by Alex Ander
Chapter 24: Smoke
Victor and his team had been positioned in the woods, outside the main gate. They had seen the whole act play out before their eyes. Victor used his status in the Spetsnaz to convince the security guards that Hardy was with him, while Nikolai and Ivan moved to the van. Before they were able to secure him, Rudin had detonated the bomb.
Hardy grabbed Victor’s hand and the big man hoisted him to his feet.
“Are you okay?”
Hardy nodded.
“Where’s Natasha?”
Hardy gaped at the palace. The gray smoke had gotten thicker. He bolted toward the front door. Coming to the steps, he took them three at a time. Glimpsing Michelle and her friends, he saw the look of abject terror on their faces. Other than that, they were fine. Racing past them, he shouted and flung his arm at them. “Get out of here.” If there was a secondary explosion, he wanted them far away.
Making it to the Great Room, all he saw was smoke. He plucked the handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered his nose and mouth. He pushed forward. People were stumbling, holding each other, while heading for the front door. Their blank faces were dirty, as they used their hands to shield their noses from the smoke. Men had their arms around women’s waists, helping them exit the blast zone. Waiters were tending to the injured. Beneath the screams and cries for help, constant coughing could be heard.
With Victor a step behind, Hardy stopped at the fireplace. He took the handkerchief away from his face and shouted Natasha’s name several times, coughing in between calls. He got on his knees and looked left and right of the fireplace. There was so much smoke that everything appeared black. His eyes started to burn.
Victor motioned. “I’ll look over here.”
“Wait,” shouted Hardy. “I think I see her. Follow me.” Hardy had caught a glimpse of royal blue fabric. He kept low and moved parallel to the fireplace, stepping over and around chunks of stone. Outside a small room, where the smoke was thickest, he saw one of the Premier’s security guards lying face down on a woman with black hair. Of course, with so much blackness all around, she could have been a blonde for all Hardy knew. She was on her back. The guard on top had a large gash on the back of his blood-soaked head. Crimson streams ran down the side of his face, dripping onto the woman’s dress. Drawing closer, Hardy saw the woman’s face. Natasha. It appeared as if the guard had shielded her from the blast before being hit by one of the large pieces of stone on the floor around her. He felt for a pulse on the guard. He was dead. “Help me.” Hardy pushed, while Victor wrenched on the guard’s arm, until Natasha was free of the corpse.
Hardy leaned over and put his ear to her nose and mouth. While staring past her shoes, he listened for a breath.
Victor examined her body. “I don’t see any wounds.” He took her wrist in his hand. “I’ve got a pulse.”
“She’s not breathing.” Hardy coughed. “We’ve got to move her away,” he coughed again, “from here.” He slipped his hands under her armpits. Staying in a crouch, he lifted her upper body and began walking backwards toward the center of the room. Natasha’s head rested against his belly. Victor grabbed her knees and hoisted them.
The men carried Natasha away from the thickest of the smoke and placed her on the floor. Hardy put his hand under her neck and raised it to clear her oxygen pathway. He leaned over, opened her mouth and ran his forefinger all around the inside of her mouth, making sure there were no foreign objects. He pinched her nose with his right thumb and forefinger, took a deep breath and blew into her mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her chest rise. He turned his head to the side, sucked in more oxygen and blew into her mouth. He fought to suppress a cough. He repeated the procedure several times, stopping periodically to put his ear to her nose and mouth. She wasn’t breathing.
Kneeling on the other side of Natasha, Victor held her wrist. “Her pulse is weak.”
“Damn it,” said Hardy, shoving Victor and swinging his leg over Natasha as if he was mounting a horse. Straddling her, he slipped his fingers inside the neckline of her dress and wrenched on it. The satin dress yielded to the force, splitting open to below her belly button and exposing her bra and underwear. He slid his fingers under her bra, between her breasts. Finding the area where her ribcage came together, above her stomach. He moved his fingers a couple inches higher, while raising his left fist above his head. Using the middle finger as an aiming point, he gathered all of his strength into his left arm and started to drive his fist toward her chest.
Before he could deliver a blow, Victor clamped onto Hardy’s fist with both hands.
“What the hell are you doing? Let go of my arm.” Hardy was enraged, his voice hoarse from inhaling smoke. Natasha was dying and he had to save her. He cocked his right arm and prepared to knock the giant into next Tuesday, if that was possible.
“Look.” Victor gestured toward Natasha.
His arm poised to strike, Hardy eyed Natasha. She was rolling her head back and forth on the floor, coughing and gagging. Her head came away from the floor with every cough. She gasped for air. Her eyes opened and closed several times.
Victor slid across the floor and lifted her head and shoulders, cradling her in his arms. “You gave us quite a scare, you know that?” He pushed the hair out of her eyes and wiped dirt from her face.
She looked at him and managed a slight smile. She tried to speak, but was stopped by another bout of coughing, her body twisting.
After several minutes, Natasha was able to keep her eyes open and her coughing became more infrequent. Her eyes focused on Hardy, who was still straddling her. Breathing heavily, his chest rose and fell. Her eyes moved further down his frame. Below his groin, she spotted her underwear and the remnants of the dress. Her eyes meeting his, she pointed a finger at their adjoining nether regions. “I don’t know how things are done in America.” She let out a half laugh/half cough. “In this country, however, one dance doesn’t get you to first base.”
His hands fumbling with the torn fabric, Hardy covered her exposed skin as best he could. “Actually, that’s not first base. First base is—” He waved his hand, “Never mind.” He removed his jacket and handed it to Victor before rolling to his right and collapsing beside her.
Victor moved out from under her and placed her head on Hardy’s jacket, which Victor had crumpled into a ball. He put his forefinger under her chin and tilted her head backward. “I’m going to help the others.” He shifted his gaze to Hardy and pointed his finger at him. “You,” he said, before pointing at Natasha, never taking his eyes off Hardy, “Stay with her.”
“Understood,” replied Hardy, not offended by the commanding tone in Victor’s voice.
When Victor had gone, Natasha rolled her head toward Hardy. “Did you get Rudin?”
“He’s in custody.” A few moments passed, giving Hardy time to think. He felt guilty for sending her to take care of the bomb. She could have been killed. “Listen, I’m sorry. I should have been the one to go for the bomb.”
She rolled her head back and forth. “No, you were right. Even though I speak Russian, I had a hell of a time getting someone to listen to me. If you had been there, they would have shot you on sight.” She rolled her head to face him. “By the way, what were you thinking—discharging your weapon like that? I’m surprised the security guards didn’t shoot you. That was crazy.”
Hardy agreed. “Yes, but it was effective. And, for the record, the security guards did try to shoot me.”
Natasha plopped her hand onto his forearm. “I’m glad you’re all right.” Coughing, she pulled her hand away and covered her mouth. “Thank you for your help. I’m not sure I could have gotten Rudin and saved the Premier’s life.”
Hardy re-called their heated conversation along the side of the road. He rotated his head toward her, a devilish grin on his face. “So, maybe Americans aren’t so selfish and self-centered after all.”
Without moving her head, Natasha shifted her eyes toward Hardy and saw his
grin. The corners of her mouth slowly lifted to form a smile before a burst of laughter followed. She was still laughing when Michelle, the girl from the party, appeared and knelt next to Natasha. Her two friends were with her.
Hardy lifted his torso from the floor and leaned on his elbows. “Michelle, I told you to get away from this place. What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, making his words sound even more scolding.
“I couldn’t turn my back on these people. If it hadn’t been for you,” she glanced over her shoulder at her friends and came back to him, “we might have been lying where you are right now.” She leaned forward and helped Natasha sit up. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” She draped Natasha’s right arm around her neck, while slipping her left arm around Natasha’s waist. Michelle’s friends helped from the other side. Together, the three of them helped her stand. Michelle pointed at Hardy, who was on his feet. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you were some kind of secret agent. My dad taught me how to recognize a spy when I saw one. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Hardy smiled at the girl. She had no idea what she was saying. Her innocence was both amusing and refreshing. One thing was for sure; she had a good heart, risking her own safety to help others. The world needed more people like her. He saw Natasha grinning at him. “Yeah, I’m a regular secret agent man.” Natasha snickered, while everyone shuffled out of the palace.
Chapter 25: Airport
July 11th, 11:43 a.m.; Domodedovo International Airport (Moscow, Russia)
Hardy stood at the base of the staircase leading to a small jet. The Russian Premier had arranged for the private aircraft to fly Hardy back to the United States. It was a small token of gratitude, acknowledging his part in saving the Premier’s life. The Russian leader had also awarded him the Hero of the Russian Federation, the highest honor that could be bestowed on a Russian citizen or foreign national.
“The Premier wanted me to tell you how grateful he is for your help.” Natasha handed Hardy a box. “He wanted to present this to you in person, during a formal ceremony; however, he respects your request to maintain a low profile.”
Hardy opened the box. Inside was a gold star attached to a red, white and blue ribbon. The artifact was the official medal given to recipients of the Hero of the Russian Federation. He nodded his head and closed the box. “Please give the Premier my regards.”
“He also wanted me to tell you that if you ever needed anything, and he was in a position to be of assistance, you should contact him.”
Victor stood next to Natasha. “The same goes for us.” He glanced over his shoulder at Nikolai and Ivan. “If you ever need our help, we will be there.” Victor, Nikolai and Ivan shook Hardy’s hand before each one gave him a kiss on each cheek. “Have a safe flight, my friend.” Victor and his team walked away, leaving Hardy alone with Natasha.
She folded her arms over her chest and tipped her head toward the men. “Well, you’ve managed to endear yourself to some good people. He meant what he said, you know. I’ve seen it myself. No matter where you are in the world, he will be there for you.”
Hardy stared past her shoulder at his new companions. “Judging from their devotion to you, I believe it.”
Natasha glanced at the pavement, not looking at anything in particular. A gentle breeze blew strands of hair across her face. She pushed the locks behind her ear. “I found out this morning that Rudin gave officials the identity of the man who had orchestrated the bombings.”
Hardy leaned closer, straining to hear her. A nearby jet engine roared when the aircraft accelerated down the runway.
Natasha raised her voice. “It was General Popovich. He was at the birthday party and left moments before the cake was wheeled out and placed in front of the Premier. Also, he was the one who sent those FSB agents to the café. Not sure what his motives were, but every officer in the country will be searching for him. He won’t get far.” She shifted her weight to her other shoe, a low-heeled, black pump. “As for Rudin,” the noise from the plane died and her voice returned to a normal level, “he won’t ever see the light of day again. I know you wanted him dead, Hardy, but he’ll never make or sell another bomb.”
“I suppose that’s just as good.” Hardy was unsure if his superiors would see it the same way.
More moments of silence passed between them. Jets took off and landed in the background. The wind blew stronger.
“Well, I guess I should be going.” He pivoted to the left and put a hand on the staircase railing.
Natasha’s stomach twisted. She stretched out a hand toward him, but quickly retracted it. Seeing him turn his back, an empty feeling washed over her. It was time to face the truth. He was leaving and she did not want that. But, why? I hardly know him. It had been three months since Sergei’s death; however, it seemed like only yesterday that she and he were together. Being with Hardy these past couple of days had brought back the feelings of joy and happiness she had with her boyfriend. Hardy’s kiss at the palace rushed into her mind. That kiss had meant something to her, but he did not seem to share the same feelings. Her heart told her to kiss him again—to either confirm or deny there was something between them. Her mind, however, was telling her not to put a strain on a good friendship. In the end, impulses won out over rational thinking.
Natasha curled her fingers around his arm and pulled gently, until he faced her. She placed her right hand over his left pectoral muscle and tilted her head backward. Her eyes going back and forth from his eyes to his lips, she leaned closer, only a few inches separated them. Staring into his eyes, she froze. Something in them said her kiss would not be received well. No, she sensed his mind was on something else. She pulled away and patted his chest twice. “It was good working with you, Hardy. Take care of yourself.” She stepped back and dropped her gaze. “And, if you’re ever anywhere even remotely close to Moscow,” she looked up and forced a smile, “I would be deeply hurt if you didn’t contact me.” She stuck out her hand. “Have a safe trip.”
Hardy was no fool. At the palace, he had felt the passion in Natasha’s kiss. She had been reluctant to pull away from him then just as she was now. Though their relationship had started out cold, they had experienced combat together, and combat had a way of forging close bonds in a short time. He thought of her lying on the floor at the palace, not breathing. His heart ached and he would have done anything to save her life.
Hardy took a step forward, past the handshake, and put his hands on her waist; she put hers on his chest, arching her back slightly. “Natasha, I’m going home to a woman I met a week ago and I can’t wait to see her and spend as much time as I can with her. My heart beats faster just thinking about it.” Natasha lowered her gaze. Gently placing the pad of his forefinger under her chin, he lifted.
Natasha forced herself to make eye contact. She was rewarded with the same beautiful blue eyes that had captivated her when they first met at the café.
“I care a great deal for you. I really do…just not in that way.” He paused. “The last thing I want is to hurt you. But, we’ve been through too much for me not to be honest with you.”
Natasha stood still. Her heart thumped in her chest. His words brought pain and comfort. A relationship with him was not going to happen. In time, she would be okay. So much pain had consumed the past few months of her life. Right here, right now…all she wanted was to feel his hands on her waist, and the beating of his heart on her palm for a little longer. After more than a minute, but before the moment became awkward, she cupped the back of his neck, rose to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you…for being honest.” She lowered her heels to the pavement and pointed a finger at him. “I will still be upset,” she poked him in the chest, “if I find out you were in Moscow and didn’t call me.”
Hardy chuckled, gave Natasha a hug and kissed her cheek. “I promise I’ll call if I’m ever in the area.” He walked up the staircase. At the cabin door, he turned and waved before vanishing into the ai
rcraft.
Ten minutes later, the jet taxied toward the runway, next in line to depart. As the plane made a left turn, Hardy peered out the window. He saw Natasha standing in the same spot where they had said their ‘good-byes.’ The jet’s engines grew in intensity and the aircraft lunged forward and gained speed. Hardy watched her, until she was too far behind the jet to be seen. He faced forward. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath and let the air slowly leave his lungs. He recalled the events that transpired, since their first encounter. A half grin spread across his face when their heated conversation came to mind. Once they had ironed out their differences, they had made a good team.
Hardy’s chest felt tight; he rubbed it, thinking he had pulled a muscle. He stopped and cocked his head. He realized in his excitement to be heading home to see Special Agent Cruz, he had not processed the fact he was not leaving behind a team, but good friends. Reconciling the feelings, a greater sensation forced its way through the pain, a sense their paths would cross again.
He opened his eyes, retrieved his sat phone and began searching the Internet for restaurants in Washington D.C. He spent fifteen minutes reading reviews for different establishments. He smiled when he found the restaurant he wanted, the Bourbon Steak, one of the most luxurious restaurants in D.C. It was located inside the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown. It would be a perfect place to take Cruz for dinner.
Chapter 26: Washington
July 12th, 7:55 a.m.; the White House
Dressed in the same clothes he had worn to the first meeting with the President—gray suit, white shirt, red tie—Aaron Hardy turned left at the end of the hallway. A secret service agent was escorting him to the Oval Office for an early morning meeting with the President. This was going to be Hardy’s first formal contact with anyone, since his return from Russia.