by Alex Ander
“I’d love to,” he spied the hotel, “but it’ll have to wait. As I said, I’m in the middle—”
She kicked out a chair from under the table. “Sit down, Hardy. You’re not going anywhere, until you tell me what’s going on.”
His eyes went from the chair to her. You’re not going anywhere, until you tell me what’s going on. Hardy mused. For having lived all her life in England, she only had a hint of the British accent. Maybe it skips a generation.
“I’d rather this meeting be cordial,” she tapped the badge on her belt, “but if I have to...”
Ellen Hamilton was an NCA officer (National Crime Agency—Britain’s closest version of America’s Federal Bureau of Investigation) and held the powers of constable, customs officer and immigration officer. This combination was known in law enforcement circles as “Triple Warranted” or “Tri Powers.”
Thirty-five years old, Hamilton had more than a decade of law enforcement experience. That experience led to her being one of the first officers of the National Crime Agency, created a few years ago. Some say her familial ties to the Director-General of the agency got her the job. Those close to her knew nepotism played no part. Hamilton was tough. She pursued leads and tracked down criminals better than most of her male counterparts.
Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his cheeks, Hardy regarded her. Dark eyebrows, piercing brown eyes with long lashes, and smooth cheeks, she was attractive without much effort. There was no doubt in his mind she would be stunning in a black dress, pumps and makeup.
After a last look at the hotel, Hardy flipped around the chair, straddled the seat and sat. Resting his forearms on the chair’s back, he thrust a finger at her. “You have no idea what’s at stake here, Ellen.”
She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. “Enlighten me.”
“People’s lives are at risk. The longer we play this game—” He stared at her. She was unmoved. Undoubtedly, she had heard the same song and dance before. Hamilton’s arrival had thrown a monkey wrench into his plans. His window of opportunity to have a private chat with Taziz was closing. If the situation was a football game, there were two minutes to go in the fourth quarter and he was out of timeouts. He expelled a gust of air. “All right, here it is. The clock’s ticking, so no questions…just listen.”
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Thank You
Thank you for purchasing and reading this book. This is my first endeavor at writing a book series. I’m not sure what the future holds for Aaron Hardy, but I know it will be exciting. I invite you to come with me on the adventure.
If you enjoyed The Unsanctioned Patriot, please post a review at your favorite bookseller.
I hope you’re looking forward to the next book in the series, American Influence. Keep reading for a sneak peek.
Sincerely,
Alex J. Ander
American Influence
By
Alex Ander
Continue reading for a preview
of the next book in the Aaron Hardy series…
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 line: ‘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.
Natasha and Sergei had been dating for the last two years. Their relationship had been great from the beginning; however, since the death of her father, they had begun arguing more. Usually, the arguments started over small matters before escalating to full-blown fights.
Last week, Natasha had told Sergei she had wanted to take some time to be alone. She needed to sort things out. The death of her father had been difficult, and she was slipping deeper and deeper into an anger-induced way of life. To make matters worse, her job was demanding more and more of her time.
Natasha was an FSB Agent, specializing in counter-terrorism, defending Russia from terrorist attacks. Over the past several months, there had been numerous assaults across the country. Citizens were terrified, never knowing when, or where, the next attack would occur. Natasha had been working overtime tracking down a serial bomber, who had exploded bombs at many locations, in and around Moscow, in the last three months. Sergei had called to inform her that a tip had come in, placing the bomber at this house. His team was in position, waiting for the ord
er to storm the house.
“YA dumayu, chto vy dolzhny sidet' eto odin iz — I think you should sit this one out.” Bracing for the backlash, Sergei’s muscles contracted.
Natasha glared at him. He was trying to protect her. As far as she was concerned, they were not dating anymore and her personal welfare was no longer his concern. Pointing her finger at him, she opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. Afraid of what she may say, she kept her thoughts to herself. She finished attaching the straps on her protective vest. “Bez shansov — No chance.” Her voice left no doubt she was angry. She picked up her SR-3M Vikhr, pulled back on the bolt and saw a round in the chamber. Releasing the bolt, she removed the magazine and made sure it was full.
Sergei did not have time to get into an argument with her that would most likely turn into a shouting match. He had a mission to complete and the other members of his team were relying on him to have his head in the game. He ogled Natasha from head to toe. “Vy deystvitel'no dumayete, chto vy odety dlya etogo — Do you really think you’re dressed for this?” He made no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
With more force than necessary, Natasha slammed the magazine into the rifle and examined her clothing. She was wearing a black bulletproof vest over a tight red knit sweater dress. The hem of the dress fell three inches above her knee. Black knee boots with chunky three-inch heels completed the outfit. She knew her clothing was not appropriate for an assault, but she had taken part in other operations and her heels and dress had been much higher.
Seeing the look on her face, Sergei made an appeal to her sensibility. “Pust' moi lyudi pnut' v dveryakh. Kogda vse yasno, mesto vse tvoye — Let my men kick in the doors. When everything is clear, the place is all yours.”
Natasha relented. The last thing she wanted to do was put his men at risk. She nodded her head and held out her hand, flexing her fingers. “Dayte mne naushnika — Give me an earpiece.” She put her rifle inside the SUV, before removing her vest and tossing it alongside the rifle.
Sergei handed her an earpiece and started jogging toward the house, two team members at his side. He gave commands over the radio. Over his shoulder, he heard Natasha call out to him.
“Byt' ostorozhen — Be careful.”
Sergei smiled. Maybe not all is lost between us.
Standing near the left-rear corner of the SUV, Natasha drew back her hair and tucked the tiny communication device into her ear. She heard Sergei’s commands, while watching him and his team approach the front door. She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed the backs of her upper arms. The heels of her boots rubbed against each other, while she shifted her weight back and forth. She saw Sergei give hand signals to the men near him. The teams were preparing to breach both doors to the house, simultaneously. Natasha felt a chill run down her back. She lowered her head and realized she was standing in the cold, wearing only a dress and boots. Leaning to the right, her left foot came off the ground and the fingertips of her right hand touched the collar of her coat. Before she could close her fingers, a loud blast pierced her eardrums and the ensuing shockwave slammed into her chest like a sledgehammer.
Already off-balance, Natasha was thrown backwards several feet. She landed on her back in a spread-eagle position. Her ears ringing, she laid on the ground, staring at the sky. Particles of debris floated down around her. A hot ember, the size of a quarter, fell on her left thigh and burned a hole through her nylons. She felt nothing. It took more than a minute, but the ringing in her ears subsided. She sat up. The house was reduced to rubble. Sections of it were on fire. Black smoke rose into the air. Her senses returning, she felt searing pain in her leg. She swiped away the hot ember. There was a large hole in her nylons. The skin—usually milky white in color—was bright red. She gathered a handful of snow and held it on her thigh. She closed her eyes and sighed. A few seconds later, she opened them to the sight of the house in shambles. A teardrop ran down her cheek and her voice cracked when she whispered, “Sergei.”
Minutes later, her legs began shaking and the muscles in her butt contracted. The coldness of the damp snow had seeped through her dress and nylons. Like an ocean wave, crashing against the shore, the cold ran up her body, until she was shivering from head to toe. Convulsing, she let her body fall backward. Lying on the snowy ground, she saw images of Sergei and her father flash across her mind. Fatigue set in and her eyelids drooped before closing. I’m so tired.
…………………………
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Also by Alex Ander
Action & Adventure - Special Agent Cruz
Vengeance is Mine
Defense of Innocents
Plea For Justice
Jacob St. Christopher Action & Adventure
Protect & Defend
Word of Honor
A Vow to the Innocent
Above & Beyond
Patriotic Action & Adventure - Aaron Hardy
The Unsanctioned Patriot
American Influence
Deadly Assignment
Patriot Assassin
The Nemesis Protocol
Necessary Means
Foreign Soil
Of Patriots and Tyrants
Act of Justice
Standalone
The President's Man
The President's Man 2
Special Agent Cruz Crime Series
Against All Enemies
Watch for more at Alex Ander’s site.
About the Author
Living in the middle of Michigan, Alex Ander writes Action & Adventure/Thriller novels. He has three series in production, focusing on the exploits of the protagonists Aaron Hardy, Jacob St. Christopher and FBI Special Agent Raychel DelaCruz (Cruz to those who know her).
His writing style mixes fast-paced action scenes with suspense, humor and sharp dialogue. Each book is wrapped up at the end with NO cliffhangers. Characters and relationships do develop and evolve over the course of the series, so it is best to read the books in order.
Mission Statement:
Write clean, fast-paced action that draws readers into the story, making them feel they are part of the adventure.
From the Author:
My goal is to craft stories that entertain and leave a positive, lasting impression on you. I seek to create protagonists with good character, and surround them with allies you’ll want to read about as much as you do the main character.
You won’t find any vulgarity in my work (F-bombs and the like). Yes, an occasional mild, cuss word is used; however, even those are kept to a bare minimum.
And what about graphic sex scenes that leave nothing to the imagination? Nope. Not in my books.
So if you enjoy clean, fast-paced action & adventure stories with humor, crisp dialogue and camaraderie among the characters, then pick up a copy of one of my books today.
Best Wishes,
Alex
Read more at Alex Ander’s site.