The President's Man

by Alex Ander

  Hardy’s upper body leaned backward. If looks could kill. He had been on the receiving end of her fury before and was not looking forward to another round. Still holding her elbow, his other hand shot up. “I just want to talk. What happened back there?”

  She yanked her arm away. “It’s none of your business.” She took a few steps and looked over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t understand, anyway.”

  Hardy skirted around her and blocked her way, but did not make physical contact—he was not entirely convinced she would not hit him. “Listen, it may not be any of my business, but I can see that whatever happened is affecting you. And, since we are working together, I should know what is going on—not only for my safety, but for the safety of this team as well.”

  Natasha started to speak, but stopped.

  Hardy saw the muscles in her face relax, while she mulled over his words. He coaxed her. “What happened?”

  Natasha crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was not in a mood to talk. Victor had brought back memories she had spent months trying to reconcile. How dare he? Cupping her elbow in her left hand, she covered her mouth with her free hand.

  Hardy squared his body and clutched her shoulders. “Talk to me, Natasha. What’s going on?”

  She raised her eyes toward him. She did not intend to tell him anything; however, maybe it would be good to open up to someone, having not spoken with anyone about Sergei’s death. She rolled her eyes and let her arms fall to her sides. Natasha relented, “All right, fine,” before launching into her story.

  Hearing about the explosion that killed Sergei and his teammates, Hardy had flashbacks of the blast that had taken the lives of his teammates. The incident was still in the forefront of his mind and had caused him to have the same nightmare almost every night for the past week.

  In the nightmare, Hardy saw the faces of his teammates gathered around the table at the tavern. Everyone was laughing, drinking and having a good time. Their faces became distorted and they desperately tried to tell him something. He could not hear anything they were saying. Their mouths were moving, but no sounds could be heard. At that moment, he felt something hit him in the back. The force threw him to the pavement. After that, everything went black.

  “That’s not all.” She turned away from Hardy and folded her arms across her chest. She saw Victor leaning against the SUV and she recalled her harsh words to him. “My father died three weeks before that explosion. Actually, he was killed…killed in an explosion at a bus stop. He wasn’t waiting for a bus. He was just walking by…” She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest. Seconds later, she whirled around and thrust her finger toward the top of the hill. “And, that son-of-a…” she stopped talking when her voice cracked. First, pausing to get control of her emotions, she finished the sentence, her voice deeper. “He’s responsible.”

  Hardy was at a loss for words. Not only had she lost her boyfriend to Rudin, but her father as well, less than a month apart from each other. He understood why she had been quick-tempered with him and Victor. “Natasha, there was nothing you could have done to save your father, or Sergei.”

  “I could have at least been there with Sergei. I could have—and should have—gone in with him. I was the reason he was there.”

  Hardy shook his head, no. “What would that have accomplished? You would have been killed, too.”

  “At least I would have been there with them. It was my job. I should have been the first one through the door. Instead, they’re dead and I’m…” her voice trailed off.

  Hearing her last words, Hardy understood the source of her anger—guilt. “You’re what—still alive? Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

  Natasha glimpsed Victor, regret filling her heart. If not for him, she might have died in the aftermath of that explosion.

  Victor and his team had been en route to the house. By the time he had arrived, the house was in pieces and Natasha was lying on the cold ground, shivering and her body convulsing. Victor had picked her up and taken her to the SUV. Once there, he wrapped her in blankets and kept her warm, while a member of his team drove them to the hospital. The doctors had said if she had spent any more time exposed to the elements, she might have died.

  “Natasha, I understand what you’re going through.” Hardy put his hands on his hips. “You’re feeling guilty that you’re still alive and those men are dead.”

  Leveling her eyes on him, her face flush, she snapped, “How do you know what I’m going through?”

  He held his hand to his chest and shot back at her, his voice on the verge of yelling. “I know, because I lost my team…in an explosion. They all died. Twelve of the best men I’ve ever known. They’re gone,” he pointed toward the ground, “and I’m still here.” He lowered his voice. “So, yes, I know what you’re going through.”

  Natasha took a half step backward.

  “I’ve felt the guilt you’re feeling, now.” He held his arms out to his sides. “Every day, I ask myself the same question—what could I have done differently to save them?”

  Natasha waited, hoping for insight.

  “I still haven’t found an answer where I could have changed the outcome of that day.” He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his head.

  “Does it get any better?” Her voice was an octave above a whisper. “Does the guilt go away?”

  Hardy watched the leaves flutter in the breeze. “I don’t think it will ever go away…completely.” He paused. “Honestly, I’m not sure I would want it to.”

  Natasha cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

  Hardy dropped his head, his eyes settling on a broken tree branch on the ground. “I carry those men with me every day. Sometimes, I think they carry me when I’m down and need a boost.” He kicked the tree branch and looked at her. “My point is you need to find a way to channel your feelings toward something good. Make their lives—your father and Sergei—matter. Let them live on through what you do.”

  Natasha’s eyes bore a hole through Hardy’s brain. She saw, no, she felt his pain. He had taken an emotional beating, but he was still on his feet, fighting. He was tough—she thought of the four, dead FSB agents in Moscow—however, he had a softer side, too. She speculated it was a side not many people had seen.

  Hardy thought about the funeral service for his men and the priest’s words that day. His words had made Hardy think, differently. He debated sharing those words with her. “I don’t know if you believe in God or not, but at the funeral service for my teammates, the priest said to the people, ‘Never let the fire of the love within them burn out.’ For some reason,” he shook his head back and forth, slowly, “those words have stuck in my brain and heart. Every day I wake up and every mission I will go on, my men will be with me.”

  Natasha listened to this American as if she was ten-years-old, sitting at the feet of her father and hanging on his every word. Maybe she was dreaming, but even Hardy’s voice, his inflections and pitch almost matched those of her father.

  Hardy’s eyes met her eyes. “I can’t explain it. I do what I do, not only for myself and for my country, but also for them. I know they would have wanted me to go forward and make a difference in this world. If they could have, they would’ve been doing the same thing.” Hardy stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his pants.

  Several moments of silence passed. A light breeze blew a lock of hair in front of Natasha’s face; she brushed it away. “Thanks, Hardy.” She touched his shoulder and let her hand slide down his upper arm. “I’m sorry about your team.”

  He regarded her and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must have been hard for you, but I appreciate it.” Natasha cranked her head around and spied Victor before turning back to Hardy. She had unfinished business with Victor, but she did not want to abandon Hardy.

  He rolled his eyes and head toward Victor. “Go, I’m fine.” He saw a faint smile flash across her face before she
slipped past him.

  Natasha strolled to where Victor was leaning against the SUV, her fingers tucked into the front pockets of her pants. “Look, I’m—”

  Victor raised his hand, stopping her. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “Yes, there is. Friends don’t treat each other the way I treated you.”

  “But, friends forgive each other.” Not letting her respond, Victor changed the subject. “Now, let’s talk about this raid.”

  Natasha nodded her head. “Thank you, Victor.” She took a couple steps forward and hugged him, his long arms and wide body enveloping her torso.

  A few minutes later, Hardy ambled toward them.

  Victor gestured toward him. “So, Hardy, now that you’ve had some time to think it over, when should we raid the house?”

  Hardy glanced at Natasha. “My preference is for waiting until dark.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her body bristle. “However, we may not get a better opportunity than right now.”

  Victor saw his men coming from the hill. “Maybe, my men can help with this.”

  Nikolai and Ivan gave a report of the layout of the property as well as any movement in and around the house. Natasha translated for Hardy.

  “In that case, I say we go now.” Hardy pointed. “We come over the hill from the west and use the setting sun to our advantage. Since it will be at our backs and just above the trees, we should have some cover. Victor, you, Nikolai and Ivan will break off at the bottom of the hill and take a position at the back of the house. Natasha and I will go to the front door. We simultaneously breach both doors, sweep the house and get our man.”

  Victor contemplated the plan. “All right, I like it.” Victor explained the details to Nikolai and Ivan, who nodded their agreement.

  All of them began prepping their gear. Victor distributed earpieces to everyone and gave Hardy a small camera attached to a flexible cable. Hardy would use it to scan for bombs or tripwires before breaching the door. After a final check of their gear, they climbed the hill.

  Chapter 15: Raid

  Squatting on the ridge, Hardy and the others observed the house below. He pointed. “We’ll break up at that oak tree and get into position. I’ll give two clicks on the radio when we’re ready to breach. Five seconds later, we go in hard and fast.”

  “Got it,” said Victor before translating for Nikolai and Ivan.

  Natasha adjusted her weapon. “Remember, we need Rudin alive.”

  Hardy looked at her. She nodded. Getting the ‘thumbs up’ from Victor, Hardy stood. “Go!”

  The two teams ran down the hill, single-file and in a low crouch to minimize their visual imprint on the landscape. Hardy was leading, followed by Natasha, Victor, Nikolai and Ivan. At the oak tree, Hardy and Natasha went right, while Victor’s team moved to the back door. As Hardy and Natasha rounded the corner of the house, he saw Victor in the process of slipping the flexible camera under the door.

  Hardy and Natasha moved alongside the house, staying below the windows. They came around to the front and ascended the stairs, making sure not to step on the broken floorboards of the porch.

  Hardy had the flexible camera in his hand by the time he knelt at the door. Sliding the device under the door, he moved it around and watched the screen in front of him. He saw no one inside. There were no signs the door had been rigged to trigger an explosive device. He withdrew the camera wand and stowed it.

  Using hand signals, Hardy told Natasha what he had seen and what they were going to do. She nodded, got to her feet and prepared to open the door. She twisted the knob. The door was unlocked.

  Hardy gave two clicks over his radio before counting down from five with his hand. When he got to zero, Natasha pushed the door open. Hardy raised his rifle, dashed inside and moved right. Natasha followed and went left. The living room was dark. Mold and mildew filled their nostrils. The beam from their rifles lit up the area in front of them. There was an old coffee table in front of a couch and a reclining chair. They moved around them, sweeping their rifles back and forth. They cleared the living room and moved to the dining room area, where they met Victor’s team. Hardy flashed hand signals before he and Natasha went to the right, while Victor’s team went the opposite way.

  With Hardy in the lead, he and Natasha moved down a narrow hallway, clearing each room. Coming to the last door, he saw it was closed. Hardy was getting ready to kick in the door when he saw the light pattern under the door, break up. Natasha had seen it too. His earpiece crackled.

  “All clear,” said Victor in Russian and English.

  Hardy looked at Natasha, who nodded. He drove his boot into the door and it flew inward. She entered and cleared the left half, while he did the same with the right half.

  Chapter 16: Bedroom

  The room appeared to be the master bedroom. It was empty. After a quick check under the bed, Natasha moved toward a partially open closet door. With Hardy’s rifle pointed at the door, she swung it open and took a step backward. Hardy and Natasha heard a scuffling sound before a scrawny cat came out of the closet, darted between them and out of the bedroom. Natasha relaxed her posture and let her rifle hang from its sling, giving Victor’s team the ‘all clear.’

  Hardy and Natasha met Victor’s team in the kitchen. Nikolai and Ivan were opening and closing cabinet doors and rummaging through everything on the floor, while Victor stood at the kitchen table.

  “He was here, all right.” Victor was scanning the items on the table. “These are components used to make bombs.” He held up a cell phone. “He’s using a cell phone as the detonator.”

  Hardy stood on the other side of the table, while Natasha walked to the kitchen counter and stood with her back to Victor.

  Hardy was the first to say what everyone must have been thinking. He picked up an empty container of vanilla frosting. “Since when is frosting used to make bombs.” There were at least fifty cans scattered around the kitchen. Most were empty, except for a dozen unopened ones.

  Victor shrugged his shoulders, continuing to examine the other items.

  Hardy stared at the kitchen table. There were items everywhere, including globs of white frosting, except for a rectangular space in front of him. The space was clean.

  Natasha leaned against the sink, holding a piece of blue cardstock. “I think I know where Rudin is going.” She gave the cardstock to Victor.

  Hardy glimpsed them. “What is it?”

  Victor skimmed the document. “It’s an invitation to a birthday party for the Russian Premier. The party is tonight at nine.”

  Hardy snapped his fingers. “Of course,” he said, his eyes shifting to the table. He stretched out his hands and measured the length and width of the clean spot. “They’re going to put the bomb inside a cake. That’s why they needed all this frosting.” Hardy twisted his upper body. He saw boxes on the floor behind him. “Only thing is…there’s no cake. They covered the device with a cardboard box and frosted it.”

  Natasha observed the boxes and the frosting containers. “Won’t it be a dead giveaway when the first person chomps down on a piece of cardboard?”

  Hardy shook his head. “The cake was never intended to be eaten, so it doesn’t have to be real. That means Rudin plans to detonate the bomb before anyone has a chance to cut it, most likely when it’s placed in front of the Premier.”

  Her eyes wide, Natasha pivoted her head back and forth from Hardy to Victor. “We have to warn them.”

  Hardy held up his hands. “How? You and I are wanted for killing those FSB agents. They won’t believe anything you have to say. And, I’m a foreigner.”

  Victor planted his hands on his hips. “This is a big party. The Premier turns fifty this year. Heads-of-state, foreign dignitaries and high-ranking officials will be there.”

  Natasha joined the men at the table. “All the more reason to warn them.”

  “Once again,” Hardy held out his hands, “How?”

  Victor wagged a finger at no one in particular.
“I know the man in charge of the Premier’s security, General Popovich. I’ll call him…tell him I have reason to believe there will be an assassination attempt on the Premier. He’ll listen to me.” Victor stepped away.

  Natasha picked up the invitation. “In the meantime, we need to find a way into this party.”

  “For fear of sounding like a broken record…how do we do that? You are definitely not on that guest list.”

  Flicking the invitation between her fingers, Natasha’s mind went back to her adolescent years.

  Hardy saw her smiling. “What is it?”

  “The party is being held at the Summer Palace.”

  Hardy bobbed his head. Okay, sounds like a swanky place. “So, what?”

  “Most everyone is familiar with the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg. It’s a large and gorgeous structure, built to portray the might of Imperial Russia. It was the home of the Russian Monarchs, until 1917. In late October of that year, Vladimir Lenin and the Bolsheviks stormed the palace and took control. The soldiers stationed there put up little resistance. After—”

  Hardy leaned forward and rested his folded forearms on the table. “What does this history lesson have to do with the birthday party, Natasha?”

  “People are not familiar with the Summer Palace. It was a favorite retreat for the ruling class during the summer months. As I was saying,” she cocked her head at him, “before you interrupted me…After the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917, the Summer Palace was abandoned and neglected.”

  “For my thirteenth birthday, my father took me there. He said the government had made plans to restore and modernize it. They were going to turn it into a venue for fancy gatherings, royal weddings…birthday parties for the elite. It was no longer going to be open to the public.” She waved a hand as if she was shooing away a bug. “Anyway, that afternoon, my father and I explored every square inch of that place, including the basement.” Natasha smiled, remembering running through the rooms and down the hallways. Having not been cared for in many decades, the palace was in shambles. At the time, she had imagined its former glory, members of royalty, wearing beautiful garments, gliding across the marble floors, dancing and conversing.