The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Hardy walked to the window. He pulled back the left side of the curtains. It was going to be a cool day, but the sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the sky. “That still doesn’t explain how you got to where you are now; specifically, your current line of work.” He moved the curtain further and peered at the courtyard.

  I’ve come this far…might as well tell him the rest. Dahlia smacked the top of her thighs and stood. “As it turns out, when it comes to the Mafia, terrorism is bad for business. When people are scared and insecure about their safety, they change their behavior, their spending. That tends to cut into the crime boss’s pocketbooks.” She walked toward the bedroom. “They pay me well to take out these terrorists and return things to…normal.” She stopped at the door. “In a way, I’m serving my country, even though my country deserted me.” She paused for a moment. “I guess that makes me a ‘Patriot Assassin’ of sorts.” She disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Hardy alone with his thoughts.

  Ten minutes later, Dahlia strolled out, wearing black leggings, black knee boots and a red sweater dress with cable ties on the sleeves. Her long hair was up, tied loosely on the back of her head. She was carrying a small suitcase in one hand and Hardy’s Walther in the other. She met him in the middle of the living room.

  He took the pistol. “Dahlia, I’m sorry for what happened at the warehouse. I should have had your back. I should have forced you to come with me.” He glanced away before coming back to her. “I—”

  Dahlia stopped him with a well-placed forefinger to his lips. “Don’t. Believe me when I say that nobody forces me to do anything.” Inwardly, she chuckled. He actually believes he could’ve made me come with him. “I made the choice to stay behind—not you. So, you can take that burden off your shoulders.” She removed her finger and opened her hand, a few inches from his face.

  He plucked a flash drive from her palm. “What’s this?”

  “A gift,” she replied. “Before you arrived, I got Muhammad to give me the password to his computer. I down—”

  “You mean the one you destroyed.” The computer had been riddled with twenty-two caliber bullets, igniting a quick fire that fried the components. Charity was not optimistic she would get any data from the device.

  Dahlia gave him a mischievous grin. “I downloaded the computer’s hard drive,” she pointed, “to that flash drive. I think you’ll be happy with what’s on it.”

  He examined the drive. “You could have kept this for yourself.”

  She set her suitcase on the floor. “Consider it…a thank you gift.” She glanced at his chest before locking eyes with him. “I meant what I said at the warehouse, Hardy. It’s been nice working with you. I’ve been operating on my own for so long that I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a partner. I realize it was a blip in time, but during those few minutes, I felt part of something bigger, something greater. And, I have you to thank for that.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Lingering, she regarded his lips. “If things would have turned out differently years ago…” her words trailed off, as she thought of the possibilities. Pressure built behind her eyes, but she fought the urge. “Who knows? We might have made a great team.”

  She backed away. “Normally, this is where I would say ‘goodbye’ to you,” she picked up the suitcase, “however, I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.” Her pouty bright red lips thinned, and she gave Hardy a sexy and provocative smile before walking to the door. Ten feet away, she looked over her shoulder. “By the way, someday you’ll have to tell me what you really do for the FBI.” She opened the door and stood in the entryway, one hand on the doorknob. “I know an FBI agent when I see one…and you, Aaron Hardy, are no FBI agent.” Smiling, she winked and backed out of the apartment, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter 18: All Saint’s

  November 1st, 10:09 a.m.; St. Matthew’s Cathedral, Downtown Washington, D.C.

  Special Agent Cruz held Hardy’s hand, while they shuffled toward the front doors of St. Matthew’s Cathedral, following the other churchgoers. Today was her 30th birthday, and she was excited to be spending the day with him. She was especially happy he had come to mass with her, since she knew he was uncomfortable when it came to matters of faith.

  On one occasion, he had shared his reservations. It was not that he did not think there was a God. He just did not know for sure, and he had a difficult time with beliefs. In his line of work, he trusted in facts. Facts and information had kept him alive.

  Cruz smiled to herself and squeezed Hardy’s hand a little tighter, as they exited the church and approached Father Pat McMurray.

  In his late sixties, Father McMurray was tall and lean. His face was long, but filled-out. His hair was gray and he had a bald patch that ran down the middle of his head all the way to the back, stopping an inch above his shirt collar. He smiled and shook hands with every parishioner he met. Seeing Cruz, his smile widened and instead of shaking her hand, he stretched out his arms for a hug.

  “Oh, my dear, it is good to see you.” Father McMurray released her, but kept his hands on her shoulders. “Where have you been?”

  Cruz had spent a few weeks recovering from a work-related incident, and she had not attended mass during that time. Not wanting to go into detail about the event, she sidestepped the question. “I’ve been busy, Father. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” he patted her upper arm, “and that’s what counts.”

  “Father, I want you to meet someone.” She put her right hand on Hardy’s back. “This is Aaron.”

  Hardy stepped forward and shook Father McMurray’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father. I really enjoyed your speech this morning, especially the part about freedom.”

  “You liked my speech, huh?” Father McMurray glanced at Cruz, who was grinning. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”

  Hardy noticed the visual exchange. “I also wanted to thank you for the words you said at the memorial back in July for those who were killed in that explosion at the tavern. That really meant a lot to me.”

  Father McMurray raised his eyebrows. “So, you knew someone who was killed in that terrible act?”

  Hardy’s mind saw his fellow teammates who had been killed. As if someone was swiping a finger across a computer tablet, showing family pictures, the faces of his friends flashed before his eyes. “Yes, I knew a few of them.”

  Father McMurray saw the vacant expression on Hardy’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that, son.” He put a hand on Hardy’s shoulder. “That was such a horrific loss of human life. If you ever need to talk, son,” he glanced upward at the church, “you know where I live.”

  Cruz glanced behind her and saw people waiting, so she and Hardy said their ‘goodbyes’ and walked away. Hardy stared at the pavement all the way to her car. When they were inside the Dodge Charger, Cruz, knowing what—or whom—was on his mind, tried to lighten the mood.

  “Just so you know,” she smiled and faced him, “when Father speaks in front of the altar, it’s called a homily—not a speech.”

  “Well, that explains the looks you two gave each other.” He returned her smile. “Thanks for the tip.”

  …………………………

  Hardy and Cruz spent the rest of the day together. They had brunch at a co-op owned American eatery, specializing in farm-to-table cuisine. They saw a movie in the afternoon, followed by a little shopping. Cruz had wanted to get a new pair of casual knee boots for the cold months ahead. When it came time to pay for the boots, Hardy stepped in front and gave the cashier his credit card. Cruz smiled and thanked him before they left the store.

  Hardy glanced at his watch, while pushing on a large stuffed animal, trying to make room for the shopping bags. The fluffy toy bounced back each time he let go. “Tell me again why we had to bring this along?”

  Late last night, he had shown up at her house with the huge bear, which had taken up the passenger seat in his truck.

  Cruz played with the
big black nose. “He’s cute. And since you gave him to me, I wanted him to share the day with us.”

  With perfect timing, befitting a smooth tactical operator, Hardy leaned into the bear with all his weight before quickly tossing in the bags and slamming the door. He wiped his brow. Oh, the things we do for love. He stole another look at his watch—6:31—while climbing into the passenger seat. “I’ve made a seven o’clock reservation at a nice restaurant. We don’t want to be late.”

  Cruz’s face lit up. “Where are we going?”

  Buckling the safety belt, he pointed at the windshield. “It’s a surprise. I’ll give you directions on the way.”

  Chapter 19: 1789

  The 1789 Restaurant was on the corner of 36th Street and Prospect St. NW. Driving down 36th Street, Hardy spied an open parking spot in front of the restaurant. He joked. “I called ahead and had this parking spot reserved, too.” Special Agent Cruz brought the Charger to a stop between the white lines. They got out and walked to the front doors. Hardy peered through one of the six glass panels on the wooden door before opening it for her.

  Once inside, he found a waiter and told him he had a reservation. While the waiter checked his list, Hardy watched Cruz. She was admiring the atmosphere.

  The 1789 Restaurant was located in a Federal period house in Georgetown. It had six dining rooms; each one decorated with fine American antiques and historical pictures.

  “If you will follow me, Mr. Hardy, I will show you to your table in the John Carroll Room.” As they walked, the waiter gave them a brief history lesson. “Your dining room was named after Archbishop John Carroll, who purchased the site in 1789. He was also the founding father of Georgetown University, the oldest—”

  “Catholic university in the United States,” said Cruz, looking at the ornate decorations.

  “Yes, that’s right.” The waiter looked at Hardy. “Your other guests have already arrived, sir.”

  Cruz whipped her head around. “Other guests?” She tucked her right arm under his left elbow, while leaning closer and squeezing his upper arm. “You didn’t say there’d be other people. Who are they? How many are here?” She peppered him with questions, until the waiter stopped at their table and pulled out a chair. Her eyes opened wide and she covered her mouth.

  Hardy nodded at the waiter, who left to get the server.

  Seated at the table were Charity and the members of AR-1. Hardy was grinning from ear to ear; pleased he had pulled off this dinner/birthday party.

  Cruz slowly shook her head before her face came alive. She had only met these people one time, and it was not under the best of circumstances.

  There was a chorus of ‘happy birthdays,’ as, one by one, each person stood to give well wishes to Cruz. Draper was first. Hardy backed away to make room.

  “Happy birthday, Cruz.” The two women hugged.

  Pulling away, but maintaining physical contact, Cruz frantically tried to remember the woman’s name. “Eva…right?”

  Draper nodded.

  “Thank you so much for what you did for me.”

  Draper shook her head and waved a hand in front of her face. “As I told Hardy, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.” She glanced up and down. “You look great. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m almost back to one hundred percent.”

  “That’s great.” Draper made room for Henderson and Tyler, who were jockeying to be next in line. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  Hardy watched the men shake Cruz’s hand and give her a kiss on the cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charity.

  She held out his leather jacket, “Thank you,” before showing him the yellow note he had stuck to her laptop. “And, thank you for inviting me to this party.” Her words were strained. She felt their relationship had taken a turn for the better. He did not have to invite her, but he did and she appreciated the gesture.

  Hardy claimed the jacket and smiled. “I’m glad you could make it, Cherry.”

  Charity’s heart skipped a beat when she heard her nickname. Even though she had asked him to call her Cherry, he had steadfastly refused, stating he did not think it would be professional to use nicknames in the workplace. She had suspected the real reason was that he did not like or respect her.

  Hardy saw Cruz still talking to Henderson and Tyler. “So, how did you get the name Cherry?”

  “My father gave it to me when I was a little girl. He owned a 1960’s muscle car…a bright red Camaro.” Her mind went back to her childhood. She remembered the car and the time she had spent with her dad. She told Hardy how he would set her on the fan hood, while he worked on the car. Soon after, without fail, she would crawl around the engine compartment. Her mother would get mad at her father when Charity came into the house with more dirt and grease on her clothes than what was on his mechanic’s suit.

  Hardy threw his head back and laughed.

  “My dad loved that car and he always said it was in ‘cherry condition.’ I’m not sure what that meant, but eventually he started calling me Cherry.” She paused, her mind lost in happy memories. When her father passed away, the nickname had taken on a new meaning for her. She shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, that’s how I got the name.”

  Hardy saw Cruz making her way over to them. “A vehicle in ‘cherry condition’ is one that’s perfect in every way, inside and out.” He pointed at Charity. “Your dad must have thought you were perfect, too.”

  She smiled, his words echoing in her mind.

  “Charity, it’s so good to see you, again.” Cruz gave Charity a hug. “But, I thought you were staying in Texas.”

  “I thought I was, too.” Charity flicked her eyes toward Hardy. “It’s a long story for another day. Suffice it to say, I’m now living in D.C.”

  “Well, welcome to the area.”

  “Thanks. So, you were born on All Saint’s Day, huh?”

  “Yes,” said Cruz, cocking her head. “Are you Catholic too?”

  Charity nodded. “Born and raised…but, I’m afraid I haven’t been to mass in a long time.”

  “Call me if you ever want to join me some Sunday.”

  “I will,” said Charity, noticing the others taking their seats at the table. “Hopefully, the roof won’t collapse.” The two women shared a laugh and took their seats.

  …………………………

  Two hours later, after having enjoyed good food and good company, Cruz leaned left and whispered to Hardy, “Thank you.” Many years had passed since she had had this much fun on her birthday. She followed up by kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

  Hardy bristled. This was the first time she had said those words. His mind scrambled for an appropriate response. He faltered and managed an awkward smile, while he slipped his arm under the table and put a hand on her leg, his fingertips feeling her smooth leggings. He also felt the tension between them. Hardy had strong feelings for Cruz; however, he wanted to be certain he truly was in love with her, and not infatuated with the idea of being in love. She was an amazing woman and he did not want to hurt her. In his mind, saying those three words now, and later discovering it was not true, would be much worse.

  Draper broke the silence between them. “Tell us something about Hardy we don’t know, Cruz. Tell us something we can tease him about for a long time.”

  Cruz shifted her gaze toward the others and then back to Hardy. She swallowed hard and forced a smile, not wanting to ruin the wonderful evening. “I’m sure you know about the car chase back in July—the one where Hardy was in the back seat only wearing a hospital gown and socks. And, how he used his gown to patch up my partner’s wound.”

  Everyone nodded and leaned forward—eager to hear what she had to add to the story.

  “Well, even though I was unconscious, I came to for a few seconds and saw,” she cupped her hands in front of her chest and rotated them outward a couple times, “the cutest set of butt cheeks on a buck naked man running away.” She pointed her right index finger at H
ardy, while holding up her left hand to block his view.

  Charity and Draper’s eyes widened and their mouths fell open. Henderson and Tyler roared with laughter. “Hey, Hardy,” said Henderson, “I think…we have your new…call sign—Buck Naked.”

  Holding his hand to his mouth and mimicking a walkie-talkie, Tyler chimed in, “Buck Naked, this is Bigfoot. Do you copy, Buck Naked—over?”

  As the laughter and teasing continued, Hardy observed Cruz. She had her hands to her face, snickering and trying to hold back the laughter, unsuccessfully. Tied in a ponytail, her long brown hair bounced as she laughed. Around her neck lay a gold chain with a gold crucifix attached to it. The crucifix came to the neckline of her long-sleeved dark blue velvet dress. He peered into her eyes, watching her long, curly eyelashes flutter when she blinked. She’s beautiful. Her charm had once again taken him by surprise. He put his right arm around her shoulders, wrapped his left arm around her waist and drew her closer. Above the laughter, he said, “I owe you one.” Leaning into her, he pressed his lips against her left ear, their cheeks touching, and whispered, “I love you, too, Cruz.” He squeezed tighter and kissed her.

  Turning back to his guests, Hardy’s eye caught movement outside the window. Though it was dark, a streetlight threw a tiny beam of light across the window, illuminating the faint side profile of a woman before she left his field of view. Gawking at the window, his body stiffened.

  Cruz felt the muscles in his arm tighten. “What is it?”

  Hardy stared out the window for a few moments. “Nothing…I…I thought I saw someone I recognized.” He smiled and patted her side.

  …………………………

  Dahlia stood motionless, outside the beam of light coming from the lamp overhead and peered through the window of the 1789 Restaurant. Mixed emotions coursed through her body. Radiating outward from her heart, jealousy and anger gradually gave way to sadness before settling on acceptance. Examining the window in front of her, she chuckled at the symbolism. She was the proverbial kid on the outside, looking in, watching Hardy and his friends, teammates or whoever they were laughing and enjoying one another’s company. With one last look, she passed through the ray of light and walked up the street.