The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Chapter 30: Defense to Offense

  Hardy and Natasha crouched in the quiet kitchen, waiting and listening. The room, the whole house was still. Twenty seconds turned into thirty and the only thing they heard was their breathing. He motioned for her to follow. Two steps later, he planted a hand on her chest and they both stopped. Natasha’s tense muscles told him she had heard it, too—the heels of a man’s shoe, crossing over carpeting or a rug. The heels transitioned to hardwood flooring and the sound grew louder.

  A man rounded the corner, and seeing the intruders, he froze for a split-second before scrambling for his weapon. Hardy had his rifle leveled on the man’s chest. Raising it a little more, he peered through the rifle’s scope, put the red dot on the man’s nose and pressed the trigger. Natasha aimed for center of mass. Their bullets killed him instantly.

  Everything would have gone perfectly had the man’s lifeless body not sent a serving tray—resting on the counter—crashing to the floor. The breaking glass sounded a cymbal. Hardy lunged forward and dragged the body into the kitchen.

  Seconds later, a second guard appeared. Hardy and Natasha dispatched him in the same manner then switched from defense to offense.

  Leaving the kitchen, they came to the underside of a staircase, leading to the second floor. Hardy motioned for Natasha to go right, while he went left. He swept the living room on his side of the staircase before starting down a short hallway. A man leaned out from the first room to Hardy’s right; the gaping hole at the end of a gun barrel stared back at him. He took cover at the corner a moment before a volley of bullets zipped past his left ear. He heard Natasha—through his earpiece—commanding all teams to storm the house. Having lost the element of surprise, speed was now paramount.

  Hardy took a step backward and raked the wall he was using for cover. His shots hit the target. The man groaned and fell with a heavy thud. Hardy advanced and cleared the rest of the rooms without incident. Backtracking, he heard two loud bangs—two seconds apart—followed by several muffled shots. The noise was coming from the other side of the staircase. “Wolf, this is Shepherd. Do you copy?”

  Wolf and Shepherd were Natasha and Hardy’s call signs, respectively. Her teammates had given her the name, because whenever she sunk her teeth into something, she never let go. Coincidentally, her last name comes from the word ‘volk,’ which means ‘wolf.’ Hardy had chosen his call sign, because of his fondness for the German shepherd breed of dog.

  “Wolf,” he repeated, “this is Shepherd. What’s your sitrep—over?” Sitrep was short for situational report.

  Hardy double-timed it to the end of the hallway, banked left and headed toward the staircase. Shots rang out from behind and he spun around and dropped to one knee. He trained his eyes on the kitchen, but no one was there. The door was open. We shut that. A shadow moved on the ground beyond the archway. Hardy pointed his rifle toward the wall to the left and fired two three-round bursts. A man fell sideways, crashing into the partially open door before landing on his face. Hardy yanked the partially spent magazine from his rifle and inserted a fresh one, stood and darted for the stairs.

  One minute earlier…

  Natasha veered right and cleared the right side of the living room before proceeding toward a lone door. She heard gunfire coming from the other side of the staircase and ordered the FSB teams to storm the house. She advanced toward the half open door. The room was dark, but light was coming from it only a few seconds ago. She took a position with her back to the wall on the left side of the door. Letting the rifle hang in front of her body, she plucked two stun grenades from her vest, pulled the pin on the first one and threw it into the room. She waited two seconds and tossed in the second. Closing her eyes and covering her ears, she opened her mouth—to avoid the effects of the grenades—and waited. After the second grenade exploded, she shouldered the rifle, hit the switch on the weapon-mounted flashlight and charged into the room.

  To Natasha’s right, a man covered his ears, repeatedly blinking his eyes. She lit him up and sent a three-round burst into his face. Whipping the MP5 left, she located a second man in the far corner. He had recovered from the blinding light and deafening noise, but he was a second behind. Natasha centered the man’s torso in the beam of light. Three bullets escaped the weapon’s muzzle and the man tumbled forward over a couch. He came to rest looking as if he was taking a nap. She did a quick search of the rest of the room and exited. Creeping for the stairs in a low crouch, she met Hardy.

  “Are you okay? Why didn’t you respond?”

  Natasha tapped her earpiece and nodded at him.

  “Wolf, this is Shepherd. Do you copy?”

  She nodded again. “I must have shut off my earpiece when I tossed those flash bangs and covered my ears. Coms are back up. Let’s move.”

  Hardy took the steps three at a time and made it to the top a few seconds ahead of Natasha. Straight ahead, the door to a corner bedroom was open.

  Wearing only a matching red bra and panties with high-heeled shoes, Romana was on her knees by the bed, facing away from him, her hands tied behind her back. A large man in a black suit stood behind her, holding a pistol to the base of her skull.

  From his viewpoint, Hardy did not have a clear kill shot. Even the ear was not at an optimal angle. Hardy could take aim at the same spot where the man was pointing his weapon at Romana, but from this distance, he was not guaranteed a one shot kill. Any twitch of the man’s trigger finger would send a bullet into her spinal cord, killing her. He could not take that chance. He had to get the man’s attention, draw his fire. Hardy opened his mouth to shout, but before he could call out, Romana collapsed.

  Chapter 31: Crack!

  Romana threw her body to the left. The pistol pointed at the back of her head discharged, sending a bullet into the floor ahead of where she had been kneeling. In one fluid movement, she pushed her left leg against the front of the man’s ankles, while bringing her right leg around and driving it into the back of his knees in a scissor-like motion.

  As her attacker’s head rocked backwards and he dropped to his knees, Romana rolled onto her back, thrust her hips away from the floor and wrapped her legs around his neck. She locked her ankles, squeezed her thighs together and jerked her body to the right.

  Hardy’s eyebrows shot up and he winced. He had killed men with his hands, but never before had he heard such a violent cracking sound. For a moment, he thought a branch had broken away from a tree outside.

  Romana unlocked her legs, letting them fall to the floor, one on either side of the man’s lifeless body, which had made a quarter-turn and was facing her. The corpse’s literal dead weight landed squarely on her. She groaned when the head whipped forward and smacked her in the chest.

  Hardy rushed forward and rolled the dead man off Romana.

  “What,” she grunted and coughed, “took you so long?”

  Drawing his Ka-Bar knife, Hardy wrapped his hand around her upper arm and rolled her to the left. “It looked like you had everything under control.” The razor sharp blade made quick work of the restraints. “Where in the world did you learn a move like that, anyway?”

  Romana got to a kneeling position and rubbed her wrists. “Sorry, but a woman has to have some secrets.” Massaging the sore spot on her chest, she cranked her head around and gave Hardy her best attempt at a provocative smile. “It’s all part of the allure.”

  Natasha dashed into the room and came up behind Hardy. “Romana, are you all right?”

  Hardy yanked the blanket off the mattress and draped the material over Romana’s shoulders. “I’ve seen a lot during my time in the military, and I don’t impress easily. Trust me when I tell you…that was impressive.”

  Romana looked up at him and tilted her head toward the sliding glass door on the other side of the bed. “I saw your reflection as you came up the stairs and decided to take a chance, hoping you’d get him if it didn’t work.”

  Hardy spied the glass door and let out a puff of air. Wow,
she’s good.

  “What happened?” Natasha had missed the action. “Where’s Mika?”

  With Hardy’s help, Romana got to her feet and gestured toward the dead man. “This guy stormed into the room, knocked Mika to the floor and stuck a gun in my face. Popovich took her when he went out the door. He’s got a gun.” She dropped the blanket and left the bedroom, returning a few seconds later, pulling on the spaghetti straps of her red dress. She backed up to Natasha. “Zip me. We can still get him if we hurry. We’re not that far behind.”

  Natasha stood still. “You’re not going anywhere. After what you’ve been through, you’re sitting this one out.” She tilted her head. “Hardy and I can find Popovich. You’re not dressed for the weather. Join up with the FSB teams and clear the house.”

  Hardy bent over the fallen gunman.

  Romana spun around so fast her hair, which had been up, came undone and followed her motion, coming to rest over her left shoulder. “The hell I am, Natasha. You’re not keeping me from going after Mika. I’ll be damned, if I’m going to,” she thrust a finger at the floor, “stay here, while she’s out there freezing to death.”

  Natasha raised a hand, her voice rising, too. “That’s enough, Romana. I know you’re—” she saw Hardy out of the corner of her eye. He had the dead man’s suit coat draped over his arm.

  He came up from behind Romana, pinched the dress and raised the zipper so fast it sounded as if he was ripping a piece of fabric in half.

  Arching her back, she took a small step forward, twisted her head around and saw him holding the dead man’s suit coat. She glanced at Hardy before sliding her arms into the sleeves.

  He lifted the jacket. “I hope you don’t mind a little blood.”

  “As long as it’s not mine, I’m good.”

  He handed Romana his pistol and two extra magazines, which she stuffed into the pockets.

  “What are you doing?” Natasha pointed at her chest. “I’m in charge of this—”

  He locked eyes with her over Romana’s shoulder. “We can argue later over who’s leading this op after we’ve found Mika. And, from what I just witnessed,” he tilted his head, “she’s more than capable of taking care of herself—fully clothed or naked, armed or not.”

  Natasha squinted at him, her pursed lips disappearing.

  Romana smiled. “Thanks, Hardy. That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.”

  Ejecting the magazine from his MP5, Hardy checked to make sure it was loaded. “Besides, we can use all the eyes we’ve got.” He eyed Romana. “If that’s true,” he slammed the magazine into the rifle, “then you need to get out more.” He half grinned. “Maybe take a spinning class.”

  She cocked her head. “Spinning class?”

  He waved a hand. “Never mind…bad joke.” He gestured toward her feet. “You are going to have to do something about those shoes, though.”

  Romana glanced at the stiletto heels. She lifted her right foot until it was almost waist-high before driving it against the floor. The spike heel broke away. She did the same thing to the left shoe. “Problem solved…time to get moving.”

  He recalled the conversation with Natasha on the way to Denikin’s house. She’s tough, all right.

  Hardy felt the heat from Natasha’s glare and he faced her. “If I’ve overstepped my bounds, I’m sorry, Natasha. When this is all over,” he flashed a brilliant and charming smile, “you can kick me out of your country.” Pivoting toward the glass door, he noticed the hint of a grin on her face.

  “Trust me,” she shot back, “I’ll kick more than that when this is over.”

  Hardy chuckled. There’s the spirited woman I know.

  Romana saw blood on her coat. “Hold up, Hardy.” She knew the blood could not be from the dead man. His neck was broken; no one shot him. She came up behind Hardy. “Your left arm,” she motioned, “it’s bleeding. You’ve been shot.”

  Hardy examined the arm and he remembered the shootout in the living room. “Damn! I thought this rifle was getting heavier, and heavier.” He set the weapon and the extra magazines on the bed and held out his hand. “I’m going to need my pistol back, Romana. Let’s switch.”

  She walked away and came back with the dead man’s necktie. “First, we need to stop the flow of blood. Lift your arm…It looks like the bullet went straight through. If it had hit the bone, you’d have known it.” She wrapped the necktie around Hardy’s upper arm two times before starting a double knot. He grimaced when she wrenched and secured the knot. “Sorry. It needs to be tight. We’ll have to release that in a little while, so don’t get lost out there.” She picked up the rifle and threw the sling over her head before giving him the pistol and emptying her pockets of the extra magazines.

  Standing outside the sliding glass door, Hardy checked the surrounding area before moving down the steps. He heard Natasha giving her teams orders to clear the house and search for Popovich. Hardy stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked to the north before turning his head to the left, toward the trees on the west side of the property. “Natasha, make sure they know he has a female hostage.” He tilted his head back. The cloud cover was blocking out the moon. He saw a few snowflakes drift across his vision. “If your snipers are still in position, maybe they can use their night vision scopes to locate Popovich before this snow gets going and makes it impossible for them to see anything. Romana, what was Mika wearing when she was taken?”

  “Only her underwear.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Natasha. “And, see if someone can get a signal from the GPS chip in her underwear.”

  Hardy estimated the temperature was probably in the lower-teens and only going to go lower. The other problem was the wind. It was beginning to blow harder, making the temperature feel like it was in the single digits. If Popovich was trying to escape on foot, then Mika was not going to survive in these conditions. “Is there any way you can peel off some men and have them search the silo and the barn, ASAP?”

  She nodded and issued the command.

  “Natasha, you and Romana check out the garage. Then, make your way over to the trees to the west. I’m going to search the woods to the north, behind the grain silo.” He motioned to the right. “Have the rest of your men form a line and move east. Keep one man near the vehicles, in case Popovich circles back and tries to steal a ride.”

  “No,” Romana protested, “Natasha and I should split up. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

  Hardy shook his head. “That’s not happening, Romana. Believe me, I know you’re tough, but Natasha’s right. You’re not dressed for the weather, and I need to know someone is with you. I don’t want to be out here searching for two half-naked women.”

  “Don’t worry about—” Romana shut her mouth. She was grateful for his confidence in her, siding with her over Natasha. She nodded, “All right,” and backed down, “let’s get moving.”

  Chapter 32: Coup de Grâce

  Hardy, Natasha and Romana jogged toward the north forest. At the garage, he broke away from the women and passed the barn and the grain silo. He thought about searching them, but decided against it. He would have to trust Natasha’s men would take care of the buildings. He needed to get to the woods. If Mika was out here, she was most vulnerable from exposure to the elements.

  Hardy’s mind was in overdrive as he ran. If Hardy were escaping, outside of stealing a car, he would have chosen to run across the wide-open field to the east or use the cover of the woods to the north. The front of the house was covered by FSB agents and the terrain to the west—beyond the trees—would be too difficult to cross at night. Hardy was confident Popovich knew this, too. Taking Mika with him was something that did not add up, however. She would have slowed his progress, unless he was planning to use her as a shield. It’s possible he’ll dump her somewhere along the way, knowing we’ll stop for her. That’ll buy him more time to get away.

  Starting at the northwest corner of the property, Hardy walked as fast as
he could, stepping over logs and dodging low-hanging tree branches. He was using his handheld flashlight, intermittently. He would light up an area and shut off the light. Moving a little further into the woods, he would repeat the process. His earpiece crackled.

  “I just got word,” said Natasha, “Mika’s GPS chip is not giving off a signal. It must have been damaged.”

  “Copy that.” Hardy estimated he had been out here almost ten minutes and he had not covered much ground. He made a risky decision to keep his flashlight on and an even riskier decision to start calling out Mika’s name. The longer it took to find her, the closer she was to suffering frostbite or hypothermia.

  Moving east and using a zigzag pattern, Hardy was halfway across the expanse of forest when his eye caught a glimpse of something hanging from a tree limb, thirty feet ahead. He closed the distance and reached for a skimpy lace garment. A jolt of pain ran up his arm and he shuddered. He had forgotten about the bullet wound. Holding a black bra, he examined the lingerie. Mika had a black dress on. He surveyed the area. It’s possible she was wearing black underwear, too. Though there was no visible trail to follow, he saw a couple of broken tree branches and moved toward them, heading deeper into the woods.

  A few minutes later, he pushed his way through some brush and stepped into a clearing. He swept the flashlight left and right, stopping abruptly when the beam illuminated a small form on the ground. Mika.

  She was naked, except for a pair of black panties, and propped against the trunk of a fallen tree. Her head was slumped against her chest. His heart in his throat, Hardy hurried toward her, his head rotating left and right, looking for the man who had deposited her here.