by Alex Ander
“The motorcade is thirty seconds out, Mr. President,” said Agent Bill Fuller, a muscular black man in his early thirties, standing just over six-feet tall. He was dressed in a black suit and a white shirt with black shoes and a black tie. With the sun having set two hours earlier, the only illumination came from the house lights, and they provided only a silhouette of Fuller, while he retreated into the background. Standing near one of the Roman columns, Fuller crossed his hands in front of his body. He turned his head to the left and right before repeating the process. He was the head of the President’s security team, and he was on high alert, looking for anything or anyone that was out of place. He had agents posted all over the property, inside and out, who were equally attentive to their surroundings.
The President straightened his tie and addressed his wife. “How do I look?” He was dressed in a dark blue suit and a white shirt. His shoes were black and his tie was dark blue with thin lines of red running diagonally across it. He cranked his head back and forth, while tightening the tie’s knot.
Caroline smiled at her husband. Even though he was as handsome as the day she had met him, he fussed about his appearance before important meetings. She knew he saw himself as competent, but it was important to him that he also dressed the part. She helped him with the tie. “You look very distinguished.” She patted his chest. “Now, stop worrying. You’re going to be great. You already know that.”
The President slipped his arm around her waist and squeezed, gently, before letting go and crossing his hands in front of his body. He turned his head and saw Hardy, who was peering into the darkness. The President watched Hardy, his eyes squinting and his head panning across the lawn in front of the mansion.
The President leaned right. “You can relax, Aaron. My agents have this place locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No one, who is not supposed to be here, is getting in here. Try to have some fun. You’ve earned it.” He was referring to Hardy’s mission in Moscow—five months ago—that played a big part in this summit being scheduled.
For the past five months, Hardy had been working for the President in a top-secret role. His objective was to seek out and destroy enemy combatants that terrorized innocent civilians. Working for the President and reporting to FBI Director, Phillip Jameson, Hardy’s first mission as Special Agent Consultant to the Director, the official title for his unofficial position, was to fly to Moscow and meet with an agent of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, or FSB. Together, they were to find and kill a bomb maker that was terrorizing the people of Russia. Because of Hardy’s efforts, the Russian Premier had requested Hardy’s presence at this summit.
Special Agent Cruz leaned forward and around Hardy. Even though her full name was DelaCruz, her fellow soldiers, as a joke, had shortened her name to Cruz. They had told her it was too difficult to pronounce. To this day, everyone who knew her, called her by that name. “That’s what I told him.” Cruz returned to a standing position. The right half of her long dark hair stayed in front of her body, partly covering the right side of her face, while the left half hung down below her back.
Hardy acknowledged the President, “Yes, sir,” before looking at Cruz and adding, “Yes, ma’am.”
Her fingers interlocked in front of her and her head cocked slightly to the right, she stared at him out of the corner of her eye. A half-smile crossed her lips, which were colored with red lipstick. Even though she did not need to do so, because she was very attractive without it, she had applied light make-up around her cheeks and dark brown eyes. The mascara on her eyelashes, which were already long and curly, made them even more elegant and beautiful. A breeze blew from the right, pushing her hair further across her face. A tiny gold chain around her wrist slid to her forearm when she brushed her hair over her shoulder.
Hardy admired her tight-fitting red cocktail dress with wide straps rolling over her shoulders. The hem of the dress that displayed every curve of her well-toned five-feet, eight-inch figure, stopped an inch above her knees. She shifted her weight back and forth on high-heeled red pumps, while she finished primping. Hardy stared a little longer at her legs, specifically, her nylons; black with a tight fishnet weave. They added a touch of risqué allure without being inappropriate.
Cruz followed his eyes. As she interlaced her fingers again, she gently elbowed him, “Eyes forward, Hardy,” pleased he had noticed her attire. Inwardly, she smiled, thinking of her outfit for tomorrow’s dinner party, a mid-thigh black velvet dress with black knee boots. Being an FBI agent, she mostly wore different colors of matching blazers and slacks, and did not get a chance to wear finer clothing very often. Secretly, she was enjoying the chance to play ‘dress-up’ over the next couple of days.
Hardy smiled at her before facing forward. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and let the cool night air fill his lungs. Fall was his favorite time of the year. After suffering through the heat and humidity of summer, he reveled in the autumn air. The average temperature for this time of the year was the lower thirties; however, most of Maine was experiencing a brief spell of warmer than usual weather. The thermometer was hovering in the mid-fifties and the air was fresh and crisp. Exhaling, he opened his eyes and, through the trees, saw the headlights of the lead car in the motorcade.
Chapter 4: Premier
The string of black limousines wound past the mansion, stopping when the middle car was even with the steps. The other cars disgorged their occupants at once. Men in dark suits spread out over the immediate area. One agent opened the back door of the limousine in front of the mansion.
A man not much older than fifty got out and walked up the steps. Dark-suited men on either side kept pace with him. The man was short, slightly overweight and balding. His clothing matched that of the men beside him—black suit, white shirt and black shoes. Reaching the top step, the man smiled at the President and extended his hand.
The President shook the man’s hand. “Mr. Premier, welcome to our home. I’m glad you could make it. I trust you had a good flight.”
The Premier nodded his head. “Yes, it was without incident, but it was long, nonetheless.” He smiled. “Long flights, I’m afraid, do not agree with a man of my…advanced years.” Everyone chuckled, while he stepped forward and greeted Caroline.
The President put his hand his wife’s back. “This is my wife, Caroline,” he extended his hand further, “and our daughter, Abigail.”
“I'm pleased to meet you.” The Premier kissed the backs of their hands.
Caroline gushed. It had been awhile since a man had greeted her so formally. “I must say, Mr. Premier, your English is exceptional.”
“Thank you. It is the result of a lifetime of good education.” He paused before leaning back and gesturing toward the mansion. “You have graciously invited me into your home. I would be honored if you would call me, Yuri.”
Pleased to be on a first-name basis with the leader of another country, Caroline smiled. “Thank you, Yuri.” She craned her neck and made a show of glancing behind the Premier. “I’m sorry, but I was under the impression your wife would be accompanying you.”
“She took another car and stopped to do some shopping. She will be joining us later this evening.” The Premier closed his eyes and lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “Forgive me, Caroline, if what I am about to say offends you, but I do not understand women and shopping.”
The first lady leaned forward and touched the Premier’s arm. “You’re not alone, Yuri, and I’m not offended. In fact, I would love to take your wife shopping—perhaps Friday when you’re meeting with my husband.”
A look of recognition came over the Premier’s face. “Ah, yes, Black Friday. I have heard the stories.” His mind recalled the news stories of people being knocked down and run over by other shoppers.
“If ever there was a day to have armed escorts,” Caroline glanced at her husband, “that would be the day.”
The Premier threw his head back and laughed. “I will make sure an extr
a security team goes with the two of you. I’m sure she would very much welcome the opportunity. Thank you for the offer.” He glimpsed Hardy and Special Agent Cruz standing behind the President. “Please, excuse me, Caroline.” He tipped his head. “I must speak with that young man over there.”
“Of course, Yuri, I understand.” She smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you and I look forward to getting to know you and your wife over the next couple of days.”
The Premier returned her smile before acknowledging Abigail and sidestepping the President. The Russian leader stood in front of Hardy. “You must be Mr. Hardy.” He clasped Hardy’s right hand and elbow with both hands. “It is so very good to finally meet the man who saved my life.” He shot a quick look at Cruz. “I must apologize for not getting the chance—” he paused, “No, I apologize for not taking the time to thank you, properly. You have my deepest gratitude, young man.”
Hardy shook his head. “I understand, sir. Besides, it was better that everything stay under the radar.”
“If you ever need anything,” the Premier reached into his jacket pocket and handed a small card to Hardy, “please call me. That’s the number to my direct line. Just tell my secretary your name and she will put you through to me. If I’m not in the office, she will have instructions to find me wherever I am.”
Hardy accepted the card. “Thank you, sir. And, thank you for the medal, too. I appreciated the gesture.” The Premier had bestowed on Hardy the honorary title of Hero of the Russian Federation, the highest award that can be given to a foreign national.
“You’re welcome. The real symbol of a man’s gratitude, however, is his willingness to return the favor.” He pointed at the card. “Don’t be afraid to use that.”
Hardy nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
The Premier gave Cruz his full attention. “Now, who is this fair maiden?” He extended his hand toward her.
For the next few minutes, the three of them made cordial small talk, the Premier becoming better acquainted with Hardy and Cruz. When he found out they had been dating, he was especially pleased.
“Young love is beautiful.” The Premier stepped forward and kissed Cruz once on each cheek. With one hand on each of her upper arms, he leaned in, while eyeing Hardy. “You have a good man in him, young lady.”
She smiled and matched the Premier’s gaze. “I couldn’t agree more.”
He studied her. “And, I can tell he has found a gem as well.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”
The Premier glanced at them. “I am eager to talk with both of you at great length; however, I must take my leave. The flight has made me a little tired and I’d like to get some rest.”
Hardy put a hand on Cruz’s lower back. “We understand, sir, and we look forward to speaking with you as well.”
Cruz smiled and nodded her assent.
The President stepped forward and motioned toward the front door. “Please follow me and I’ll show you to your room. I have arranged for a little social event tonight, in your honor—light hors d’oeuvres and refreshments. Everything will be ready by seven, but if you need more rest, please take all the time you need.” The world leaders walked toward the mansion, Caroline and Abigail in tow.
Halfway down the steps, a female voice: “You’re not getting away that easy, Hardy.”
Chapter 5: Natasha
Hardy turned and his eyes widened. “Natasha? I didn’t know you were coming to this.”
Hardy and Russian FSB agent, Natasha Volkov, had worked together in July, bringing a bomb maker to justice. Their relationship had gotten off to a difficult start, but by the end of the mission, they had grown to like and respect each other.
Natasha ascended the last few steps and stood in front of him. “Knowing my involvement in our operation this past summer, the Premier wanted me here for this historic meeting.” She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on each cheek before taking a step backward and admiring how his five-feet, eleven-inch muscled body filled out the suit. “You look just as good as you did in St. Petersburg.”
Hardy was dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and a red tie. His shoes were black. A gold collar bar kept the points of his shirt collar together, while a gold tie bar held his tie in place. A handkerchief, perfectly matching the tie, peeked out his jacket’s left breast pocket.
A twinge of envy rose to the forefront of Special Agent Cruz’s mind. She stood to the right of Hardy, lips pursed and muscles taut, staring at the woman, scrutinizing her every feature. Cruz’s face, neck and ears burned, as she vacillated between jealousy and embarrassment. How could she not feel a touch of resentment? The woman was beautiful, and she had a special relationship with her boyfriend.
The twenty-seven-year-old Natasha had a slender figure and stood five-feet, seven-inches tall. She had long blonde hair that came to rest below her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and white. She had bright blue eyes. Her well-manicured eyebrows were thin. The inner portion of each eyebrow slanted sharply toward her narrow nose. Her complexion revealed no blemishes in the faint light from the mansion. If anything, the beam of light made it seem as if she was in a photographer’s studio, making her appearance more radiant.
Cruz cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but how do you know each other?”
With her right hand on Hardy’s left shoulder, Natasha smiled at Cruz. Her full lips parted and revealed a set of perfect white teeth.
Inwardly, Cruz groaned. Of course.
“No, it is I who should be sorry.” She touched her chest, “Where are my manners?” before holding out her hand. “I’m Natasha…Natasha Volkov.” Cruz took the hand. “I’m an agent with the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. I worked with Hardy a few months back. He helped me apprehend a man who had been terrorizing my people.” Natasha tilted her head. “Without his assistance, we may not have caught the man. Our country owes him a great debt.” She faced him. “And, so do I.” She stepped alongside Cruz, never taking her eyes off Hardy. “He saved my life on two separate occasions.” Natasha stopped talking and whipped her head toward Cruz. “You must be…Special Agent Cruz…of the FBI. Raychel, I believe.”
Cruz nodded.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Cruz, bringing her hands together in front of her body.
“You are even more beautiful than Hardy described.”
The redness returned to Cruz’s cheeks.
“Actually…he didn’t describe you at all; however, judging from his eagerness to get back to you, I assumed you must have been very attractive. And, I see I was right.” She smiled before looking at Hardy. “We need to catch-up, but right now I have to get ready for this party tonight. Where am I staying?”
Hardy wheeled around. “Come with me and I’ll—”
Cruz stepped between them. “I’ll take her to her room.” She held her breath, hoping the act was not too overt. “It’ll give us a chance to talk,” she smiled, “just us girls.” Natasha repaid the gesture.
“All right, in that case,” he made the shape of two pistols with his hands and pointed toward the mansion, “I’m going to try to find those hors d’oeuvres the President mentioned. I’m starving.”
Chapter 6: Unzip Me
8:47 p.m.; Special Agent Cruz’s room (third floor)
The social gathering had started shortly after seven o’clock with the Premier’s wife in attendance. The participants had dressed in fine dining apparel and enjoyed a modest assortment of hors d’oeuvres and beverages. No serious matters were discussed. This was an opportunity for everyone to relax and start the process of getting to know one another. The Premier excused himself and his wife about an hour-and-a-half later. The rest of the partygoers remained. At 8:45, Hardy and Special Agent Cruz announced their departure and left.
When they entered her bedroom, Cruz drew close to him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been much fun this evening.” She wrapped her arms around Hardy’s midsection and pressed he
r face against the lapels of his suit coat. “I think I just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to normal.” She had worked almost a full day prior to getting on a plane and making the trip from Washington D.C. to Maine. Her eyes settled on the bed. She was unsure if she had the strength to undress. She half-thought about sleeping in the cocktail dress. After all, it was not as if she was going to wear it again tomorrow or the next day. No, I can’t do that. “I’ve been looking forward to this being sort of like a vacation for us, especially since our last trip was cut short.”
Hardy held her tighter. “You have nothing be sorry about. I understand. We have two more days here and most of that time we’ll be able to spend however we want.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her upper body away. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave her a long kiss. Ten seconds later, their fused lips separated, making a ‘popping’ sound. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She smiled. He’s been saying that a lot, lately. She relished every time he said those words. Going to her tiptoes, she kissed him again and spun around. “Before you go…” she reached behind her head with her left hand and drew back her hair, exposing her neck. She trained her eyes over her right shoulder. “Will you unzip me?”
Clutching her shoulders, he kissed her neck, speaking between kisses. “Okay, but…I thought you said…you were…tired.”
She grinned and tilted her head to the left before reaching around with her right hand and cupping the back of his head. His lips felt good on the side of her neck, especially after a long day. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “I think,” her voice was an octave above a whisper, “you know what I meant.” His left arm curled around her waist and she felt her body go limp, her legs turning to jelly. We can’t do this. Other parts of her body disagreed. Mustering the last of her energy reserves, she stood tall.
