The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Cruz’s eyes scanned Cole’s face and body. Her eyebrows curled downward. Examining Cole, while he walked away, she spoke to Hardy. “Outside of his broken nose and a bruise on his right cheek, he looks fine. What happened in there? I expected the see the guard dragging what was left of him across the floor.”

  Hardy’s cheek hurt from the blow he had received from Cole; however, he managed to give her a small smile. “Every interrogation is different, Cruz.” He took the undershirt away from his face and inspected it before re-applying the garment. “In the beginning, I gave it to him pretty good. He got in a few punches, too. I realized, however, he was only getting pleasure from hitting someone, especially someone working for the government. Remembering he has a second brother, I took another approach and threatened to find him and…well, you can imagine what I told him I’d do to his brother, if he didn’t cooperate.”

  “That’s all it took to make him talk?” Cruz’s voice gave away her gratitude and surprise.

  “Everyone has a weakness.” Hardy had his phone in his hand, tapping the screen with his thumb. “The key to a good interrogation is finding that weakness and exploiting it.” He gestured down the hall with his phone. “His weakness is his family. After reading Cole’s file that Director Burroughs passed out at the meeting, I thought I’d push that button.”

  Cruz was impressed at Hardy’s skill and happy he did not have to resort to using excessive force. “What did you get out of him? Do we know where they’re keeping Abby?”

  Hardy shook his head before putting his cell phone to his ear. “Director Jameson, it’s Hardy. We need to have a meeting. Cole gave up a name.”

  Chapter 10: Run

  December 22nd, 10:21 p.m. (Mountain Time)

  Abigail and Layla had sneaked through the building, trying to find the exit. They were being held in what appeared to be an antique shop. During their exodus, they had passed numerous items dating back hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Had they not been focused on getting free from their captors, they might have stopped to admire the unique pieces of art. Abigail poked her head through a doorway. Not seeing anyone, she motioned for Layla to follow her.

  Stepping through the doorway, the girls entered a large showroom with several glass counters displaying many items similar to the ones the girls had already seen. Moving deeper into the room, Abigail heard voices nearby. She faced Layla and held her index finger to her lips before pointing toward a door on the other side of the room. Staying low and moving carefully, the girls were almost to the door, when Abigail heard a loud noise behind her. She whirled around and saw Layla standing near the broken pieces of a large antique vase. She watched Layla duck her head and raise her shoulders. She had bumped the vase by accident. “Run,” shouted Abigail, spinning around and bolting for the door. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Reaching for the door handle, she stole a quick look behind her to make sure Layla was coming. Whipping her head back around, Abigail ran headfirst into the arms of a middle-eastern man, who grabbed her and forced her to floor. She saw Layla attempt to get the man off Abigail, but he swung his left arm backwards and hit Layla in the side of the head, making her backpedal into the waiting arms of a second man. Layla screamed, but the man behind her put his hand over her mouth and her screams were muffled. Abigail continued to struggle, until she felt a sharp prick in her neck. She was familiar with what came next. Her vision dimmed and she saw a small black hole get bigger, until she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 11: Operation’s Room

  December 23rd, 3:30 a.m.; Operation’s Room (Fourth floor beneath the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, D.C.)

  After parking her black Dodge Charger in Hardy’s reserved spot in the underground garage at the J. Edgar Hoover Building, Special Agent Cruz walked with Hardy to the elevator. He pressed a few buttons on a keypad next to the elevator door. When the door opened, both of them stepped into the elevator. Hardy spun around and entered a separate security code and the doors closed.

  “So, this underground fourth floor has been here all along…since the building was constructed?” Cruz was referring to the fact that the fourth floor had been kept a secret from the public.

  Hardy nodded his head. “Apparently, it was built to serve as an underground bunker for the FBI Director in case his safety became compromised on the above ground floors. It was never used for that purpose, so Jameson made it into a command center for our operations.”

  Cruz smiled. “Sort of like a bat cave for Special Agents that,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “don’t exist.”

  Hardy chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that, I guess. No, its location is perfect for him. He can run the FBI from above and when we need to meet for,” he mimicked her and made air quotes of his own, “…secret agent business…he can take the elevator and be here in less than a minute.”

  She smiled as the elevator came to a stop, a chime rang and the door opened. Stepping out of the elevator, Cruz saw a large room filled with cubicles; half were clustered on the right, while the other half was grouped together on the left. She followed Hardy down an aisle between the cubicles. “I can’t believe this has been here. I never knew it existed.” She rotated her head, taking in every detail of the room.

  They came to a ‘T’ in the floor plan and Hardy went left, down a short hallway. There were two offices on the left side. The first door on the right was the Operation’s Room. It was simply called the OR and its purpose was a meeting room for mission briefings and debriefings. The last room on the right was Director Jameson’s office.

  Light was pouring out of the OR. Hardy heard voices coming from the room. He glanced through the window of the first office on his left; it was empty. Veering to his right, he walked through the archway of the OR and entered the room, followed by Cruz.

  Hardy took a few steps straight ahead and sat in a chair at the left end of a long conference table. On the walls to his left and right, as well as straight ahead, were several large monitors. In the corner to his right, there were several telephones hardwired and secure for conversations with the outside world. In front of every station, built into the table, was a small monitor with a keyboard tray under the table that could be pulled out, if someone wanted access to a computer. He motioned for Cruz to sit in the chair to his right.

  “Since we don’t need any introductions, we can get right into it.” Director Jameson was seated at the head of the table, to Hardy’s left. He pivoted to his left and nodded at the woman seated across from Hardy—Charity Sinclair.

  Charity Sinclair was a twenty-two-year-old information specialist, working for Jameson and with Hardy. She was highly skilled in the area of computers and information technology. The duties of her job entailed providing the technical details of missions and assisting Hardy when it came to intelligence and technology. She was relatively new to her job, having started working for the FBI only a few months ago; however, she had already proven to be a valuable addition to the team.

  Charity nodded and tapped the touchpad of the laptop computer, resting on the table in front of her. She picked up a remote control and swiftly turned her head to the left. Her shoulder-length dark hair, tinged red, followed her movement, cascading over her right shoulder. She pushed her red plastic eyeglasses further up her slender, petite nose before pointing the remote at the largest monitor in the room, mounted on the wall facing Jameson. Operating the device in her hand, a picture of a man appeared on the monitor.

  “This is Ashar Yamadi.” Charity rose from her chair. Her three-inch, red high heels clicked against the hard floor, while she walked toward the large monitor. She was dressed in a muted red blazer, a matching pencil skirt with a side slit and tan nylons. She had been at home when she first learned about the kidnapping. Jameson had told her she was going to be attending the meeting with the President, so she had dressed accordingly. At the last minute, Jameson had re-assigned her to begin gathering information on the kidnapping. “He’s an Egyptian citizen, believed to be somew
here in the United States. Intelligence officials have linked him to the terrorist organization, Ansar Bayt al-Maqdis…or ABM for short. ABM is also known as the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant…or ISIL, and it is the most active terrorist group operating in Egypt. Although ABM has not made any threats against the United States or our Western allies, the group’s rhetoric does contain anti-American and anti-Western overtures.” Stopping her, Hardy asked a question.

  “Hold on, Cherry.” Cherry was a pet name given to her by her father when she was a little girl. Only her family and close friends called her Cherry. “No one knows where this guy is…how is that possible?”

  Charity shifted her weight from her right foot to her left foot. “Yamadi is a relative newcomer to the battlefield. He came to this country on a student visa two years ago and…as far as we know…never left. His visa has since expired and U.S. intelligence sources—”

  Hardy shook his head. “What? He came here as a student. His visa expired, but he’s still in the country and no one knows where he is.” Hardy leaned back in his chair. “This keeps getting better and better.”

  “You haven’t heard all of it.” Charity pressed a button on the remote. A picture of a shopping mall showed on the monitor. Police and medical vehicles could be seen in the foreground with the front half of a SWAT truck. People and bodies were scattered on the ground outside the doors to the mall. “The government has tied Yamadi to recent terrorist attacks at a Washington state shopping mall,” she clicked her remote and a similar scene was displayed, “…a Florida night club that killed thirty-two people and wounded another fifty-one…” Charity made another image appear on the monitor. This picture was the worst. Everyone’s feelings were the same when they saw it. Charity paused a few seconds to check her feelings. “…and lastly, this school shooting in Arizona just one month ago, where ten children were killed and more than two dozen were wounded. Three adults lost their lives and five more were wounded.” As soon as she finished her sentence, she clicked the remote to remove the scene from the monitor.

  No one said anything. The image of the school was in the forefront of everyone’s mind. Cruz was the first person to break the silence.

  “How do we know that Yamadi was involved in these attacks if the government doesn’t know his location?”

  Charity wagged her finger at Cruz, while she hurried toward her laptop. “That brings me to this.” She hit the touchpad on her laptop a few times and all of the monitors in the room displayed sheets of paper with text on them. Certain areas on the paper were circled and highlighted. “I’ve been working on cross-referencing the information from the flash drive,” she looked and pointed at Hardy, “you got from Dahlia, with our intelligence agencies and I’ve discovered some similarities.”

  “Who’s Dahlia?” Cruz had never heard the name.

  Charity was silent. Her eyes shifted from Hardy to Jameson and back again to Hardy. She was waiting for one of them to answer the question.

  Hardy eyed Jameson, who nodded his head. Hardy pivoted his chair toward Cruz. “Dahlia St. James is a woman I ran across two months ago when we took down a terrorist cell that was planning an attack in the Northeast. She’s an assassin who…focuses her skills…on suspected terrorists.” Hardy was choosing his words carefully. “She helped me—”

  “Wait a second. She’s an actual assassin?”

  “Yes,” replied Hardy. “She helped me escape from a warehouse in Philadelphia. Later, she turned over a flash drive that contained information from terrorist Tahir Muhammad’s computer.”

  Charity interjected. “The data on the drive has been very helpful in the war on terror.”

  Cruz was having a difficult time wrapping her head around the fact they had been working with a known assassin. “How can you work with such a person? How can you trust her? For the right price, she could switch sides again and double-cross you.”

  “She only kills terrorists.” Hardy was defending Dahlia, but he knew the situation with her had not been thoroughly proven. Cruz had a point. Dahlia’s allegiance could swing the other way at any moment.

  Cruz shot back at Hardy. “So, she’s a hired killer with a loose code of ethics…so what?” Cruz dragged out her next words. “She kills people for money.”

  “She’s also a former FBI agent, who understands the world of law enforcement.” Hardy spun back toward the table. “While I’m not condoning her actions, there’s no question she’s been helpful to us.”

  Jameson moved his head left and right, observing the monitors. “She’s also my daughter.”

  Cruz’s eyes widened and she glanced at Charity before staring at Hardy, who nodded his head.

  “I trained her at the FBI Academy in Quantico and can attest to her skills.” He paused, examining the monitor to his left. “And, it’s true that she has provided us with valuable intelligence on terrorist organizations all over the country.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “We’re getting off track. Cherry, please continue with your report.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, pointing at the nearest monitor behind her. “This is just a small sampling of the documents on the drive. As you can see, I’ve made notations on the papers, highlighting areas that match up with what our own intelligence agencies have been able to gather.” Charity looked at Cruz. “To answer your original question…how do we know that Yamadi was involved in the terror attacks…there are communications on the drive that coincide with the dates of the attacks that I just showed you. No names are mentioned—only code names. One code name, the Hound, kept popping up in my research.”

  Hardy piggybacked on Charity’s growing enthusiasm. “You think the Hound is Ashar Yamadi?”

  Charity made the screens display Yamadi’s image. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but there’s enough evidence to suggest that that is the case.”

  Cruz motioned toward the monitor. “We need to find this Yamadi.”

  “Agreed,” said Jameson, leaning forward in his chair. “You have absolutely no way of locating him, Cherry?”

  Charity took a deep breath and let it out before sitting in her chair and crossing her legs. “I don’t know anything the U.S. Government doesn’t already know; however,” she tapped her forefinger against her pursed lips and paused, letting everyone hang on her words. “I have an idea.” Placing the remote control on the table, she closed her laptop and focused on Hardy. “Dahlia has access to the same information that we do, when it comes to that flash drive. It’s a little unorthodox, but maybe she knows where to find Yamadi. I think it’s worth a shot to reach out to her and see if she can help us.”

  “She might be able to help in some way, even if she doesn’t know his whereabouts,” added Hardy. “I like it. Yes, it’s unorthodox, but a girl’s life hangs in the balance and we need to take our shots when we get them.”

  “I disagree.” Cruz was shaking her head and staring at the table. “With all due respect, sir,” she shifted her eyes toward Jameson, “I know Dahlia is your daughter, but from what I’ve heard about her, I don’t believe she’s proven where her loyalties lie.”

  Jameson felt the gaze of his agents, while he stared at the conference table, gently tapping his finger on it. He understood and appreciated Cruz’s opinion; however, they were talking about his daughter. Even though he had not spoken with her in years, he had to believe there was still something remaining of the child he raised. “Your concerns are duly noted, Cruz.” He nodded his head toward Hardy. “Reach out to her and see what she knows.”

  Chapter 12: Dahlia

  6:30 a.m., New York City

  Two hours earlier, Hardy and Special Agent Cruz left the J. Edgar Hoover Building, headed for Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Once there, they boarded a Bell 412 helicopter, specially outfitted for the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. The flight from Washington, D.C. to New York City took a little more than ninety minutes. During the flight, Hardy gave Cruz as much information as he knew about Dahlia, trying to bring his partner up to spee
d. He could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea of letting a known assassin in on the operation.

  After their helicopter landed at LaGuardia Airport, Hardy and Cruz found a black SUV waiting for them. Hardy got in behind the wheel. When Cruz was safely buckled in, he punched the accelerator and the vehicle lunged forward, heading toward downtown New York City and a café & bakery on Lafayette Street.

  Forty minutes later, Hardy parked near the restaurant. He and Cruz got out and went to the front doors of the establishment. A couple lights were on inside, but there were no patrons. They stepped inside a small area, shielded from the weather. Hardy pulled on the door handle, but the door was locked.

  Noticing a man on the other side of the restaurant, Cruz knocked on the glass and the man changed his course and walked toward them. When he was a few feet away from the door, she held up her FBI credentials. The Hispanic man was in his mid-twenties and stood at least six-feet, two-inches tall. His dark hair was neatly combed and parted on the side. He was wearing a pair of tan khakis and a red dress shirt. He nodded his head, unlocked and opened the door.

  Hardy put his hand on his chest. “We’re Special Agent’s Hardy,” he gestured toward Cruz, “and Cruz. We’re here to—”

  The man nodded his head again. “Yes, come in.” He waited for them to enter before closing and locking the door. “I’ve been expecting you. Please, follow me.”

  Directly in front and to their right, Hardy and Cruz saw a bakery, complete with glass cases displaying desserts of every variety, including donuts, croissants and muffins. High tables and chairs were nearby. The man escorted them past the bakery. When they reached a counter-top seating area, where patrons could sit and have a view of a small and nicely decorated kitchen, the man made three quick turns—right, left, right—before ascending a short flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and extended his left arm out in front of his body, while he looked and smiled at them.