by Alex Ander
Mika locked eyes with Hardy, while she sat and crossed her legs. She leaned back, put her right elbow on the back of the couch and rested her head on her hand, never breaking her gaze. She placed her other hand on her thigh, below the hem of her black sweater dress. Below that, she wore black knee boots with three-inch stiletto heels. Slowly, she bounced her left leg, staring at Hardy, vetting him with her eyes.
Mika had an incredible ability to judge people and could unravel the lies and misdirection most people used to shield their true nature from others; however, she was having a difficult time applying her craft to him. His honest and straightforward persona was throwing off her senses. Nobody is this candid. He has to have some kind of an angle.
Hardy maintained eye contact with her and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Mika, barely nodding her head.
Natasha, having known her friend for all her life, could see what she was doing. “Relax, Mika. I can vouch for his character. He’s one of the good guys.”
Mika glanced at Natasha before shifting her eyes back to Hardy. “That remains to be proven.”
Standing on his right, Natasha put her left hand on his shoulder and clutched his bicep with the other hand—as much as she could, anyway. “The Summer Palace—the explosion,” she said before gesturing toward him and raising her eyebrows. She was referring to when Hardy had dragged her away from the fire and smoke from the explosion at the Summer Palace, saving her life.
Mika eyed Natasha. “You said that was Victor.”
“Victor was there, too.”
Mika recollected the events Natasha had shared with her, including a failed attempt by FSB agents to kidnap and kill Natasha. Hardy had intervened and killed the men. “What about the four FSB agents?”
Natasha nodded her head.
Mika jumped to her feet. “Well, why didn’t you start with that? That’s all I needed to know.” Approaching Hardy, she wrapped her arms around him. After a long hug, she let go and kissed him once on both cheeks. “Natasha is like a sister to me. I don’t know what I would have done if she had died that day.” She cupped his face. “Thank you.” She slid her hands over his shoulders, stopping at the upper arms. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Romana affirmed her friend’s sentiment. “Yes, thank you.”
Feeling uncomfortable and wanting to change the subject, Hardy thanked them before cranking his head around toward Natasha. He tapped the back of his left wrist with his forefinger. “What time’s the meeting?”
Chapter 18: Nemesis
9:11 p.m.
Hardy had grabbed one of the straight back chairs near the table and sat to the right of the fireplace; Natasha was in the rocking chair on the other side, while Mika and Romana were on the couch. Everyone had a cup of coffee, which Romana had brought into the living room on a serving tray.
Hardy sipped his coffee. “Who are we meeting with?”
“General Vasily Denikin,” replied Natasha before she gave a brief synopsis of General Denikin’s background.
General Denikin was a powerful and influential man in Russia. He was a decorated war hero and politician, respected by all. He served in the Soviet-Afghan War in the mid to late eighties. Even though the overall war did not go well for Russia, Denikin received several medals for bravery, and he was promoted. He went on to play a major role in several Russian conflicts in the early nineties, including the Georgian Civil War. After Russia was defeated in the first Chechen War, Denikin was chosen to lead the army. He was at the helm for the next three Russian victories, ending his tenure after a win in the second Chechen War. From there, he focused on politics. Having been a war hero, he quickly ascended the political ladder, stopping short of becoming the Premier. Many said the position was his for the taking, but he declined. Instead, at the age of sixty, he chose to retire to a quiet life with his wife.
“I’ve tried to contact General Denikin in the past, but he has refused to meet with me.”
“So, what’s changed?” Hardy set the coffee cup at his feet and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hand together. “Why has he agreed to meet with you now?”
“Plenty has changed.” She took a sip from her cup before placing it on her lap. “What time is it?”
Hardy was the first to retrieve his phone. “Quarter after nine,” he said.
“We are meeting him at ten, so we have a little time.” Standing, she put her cup on the stone mantel over the fireplace before bending over and warming her hands. “There’s something I haven’t told any of you.”
Mika and Romana glanced at each other.
Hardy leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.
Natasha straightened and pivoted on her heels. “The Premier has authorized the Nemesis Protocol for this mission.”
Mika’s eyes widened and Romana let out a low whistle.
Nemesis Protocol. Hardy had never heard the term, but the women’s faces across from him told him they had.
“Wow,” said Mika, “our first mission together and we’re going Nemesis.”
“What are the rules of engagement?” Romana took a drink from her coffee cup and set it on an end table.
“Question,” Hardy raised a hand as if he was in school again, “What’s this Nemesis Protocol?” He showed his palms. “Anyone care to explain?”
“The Nemesis Protocol,” said Natasha, facing him, “was established shortly after the first assassination attempt on the Premier’s life. Its purpose was to give absolute power to a few individuals who could cut through governmental bureaucracy and complete a task quickly. It was to be reserved for serious matters that had a direct impact on national security.”
Natasha crossed her arms. “Only the Premier has the authority to enact the Nemesis Protocol and he can confer the powers on whomever he chooses. Those individuals have total immunity from whatever actions they take during the execution of their duties. They cannot be held accountable by the government or the courts.”
“So, I take it the Premier has given,” Hardy pointed at Natasha and swept his finger to the left to include Mika and Romana, “the three of you this absolute power and total immunity.”
Natasha nodded. “Yes, and technically, you have it as well. Although, I don’t know how much it would come into play, since you’re a foreign agent.”
Hardy bobbed his head. That makes sense.
“Once Nemesis is underway, all agencies of the government and the military are subject to the person, or persons, whom the Premier has granted the absolute power. The agencies continue operating as usual, but if a…Nemesis Agent…for lack of a better term, needed assistance, then that entire entity is required to cooperate fully. All other cases become secondary.”
“What’s the communication process?” Hardy reached for his mug. “This sounds like a communication nightmare.”
“At the onset of making the declaration, the Premier chooses one person to serve as the liaison between the agents and the government. That person coordinates all requests and facilitates governmental actions. The main emphasis of the Nemesis Protocol is speed, full disclosure of information and total access to resources at all levels of government.”
Hardy blew on the hot coffee. “So, you used your newly acquired power to coerce General Denikin to meet with us?”
Natasha bristled. Coerce. She stared at him, trying to determine how he meant the word. “I think coerce is a little strong. Anyway, I’m going to do whatever it takes to get Popovich. If I have to twist a few arms along the way, then so be it.”
Hardy waved a hand, while leaning and setting the cup back on the floor. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I understand you want to get this guy, and so do I.” He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t forget my President was just down the hall from yours, and may have been the assassin’s next target. I, too, am willing to bend and break the rules to see this mission succeed.”
Natasha breathed an inward sigh of
relief and took a drink.
“Just remember,” he leaned forward, “with all this power you’ve been given, there’s an equal amount of responsibility that comes with it. You may not be held accountable, officially, but plenty of people will judge you, unofficially.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she shot back.
“I can’t remember who said it, but the quote ‘Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely’ comes to mind. I don’t want to see you go down that road, Natasha…You’re a good person.” He held up his hands, surrendering. “That’s the last I’m going to say about it.”
Clenching her teeth, Natasha held her chin high and looked down at him, her eyes narrow. Does he think I’m that weak that I’d let this authority consume me? Checking the anger, she recalled already asking herself the same question. Her mind shifted to Popovich. The man had been the author of so many atrocious acts, causing her fellow citizens much pain and anxiety. In her mind, there was no question of if she would find the man. He had to be stopped and she was going to stop him, no matter what it took.
“So, my question still stands,” said Romana. “What are the rules of engagement?”
“Dead or alive,” replied Natasha. “The Premier wants to put an end to this.”
“That’s okay by me.”
Mika shrugged. “I’m fine with that, too.”
All eyes shifted toward Hardy, who waited a few seconds before nodding his head once. “It’s agreed then. Let’s take him down.” He paused. “Whether or not he’s still breathing at the end of this…is entirely up to Mr. Popovich.”
Chapter 19: Bear
9:52 p.m.
Driving to General Denikin’s house, Hardy and Natasha talked at greater length about Romana and Mika. He wanted to learn as much as possible about his other two teammates, with whom he would be working on this mission.
“Mika and I met Romana at the FSB Academy.” Natasha checked her side-view mirror. “We started together and finished together. We became quite close during that time.” Her mind was drifting back to her days at the Academy. “She was a natural at everything. Of course, Mika and I thought we were pretty good, too, but she made us dig deeper and push ourselves to be better.” Natasha shook her head slowly, reminiscing. “She had a rough childhood, though.”
Hardy turned toward Natasha. “What do you mean?”
“Romana was born in Bosnia, but she was raised in Russia. When she was five, at the height of the Bosnian War, her parents sent her to Ukraine. From there, she was eventually sent to Moscow to live with relatives, in order to escape the violence taking place in her country.”
“What’s her ethnicity?”
“Romana and her family were Bosnian Croats.”
Hardy winced, knowing the hardships Bosnian Croats had faced during that time. Often, they were the target of unspeakable crimes by the Bosnian Serbs.
“Romana lost her parents,” Natasha’s voice cracked, “and her older sister to the ethnic cleansing.” She took her hand off the steering wheel and swiped her fingers across her cheek. “They were murdered toward the end of the war.”
Hardy stared through the windshield. “Why wasn’t her older sister sent to Ukraine with Romana?”
“Romana’s sister was only a couple years older, but she refused to leave her parents.” Natasha paused to compose herself. “According to Romana, her sister’s death has never been confirmed. Only the bodies of her mother and father were found.”
“Has she tried searching for her sister?” Once the words had left his mouth, he realized he had asked a stupid question. Natasha’s facial expression confirmed the thought.
“Of course, she has. All of us have tried to find her sister. Every road we’ve gone down has led to a dead-end.” Natasha turned her attention back to the road. “The only physical reminder Romana has of her family is a small, heart-shaped locket she wears around her neck. Inside is a family picture of her father, her mother, her sister and Romana.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine growing up without parents and not knowing if my sister was alive or dead.”
“Romana is extremely tough. I know it bothers her, but she never lets it show.”
Not knowing how to politely end the conversation about Romana and ask about Mika, Hardy decided to be direct. “How do you know Mika?”
Thinking of her friend and colleague, Natasha smiled broadly. “We grew up together. She lived a couple of houses down the street.” Natasha chuckled. “We were inseparable. We attended the same schools, played the same sports. We even dated the same men.”
Curling up the left side of his mouth, Hardy raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”
She glimpsed the mischievous grin, shook her head and feigned disgust. “We dated them at separate times.”
He quickly nodded his head, “Oh, of course,” before chuckling.
“After we completed our studies at MSU—Moscow State University—we went to the FSB Academy.”
“Am I to assume that Mika graduated at the top of the class, too?”
How does he know I graduated at the top of my class? She realized he must have read a file on her many months ago before meeting her for the first time. She nodded. “We finished one and two in most of the skillsets, most notably marksmanship and criminal investigation.”
“Who was first?”
Natasha glanced at him. “You men think everything is a competition.”
Hardy grinned. “Said the woman who finished second.”
She pretended to survey the surrounding landscape, which was desolate and heavily wooded. “You know…I could shoot you and bury your body out here, and nobody would find it until the spring.” A split-second later, she added, “But, that’s only if I was sloppy.”
His chest heaving in laughter, Hardy held up his hands, surrendering.
She raised her voice, “After graduation,” emphasizing a return to the conversation, “Mika’s career took a different path. She went into aviation and became a helicopter pilot, transporting FSB agents all over the country.”
Hardy was impressed.
“She was selected to serve as one of the Premier’s personal pilots, but she declined.”
“Why’s that?”
“She wanted to be closer to the action.” Natasha made a pistol with the fingers of her right hand. “She wanted to be on the frontlines, backing the agents aboard her aircraft.”
A nagging question popped into his mind. “Who came up—”
“We’re here.” She pointed with her chin. “That’s General Denikin’s house up ahead.”
Natasha navigated the Patriot toward the guardhouse outside the front gate. She rolled down the window and showed her FSB credentials to the first guard to approach. The guard bent over and studied Hardy. She pointed at Hardy and said a few words to the guard, who stood and gestured to the other man, who opened the gate.
As Natasha’s SUV rolled forward, Hardy cranked his head around, his eyes following the men. “Well, they seem pleasant.” He had no doubt the men were heavily armed and well trained, and would not hesitate to shoot both he and Natasha, if necessary.
Hearing the sarcasm in his voice, Natasha smiled. She steered the SUV up the long, winding driveway toward the mansion’s front door.
“Who came up,” he said, “with the name Nemesis? And, why?”
“It came from Greek mythology. Nemesis was a goddess. She was the goddess of divine retribution and revenge. She was considered remorseless.” Natasha cranked the steering wheel all the way to the left and applied steady pressure to the brake pedal. Putting the vehicle in park and shutting off the engine, she removed the keys from the ignition. “Nemesis comes from the Greek word, némein—to give what is due.”
Hardy nodded, remembering his high school mythology class.
“The Nemesis Protocol was designed only to be used in extreme circumstances. I can assure you the Premier did not make the decision without a great deal of thought. Make no mist
ake, however. This mission is about retribution. General Popovich will get what is due to him.”
Two guards, who had been waiting for Hardy and Natasha, opened their doors. After getting out, they thanked the men, who escorted them into the house before closing the front door. The guards helped them with their coats before hanging the garments on a rack behind the door. As Hardy and Natasha stepped away, they came face-to-face with an East-European Shepherd, or Russian German Shepherd, standing a few feet away.
The animal was mostly black in color. Parts of its legs and face had tan mixed in with the black. Standing nearly thirty inches tall at the shoulder and weighing close to one hundred and thirty pounds, the dog was impressive to say the least. It had a massive head with oval shaped eyes, high vertical ears and a protruding snout. The breed of dog was known for being aggressive toward strangers and fiercely protective of its owners. Right now, the two strangers had the animal’s complete attention.
While Natasha stood still, Hardy approached the mammoth creature. The animal growled and its upper lip curled upward, showing large teeth. Never hesitating, Hardy issued several stern commands, in Russian, before gesturing with his hands toward the animal. The dog stopped growling and sat on its hind legs. He leaned forward and held his right hand in front of the dog’s nose. As the dog sniffed the back of his hand, Hardy patted the head and neck with his other hand. He took the beast’s head and neck in both hands and ruffled its fur, intermittently patting the dog’s head and chest. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hardy played with the animal. “I’m not one of the bad guys.” He held the dog’s face in both hands and looked into its eyes. He shook his head. “No, I’m not.” Hardy sounded more like a mother talking to her baby. “No, I’m not.” As he frolicked with the dog, a booming voice came from the archway of an adjacent room.
“Ty yemu nravish'sya – He likes you.” The voice belonged to General Vasily Denikin, who stood leaning against the archway with his massive arms folded across his big barrel chest. He had been watching the exchange between his pet and his guest. Denikin was in his mid-sixties, stood six-feet tall and weighed a little over two hundred pounds. His hair was gray and full. Only a slightly receding hairline gave away that he was an older man. He had thick, but tamed, eyebrows that rested above a pair of almost black eyes set deeply into his large head. His nose was large and wide; the nostrils flared when he spoke. He had a bushy mustache, but it was combed neatly. Denikin was dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of black casual pants. A brown and black pair of slippers covered his feet. “I, on khoroshiy sud'ya kharaktera – And, he is a good judge of character.”
