The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Mika nodded, “You got it,” and coaxed Natasha up the steps.

  Romana had heard the conversations. To her, it was background noise. She was too focused on her laptop to join the talk. She had been reviewing the case files on the first assassination attempt on the Premier’s life, trying to find anything that may help in the search for Popovich. Her eyes were burned. She massaged them for almost a full minute before noticing she was alone with Hardy. In the dim light from the fire, she thought he was staring at the flames. Leaning to her left, she saw his eyes were closed and his chest was rhythmically rising and falling. She smiled, set the laptop beside the rocking chair and stood. Picking up a hand-crocheted blanket from the arm of the couch, she unfolded the afghan and grinned. He’ll love seeing that when he wakes up. She covered him with the blanket, emblazoned with the emblem of the Russian Federation. She grabbed her phone, her fun-loving and playful side wanting to snap a picture. Holding up the mobile—her thumb hovering over the red icon—she adjusted his frame on the screen. After pausing a few moments, she stowed the cell, without taking the shot. I don’t know him well enough, yet. Spying the coffee cup to his right, she grabbed it, took a sip and made her way to the bathroom.

  Chapter 22: Marta

  6:43 a.m.; Bryansk, Russia

  Twenty-three-year-old Marta checked her appearance in the hall mirror one more time. Turning her head to the left, she pulled back her hair and examined her work. She had spent a long time applying makeup to the appropriate areas of her face and neck, covering the bruises. She was especially pleased with her efforts on her black eye. It’s passable. She ran her fingers through her hair, wincing when she raised the arm. The pain was so intense she lost her breath. Fortunately, Marta only had to conceal the bruises on her face. She did not have enough makeup for the more severe marks on her body. Clothing could hide those reminders of the nightmare.

  Marta approached an office door and rapped on it with her knuckles. A woman’s voice replied and Marta walked into the office and closed the door behind her. She stopped at a desk. A woman in her fifties sat on the other side, writing on a piece of paper, periodically punching the keys on a calculator.

  “YA budu s vami vsego za minute – I’ll be with you in just a minute,” said the woman.

  Marta shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Pain from her right hip sent a shockwave to her brain and her face contorted. Instinctively, her right hand clutched at the source of the discomfort. Another minute passed, while Marta glanced at the woman’s desk and the items that lay on it. She caught a glimpse of something and shifted her weight back to her left foot to get a better view. When she did, her eyes bulged and her body froze.

  The woman pressed the ‘enter’ key on the calculator, wrote a few numbers on the paper and dropped the pen onto the desk. Leaning back and looking at Marta, the woman said, “Itak, chto ya mogu sdelat' dlya vas, Marta – So, what can I do for you, Marta?” Not getting a reply, the woman said, “Marta?” She stared at the girl, who appeared to be in a trance, mesmerized with something on the desk, her body trembling. The woman called Marta’s name one more time before following Marta’s gaze. Thinking she knew what the girl was staring at, the woman picked up a photo of a man and moved the image in front of her. Marta’s eyes never strayed from the photo, but followed it wherever the woman moved it. “Pogovori so mnoy, Marta. Chto eto – Talk to me, Marta. What is it?”

  Chapter 23: Poor Girl

  9:45 a.m.; Eastern part of the Bryansky District, Bryansk, Russia

  Before the wheels of the black SUV had rolled to a stop, Hardy’s right foot was reaching for the concrete. Closing the door, he cranked his head back, viewing the three-story faded brick structure in front of him. The building appeared as if it had served as a hotel at one time. He saw Natasha enter into his left-side peripheral view. “So, this is the place, huh?”

  Natasha had awakened Hardy at a little past seven o’clock. She had received a call from Vladimir, one of the Mafia crime bosses they had met with a few hours earlier. A Madame had called Vladimir and said one of her girls recognized Popovich’s photo.

  Less than an hour later, Hardy, Natasha, Mika and Romana were aboard a Kamov Ka-60 helicopter, taking off from Vnukovo International Airport, in Moscow, heading for Bryansk. In addition to its passengers, the Kamov was carrying several of the Storm Cases. Hardy had insisted on bringing the weapons, ammunition and tactical gear, in case they found Popovich and needed to mount an assault. Romana and Mika each had grabbed a laptop computer.

  With the pilot of the Kamov maintaining almost maximum speed, the flight to Bryansk International Airport took a little more than an hour. As soon as the helicopter had landed, its passengers quickly loaded the gear into a waiting four-door, four-wheel-drive sport utility vehicle before speeding toward their destination in the Bryansky District.

  “This is it.” Natasha hurried toward the front door and pushed the doorbell before sticking her chin out at Mika and Romana. “Stay with the vehicle.” She scanned the immediate area. “This neighborhood is not the best and I don’t want our cargo to come up missing.”

  Mika and Romana affirmed her order and returned to the SUV.

  Natasha stretched out her finger toward the button, but the door opened and a man in a black suit and tie appeared. After confirming who the visitors were, he escorted them to a hallway and asked them to wait. He disappeared into a nearby room and after a few seconds, re-emerged and motioned for them to enter.

  Entering the room, Hardy and Natasha saw a woman seated behind an old wooden desk. She said something to the man and waved him away. He left and closed the door.

  Hardy studied the woman, whom he assumed was the Madame. She was not more than fifty-five and, from what he could glean from the visible part of her body, in decent physical shape. Her long black hair, however, suffered from a minor case of static cling. Several strands stuck out all over her head. She appeared to be attractive, but as he drew nearer, he could see her skin was wrinkled and weathered, having spent too much time in the sun over the past three decades. She was not unattractive, but the effects of time were clearly starting to show.

  Natasha did not waste any time. She spoke in her native language, conversing with the woman. Hardy tried to keep up with them, but his limited command of the Russian language, combined with the speed at which the women talked, made it impossible. Natasha faced Hardy and tilted her head toward the Madame. “One of her girls, Marta, recognized the photo of Popovich. She sent for the girl.”

  “Ask her if she knows where he is.”

  Natasha shook her head. “She doesn’t know the man, but she remembers when Marta returned one night about two weeks ago, beaten and bruised. She’s almost positive it was the same man.” The door opened. The man, who had escorted Hardy and Natasha into the room, came into view, followed by a young woman. “Get this,” continued Natasha. “The woman says the man’s been calling every couple of days, but she has refused to send him any more women.”

  Hardy raised his eyebrows, thinking of how that could be used to get to Popovich. His thoughts were interrupted when Natasha greeted the young girl, Marta. Her tone of voice and body language had changed from when she was speaking with the Madame. It was almost as if she was talking to a younger sister. After several minutes, Natasha patted Marta’s forearm before returning to him.

  “That poor girl,” Natasha glanced over her shoulder, “she’s been through hell.”

  Natasha was visibly disturbed. Hardy had a good idea of what had taken place, but he needed her to elaborate. “What happened?”

  “The man she was sent to…be with…for lack of a better way to put it, beat her during sex and then kicked her out of bed.” Natasha envisioned the scene and she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted him to pay for his crimes. She wanted him to pay the ultimate price.

  Hardy gaped at Natasha. One eye was almost shut and her jaw was set, the muscle near her earlobe pulsed. She was an emotional woman
, and he could imagine what was running through her mind. Trying to bring her focus back to the mission, he stepped into her line of sight. “Can she tell us where Popovich is hiding?”

  Natasha shook her head. “It was dark and she wasn’t really paying attention. Two men picked her up here and drove her to the destination. Afterward, the men brought her back. I’m sure she was in no condition for sight-seeing.”

  Hardy observed the Madame and the papers on the desk and gestured toward her. “Ask her if she has any record of the transaction.”

  “I did. All transactions are paid in rubles. I’m sure you can understand why. Since Marta was picked up and driven to the location, there’s no way of knowing where she was taken. Apparently, Popovich paid very well. Well enough that no questions were asked.”

  Looking at Marta, Hardy spoke to Natasha. “Does she remember which way?”

  Natasha flicked her eyes toward him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…does she remember the direction they went that night…east…west? Ask her.”

  After exchanging a few words with Marta, Natasha came back. “She thinks it was south on M3.”

  Hardy stood in front of Marta. “Skol'ko vremeni potrebuyetsya, chtoby dobrat'sya tuda – How long did it take to get there?”

  Marta rolled her eyes to the left then upward. “Men'she chasa – Less than an hour,” she said.

  “Budete li vy idti s nami i povtorit' privod – Will you come with us and retrace the drive?”

  Marta’s eyes widened and the color in her cheeks faded. Images of Popovich—and that night—flooded her mind. She took a step backward.

  Hardy took a step forward and held her upper arms. He looked into her eyes. In a soft and gentle voice, he said, “YA dayu vam slovo, - nichego ne sluchitsya s vami – I give you my word—nothing is going to happen to you.”

  Marta stared back at him, trying to decide if she could trust him. Her eyes shifted toward Natasha, who was behind him. Natasha gave the girl a slight nod.

  Hardy dipped his head to the left; Marta and he locked eyes. “Chto sluchilos' s vami ne sluchitsya s kem-libo yeshche. Pozhaluysta pomogite nam – What happened to you does not have to happen to anyone else. Please help us.”

  The girl did not want anyone else to experience what she had endured. Even though she was scared, she knew she had to help make that happen. She folded her hands around her nose and mouth; only her eyes were visible. After a few seconds, she closed them and nodded.

  Chapter 24: Road Trip

  Not wanting to lose any time and not exactly sure Marta would not change her mind, Hardy hurried everyone to the SUV—Natasha behind the wheel, Hardy in the front and Marta in the back, sitting between Mika and Romana. As they drove away, he checked the time on his phone. “Go the speed limit and in one hour we’ll mark the spot on the map.”

  An hour later, Marta had not seen the house. They continued for another twenty minutes before turning around and heading in the direction they had come. Three more times, they passed the one-hour point on the map, and Marta still had not seen anything. Complicating the matter, she had been up and down this road many times in her lifetime. She was very familiar with the area and nothing stood out as new.

  “All right, make one more pass and we’ll take Marta back.” Hardy’s phone rang. The name ‘Charity’ showed on the screen. “Please tell me you have some good news, Cherry.” He could not disguise the frustration, which bordered on the verge of anger, in his voice.

  Charity heard it, too, but she knew him well enough to know he was not upset with her. “I’m afraid not. I’ve gone over everything I could find on Alexander Popovich. He has several pieces of property in Russia, but none of them is hidden in any way. I’m sure the Russian authorities have scoured them already.”

  Hardy tilted his head back and groaned.

  “His financial records seem to be untouched in the last few months, which would make sense if he is trying to go undetected. He’s most likely paying for everything in hard currency.”

  “What about family and friends? Did you check their financial statements to see if anyone has made large withdrawals or consistent small ones?”

  “I did. Nothing stuck out.” She was quiet for a few moments. “I’m sorry, Hardy, but this guy has done a great job of covering his tracks. Unless you can give me some new information or a new direction in which to look, I’m at a loss for what to do next.”

  Hardy looked out the window. “We have a lead that’s brought us to Bryansk, Russia. Start there and see if you can find anything in the area, including nearby countries. Keep digging, Cherry, and call me if you come up with something, anything even remotely useful.” He disconnected the call.

  On the drive back to Bryansk, with Mika and Romana’s translation assistance, Hardy questioned Marta, trying to get her to remember where she had been taken that night—the house, turns the vehicle had made, sounds and noises along the way. The information Marta had provided did not narrow down the location. The situation was looking very similar to the proverbial ‘needle in a haystack.’

  “Spasibo, Marta. YA obeshchayu, chto vam ne pridetsya vernut'sya tuda snova – Thank you, Marta. I promise, you won’t have to go back there again.” Hardy faced forward and stared through the windshield. His mind was jumping around, recalling the meetings with General Denikin and the two Mafia crime bosses. What are we missing? He was confident Marta had been with Popovich and it had been somewhere close. It was clear, however, that Marta was not going to point them in the right direction. Plus, she wanted no part of him, ever again. Can’t blame her…I wouldn’t be surprised…His thoughts pivoted to something Natasha had said before they left the Madame’s office. He stared at Natasha out of the corner of his eye.

  She glanced his way. “What?”

  “I think I may have a way,” he cranked his head toward the backseat, “to get to Popovich.”

  Silence consumed the interior. “Are you going to tell us,” Natasha checked the rearview mirror, “or do we have to guess?”

  Hardy studied Mika and Romana, his eyes darting back and forth and up and down the length of their bodies.

  Romana raised her eyebrows, “Well,” feeling uneasy about the way he was eyeing her. The awkwardness faded. “No,” she shook her head, “No,” thinking she knew what he had in mind.

  “I’m not sure,” he made eye contact with Mika and Romana, “you’re going to like it, though.”

  Hardy outlined his plan during the rest of the drive to the Madame’s house. Less than enthusiastic, Romana was the first to voice her opinion, once Marta was out of earshot.

  “I say,” she grabbed the headrest and sat straight, “to hell with that. Is that what you think of us?” She followed up with a few choice words before Mika held up a hand.

  “Hold on, Romana.” Mika had been mulling over the plan. Between the two of them, Mika was calmer and quicker to analyze a situation. It was not that Romana was not intelligent. Her fiery passion, however, tended to be the first trait that rose to the surface.

  Romana shot her a look and jerked a thumb toward Hardy. “Are you actually considering this?” Mika looked at her. “We’d be unarmed with no backup.”

  Aware of her and Romana’s exceptional hand-to-hand combat skills, Mika held up a finger. “You know as well as I do, we’re never unarmed.”

  “Fine,” said Romana, not hiding her sarcasm. “We won’t be as well-armed. Is that better? Anyway, you know what I meant.”

  “This may be our only shot.” Mika contemplated the different scenarios that could happen and formulated quick contingency plans. “And,” she flicked her eyes toward Natasha and Hardy, “we wouldn’t be without backup.”

  Hardy kept quiet. He could not force either of them to go along with his idea. They were going to have to make that decision without him.

  After a few tense verbal exchanges with Mika, Romana focused her attention on Hardy. She poked a finger at him. “You better be right about this…and you better ha
ve our backs.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she knew little about this man, having met him only twelve hours ago. Natasha trusted him. On more than one occasion, he had saved her life; however, that was then and this is now. More importantly, the plan Hardy had proposed carried numerous risks. Even if she had known him better, she would not have been comfortable with her and Mika’s role in the mission. A slow sigh escaped her pursed lips. “All right, where do we start?”

  Chapter 25: Searched

  8:01 p.m.

  Mika and Romana stood in the entryway of the Madame’s house. Facing them were two burly men, rifling through the women’s clutch purses. Each man withdrew a cell phone and placed it on a small table. Mika and Romana protested, but the men simply grunted, “Net telefonov – No phones.” Handing back the purses, the men motioned for the women to take off their long, heavy wool overcoats. Mika and Romana unbuttoned and slid out of them. After the men had examined every pocket, inside and out, they tossed the coats on a nearby chair and stepped closer to the women. Ogling Romana, one man had a slight smile on his face. He was going to enjoy the next part of his job.

  The women had their long hair tied loosely at the back of their heads. Individual locks of hair hung near their ears. Mika and Romana had applied a lot of makeup, imitating the look of a genuine high-class prostitute. They were wearing extremely form-fitting sleeveless dresses with spaghetti straps and hems that barely covered their butts. Mika’s dress was black, while Romana’s was deep red. Each of them had on pumps that matched the color of the dress. The pumps had a strap that came over the top of the ankle and a stiletto heel that rose four inches above the floor.

  The men motioned for the women to raise their arms. They searched each woman’s body for weapons, taking extra time at the chest and thighs.