Necessary Means

by Alex Ander

  Cruz was having a difficult time wrapping her head around the fact they had been working with a known assassin. “How can you work with such a person? How can you trust her? For the right price, she could switch sides again and double-cross you.”

  “She only kills terrorists.” Hardy was defending Dahlia, but he knew the situation with her had not been thoroughly proven. Cruz had a point. Dahlia’s allegiance could swing the other way at any moment.

  Cruz shot back at Hardy. “So, she’s a hired killer with a loose code of ethics…so what?” Cruz dragged out her next words. “She kills people for money.”

  “She’s also a former FBI agent, who understands the world of law enforcement.” Hardy spun back toward the table. “While I’m not condoning her actions, there’s no question she’s been helpful to us.”

  Jameson moved his head left and right, observing the monitors. “She’s also my daughter.”

  Cruz’s eyes widened and she glanced at Charity before staring at Hardy, who nodded his head.

  “I trained her at the FBI Academy in Quantico and can attest to her skills.” He paused, examining the monitor to his left. “And, it’s true that she has provided us with valuable intelligence on terrorist organizations all over the country.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “We’re getting off track. Cherry, please continue with your report.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, pointing at the nearest monitor behind her. “This is just a small sampling of the documents on the drive. As you can see, I’ve made notations on the papers, highlighting areas that match up with what our own intelligence agencies have been able to gather.” Charity looked at Cruz. “To answer your original question…how do we know that Yamadi was involved in the terror attacks…there are communications on the drive that coincide with the dates of the attacks that I just showed you. No names are mentioned—only code names. One code name, the Hound, kept popping up in my research.”

  Hardy piggybacked on Charity’s growing enthusiasm. “You think the Hound is Ashar Yamadi?”

  Charity made the screens display Yamadi’s image. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but there’s enough evidence to suggest that that is the case.”

  Cruz motioned toward the monitor. “We need to find this Yamadi.”

  “Agreed,” said Jameson, leaning forward in his chair. “You have absolutely no way of locating him, Cherry?”

  Charity took a deep breath and let it out before sitting in her chair and crossing her legs. “I don’t know anything the U.S. Government doesn’t already know; however,” she tapped her forefinger against her pursed lips and paused, letting everyone hang on her words. “I have an idea.” Placing the remote control on the table, she closed her laptop and focused on Hardy. “Dahlia has access to the same information that we do, when it comes to that flash drive. It’s a little unorthodox, but maybe she knows where to find Yamadi. I think it’s worth a shot to reach out to her and see if she can help us.”

  “She might be able to help in some way, even if she doesn’t know his whereabouts,” added Hardy. “I like it. Yes, it’s unorthodox, but a girl’s life hangs in the balance and we need to take our shots when we get them.”

  “I disagree.” Cruz was shaking her head and staring at the table. “With all due respect, sir,” she shifted her eyes toward Jameson, “I know Dahlia is your daughter, but from what I’ve heard about her, I don’t believe she’s proven where her loyalties lie.”

  Jameson felt the gaze of his agents, while he stared at the conference table, gently tapping his finger on it. He understood and appreciated Cruz’s opinion; however, they were talking about his daughter. Even though he had not spoken with her in years, he had to believe there was still something remaining of the child he raised. “Your concerns are duly noted, Cruz.” He nodded his head toward Hardy. “Reach out to her and see what she knows.”

  Chapter 12: Dahlia

  6:30 a.m., New York City

  Two hours earlier, Hardy and Special Agent Cruz left the J. Edgar Hoover Building, headed for Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Once there, they boarded a Bell 412 helicopter, specially outfitted for the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. The flight from Washington, D.C. to New York City took a little more than ninety minutes. During the flight, Hardy gave Cruz as much information as he knew about Dahlia, trying to bring his partner up to speed. He could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea of letting a known assassin in on the operation.

  After their helicopter landed at LaGuardia Airport, Hardy and Cruz found a black SUV waiting for them. Hardy got in behind the wheel. When Cruz was safely buckled in, he punched the accelerator and the vehicle lunged forward, heading toward downtown New York City and a café & bakery on Lafayette Street.

  Forty minutes later, Hardy parked near the restaurant. He and Cruz got out and went to the front doors of the establishment. A couple lights were on inside, but there were no patrons. They stepped inside a small area, shielded from the weather. Hardy pulled on the door handle, but the door was locked.

  Noticing a man on the other side of the restaurant, Cruz knocked on the glass and the man changed his course and walked toward them. When he was a few feet away from the door, she held up her FBI credentials. The Hispanic man was in his mid-twenties and stood at least six-feet, two-inches tall. His dark hair was neatly combed and parted on the side. He was wearing a pair of tan khakis and a red dress shirt. He nodded his head, unlocked and opened the door.

  Hardy put his hand on his chest. “We’re Special Agent’s Hardy,” he gestured toward Cruz, “and Cruz. We’re here to—”

  The man nodded his head again. “Yes, come in.” He waited for them to enter before closing and locking the door. “I’ve been expecting you. Please, follow me.”

  Directly in front and to their right, Hardy and Cruz saw a bakery, complete with glass cases displaying desserts of every variety, including donuts, croissants and muffins. High tables and chairs were nearby. The man escorted them past the bakery. When they reached a counter-top seating area, where patrons could sit and have a view of a small and nicely decorated kitchen, the man made three quick turns—right, left, right—before ascending a short flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and extended his left arm out in front of his body, while he looked and smiled at them.

  Hardy and Cruz went right at the top of the stairs. They were in a small room with dark-stained wood paneling from floor to ceiling. On the left side of the room was a counter that ran the length of the room. Electric lamps and lampstands that mimicked candle stands were spaced along the counter. A couple of small mirrors were mounted on the wall above the counter. The opposite wall had a round, deeply set window that looked out into the restaurant. The window resembled one that could be found on a shipping vessel. In the far corner along the same wall was an alcove, containing a three-tier wooden shelf that held wine glasses and a serving tray. In the center of the room were four long wooden tables. They would normally be pushed together to make a longer and larger rectangular table; however, one table had been separated from the others. A woman in her early thirties was sitting at the table, facing them. Hearing them come in, she lifted her head. Her dark red lips, which seemed to be permanently pursed, thinned when she smiled. Standing, she walked around the table to greet her guests.

  Hardy took in the rest of her features, while she came closer. She had a rounded face with hazel green eyes, narrowly spaced. Above them lay nearly straight eyebrows, curving slightly toward the bridge of her petite nose and the outer corner of her eye. Her bleached blonde hair was long and straight and came to rest at the middle of her back. The bangs of her hair fell straight down her forehead, stopping less than an inch above her well-manicured dark eyebrows.

  “Well, well, well,” said Dahlia, wearing a red, ribbed turtleneck sweater with cable ties running down the long sleeves. The tight fitting sweater heightened her rounded breasts. A black leather mini skirt hugged the curves of her hips and thighs. Black boots with three-inch heels and a slig
htly flared leg opening rose above her kneecap. Dark red fishnet nylons could be seen between her skirt and boots. Raising her arms before she got to Hardy, she hugged him. “I told you we’d be seeing each other again.” She stepped back and focused her attention on Cruz, preparing to introduce herself. Before she could, however, the man behind them spoke.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dahlia, but your food will be out in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, Julio.” Dahlia directed her words toward Hardy and Cruz before she headed back to her seat. “I ordered a small sampling of food; bagels, muffins, pancakes. There’s also coffee and juice on the way.” Sitting at the head of the table, facing the door to the room, she added, “It was the best I could do. You didn’t give me much notice.”

  “Sorry about that,” said Hardy, pulling out a chair to Dahlia’s right and sitting, while Cruz took the chair opposite Hardy and to Dahlia’s left.

  Dahlia extended her hand. “Forgive me. It’s nice to meet you Special Agent Cruz. I’m Dahlia St. James, but I’m sure you already know who I am.” The two women shook hands.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Cruz glanced around the room. “This is a very nice place. Do you own it?”

  “No, but I’m good friends with the owner. He lets me use this room when I’m in town and need a place to meet with people.”

  Cruz unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. “It seems we have more than just the room to ourselves.”

  Dahlia took a sip of coffee and put the cup on the table. “They open at seven thirty, but the chefs and wait staff come in a little early to start preparing for the day. I didn’t want to be a burden. That’s why I just asked them to prepare something simple for us.”

  “Well, this is very gracious of you. Thank you.”

  Julio entered the room, carrying a large serving tray. He placed the tray on the table nearest to the trio, retrieved another tray from a cart at the bottom of the stairs and put that tray alongside the other. He poured three glasses of orange juice and set them in front of his guests. “What may I get for each of you?”

  After Julio had placed a plate of food in front of Dahlia, Hardy and Cruz, he said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.” He smiled and added, “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you, Julio.” Dahlia picked up a knife, scooped some butter out of a metal container and spread the butter on a plain bagel.

  Hardy and Cruz acknowledged Julio. “Yes, thank you.” They picked up forks and eyed their main course, pancakes with butter and syrup.

  After Dahlia took a small bite of the bagel, she sipped her coffee. “So, Hardy, what’s so important that you had to wake me out of a sound sleep, only to tell me it couldn’t be discussed over the phone?”

  Hardy had put a large forkful of pancakes into his mouth. He took a few seconds to finish chewing and swallowed. “Again, I’m sorry I woke you, but this is very important.” He glanced at the door to the room before turning back to Dahlia. “Before I say anything, I need your word that what I’m about to tell you will stay in this room.”

  Dahlia was hurt he would ask that after all they had been through; however, she realized the two of them had not spent much time together. She had done so much research on him that, for her, it felt as if she had known him quite well. She checked her feelings. “You have my word.”

  Hardy nodded his head and said, “Good—”

  “On one condition…” Dahlia interrupted him.

  Hardy shot a look at Cruz. “What’s that?”

  “I want the whole story…all of it. Don’t forget what I use to do for a living. I know how the game is played. You only give out as much information as necessary to get the person to cooperate. I’m not an asset. I want all of the details.”

  Thinking, Hardy took a few seconds to reply. She was right. That was how the game was played. “Agreed,” he said before taking a drink of orange juice to wash down the pancakes sitting in his throat.

  Dahlia took another bite of her bagel. “So, what’s going on?”

  Cruz started the conversation and got to the point. “The President’s daughter has been kidnapped.”

  Hardy followed up. “We think Muslim extremists, operating in the United States, may be involved.”

  Dahlia stopped chewing for a second. Her eyes grew wider and she whirled her head back and forth, spying the two Special Agents.

  Chapter 13: First Crack

  Taking turns while they ate, Hardy and Special Agent Cruz spent ten minutes telling Dahlia everything they knew about the kidnapping. Hardy took the last bite of pancakes, set his fork on his empty plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “We need your help, Dahlia.” He opened a manila folder. Retrieving a photo, he handed it to Dahlia. “Do you recognize this man? His name is—”

  “Ashar Yamadi,” replied Dahlia, snatching the photo. “Yes, I know him. I’ve been trying to find him for quite some time. He’s like a ghost. I can sense his presence, but I’ve never been able to get eyes on him. Do you think he had something to do with the kidnapping?”

  “We do.” Cruz finished her meal and set her napkin on the table. “We have credible intelligence that points to him as a possible suspect; however, he’s eluded our best agencies.”

  With Dahlia’s line of work in mind, Hardy carefully chose his next words. “We were hoping that with your contacts you might be able to track him down.”

  Dahlia grinned, appreciating his efforts to be tactful. “As I said, I haven’t been able to find him.” She looked closer at the photo. “However, I might be able to rattle a few cages…” Her words trailed off, as the images of a few people came to her mind. She studied Hardy for a few moments, thinking of her next move. “If I do this and we find him, I want first crack. He’s a high value target. I know many people willing to pay a lot of money to see him dead.”

  Hardy shook his head. “I can’t promise you that, Dahlia. Even though the top priority is Abby’s safety, if we have a chance to take Yamadi alive, that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Then, what’s in it for me?”

  Her voice a little louder and not as pleasant, Cruz answered the question. “How about knowing you did the right thing, serving your country and saving innocent lives. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  Dahlia’s jaw tightened and she lowered her head and glared at Cruz. Who the hell do you think you are, judging me? Not wanting the meeting to go down a negative path, she forced herself to relax, managing to give Cruz a quick smile. She pointed her finger at each of them. “That would be your job.”

  Hardy saw Cruz open her mouth to speak and was concerned her words were not going to be helpful. “Please, Dahlia, we could really use your expertise on this. You haven’t met Abby.” He pointed his finger across the table. “We have…she’s a great kid with a bright future, regardless of whose daughter she is.”

  Dahlia stared at Hardy for several seconds before glancing at Cruz. Her eyes settling on Hardy again, Dahlia analyzed the situation. She was an assassin, who was paid to kill people. More specifically, she was paid to kill terrorists. Yamadi’s death would bring her a large sum of money. She reminisced of her encounter with Hardy, two months earlier.

  She and Hardy had fought to escape a warehouse filled with terrorists. He had saved her life and she had returned the favor. It was only a moment in time, but she had reveled in the excitement, being on the right side, fighting for good, fighting for her country.

  Also, she liked Hardy. As soon as she laid eyes on him in the warehouse her intuition had kicked in, telling her he was an honorable man, who did the right thing no matter the cost. She wanted the money for taking down Yamadi, but a bigger part of her was eager to jump at the chance to once again work with Hardy and be part of a team.

  Hardy felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He dug it out and looked at the screen; it was Charity. “Cherry, can you hold on a minute?” He concentrated his attention on Dahlia. “So, how about it? Are you in?”

  Dahlia plucked the napkin
from her lap and tossed it onto her plate. “I’ll see what I can do. There’s a man in New York I’ve been watching. He’s a good place to start. If I apply the right kind of pressure, I think he’ll crack.”

  Hardy smiled before returning to his call. “What’s up, Cherry?”

  “I’ve been going over the report from Director Burroughs and there seems to be a lack of information on the girl who was taken with Abigail. What do we know about her?”

  “I’m sure the Secret Service has vetted her quite thoroughly, since she’s a friend of Abby’s. Why?”

  “I’m just trying to see this situation from different angles, I guess. I’m having a hard time coming to grips with why those girls were where they were—a ski run off limits to everyone.”

  Hardy had been thinking the same thing. It did not add up in his mind. Why would Abby ditch her security detail and go off the reservation? Sure, she’s a teenager, and teenagers are prone to breaking the rules. But, that’s not the Abby I know. Hardy could not make sense of it. Abigail’s behavior was out of character. “What about the girl’s parents?”

  “That’s just it,” said Charity. “She’s a foreign exchange student from Egypt. I can’t find anything that says the host family was questioned. They might know something, some small detail that means nothing to them, but everything to us.”

  “Wait a minute. She’s from Egypt? Yamadi’s from the same country.”

  “I know. That’s what got me thinking about the girl.”

  Hardy was mulling over the possibility the two being from Egypt was a fluke. He spotted Cruz and Dahlia out of the corner of his eye and formulated a plan. “It may just be a coincidence, but we need to check it out.”

  “I agree.”

  Hardy pictured Charity in her red skirt and high heels. “What are you wearing?”

  “What…what do you mean?” She glanced downward. “The same thing I had on at the meeting. Why?”

  “Change into some street clothes and meet me at the airport. You and I are going to visit the host family.”