The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  He knelt. “Mika, can you hear me?” She was unresponsive and the color of her skin was pale blue. He touched her. As cold as his hands were, her body was colder. He put his fingers under her chin and scanned the perimeter again, holding his breath. Seconds later, he let out the air. She’s alive. “Thank you, Jesus.” Hardy had been praying for His help to find her. He tapped his earpiece and whispered. “Natasha, I’ve got Mika.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s alive, but she’s not responding. Her skin is blue.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re in the north woods, straight back from the house. Bring anything you can to get her warm.”

  “We’re on our way. What about Popovich?”

  “Keep an eye out for him.” Hardy removed his tactical vest. “He’s still on the loose.” Sticking his fingers between the buttons of his shirt, he yanked both hands away from each other and the shirt ripped apart. He leaned Mika into his chest and wrapped the clothing around her shoulders. He covered the shirt with his vest, carefully leaned her back against the log and zipped the vest with her arms inside to maintain body heat. His left arm around her back and his right arm under her knees—his pistol in his right hand—he picked her up, turned and headed back the way he had come. “I’ve got her. We’re moving toward the house.”

  “Copy that.” Natasha hailed the other teams. “All teams rendezvous at the north woods. I repeat, all teams to the north woods, now!”

  Hardy had made it to within ten feet of the brush when a figure emerged, facing him. There was a break in the clouds. A beam of moonlight shone through the trees, illuminating a man’s baldhead and reflecting off the shiny surface of a stainless steel revolver, pointed at Hardy. Popovich. Hardy had no place to go and no time to get his pistol on target, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He spun around, surrendered his back to his adversary and yelled, “Natash—”

  He had barely enough time to get into position before the first of several bullets slammed into him, cutting off his call for help. He staggered forward and fell to the ground, trying to cushion the fall for Mika by cupping her head and neck. He feared his efforts were in vain. His vision blurred. Twigs cracked under the weight of heavy footfalls. He sensed Popovich’s weapon, pointed at his head, a coup de grâce.

  Chapter 33: Click

  Lying on Mika, Hardy blinked his eyes several times, while he forced oxygen into his lungs. The bullets had made contact with the bulletproof vest he wore over his undershirt, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He was alive, but not for much longer, if he did not do something. Hardy shook his head. His only chance was to get his pistol out from under Mika’s legs.

  He got to his knees and pulled, but her legs were heavier than they looked. Before he could tug a second time, a revolver’s hammer locked back just beyond his right ear. He closed his eyes, set his jaw and flexed his shoulder muscles. Screw it. Hardy yanked his right arm back and rolled onto his left side. He cleared Mika’s legs, but his Walther PPQ M2 was nowhere near the assailant when the revolver’s hammer struck the gun’s firing pin. Click. The only sound heard after that was the wind rustling through the trees.

  “I’ll bet you wish you had a semi-auto right about now.” Hardy put the Walther’s front sight on Popovich’s nose. The man strung together several Russian expletives before Hardy silenced him with one trigger press. He pointed the gun at Popovich’s chest and fired the pistol seventeen times. The first shot would have most likely killed Popovich, but Hardy had a lot of pent-up anger and frustration. In the little more than three seconds it took to empty the Walther, Hardy thought about the pain and misery this man had inflicted on so many people; the bombing that almost took Natasha’s life, her attempted kidnapping and the loss of two people very close to her—her father and boyfriend. In his mind, Hardy saw Romana with a gun to her head. Lastly, he saw the woman lying next to him and he was reminded of Popovich’s most recent victim—Mika. Jumping to his feet, Hardy ran to Popovich’s body, stripped the dead man of his warm winter jacket and returned to Mika. His earpiece crackled and he heard Natasha’s panic-stricken voice.

  “Hardy, what happened? Are you okay?”

  Hardy lied next to Mika and rolled her on top of him to get her off the cold ground. He wrapped his left arm around her body and used his free arm to cover them both with the winter jacket. He hugged her tightly, vigorously rubbing his hands up and down her back, arms and legs, warming her.

  Nearly screaming, Natasha called out again. “Hardy, are you there?” Romana’s voice was in the background, shouting his name.

  “We’re alive, Natasha,” he coughed, “We’re alive. Popovich is dead.” Hardy breathed deeply and exhaled, sending a white cloud of carbon dioxide into the frigid air. Every time he took a breath, it felt as if someone was rolling a cactus over his back. “Follow the sound of my voice.” He tapped his earpiece and shouted Natasha’s name. Minutes passed, but they seemed like hours. He did his best to keep Mika warm, while he alternated shouting Natasha and Romana’s name. Finally, beams of light bounced off the branches overhead, followed by the sound of breaking twigs and tree limbs.

  Natasha charged through the brush, Romana a step behind. “They’re over here,” shouted the women.

  Hearing their voices, Hardy sighed. Aid had arrived for Mika. His muscles relaxed, but an intense pain radiated from his left shoulder. He thought it was coming from his arm, until he saw a dark round spot between the shoulder and pectoral muscle. He touched the spot; it was wet. In the light spill from several flashlights, he saw blood—his blood.

  Natasha and Romana lifted Mika and zipped the winter jacket. Her arms wrapped inside Hardy’s tactical vest, the women struggled to get a hold of her.

  Hardy raised his upper body off the ground. A large man from an FSB team rushed forward, scooped Mika into his arms and raced back toward the house. A second agent threw a blanket over her. The one carrying Mika crashed through the brush, never slowing down. Natasha and Romana came back for Hardy. He waved them away. “Go with her. I’ll be okay.”

  Ignoring him, the women knelt by his side. Each one curled an arm around her shoulder and helped him get to his feet. The three of them moved as fast as they could through the woods.

  Reaching the tree line, Hardy saw an SUV speeding away, its tires spinning and throwing grass and dirt. The vehicle fishtailed to the right and passed an approaching SUV. The second vehicle made a sharp left turn came to an abrupt halt. A man jumped out of the passenger’s side and opened the back door on his side. Hardy faced Natasha. “Where’s Mika?”

  “She’s in the first SUV. They’re,” losing her grip, Natasha hoisted him and got a better handhold, “taking her to the house. An emergency medical team is en route.”

  “We’ve done all we can do for her, Hardy.” Romana, who was on his left, felt wetness on her cheek. She swiped a hand across the cheek and rubbed her fingers together before holding them up to the moonlight. Not only her fingers, but also her hand was covered in blood. She looked at where her cheek had pressed against Hardy’s body and saw the entire area was darkened. “Did you get shot again?”

  “I think so.”

  “Where?” Natasha felt more and more of his weight bearing down on her shoulders.

  “Left shoulder,” said Romana before giving orders to the FSB agent, in Russian. She eased Hardy’s arm over her head.

  “I’m fine.” He took his arm back from Natasha and spent more time than necessary turning around and leaning against the SUV. “Let’s just get to Mika…and make sure…she’s...” He took a couple deep breaths and bent over, feeling the combined effects of blood loss and extremely cold temperatures. His blood pressure had been steadily dropping. He slid down the smooth metal.

  Romana leapt forward and pinned him against the right-rear quarter panel. “I told you,” she motioned to the FSB agent, “Mika’s getting the help she needs. Right now, you need to let us take care of that wound.”

  Hardy protested
. “I’m—”

  “You’re fine, I know. Now shut up, while we get you into the backseat.” The driver opened the back door on his side, and the two FSB agents maneuvered Hardy, until he was lying on his back. Romana squeezed between the front and back seats and knelt by his head.

  Natasha issued commands to the agents before putting one foot inside the backseat. The nearest man escorted her to the front passenger seat and slammed shut the back door. She nodded to him, got in and the SUV sped away, while she closed the door.

  Hardy’s teeth clattered. Romana wiggled out of the suit coat and used it as a blanket. “I hope you don’t mind a little blood.”

  Hardy met her gaze. “Thank…” he shivered, “you.”

  Romana took the nearest sleeve of the coat and applied pressure to Hardy’s wound. He closed his eyes and winced. “Sorry,” she smiled, “You’re going to be all right. We’ll get this taken care of and get you some blankets and warm milk.”

  Hardy stared at the roof. “Warm…milk? What…am I, five?”

  She smiled, not knowing why she had said ‘warm milk.’ It was the first thing that popped into her head. “Well, over here, we put vodka in everything, so…” her voice trailed off, while she tucked the suit coat around his body.

  Hardy laughed, but his face twisted from a new bout of shoulder pain.

  Chapter 34: Apartment 44

  One week later, 12:09 p.m. (local time); Moscow, Russia

  “I must admit,” Natasha set her empty glass on the table, motioned for the server and turned her head to the left, “I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon, Hardy.”

  “Yeah,” Romana sat across from Natasha at the small café table, “did you miss us that much you had to fly back just to have lunch?” She was in a feisty mood and had been good-naturedly jabbing him ever since he entered the café. “Does your girlfriend know you’re dining with three attractive women?” She threw her hands into the air. “What am I saying? She’s probably the one who booked the flight.” Natasha and Mika laughed, while Hardy smiled and took a drink of his beer.

  Natasha glanced around the restaurant. “And, don’t think the symbolism of your choice of venues has gone unnoticed.” She looked at her female friends and tilted her head toward Hardy. “This is where I first met him.”

  The Apartment 44 was where Hardy and Natasha had met on Hardy’s first trip to Moscow. It was a small café. Several round-shaped, wooden tables sat in the center. The tables had matching wooden chairs with circular seats. A dark mahogany bar, with bottles of alcohol lined up on the shelf behind it, caught the attention of every patron who entered. A full-width mirror—behind the shelf—made it appear as if there were twice as many bottles. Hardy had not specifically chosen this table for purposes of nostalgia. He simply liked the table’s location in proximity to the fireplace, and it had a good view of the front door. He and Natasha were sitting on the booth side of the table, while Mika and Romana sat in chairs with their backs to the bar.

  “Awww,” Romana cocked her head to the side, “I didn’t picture you as the romantic type.” She smiled, picked up her bottle of beer and pantomimed a kiss before taking a swig.

  Hardy set his beer on the table and retrieved his phone to check the time. He placed the phone on the table. “Keep it up, Romana, and you might regret those words.” He eyed the front door.

  “The way I see it,” she glanced at Natasha and Mika, “its three against one.”

  “I’ll take those odds,” Hardy shot back with a grin.

  Natasha raised her hands in front of her face. “Don’t involve me in this little love spat the two of you have going.”

  Hardy glanced at his phone again before picking up a menu. “Let’s order.” He looked across the table at Mika. “All this…verbal abuse…has made me hungry.”

  She wagged a finger at him. “Back it up, Mister. I’ve been very nice to you.” She motioned toward Romana. “She’s the one who’s painted a target on your back.” Mika leaned closer. “I never got a chance to thank you for what you did for me in Bryansk.” She flicked her eyes left, “Natasha,” and came back to Hardy, “told me everything.” She planted her palm on his hand. “Thank you.”

  Hardy tried to come up with something humorous to say, deflecting from his actions, which had saved Mika from freezing to death. The doctors had said she was suffering from hypothermia and would not have survived for much longer in those conditions. Hardy’s quick thinking had begun the process of raising her body temperature, buying more time for medical personnel to treat her. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he simply nodded his head. “I only did what either Natasha or Romana would have done.”

  “I think you’re being a little too modest.” She squeezed his hand before letting go and leaning backward. “You shielded me with your body and took a bullet for me.” She tilted her head toward her teammates. “I know they would have done the same for me, but we’re like family. You, on the other hand, hardly knew me and still risked your life to save me. If any of those bullets had landed above your vest, you would’ve been killed. As it was, you lost enough blood to bring you closer to my condition.” She paused. “By the way, how’s your shoulder doing? I expected to see your arm in a sling or something.”

  Hardy shrugged and rotated his left shoulder a couple of times. “It’s getting better each day. And, it was in a sling for the first few days.” One of the bullets had gone wide of Hardy’s bulletproof vest, struck him in the left shoulder and gone straight through, missing his collarbone and Mika’s head by less than an inch.

  “I can’t picture a big tough guy like you,” Romana grinned, “walking around with your arm in a sling.”

  And, she’s back. Hardy shook his head, while reading the menu.

  Mika looked up. “Have we heard anything on how the summit went?” She glanced at Natasha, who reached for her drink.

  “Do you want to tell them,” Natasha took a sip, “or should I?”

  Chapter 35: Go Ahead

  Hardy extended his hand as if to say ‘the floor is yours.’ “Go ahead.”

  “Will one of you just tell us already?” Romana motioned toward Mika. “It would be nice to know if our efforts were worthwhile.”

  Natasha set the glass on the table. “We just got word earlier today, and we were going to give you the news during lunch, but this is as good a time as any.” She crossed her legs under the table and shifted her weight on the padded bench. “First of all, the summit was a huge success. The leaders of our respective countries came to know each other very well before it was time for the Premier to leave—a good first step.”

  Hardy held up a finger. “I suspect it was the first ladies that had a lot to do with that. Their shopping trip proved to be a great bonding experience, and I think the women helped influence their husbands, urging them to cooperate.”

  “Well, of course,” Mika smiled, “shopping always brings people closer together.”

  Hardy chuckled and faced Natasha.

  “The President and the Premier,” she said, “came to terms on a tentative agreement that allows for the sharing of information, pertaining to terrorists and terrorist organizations. They also talked about joint missions, involving agents and teams from our two countries.”

  Hardy glanced across the table. “This agreement is still in the early stages of development. People who advise the President and the Premier are already working on the specifics of the plan.”

  Romana caught his attention. “How soon before we start seeing these joint missions?”

  He tilted his head slightly and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, a timeline forming in his mind. “Once the plan is finalized and both leaders have had a chance to review it and make modifications—there’s going to be another summit in late winter or early spring—” he nodded at Romana, “it shouldn’t be long after that meeting…late spring, early summer, I’d say.”

  “That brings me to the second thing I wanted to tell the two of you.” Natasha paused,
letting her words hang in the air. Twirling an index finger in the air, her eyes went back and forth from Romana to Mika. “The three of us are going to be the first team in this war on terror.”

  Mika and Romana smiled.

  “When I spoke with the Premier, he indicated our country will be fielding more teams in the future, if this new agreement is successful. During the initial phase, however, it will be just us. To that end, we will be receiving some highly-specialized counter-terrorism training in the coming months.” Natasha glimpsed Hardy before coming back to Mika and Romana. “I suspect we’ll be teaming up with American counter-terrorism agents, as well as some of their Special Forces personnel for these training operations.”

  Mika and Romana looked at Hardy, who had taken a drink of his beer and was slowly nodding his head, while he put the bottle on the table.

  He swallowed. “I’m under the same impression. It will be good for all agents to start communicating and getting to know each other.”

  “That sounds great.” Mika was excited at the possibility of seeing the action she had been craving since becoming an FSB agent.

  Natasha leaned back and stared at her glass, gently tapping it with her fingernail. Her father would have been proud of her—Sergei too, for that matter. She was following her father’s footsteps. She wished he were alive to see the work she would be doing, protecting her fellow citizens. She waited for a lull in the conversation. “Mika…Romana…” her voice was deeper than usual, “We are going to be on the frontlines in this war, helping to bring about an end to terrorism.” Her thoughts went to General Popovich and the bomb maker, Anton Rudin. She looked at her teammates. “And, we’re going to do it…one…murderous…thug...at a time.”

  Hardy grabbed his beer and raised it toward the center of the table. “For all those who have given their lives,” he thought of his fallen teammates, “fighting this war,” he saw Natasha out of the corner of his eye, and he remembered those she had lost, “especially Sergei and Natasha’s father.”