by Alex Ander
Picking up a small sum of rubles from a nearby table, he drove his elbow into the woman’s back before pushing her to the edge of the bed, barking out orders in his native language. Having been asleep, the woman nearly fell to the floor, scrambling to keep her balance. Popovich crumpled the bills and threw them at her. She tried to catch them, but the money landed on the floor. As the woman bent over to retrieve her payment, he yanked the bed sheet from her hands, leaving her naked. He gestured toward the door before tucking his hands under his head again.
The attractive young woman in her early twenties had dark wavy hair, matted to her head. She was short, but had a nice figure. Doing the best she could to cover herself, she scampered to the door, glad to be leaving this man. Never again, she thought. Groggy from being awakened from a sound sleep, she forgot to grab her clothing. She turned around. Popovich bellowed, while thrusting a finger at the door. Having already struck her numerous times during intercourse, she abandoned the clothes and left the bedroom.
Popovich watched her leave. She was good, but not that good. Staring at the ceiling, he thought about the multitude of fine women he could have had were he back in Moscow. In this wretched part of the country, however, he was forced to make due with whomever his men were able to get from the streets. He had placed numerous calls to a Madame, who ran an upscale prostitution service near the border. She had not returned any of his calls over the past week. He assumed it was due to his somewhat rough treatment of the last one she had sent. Rolling to his side and reaching for his phone, he said, “Ona byla khorosho platyat – She was paid well.” Popovich shook his head. What is keeping him from calling? He made sure the volume was all the way up before closing his eyes to get a little more sleep.
Chapter 14: Girls
Thanksgiving Day, 1:15 a.m.; Mount Desert Island
Hardy and Natasha worked until midnight, preparing for their mission to Moscow. She was handling the details for when they landed in Russia, while Hardy made the travel arrangements, which included having the equipment they might need, loaded aboard the plane. He fell asleep in his room a short time after their meeting broke up, but his eyes opened again at one in the morning. He spent the next fifteen minutes trying to fall asleep. His mind was going over the mission details, checking off each item. The argument with Special Agent Cruz kept creeping into his thoughts. Each time, he forced the thoughts out; they slipped back in a few moments later, keeping him from getting more sleep. Finally, he gave up and went downstairs for a glass of water.
Lowering the half-full glass of water from his lips, he heard laughter coming from the fireplace room. It sounded almost like young girls having a slumber party. He walked to the fireplace room and stopped when two women came into view.
“Hey, Hardy,” said Natasha, a big smile on her face. Sitting in the same chair as earlier, she glanced at the second straight-back chair, and the woman in it. “We were just talking about you. Come join us.”
Hardy took a couple steps and stopped again, stunned to see Cruz, especially since they had just been arguing about the woman with whom she was now conversing. She was wearing the same black teddy under a black short-length robe. Her feet were pressed into the chair and resting against her butt, a wineglass in her hand. She faced the fireplace. Standing between the women, he cocked his head and raised his eyebrows at Cruz.
Her lips formed a crooked grin. “After you left, I couldn’t sleep and came downstairs. By chance,” she gestured with the wineglass, “I bumped into Natasha around midnight and we’ve been talking ever since.” She took his hand and gently pulled him closer. Lightly rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand, she looked up. “I’m sorry about earlier. I understand the relationship the two of you have now and…I’m okay with it. I feel terrible for what I said to you. I know you were—”
Hardy cupped the back of her head and smiled.
Cruz returned the gesture, his smile telling her he understood and that everything was okay.
He could see the fire’s dancing flames reflected in her eyes. He mouthed the words ‘I love you’ and she did the same. After a few seconds, he eyed the glasses in the women’s hands. “So, what are we drinking?”
Cruz sipped. “I’m finishing off the last of the bottle you two started.”
Natasha held up a glass, the light from the fire showing a white liquid inside. “Since I need to stay sharp…milk. Or, as I called it when I was a little girl trying to act like a grown-up, a white martini.”
Cruz laughed, and Hardy chuckled and turned his head to look at the glass of wine. For the same reasons Natasha had stated, he decided to stay with water. “I heard laughter when I was in the kitchen.”
Taking a drink, Natasha quickly swallowed and set the glass on the table near her, eager to get out her next words. “You could say,” she beamed from ear to ear, “you were the butt of our conversation.”
“Natasha!” said Cruz, her voice rising. She felt her cheeks getting warm.
“I’m sorry, Raychel, but I have to tell him.”
Hardy tipped his head back and steeled himself.
Trying to get a better view of his backside, Natasha tilted her head to the right. “I hear you have the cutest set of butt cheeks.” She twirled her forefinger in the air. “Would you mind,” her voice was cracking from laughter, “turning around for me? I need a better look.”
Hardy pivoted toward Cruz. She had told the story of when he was naked and running away from the scene of a shootout in Washington, D.C. He started to say something, but Natasha cut him off.
“That’s better. Yeah, I can see what you mean, Raychel,” —more laughter— “Now, I’m jealous.”
Hardy rolled his eyes and stared at Cruz, who avoided eye contact, while running the tip of her finger around the wineglass’s rim. The dim lighting hid the redness in his cheeks, but the fireplace’s glow underscored her failed attempt to hide her amusement. He stifled his embarrassment. The women were becoming friends, bonding at his expense. I’m a big boy. I can take it. Knowing that in less than twelve hours, he would be going after a dangerous man—who would not be apprehended easily—made the teasing pale in comparison.
Leaning over, he kissed Cruz on the top of her head before turning toward Natasha and holding up four fingers. “Wheels up at four,” —he was referring to when their plane was scheduled to leave for Moscow— “so we need to be out of here by three-thirty. A car will be waiting out front.”
Her laughter subsided and she nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
Hardy left the women to go pack.
Chapter 15: Plane
Thursday, 7:59 p.m. (local time); Moscow, Russia
Once the Gulfstream V jet had leveled off and reached its cruising speed, Hardy leaned back in his chair and fell asleep. Now, he was fastening his seatbelt, as the jet made its final approach to Moscow’s Domodedovo International Airport.
Eight-and-a-half hours ago, he had said his ‘goodbyes’ to Special Agent Cruz, standing outside the backdoor of the Chevy Tahoe that would take him and Natasha to Bangor International Airport, in Maine, where the Gulfstream V had been waiting, engines running. ‘Be careful—I’ll be praying for you’ is what she had said.
Hardy was not a religious man. He believed in things he could touch and see—facts, not beliefs. Those, along with the actions of his teammates, are what had kept him alive throughout the years. Secretly, he liked having someone—who cared for him—praying for him. In case there was a God, looking over the people of this world, it couldn’t hurt to have someone rooting for you, he thought.
When the wheels of the plane made contact with the runway, Hardy tightened his grip on the seat’s armrests. His mind went back to when Cruz had been hospitalized in Dallas with a gunshot wound and he could not do anything to help her. Out of options, he had prayed to God. Praying was something he had not done in many years, if not decades. She had awakened and called his name at the same time he had been praying. For days afterward, he had reflected on the connection be
tween his prayer and her waking up, wondering if there really was a God, and had this God intervened. It had been too much of a coincidence and Hardy did not believe in coincidences. They bordered on luck and chance—not reliable facts.
The plane taxied toward a little used section of the airport reserved for government purposes. Hardy leaned closer to the window. The darkness was broken by the lights coming from the airport terminals. Looking forward of the plane, he saw two black vehicles near the end of the runway, their headlights reflecting off the tarmac. Four men wearing dark suits under long overcoats stood next to the vehicles. The plane was heading straight for them.
In the seat across the aisle, Natasha was speaking into her cell phone, in Russian. As the plane came to a quick stop and rolled backward slightly, she ended the call, unbuckled her seatbelt and stood. “There’s been a change in plans. We’re meeting my team at a safe house. They’re already waiting for us.” Picking up a knee-length black blazer and spinning it around her shoulders, she slid her arms into the jacket’s sleeves, buttoned the blazer and turned up the collar. Under the coat, she was wearing a long-sleeved white cotton shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans. Black shoes, with chunky one-inch high heels, completed her outfit. At this time of the year, the average temperature in Moscow was twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit; however, most of Russia was in a cold spell, dropping the temperature to the mid-teens. Fortunately, there was no wind to accompany the bitter temperatures. “As soon as we get our gear loaded, we need to get there.”
“What’s the rush?” Hardy stood and put on his black leather jacket. Following her to the door of the plane, he zipped the jacket, wishing he had something more substantial to wear.
She looked over her shoulder. “We have a meeting tonight. While you were sleeping, I was able to get a face-to-face with an ex-KGB general, who might know where we can find Popovich.” Facing forward, she added, “I’ll bring you and my team up to speed when we get to the safe house.” She opened the door to the plane and walked down the stairs.
At the bottom, Natasha gave orders to the four men in overcoats before hustling to the nearest full-size, Russian-made sport utility vehicle, similar to a Chevy Tahoe. She got behind the wheel and closed the door before leaning right and turning the fan blower as high as it would go. Rubbing her hands together, she watched Hardy through the windshield.
He remained by the plane, while the four men climbed the stairs and disappeared from sight through the open door. One-by-one, they emerged carrying Storm Cases by Pelican. Descending the stairs, they made their way to Natasha’s vehicle and loaded the cases into the cargo area. After the men had made a second trip to the plane and back, Hardy verified they had all the equipment before getting into Natasha’s SUV and slamming the door. His hands shot out toward the nearest dashboard vent.
“What is that saying you Americans have about a kitchen sink?” She blew into her cupped hands, eyeing the numerous cases being loading into the vehicle.
The Storm Cases contained computer equipment, tactical gear, weapons, extra magazines and ammunition. One of the cases held a Barrett M107 fifty-caliber sniper rifle, outfitted with a Leupold Mark 4 scope, compliments of Tom Henderson, who had packed it special for Hardy. It was Henderson’s weapon of choice, but he was not going to need it anytime soon.
Hardy cranked his head toward the back seat. “I’d rather have more and not need it, than the other way around.” One man closed the cargo door and pounded on the side of the vehicle, indicating everything was loaded.
Chapter 16: 7-0
While Natasha drove, Hardy checked his phone. He had received a text message from Special Agent Cruz—‘The Thanksgiving Day luncheon/dinner is about to start.’—Due to an eight-hour time difference, it was a little past noon, in Maine—‘Tom, Eva and Tyler are here. They haven’t left the Premier’s side. The President had more agents brought in, just to be safe. The President also has the Lions game playing on a television that he had wheeled into the dining room. You will never believe it. The Lions ran back the opening kickoff for a touchdown. They are up 7-0. I will be waiting for the Cowboys game, of course.’—Hardy was a lifelong fan of the Detroit Lions and Cruz, having grown up in Dalhart, Texas, always rooted for the Dallas Cowboys—‘I am sooo tired. I hope you were able to get some sleep on the plane. Be careful and see you soon. –LU’ Ever since her birthday earlier in the month, she had been ending her text messages to him with the letters ‘LU,’ which stood for ‘Love You.’
Natasha saw Hardy tapping his phone. She assumed the text was going to Cruz. “How’s everything going?”
Hardy thumped the screen a few more times before hitting the ‘send’ button and setting the mobile into the center console. “The Premier is fine. My people are never far from him and his wife. The President brought in extra agents, too.” He stared out his window. “Everything’s going well back there. It’s up to us now to find General Popovich and bring him to justice.”
Natasha thought about her orders from the Premier. Activating the Nemesis Protocol, the Premier gave her complete control over how justice would be served. Looking at Hardy, she wondered if his administration of that justice would match her brand of dispensation, or would the two of them butt heads. He had been ready to kill the bomb maker, Anton Rudin, the last time he was here. Is he willing to do the same, this time?
…………………………
The drive to the safe house took almost an hour. During that time, Hardy and Natasha spoke very little. Even though they had gotten some sleep on the plane, they were tired and welcomed the long drive. The silence gave them time to refocus their minds on the mission.
Natasha backed the SUV into a garage attached to a house near the southern part of Moscow’s Academic District, navigating past a UAZ Patriot parked in the driveway. The dark gray four-door, four-wheel drive, sport utility vehicle—belonging to Natasha—was also backed in. Surrounded by tall trees and nestled among buildings that were even taller, the house was virtually invisible to everyone, except those who knew of it. The garage was only big enough for one vehicle, but had ample room for people to exit a car and move around.
Hardy got out. Natasha passed in front of the SUV and continued toward the door that led to the house. She pushed a button to the left of the doorknob and the large overhead door descended. Hardy followed her into the living area.
They moved past a small mudroom and then a combined kitchen and dining area before entering the living room, a perfect square. At the far end of the room, a fireplace was centered on the wall. Flames from a fire swayed back and forth and provided the only light for two people—the rest of Natasha’s team. One person was sitting on a couch directly in front of the fireplace. The other was bent over near the fire, adding pieces of wood. The dark figure rearranged the burning wood with a poker. Hardy glanced around. To his left was a set of chairs around a table. A wooden rocking chair rested to the left of the fireplace. Two end tables with lamps were on either end of the couch.
As the flames grew higher, Natasha removed her blazer and threw it over the nearest chair before winding her way around the left side of the couch and drawing close to the fire. Stooping, she held her hands out in front of her, rubbing them together, periodically.
Hardy kept his jacket on, wanting to keep his body heat for as long as possible. The fire looked inviting, so he took the opposite path around the couch. Rounding the corner, he stopped. The growing flames gave off enough light that he could make out the faces—and gender—of the two unknown people.
Chapter 17: Women
Hardy stood halfway between the couch and the fireplace, turning his head back and forth, eyeing each woman. He was at a loss for words. He had not inquired about Natasha’s team, assuming they would be men, and she did not offer information to the contrary. Inwardly, he chuckled. Never assume. When you assume, you make an—
Natasha saw the eyes of the woman next to her, and she turned her head toward Hardy. “Ladies,” she said, standing and faci
ng him, “I’d like you to meet Aaron Hardy. He’s an agent of the United States Government and he will be working with us on this mission. Hardy, meet my team.” She pointed toward the woman on the couch. “This is Mika Konstantinov.” Natasha tilted her head toward the woman behind her, who was sidestepping Natasha. “And, this is Romana Milosevic.”
Hardy shook Mika’s hand after she had stood. She had a firm handshake. He spun to his right and greeted Romana.
Romana took a step backwards and surveyed him from head to toe. “You’re not as tall as I pictured,” she held out her arms as if she was holding a large barrel, her fists clenched, “but, you’re much bigger and stronger.”
Romana was twenty-nine-years-old and stood five-feet, nine-inches tall. Even though her bulky red sweater and pants hid it, she had an athletic figure. Her arms, legs and shoulders were strong and well defined. Her long and curly red hair—parted in the middle—spilled over her shoulders. She had thin eyebrows that hovered above a set of large, dark, narrowly spaced eyes. A wide set of lips with an extremely full lower lip sat between a petite, slightly turned up nose and a small pointed chin.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you.” Hardy shot a sideways glance at Mika. Her eyes dissecting him, she had not stopped staring from the first moment she had seen him.
Mika was the same age as Natasha, twenty-seven, and less than an inch shorter. Mika’s hair was black and longer than either Natasha’s or Romana’s. At this point, however, no one could see its length, since she had formed it into a large bun at the back of her head. Outside of the stark contrast in hair color between Mika and Natasha, both of them had very similar features; smooth white skin, blue eyes, resting between well-trimmed eyebrows and a narrow nose, and perfectly aligned white teeth behind full, red lips. In the proper lighting, they could have passed for twin sisters.
