The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  The man closed his left eye and put his right eye to the scope of the rifle. He was careful to leave enough room, so the rifle’s recoil did not send the scope backward into his eye. He centered the crosshairs of the scope on the second skier’s head and breathed deeply, releasing half the air. His right index finger hovered in front of the trigger of the rifle, while he tracked his prey. He touched the trigger and applied steady rearward pressure, until the weapon jumped backward into his shoulder. The rifle’s sound suppressor made the rapport of the twenty-two magnum cartridge barely audible. He saw his target go down into a twisted mass of arms and legs, rolling and flopping head over heels down the trail.

  The man swung the rifle and lined up the other skier, who was oblivious to his partner’s demise. Repeating the procedure, the man dropped the second skier. Instead of bouncing and flopping, the skier fell onto his back and slid down the trail, stopping twenty meters away.

  The sniper stood and emerged from his hiding place. Ascending the hill, he came up to the first felled skier. Raising the rifle to his shoulder, he put the muzzle almost against the man’s head and pressed the trigger twice. He ran up the hill and shot the other man in the head two times before performing a three hundred and sixty-degree scan around his position. Once he was satisfied no one had seen anything, he spun around and hurried down the hill.

  Chapter 2: Leland

  7:59 p.m. (Eastern Time); Leland, Michigan (22 miles northwest of Traverse City)

  Close to the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, Leland, Michigan, settled in 1853, is an unincorporated community, situated at the mouth of the Leland River. With Lake Michigan to the west and Lake Leelanau directly to the east, Leland is the departure point for anyone wishing to take a ferry to either North or South Manitou Islands. The population of the entire township of Leland stands at a little more than two thousand people. In the early 1900’s, people from Chicago, Indianapolis, Cincinnati and other cities began building summer cottages in Leland. This influx of wealthy individuals kicked off the construction of hotels in the area and contributed to Leland becoming a summer resort.

  Less than two miles south of Leland, on the east side of North Manitou Trail stood a two-story, two-bathroom, four-bedroom home built into the side of a hill that gently sloped toward the western shoreline of Lake Leelanau. The eighteen hundred square-foot structure was snuggled among the trees that lined the shore. The modest home had simple vinyl siding, asphalt roofing and an attached garage.

  The interior had modern wood paneling and a combination of carpeting and linoleum tile. A brick fireplace was in the middle of the living room, near the sliding glass door that led to the deck, from which the view was anything but ordinary. Enough trees had been cleared to provide an unobstructed line of sight all the way across the lake. At certain times of the year, the rising sun would line up with the path cleared through the trees. During those times, the home’s occupants felt as if God himself was peering into their home.

  Sitting on a black leather couch with her feet tucked close to her body, FBI Special Agent Raychel Elisa DelaCruz leaned into the man sitting to her left and playfully pushed him. She smiled and laughed before pretending to pout. “Stop it. That’s not funny.”

  Laughing, Aaron Hardy put his right arm around her shoulders, drew her closer and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Cruz,” – Even though her legal name was DelaCruz, everyone close to her called her ‘Cruz.’ She received the nickname when she was in the military. Her fellow soldiers called her Cruz, joking that her real name was too difficult to pronounce – “but I’m just so use to you being so good at everything that I was really surprised at how bad you were at skiing.”

  Cruz stared at him. “Have you forgotten where I was born and raised?—Dalhart; as in Dalhart, Texas. Not a whole lot of snow in Texas, Mr. Hardy.”

  Pretending to be upset with her son, Evelyn Hardy defended Cruz. “Oh, leave the poor girl alone, Aaron.”

  Cruz flicked her eyes toward the older woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Hardy—”

  Mrs. Hardy stuck her finger in the air. “Please call me Evelyn, dear.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn. He’s been teasing me about it all day.”

  Hardy attempted to defend his actions. “We’ve done a lot of things together…basketball, bowling, even tossing around a football. You’ve held your own at all of those. So, you can understand my surprise to learn that you just…plain…can’t…ski.”

  “Aaron!” said Mrs. Hardy.

  He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “What? I’m giving her a compliment.”

  “I think that’s called a backhanded compliment.” Cruz craned her neck and kissed him. “But, I know what you’re getting at.”

  Hardy felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Retrieving the phone, he looked at the screen and stood. “I should take this. I’ll be right back.” He crossed in front of Cruz and walked past his mother, who was sitting in a rocking chair near the fireplace. Drawing even with her, he bent over, kissed her on the left cheek and kept going, never breaking his stride.

  As Hardy opened the sliding glass door that led to the deck, Mrs. Hardy left her chair to take her son’s seat next to Cruz. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m so glad you came here.” She put her hands on Cruz’s left forearm. “It’s been a joy getting to know you these past couple of days.”

  “Thank you, Mrs.—” Cruz stopped speaking and grinned. “Thank you, Evelyn. That means a lot to me.” Cruz rolled her eyes toward the fireplace. “To be honest, I was a little nervous coming here.”

  “Why’s that, dear?”

  “I’ve dated men, but I’ve never met the mother of any of them.” She observed Mrs. Hardy. “I guess I was a little self-conscious of what you would think of me.”

  Mrs. Hardy locked eyes with Cruz. “You have nothing to worry about. If my son is anything like his father,” she grinned, “he has good taste when it comes to women.”

  Cruz laughed when she realized the woman was also giving herself a compliment in the process of alleviating Cruz’s insecurity.

  “I also want you to know I’ve never seen my son as happy as I’ve seen him in the last couple days. I see the way he looks at you. It’s the same look I would see in my late husband’s eyes.” Mrs. Hardy patted Cruz’s arm. “Aaron adores you, Raychel. You’re good for him.” She caught sight of her son through the sliding glass doors. “He’s always been a serious and driven person. His teasing you is the lighthearted side of his personality I’ve not seen since the death of his father.” Mrs. Hardy stopped talking and stared at her son. He’s so much like his father.

  Cruz could see the woman was lost in her thoughts. She cupped the woman’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Evelyn?”

  After a few moments, Mrs. Hardy waved her hand in front of her body. “I’m sorry.” She let out the air she had been holding and smiled. “I just wanted you to know how happy I am he has a woman like you in his life. It gives a mother comfort knowing her son is loved and taken care of.”

  Cruz smiled.

  Standing, Mrs. Hardy picked up a serving tray from the table in front of the couch. “I’m going to get us some more cookies. Can I get you another cup of hot chocolate?”

  Cruz held up her hand before placing it on her stomach. “I really shouldn’t. I’m afraid I’ve put on a few pounds this holiday season.”

  Mrs. Hardy, who had started walking toward the kitchen, stopped, looked the younger woman over from head to toe before continuing on her way to the kitchen. “My dear, I would have loved to have had your figure and gorgeous hair when I was your age.”

  Cruz was five-feet, eight inches tall and had a slim and athletic build. Her long hair was dark brown, almost matching the complexion of her skin. She had dark brown eyes with long curly eyelashes, not needing mascara to provide fullness. Her face was long with high cheekbones. Though she did not like to talk about it, she had competed in beauty pageants since she was a teenager. She won her state competition before placing se
cond in the Miss America contest. Physical health was important to her and she had always taken care of her body, both inside and outside. Whenever anyone complimented her on her good looks, she would squirm and deflect the attention. She wanted to be viewed and respected for her other accomplishments in life; serving her country in the military, becoming a police officer for her hometown and an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. On this occasion, however, she accepted the compliment. “Thank you.” She held up her thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. “Maybe I’ll have a small cup.”

  After Mrs. Hardy had left the room, Cruz watched Hardy. He had his phone pressed to his ear, but he was not doing any of the talking. His eyebrows were furled downward. She could see his lips were slightly pursed. I wonder who’s on the other end of the phone. She got a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had seen the look on his face many times before, usually before he had to leave for some other part of the world on a mission. She hoped she was wrong.

  …………………………

  At thirty years old, Hardy was in the prime of his career. He had spent the last twelve years as a United States Marine, the most recent years as a Special Forces team leader, until his entire team was killed in a blast at a tavern in Washington, D.C. During the days that followed, he found those responsible and brought them to justice, catching the eye of the President, who offered Hardy his current position.

  Hardy stood on the deck and peeked through the sliding glass door. He saw Cruz staring at him. He also caught his own reflection in the glass. At five-feet, eleven-inches tall, he was in the best physical condition of his life. Standing sideways, he could not remember a time in his life when his chest and arms had been bigger. His hair was light brown and cut short, although it was in need of a little trim.

  A light layer of snow had gathered on the deck from an earlier flurry. The air was cold, but it felt good for the moment. The cold also helped keep his mind sober and focused on what the caller was telling him. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Am I dreaming? No, dreams were supposed to be good. This was a nightmare. He could not take it any longer and he interjected his thoughts into the conversation. “Has anyone claimed responsibility?”

  FBI Director Phillip Jameson, Hardy’s boss, responded. “Not yet, but details are still coming in from the Secret Service and other agencies. We should have more information by the time you get here. The President has called a meeting of all the top brass from the various law enforcement agencies. He specifically requested that you and Cruz be there, too.”

  “The President wants Cruz there, too?”

  “Yes. He thinks highly of her, especially since she put her life on the line to protect Abby at the summit. And, he’s been on me to get her more involved in the war on terror. Anyway, he wants her there. I assume she’s with you.”

  “She is, sir.” He and Cruz had been dating since mid-July. It was no secret. Most everyone at the FBI knew about the relationship.

  “Good. That’ll save me a phone call.”

  “What time is the meeting?” Hardy switched the phone to his other ear.

  “Eleven o’clock tonight,” said Jameson.

  “Tonight?” he said, his voice rising.

  “That’s right.”

  Hardy did not have to check the time to know there was no way he was going to make it to Washington, D.C. in time for the meeting. “Sir, it’s a twelve-hour drive to D.C., if the weather is good.”

  “I’ve sent a car to your mother’s house to take you to the airport. A jet will be waiting for you, ready to take off the minute you and Cruz arrive. The car will be there in…fifteen minutes. Have a safe flight, Hardy, and I’ll see you at the White House.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Hardy disconnected the call and went into the house.

  Cruz heard him enter, and close the sliding glass door. She was checking her phone messages. “Who was that?” Not getting a reply, she shifted her gaze toward Hardy and saw him staring down at the phone in his hand. She could tell his mind was elsewhere and did not hear her. She repeated her question, louder. “Hardy, who were you talking to?”

  Hardy did not hear her either time she spoke to him. He was thinking of the President’s daughter, Abigail. She was the sweetest kid Hardy had ever known. He met her shortly after coming to work for the President. They had had several conversations at the White House. She always seemed to know when he was there and would make a special point of catching him before his meeting with the President, or as he was leaving. On one trip, Hardy had bumped into her. School was over for the day, and she was supposed to get an ice cream cone with her father. The President had been extremely busy and could not keep his commitment to his daughter. Abigail had said she was okay, but Hardy had seen a brief moment of disappointment wash over her face. He had an afternoon date with Cruz and invited Abigail to join them. She accepted and the three of them had a terrific time. Inwardly, Hardy smiled, when he remembered Abigail getting two extra ice cream cones for the two Secret Service Agents who had accompanied the trio. Hardy saw Cruz standing in front of him and he flinched.

  She touched his left arm. “What is it?”

  Mentally, Hardy was in the process of putting his feelings aside and preparing for the mission that lay ahead. “Abby is missing. They think she’s been kidnapped.”

  Cruz put her hands to her face. From behind them, she muttered, “Oh no.” A few moments later, she added, “Who?”

  “No one knows yet.” He lifted his phone. “That was Director Jameson. The President wants both of us at a meeting in two hours. A car will be out front in…” He checked the time. “…thirteen minutes. Get your things together and I’ll tell you what I know on the way to the airport.”

  “Wait a minute. He wants both of us there?”

  Hardy nodded. “The President was clear. He wants you at the meeting. Apparently, you made quite an impression on him at the summit.” He poked his index finger toward the stairs. “We need to get ready to leave. Start packing, while I let my mother know we won’t be staying for Christmas.”

  When Cruz had gone, Hardy entered the kitchen and saw his mother laying out sugar cookies on a tray. Steam was rising from the stainless steel kettle, which was letting out a low whistle.

  Mrs. Hardy moved the kettle to another burner on the stove and the whistle faded. She saw him standing in the archway. “Come pour water into these mugs. I can’t remember. Does Raychel want whipped cream in hers?” When he did not answer her, Mrs. Hardy turned her head toward her son, who was standing still, staring at her. She noticed the playful attitude she had been admiring was gone, replaced by a stern gaze and a rigid demeanor. “What’s wrong, Aaron?”

  …………………………

  Hardy saw the headlights from the car, shining through the front window. He called out to Cruz, who was upstairs packing before addressing his mother. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, Mom.”

  “That’s all right, dear. I understand.”

  Hardy regarded his mother. He had not seen her since before July. A pang of guilt welled up in his stomach and he thought of staying with her for the holiday. As soon as the idea entered his mind, the thought of Abigail and the fear she must be feeling replaced it, overshadowing his guilt. He heard Cruz bounding down the stairs. “All set?” he said, picking up his suitcase.

  She nodded, her feet leaving the last step. She placed her suitcase on the floor before walking up to Mrs. Hardy. “It’s been wonderful spending time with you. I wish we could’ve stayed for Christmas.”

  Mrs. Hardy shook her head and hugged her son’s girlfriend. “I’ve enjoyed every minute I was given with the both of you, sweetheart.” The hug lasted several seconds before the older woman pulled away and pivoted toward her son, who stepped forward and hugged her. “You take care of yourself, you hear me?”

  Hardy squeezed his mother tighter. “I will, Mom.”

  Watching them embrace, Cruz felt her eyes getting moist. An image of her mother came into her
mind. She had planned a vacation to see her mother in September, but it had been interrupted by an urgent assignment. She tried to remember the last time she had visited her hometown. Unable to recall, she focused her attention on the present.

  Releasing her son, but maintaining physical contact, Mrs. Hardy admonished him. “Don’t wait so long between visits. You’re all I have left and I treasure the moments God gives me.”

  Hearing her words, Hardy’s guilt returned.

  She leaned left to include Cruz. “And, the next time I see you, you had better have this young lady on your arm.”

  Cruz smiled, the red in her cheeks intensifying.

  Hardy hugged and kissed his mother on the cheek before picking up both his and Cruz’s suitcase and heading for the front door. Cruz gave Mrs. Hardy another hug and followed Hardy out into the cold night air toward the waiting vehicle. Once the suitcases were stowed in the back of the vehicle and the new passengers were inside, the vehicle drove away from the house. Hardy rolled down his backseat window and waved to his mother, while the black SUV sped toward the airport.

  Chapter 3: Gulfstream V

  10:13 p.m.; Washington, D.C.

  The Gulfstream V had a maximum cruising speed of five hundred and sixty-two miles per hour. The pilot had strict orders to maintain that speed. The flight from Traverse City, Michigan to Washington, D.C. took a little more than an hour. During the flight, Hardy and Special Agent Cruz had changed into something more appropriate to wear to a meeting with the President of the United States. Aboard the plane, Cruz had her choice among three matching blazers and pencil skirt suits in black, navy blue and dark red. She chose the navy blue suit to wear over a white blouse. Navy blue three-inch high heels and tan-colored nylons completed her outfit. Hardy did not have any choices. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt, red tie and black dress shoes. Fortunately, Director Jameson had the forethought to include a couple of black overcoats to protect them from the cold weather.