more reserved, almost shy. She spoke very little, except when she was around people she knew and trusted. Having a wild side to her personality, however, once she relaxed and let her guard down, she was electrifying. The things she said and did were usually over the top and very dramatic. In fact, if both Romana and Mika were ‘on’ at the same time, everyone else usually sat back and enjoyed the show.

  When they were working, however, they threw themselves into the assignment and their focus never wavered. Natasha loved that quality about them. They had the ability to go from serious to relaxed, in a heartbeat. Secretly, she wished she possessed that quality, too.

  Hardy and Natasha got out of the vehicle and entered the garage through a side door. In the living room, they were greeted with the look of a small command center. Mika and Romana had emptied Hardy’s Storm Cases and put the computer equipment on the table, adding a couple of internet-based desk phones, which made their cell phones available for other uses. Mika was talking on one of the desk phones and Romana was sitting in the rocking chair by the fireplace, staring at a laptop computer.

  Not looking away from the screen, Romana pointed toward the end table to the right of the couch. “Coffee,” she said. She had seen the backup lights from Natasha’s SUV and poured two cups.

  Hardy and Natasha took off their coats and threw them over the back of the couch. He handed one cup to her before taking several small sips from the other one—hot and delicious. The only good quality about the coffee they had bought on the way was that it kept them awake.

  Natasha took a drink. “Romana, you’re an angel.”

  Mika finished her call and stood, facing the two newcomers. She had changed out of her dress and boots and was wearing blue jeans, a Moscow State University sweatshirt and black, chunky one-inch high heels. She spied the coffee cups and looked at Romana, who was engrossed in her work. She raised her hands. “Where’s mine?”

  Natasha held out her mug. “Did we get anything, yet?”

  Mika received the cup with both hands and took a drink. “No,” she shook her head, “There was a couple of promising tips, but after speaking with the police officers and the women, the stories fell apart.” She took another sip and handed the brew to Natasha. “How’d your trip go?”

  “All I can say…” Trying to hold back a yawn, Natasha finally succumbed to it.

  Hardy held out his hands, palm up. “We came up empty. The men said they would do their best to get Popovich’s picture in front of their girls.” He walked around the end table—setting his cup on it as he passed—and sat, letting out a long sigh. “I’m beginning to think this
plan of enlisting the help of the Russian Mafia is going to be a bust.” He tilted his head back and rested it on the couch, rubbing his face as if he was washing it in the bathroom sink.

  Mika went from one to the other. They were acting like zombies. “Why don’t you two get some rest?” She gestured toward the second level. “There are a couple of beds upstairs.”

  Natasha shook her head, no.

  Mika knew Natasha, as the leader, felt the need to stay awake and continue working. Only a couple of months older than Mika, Natasha had always been someone Mika admired. When they were kids, Natasha had protected Mika at school, defending her from bigger girls, even a couple of boys, who thought they could have their way with her. Natasha had been a leader back then, just as she was now; however, even leaders had limits to what they could endure. At those moments, the people around them had to step forward and take control.

  “Come on,” Mika put a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, gently spinning her around and taking the coffee cup. “You need to get some sleep, in case anything happens and we need to move fast.” Natasha protested, but Mika cut her off. “Trust me, if something develops, I’ll come get you.”

  Natasha studied her friend. She’s right. I’m no good to anyone like this. “All right, all right,” she held up a hand, “I’ll lie down and rest for a few minutes.” Natasha ascended the stairs with Mika in tow. “The second,” she twisted her torso and pointed, “you hear anything; I want to know about it.”