by Alex Ander
Hardy ripped the knife from his vest, pivoted to the right and threw the knife at Tucker. As soon as the tip of the blade entered the man’s right pectoral muscle, he fired the rifle, sending rounds into the ground where Hardy had been kneeling.
With Tucker fulfilling his part of the rules of engagement, the SWAT team carried out their part, returning fire and perforating the man’s body with nine-millimeter bullets. He took three steps backward and fell on his back. The rifle in his hands sounded once more. After that, the only noise heard was the pounding of combat boots on the hardened earth. With their rifles trained on Tucker, the SWAT team moved forward, bypassing Hardy. They had orders not to touch him. One operative kicked the rifle away from Tucker, while a second removed the pistol from the waistband of Tucker’s sweat pants. A third SWAT team member rolled the body over and handcuffed him. Even though the man was probably dead, the action was necessary to ensure the safety of the team.
Sitting in the brush and leaning against a tree, Hardy watched the action. His peripheral vision caught sight of a fourth member of the team. This one had a slender frame and moved differently. Before the person had knelt in front of him, Hardy sensed the person was a woman, sensed it was Cruz.
Special Agent Cruz carried a rifle and had the same clothes on from earlier, exchanging her blazer for a bulletproof vest with the letters FBI on it. The beam of her flashlight lit up the blood on his shirt. “Hardy, are you hurt?” Slinging the rifle behind her, she examined the wound.
Hardy glanced at his shoulder. “I’m all right. The bullet only sliced me.” Bringing his attention back to her, he added, “What are you doing here, Cruz? I thought you said you never wanted to see me again.”
Cruz called out to the nearest SWAT member and motioned for him. “No, I said I hoped we never met again.” After taking the SWAT member’s medical pack, she flashed her eyes toward Hardy and grinned. “I never said I didn’t want to see you again.” She dressed the wound, and applied a bandage, while telling him what took place after he had taken her home.
Director Jameson had secured search warrants for both The Tucker Group and Senator Hastings’ office. After the SWAT team had raided The Tucker Group and gathered enough evidence against Hastings, the second SWAT team moved in and arrested Hastings at his home.
“Were you there to take him down?”
Cruz shook her head. “I couldn’t be in two places at once. I had to be here to pull your butt out of the fire.” She smiled and winked at him.
Hardy laughed. It was good to know she had a sense of humor. He had not seen that side of her. He was glad she was there. She had saved his life.
Cruz stood and held out her hand. “Come on, let’s get going.”
He took her hand and pushed himself away from the ground. Getting to his feet, he felt a rush of blood to his head and his legs wobbled. He staggered and took a giant step toward Cruz. She clutched his waist to stabilize him. Hardy wrapped his right arm around her shoulder.
“Easy now,” she said.
“I’m okay. I just need a minute.”
For a few moments, they stood there, not saying anything. Hardy was trying to regain his balance, enjoying the touch of Cruz’s body. Secretly, he wanted it to last a little longer.
“Listen, Hardy,” Cruz tilted her head back, her right hand on his chest, “I know this isn’t exactly how you wanted this to go down, but we got them. Hastings is going to jail and The Tucker Group will be dismantled. I promise you that everyone involved in the deaths of your team members will be brought to justice. You have my word.”
In that moment, Hardy knew he wanted to see more of this woman. Moving up the path, he stopped and looked at her. “What time is it, Cruz?”
She checked her watch. “It’s almost Midnight—11:43 to be exact.” Thinking that was an odd question to ask at a time like this, she said, “Why? You got a hot date or something?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know…maybe.” They picked up their pace again. “Since it’s still my birthday for the next…seventeen minutes…would you like to have a drink with me?”
Her head down, arm in arm with him, Cruz smiled. “I’d love to. The first round’s on me.” They took a few more steps and she looked at him. “Happy Birthday, Hardy.”
Chapter 28: St. Matthew’s Cathedral
July 8th, 11:49 a.m.
It was a beautiful and sunny day. The temperature was seventy-five degrees. A light breeze blew, while fluffy, white clouds hung low in the sky. The day would have been perfect, if not for the somber occasion taking place in downtown Washington D.C. inside St. Matthew’s Cathedral.
Constructed in a Roman style with Byzantine accents and built with red brick and sandstone trim, St. Matthew’s Cathedral was the location for the memorial service, remembering those who had died in the blast at the tavern the previous week. It was decided that since they had perished together, they would be remembered together. Large pictures of each victim were placed on stands on the altar. Hundreds of potted plants and flowers surrounded the pictures. Among the pictures were those of the twelve members of Hardy’s team. Hardy had learned the President had made sure that every one of them had been re-instated as members of the military. They had their service records changed to reflect their service up to the point where they were killed, and were given a full military funeral. Hardy sat on the end, a few rows back from the front, listening as the priest prayed a final blessing.
“O Loving Father, we pray that you would welcome your departed children into the realms of everlasting life. We ask that their tears be wiped away and their sufferings cease to exist. May the joy and splendor that is Heaven, be theirs for all of eternity.”
“Finally, we ask you to look after the family and loved ones they have left behind. Comfort them when they grieve. Rejoice with them when they remember the good times shared. And, above all, never let the fire of the love within them burn out. In Jesus’ name we pray.”
And, all the people said, “Amen.”
Special Agent Cruz, sitting next to Hardy, made the sign of the cross and said, “Amen.”
Hardy saw her out of the corner of his eye. He had never been a man who really believed in God. It was not that he did not think there was a God, but rather he did not know for sure. In his line of work, he dealt with facts, not beliefs; however, he liked and respected Cruz, so he respected her beliefs. They had spent quite a bit of time together over the past week. They went out for drinks a couple of times. They went for short walks during her lunch breaks. And, last night, they had dinner at a nice restaurant. Hardy was grateful she had come into his life, especially during this difficult time. He was still having the nightmares about his team members, but the nightmares were less intense and getting further apart. He credited the time he had spent with Cruz for helping him find some closure. Despite the difficulties ahead of him, she had given him hope that brighter days would follow.
Chapter 29: We Must Act Now
July 9th, 7:57 a.m.
“Please show him in, Courtney.” President James Conklin hung up the phone and continued his conversation with his White House Chief of Staff, Peter Whittaker.
Peter Whittaker was a short, lean man in his late forties. His black hair was parted on the left side. A thin mustache lay beneath his long, narrow nose. His eyes were small and close together. When he spoke, he had a very distinct Ivy League accent, having grown up in Massachusetts. His words were always carefully chosen. The President had tapped Whittaker to be his chief of staff, because of his attention to detail. Nothing made it to the President without Whittaker’s knowledge. The President respected and trusted Whittaker and allowed him a great deal of latitude in all things related to the Presidency.
“Are you absolutely sure about this, Mr. President.” Whittaker sat in a chair across from the President’s desk in the Oval Office, his legs crossed. “We know nothing about him.”
“The events of this past week have made it perfectly clear to me that we need a man with his tal
ents.” The President spun his chair a quarter-turn and stared into the distance. “This war on terror has been no war at all. The terrorists attack and we go on the defensive. In the military, if you’re not advancing, then you’re retreating. We must go on the offensive. We must act swiftly and we must act now!” The President pounded his fist on the desk.
The door to Oval Office opened. A young woman appeared and held the door open. A moment later, Aaron Hardy walked into the Oval Office, wearing a gray suit, white shirt and a red tie. A handkerchief in his left breast pocket matched the color of his tie, which was held in place by a gold clip. A collar bar under the knot of the tie drew the points of his shirt collar closer together. Striding across the room, his black shoes were without blemish.
The President stood and met Hardy halfway. The two men shook hands in front of the couch, standing on the rug, emblazoned with the seal of the President of the United States. Whittaker stood behind the President.
“It’s a pleasure to you meet you, Aaron. May I call you Aaron?”
“Of course, Mr. President,” replied Hardy. “The pleasure is mine, sir.”
The President extended his arm toward Whittaker. “This is my Chief of Staff, Peter Whittaker. I’ve asked him to join us for this meeting.”
Whittaker stepped forward and shook Hardy’s hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Hardy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whittaker.”
“Please, sit down.” The President motioned Hardy toward the couch, while Whittaker sat on the opposite end of the couch. Across from Hardy, the President sat in a wooden straight back chair with leather trim, and crossed his legs.
The commander in chief clasped his hands together and rested them on his lap. “First of all, let me say how truly sorry I am for your loss. I want you to know I personally read the file of every member of your team. Those were fine American patriots. I wish I could have attended the memorial service, but I didn’t want my presence to disrupt the service and take away from the grieving family members.”
Hardy nodded his head. “I understand, sir. Thank you for everything you did to clear their service records.”
The President waved his hand. “It was the least I could do.”
Hardy was waiting for the President to get to the reason for the meeting. As busy as the President was, a face-to-face meeting to extend condolences was a little odd. Ever since Hardy had gotten the call from his secretary, Courtney, arranging the meeting, Hardy questioned what was going to take place. He did not have to wait long to find out.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked to meet with you. So, I’m going to get right to the point. The war on terror isn’t going exactly as I had planned. During the first two years of my presidency, I have been bogged down in bureaucratic bullsh—” the President stopped. “Pardon me—bureaucratic red tape.”
Hardy smiled. That’s getting to the point, all right.
“Members of Congress are afraid of offending…well…everyone these days, but especially the Muslim population. It’s precisely because of this political correctness that I haven’t been able to gain any traction in this war. I campaigned on a tough-on-crime/national security platform and I plan to keep the promise I made to those who elected me.” The President uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair.
Without realizing it, Hardy leaned forward and mirrored the President’s posture.
The President pointed at Hardy. “That is where you come in, Aaron. I’ve read your service record and I’ve seen what you’re capable of, both abroad and on American soil. Your actions last week, helping bring Senator Hastings and The Tucker Group to justice were icing on the cake, if you will.” The President paused. “I need a man like you. This country needs a man like you. A man who’s not afraid to take action and do whatever is necessary to get the job done…to take the fight to the terrorists.” The President leaned back in his chair. “So, what do you say? I’m offering you a job, putting your special skills and talents to work, keeping the American people safe from terrorists around the world.”
Hardy’s eyes widened. He felt his lower jaw hanging open slightly. He quickly shut it and glanced at Whittaker. In one week, Hardy had gone from Special Forces operator, to unsanctioned patriot, to being offered a job by the President of the United States. Before he could say anything, the President leaned forward and continued.
“This would have to be kept top-secret.” He held up his index finger. “You would have one boss,” he pointed his thumb at his chest, “who would report directly to me. At your disposal, you would have all the resources necessary to get the job done…”
Hardy listened to the details of the job. After the President had finished, he fielded questions from Hardy before standing, his body language indicating the meeting was done. “I’m sure you’d like some time to think it over, so take the weekend and contact Courtney on Monday. She’ll put you through to me.” The President held out his hand.
Standing, Hardy did not take the hand. He stared at the Presidential Seal on the rug, his mind replaying everything the President had said. Hardy had been reconciling the things he had done over the past three years, while believing he was doing those things in the service of his country. Was this his chance at redemption, his chance to honor his men? Or, would it be a constant reminder of his deeds? He wanted to put the past behind him and start fresh. He thought of Special Agent Cruz. The time they spent together had been fantastic. He wanted a relationship with her. How would this job offer affect that relationship? While he was mulling over the President’s words, the final blessing the priest gave at the memorial service resounded in his mind—‘Above all, never let the fire of the love within them burn out.’
Hardy raised his head. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t need the weekend to think it over.”
The President’s hand dropped a bit. He had learned that whenever anyone started a sentence with ‘with all due respect’ bad news usually followed.
Hardy grasped the President’s hand and said, “I accept. When do I start?”
AMERICAN INFLUENCE
Aaron Hardy Series
Book #2
Chapter 1: Cemetery
April 8th, 8:31 a.m.; Moscow, Russia
Kneeling, her butt resting on the heels of her boots, Natasha Volkov kissed her fingers and placed them on the new headstone in front of the freshly disturbed earth. “Mnogo lyubvi, papen’ka — Much love, Papa,” she said before standing. Natasha’s mind wandered to a time from her youth when her father would put her on his lap and tell stories. Mostly, the stories were from Russian folklore, but the ones young Natasha enjoyed were those about Russian history. She had been captivated by her father’s voice, telling heroic tales of czars and emperors, leading their troops into battle, defeating the enemy and saving Mother Russia from the invading hordes. Natasha smiled. To this day, she had no idea if the stories had been true, but it made no difference. The story was not important. It only served as the backdrop to spend time with her father, her Papa.
Natasha tilted her head back and let the sun’s rays shine on her face. The warmth felt good. Even though the calendar showed that spring had come to Moscow, the warmer temperatures were slow to follow. It had been a brutal winter with record cold temperatures and snowfall. An overnight snowstorm had dropped a few more inches. Piles of snow still dotted the landscape, reminders of where the wind had made huge drifts over the winter. She could not remember there being a colder winter in her lifetime. She lifted the collar of her short-length fur coat around her neck and shoved her hands into the pockets.
A few minutes later, her hand vibrated. She retrieved a cell phone. Her heart beat faster. She slid her right thumb across the phone’s screen and turned her head swiftly to the right to throw her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Volkov…da — Yes.” She listened for a few seconds. “YA na moyem puti — I’m on my way.” Stowing the phone, Natasha gave her father’s headstone one more look, her eyes settling on the last l
ine: ‘Predannyy Muzh i Lyubyashchiy Otets — Devoted Husband and Loving Father.’ She did not want to leave her papa, but she had work to do.
Natasha spun around on the heels of her boots and trudged down the slope toward her waiting vehicle, her pace slow and methodic. The slope leveled off. Her mind shifted from her father to her job, and her strides grew longer and her pace quickened. With each step, the pull-tabs on her boots tapped against the metal zipper. She opened the door of her dark gray UAZ Patriot, a four-door, four-wheel drive, sport utility vehicle. Pulling up her skirt slightly, she climbed inside the SUV. Once inside, Natasha stared straight ahead. She took a deep breath and let it out. She forced herself to focus on her destination, her assignment. Having left the engine of the SUV running, she put the transmission into ‘drive’ and sped away.
Chapter 2: Assault
The wheels of the Patriot rolled to a stop. Through the windshield, Natasha spied a house in the distance. The structure was a simple and neglected one-story residence. Smoke rose from the chimney on the far left side. A small car was parked in the driveway. The vehicle’s condition matched that of the house. Getting out of her vehicle, she went to the rear and swung open the door to the luggage compartment, revealing a cache of weapons and tactical gear. She removed her coat and threw it inside before picking up a bulletproof vest. Standing, she noticed Sergei at the corner of the Patriot.
Sergei Gagarin was a member of the Spetsnaz (Special Forces) of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation (FSB). He was a ruggedly handsome man, although his features were hidden by the tactical gear he wore. He was three inches over six-feet tall and weighed two-hundred and twenty-five pounds. His shoulders were broad and his body was well sculpted. From behind his goggles, Sergei stared at her. His deep blue eyes met her blue eyes. He adjusted the strap attached to his SR-3M Vikhr rifle.