by Alex Ander
Burroughs got Jameson’s attention. “Who delivered the package?”
Jameson clicked the remote and a picture of a shabbily dressed man with a long beard appeared on the monitors. “Video cameras at the courier service show this man delivering the package to a woman behind the counter. Agents arrived and questioned all of the employees. One courier recognized the man and said he was homeless, living on the streets near the back door of the courier service.”
Gillespie grunted. “Have you found him, yet?”
Jameson nodded his head. “He told agents that a man dressed in black clothing approached him and offered five hundred dollars to take the package to the courier.”
Hardy swung his head around toward his boss. “Are there any more details about the man who gave him the money?”
“No, but we’re pouring over video footage of the area around the courier’s building. It’s possible the man wanted to make sure the package was delivered, and was somewhere nearby, watching.”
“Why does the name Anderson Cole sound familiar?” Hardy was scanning his memory for the answer.
Cruz joined the conversation. “Anderson Cole was the mastermind behind the mall massacre in Minnesota last year.” She shook her head. “It was the worst terrorist attack on American soil, since nine-eleven.” She leaned forward to look at Jameson. “If I’m not mistaken, that shooting took place on December 23rd, didn’t it?”
Jameson nodded. “Yes, the one year anniversary of that event is the same day they want Cole to be released.”
“Where’s Cole now?” asked Hardy.
“He’s being transferred to a secure location in D.C., in case we need him.”
Hardy gestured toward the paperwork in his hands. “We need to question him and see what he knows about this kidnapping.”
Overton spoke. “He’s been questioned about the mall shooting for months and has never given up any information on the people he was working with...We know he couldn’t have pulled off that attack without help. He lawyered up and has never said anything.” Overton shook his head. “I highly doubt he’ll give us anything on this.”
Jameson agreed. “Our agents have been grilling him, since we read the note from the package. So far, he’s been silent, only asking for his lawyer.”
Staring at the middle of the conference table, Hardy stated what he had been thinking. “Maybe it’s time to try a different approach with Mr. Cole.”
The President leaned forward. “What are you proposing, Agent Hardy?”
Chapter 5: Football
The President’s Chief of Staff had been quiet during the meeting. His silence matched his personality. Peter Whittaker had a calm and mild-mannered disposition, speaking when it was necessary. Having grown up in Massachusetts, he had an Ivy League accent. Normally, his words were carefully chosen. The plan Hardy had put forth made Whittaker almost leap out of his chair. “This is ludicrous, Mr. President. If you agree to this, and the press gets wind of it, you’ll be committing political suicide, not to mention opening yourself up to a potential criminal indictment.” Whittaker locked eyes with Hardy. “What the hell are you thinking, suggesting something like that?”
Hardy had had several meetings with the President that included Whittaker. Hardy had never been able to ascertain Whittaker’s feelings toward him. The man was extremely difficult to read; however, his outburst left no doubts about his feelings for the plan.
Gillespie gave his opinion. “I agree. While I’m not so sure you could be criminally indicted, a sitting President involved in this would be detrimental to your future as the leader of this country.”
As the Vice President weighed in on the matter, siding with Whittaker and Gillespie, Hardy leaned back in his chair, listening to the debate. He felt his pulse quickening and the muscles in his chest and arms tighten. The more he heard, the angrier he became, until he could listen no more.
Gillespie began another round of advising the President. “Mr. President, we need to—”
“What we need,” said Hardy, his voice rising, while he stood, “is to stop playing this damn game of politics. Abby is no football to be tossed around for political reasons. She’s a scared teenager and the daughter of the President of the United States…and has no idea where she is or what has happened to her.” Fixing his gaze on Gillespie, Hardy continued his rant. “While you people want to sit around and strategize about the President’s future, that little girl is living in God only knows what kind of hell hole, wondering if she’ll ever see her family again.” He pivoted toward the President, anger in his voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but you cannot just sit here and do nothing.”
Jameson knew Hardy was about to cross a line with the President. He jumped in to save his agent from making a big mistake. Raising his voice, he scolded his agent. “That’s enough, Agent Hardy. Sit down, now.”
Either he did not hear Jameson or he did not care. Hardy addressed the Commander-in-Chief. “Abby’s life is on the line. That means all options to get her back home are on the table. Your political ambitions need to come second to your responsibilities as a father.”
“Agent Hardy,” shouted Jameson.
“You had a reason for wanting me to be at this meeting, sir.” Hardy pointed at the table. “Maybe that reason is to counter the advice of those who are only thinking of Abby as another victim, and not your daughter.
Jameson was about to stand and physical restrain Hardy when the President spoke.
“Thank you for your opinion, Agent Hardy.” He motioned toward the door. “I’d like you and Agent Cruz to excuse yourselves.”
Special Agent Cruz stood, but Hardy protested.
“Sir, did you—”
Cruz grabbed Hardy’s left upper arm and squeezed as hard as she could, trying to get his attention. “Yes, Mr. President.” She tugged and pinched Hardy’s arm, while she headed toward the door.
Hardy whipped his head toward the source of pain before lifting his eyes to see her. He whirled his head back toward the President. He had more to say, but he realized, perhaps a little too late, he had said too much.
Cruz never let go of Hardy’s arm, until they were out of the Situation Room and the door was closed behind them.
Chapter 6: First Lady
Special Agent Cruz pointed toward the Situation Room. “Obviously, I’ve never attended one those meetings before, but I’m pretty sure when the President wants you to leave the room…that’s not the time to voice your concerns.”
Hardy glanced at the door. She was right. He had let his emotions get the better of him. He was right to be upset over how the President’s advisors were handling the situation with Abigail; however, Hardy should have controlled his anger. He nodded at Cruz. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
“So, what do we do now?” She held up her hands, palms up. “Do we stay here and wait for them to finish, or…”
Hardy was looking over her right shoulder, while she spoke. He spotted the President’s wife sitting in a chair in the lobby. He pointed toward her. “For starters, let’s go see how she’s doing.” He slipped past Cruz and moved into the lobby.
Leaving the open chair next to the President’s wife for Cruz, who side stepped him and sat in it, Hardy greeted the First Lady. “Mrs. Conklin, I’m sorry that this has happened to your daughter. How are you doing? Is there anything we can get you?”
Wearing a black knee-length skirt, low-heeled black pumps and a white blouse under a gray sweater, Mrs. Conklin lifted her head. Her eyes were red. Locks of her wavy shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair crossed in front of her left eye. She clutched a crumpled tissue in her right hand. With her other hand, she pushed back the distracting strands of hair. Dabbing her eyes with the tissue, she managed a thin smile. “Thank you, Aaron. I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need anything.”
Cruz laid her hand on the woman’s left forearm.
Mrs. Conklin quickly covered Cruz’s hand, patting it a couple of times. “You know, James a
nd I were against her going on this trip by herself. Even though she’s the daughter of a President, she’s still just a teenager. And, teenagers grow up and need to express their…” the woman’s voice cracked and she touched the tissue to her eyes again before finishing her sentence, “independence.”
Cruz wrapped her right arm around Mrs. Conklin’s shoulders and the woman leaned into the FBI agent. Mrs. Conklin’s shoulders rose and fell slightly, while she wiped her eyes.
Hardy felt a lump in his throat and fought to hold back his own tears. He did not know what she was experiencing, since he did not have any children. He did know what it felt like to lose people close to him, however. He could imagine it must be ten times worse when the loved one was your child. Hardy went to one knee in front of the President’s wife. “Ma’am, I promise you I will find Abby and bring to justice those who took her.”
Mrs. Conklin straightened in her chair, hearing the determination in his words. She knew every law enforcement officer in the United States Government was doing everything in his or her power to recover her daughter. It was admirable that the agent in front of her thought he was going to be the one to accomplish the task. She cupped the left side of his face with her hand. “Thank you, Aaron. But, you shouldn’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”
Hardy removed her hand from his face and held it between his hands. He let his eyes bear down on her for a few moments before he spoke, his voice deep. “I never do, Ma’am.”
The First Lady smiled, drew him closer and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going to hold you to that young man.”
Hardy smiled and nodded. He was going to speak, but stopped when the door to the Situation Room swung open and the Vice President, Secretary of Homeland Security and the Director of National Intelligence appeared, walking toward the trio in the lobby. Hardy cranked his head around and watched the men. He saw Secretary Gillespie, glaring and making a beeline for him. When the Secretary saw the First Lady come into view, he subtly changed his course and continued walking with the others, until they were through the lobby and out of sight. Hardy glanced at Cruz. The look on her face told him she had noticed the nonverbal exchange between the two men. Hardy let go of Mrs. Conklin’s hand and stood.
Jameson had been a step behind the three men. He approached, shifted his eyes from Cruz to Hardy and gestured that he wanted a moment with the First Lady.
As Hardy and Cruz walked away, they heard Jameson behind them. “Words cannot express my deepest apology…” Heading back toward the Situation Room, they almost bumped into the Director of the Secret Service, who was coming through the open door to the lobby. She took a quick step backward and a few of the papers she was carrying fell to the floor.
“Excuse me, Director Burroughs.” Hardy bent over and scooped up the loose papers. He stood and handed them to her.
“Thank you.” Burroughs took the papers and slipped them inside a folder.
Feeling uneasy and not knowing what to say, Hardy took a small step backward and motioned for her to pass in front of him.
Burroughs stole a quick look toward the lobby before bringing her attention back to Hardy. “Thank you for the information about the ski run, Agent Hardy. That information was either overlooked or not known. I want you to know that I’ll be following up on that with my people.”
Hardy nodded his head slightly and watched Burroughs tilt her head toward the Situation Room and continue speaking.
“About what happened in there, don’t take it personally. Secretary Gillespie—and all of us in the Secret Service—have been on edge, since Abigail was taken.”
Hardy let a puff of air slip past his lips. “Well, I don’t think I made a very good first impression on him.”
A thin smile formed on Burroughs face. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve been on the receiving end of a few verbal reprimands from him. He’s a good man and doesn’t seem to hold a grudge.” She leaned closer to Hardy. “Between the two of us, you were not alone in your thoughts on the political situation. You were the only one who had the guts to say it, however.” She chuckled before adding, “Or the stupidity to say it.”
Had it not been for the gravity of the situation, Hardy would have laughed at the woman’s sense of humor. Instead, he simply pursed his lips and nodded his head in agreement.
Burroughs looked over Hardy’s shoulder and saw Jameson ending his conversation with the First Lady and walking toward the three of them. “Listen, if you get any new information, I’d appreciate a call. I’ll do the same.”
“Of course,” replied Hardy, sensing a presence next to him. He spun his head and saw Jameson.
“It was good seeing you again, Janet.” Jameson’s eyes darted the full length of her body.
She gave him a warm and friendly smile, while her eyes never strayed from his face. “Likewise; I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
Jameson agreed. A few seconds passed. No one said anything. “Well, it was good seeing you again. Take care of yourself.” When he fixed his eyes on Hardy, Jameson’s demeanor changed and his words were terse. “Hardy, Cruz, with me.” He acknowledged Burroughs, “Please excuse us, Director,” and headed for the Situation Room.
Hardy and Cruz said their ‘goodbyes’ and followed their boss. Cruz leaned closer to Hardy and whispered to him. “What was that all about?” She was referring to the way Jameson and Burroughs had interacted with each other. “Is there something going on between them?”
“I don’t know.” Hardy had seen the exchange, but, entering the Situation Room, he was more concerned with what lay ahead for him and Cruz.
Chapter 7: Make the Call
The President’s Chief of Staff was leaving the Situation Room, when Hardy and Special Agent Cruz entered. Whittaker never made eye contact with Hardy. He stared straight and walked through the doorway.
“Have you seen my wife, Phil?” The President was gathering documents from the conference table.
“She’s in the lobby, Mr. President.”
Coming around the corner of the table, the President twisted his left wrist and checked the time on his watch. “Good. I’ll be right back.” He wagged his finger at Jameson, Hardy and Cruz. “Don’t leave the room. We need to talk.” He exited and closed the door behind him.
Jameson waited until the door was shut before turning toward Hardy.
Hardy tried to get a head start on his apology. “Sir—”
Jameson held up his hand. “This isn’t your time to talk. It’s mine.” Jameson put his left hand on his hip, while massaging the back of his neck with his right hand. “Where do I begin?” He paused a moment to collect his thoughts. “First of all, you accuse a member of the President’s cabinet of using the abduction of the President’s daughter for political gain. Second, you tell the President…the President…he needs to do something about his daughter. You don’t think he knows that?”
Hardy opened his mouth to respond.
Jameson’s right index finger shot up toward Hardy, to which Hardy shut his mouth. “Lastly, when the President says he wants you to leave the room—and very politely I might add considering how you had spoken to him—that is not the time to argue. Leave the room.” Jameson crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaned back against the edge of the conference table and crossed his ankles. He let his head fall backward. He was tired. He had worked more than nine hours and he had been on his way home, when he heard the news of Abigail’s abduction. Removing his eyeglasses, he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Thank God Cruz had the good sense to drag you away from the table before you dug yourself a deeper hole.” Putting his eyeglasses on, he addressed Cruz. “Thank you, Agent Cruz, for acting when you did.”
Cruz peeked at Hardy before nodding her head.
“Hardy, I understand you’re not a politician, but a soldier. And, as such, you’re prone to action. Playing the chess games that go on behind the scenes is not your specialty, I know. But, you’re going to have to learn how to co
nduct yourself during these meetings and when you interact with high-level government officials.” Jameson slipped his hands inside the pockets of his trousers. “I’ll be honest with you. When the President wanted you to come to work for him, I was against it. Your unorthodox methods in the field only served to reinforce my opinion…however…you’ve also done a tremendous amount of good for your country in the last six months. And…I’ve come to respect you, and your devotion to your country.”
Hardy interjected a ‘thank you, sir.’
“I’m not going to be able to continue running interference for you. You need to learn how Washington operates and you need to learn it, yesterday. Do you understand me?”
“I do, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Jameson stared at his agent before leaning forward and rising to his full height. “Just one more thing,” he said. “In your pursuit to become more politically savvy…and this is going to sound like I’m contradicting myself…make sure you don’t lose your passion and fiery attitude. Those characteristics, among others, are what make you…you. You must learn to control your emotions, only letting them out when they can serve you and not hurt you.”
The door to the Situation Room opened and the President walked in and closed the door.
Jameson lifted his hands in front of his chest and made a grasping motion. “Control them and don’t let them control you.” He addressed the President. “You wanted to see us, sir.”
The President grabbed the nearest chair and wheeled it to the opposite end of where he usually sits. Sitting, he invited the others to do the same. Jameson walked behind the President and sat to the left of the President, while Hardy and Cruz rolled a couple chairs closer, sitting to the President’s right.
The President started to speak to Hardy, but stopped and turned to Jameson. “I trust you’ve talked with him.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jameson.
The President focused his attention on Hardy. “For the record, I’m the President of the United States and I cannot and will not accept insubordination from any of my agents. If you ever disrespect me that way again, there will be consequences. Is that clear?”