The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Hardy used the forty-minute drive to update everyone on the details of the mission, including the fact that Layla was actually Calista Nasser, half-sister to Ashar Yamadi. Charity provided the layout of the shop they would be assaulting as well as the surrounding business district, located on the Northeast edge of Denver. Driving on Welton Street, Hardy saw the flashing lights of police vehicles several blocks ahead. He had planned to park a few blocks away from the shop and go the rest of the way on foot. As he drew closer to the police vehicles, he felt his stomach twisting into knots and a bad feeling swept over him. He rotated his head to the right, but kept his eyes on the road. “Cherry, can you check—”

  “I’ve already double-checked the location. “Those vehicles are parked right in front of the storefront where Yamadi’s phone last had a signal. We’re in the right place.”

  Inwardly, Hardy groaned. On the outside, he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Son of a…the only other person who knew the location was Director Burroughs, and she gave me her word she would not go in without us.” Since there was no need for stealth, Hardy parked as close as he could to the yellow ribbon stretched around the area to keep bystanders away. His fingers repeatedly smacked the screen on his phone, as he dialed the number for Burroughs. She answered on the third ring.

  “This is Director Burroughs.” She sounded distracted.

  Skipping formalities, Hardy got right into his tirade. “You gave me your word you’d wait for me. I get here and find the place crawling with agents.”

  The anger in his voice got Burroughs attention. “Hardy?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

  “You damn well know what I’m talking about. I’m in Denver, staring at your people screwing up my operation. I gave you Yamadi’s location and you gave me your word you wouldn’t move without me.”

  “Back it up, Hardy.” Burroughs’ voice was rising, too. “I gave you my word and I kept my end of the deal. I haven’t authorized anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then, who am I looking at? I told no one else about Yamadi’s location.”

  Burroughs was silent for several moments.

  Thinking he lost the connection, Hardy hailed her. “Burroughs, are you still there?”

  “I’m here.” The distraction in her voice was back.

  “Care to explain?” he said, his temper growing more noticeable and less manageable.

  “I never authorized a raid; however, I did pass along the information to my boss.”

  Gillespie, thought Hardy. It would be just like him to rush in, hoping to get all the credit and repair his image with the President.

  “Director Gillespie is my supervisor. I had to inform him…Give me some time and I’ll find out what happened.”

  “Forget it,” Hardy snarled. “The damage is done.” He disconnected the call without giving her a chance to reply, jammed the phone into his pocket and wrenched on the door handle. “Let’s go get some answers.”

  Chapter 23: O’Neill

  Approaching the yellow tape, Hardy spied a man who appeared to be an agent with a good deal of authority. The agent was shouting into his cell phone, intermittently breaking away to give orders to the men around him. He was of average height and build with dark hair, buzzed to within a half-inch of his scalp. As soon as Hardy lifted the tape and ducked under it, the agent hollered at Hardy.

  “This is an official police investigation.” He thrust his finger in the general direction behind Hardy. “You’re not allowed in here.”

  Hardy flashed his credentials. “I’m Special Agent Aaron Hardy of the FBI.” He gestured toward his teammates, who had cleared the tape and were a step behind him. “This is my team. Who’s in charge?”

  The agent glanced at Cruz and Charity, who was still wearing her red business suit, before spending more time studying Dahlia, starting with her knee boots. He went back to his phone call, making sure everyone could hear him. “I’ll have to call you back. Apparently, the circus is in town.”

  Cruz clutched the arm of Dahlia, who was charging toward the man, and yanked, spinning her body around. “Take it easy, Dahlia.”

  Hardy ignored the remark and glanced at the man’s badge. “Agent…O’Neill, who’s in charge of this operation?” He pointed at the building. “I need to get in there and have a look around.”

  O’Neill poked his chest with his thumb. “I’m in charge and there’s no way in hell you or any member of your…team is going anywhere near,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “that building. Do I make myself perfectly clear? If necessary, I can speak slower for you.”

  Hardy had worked with difficult people in the past; however, Agent O’Neill was taking the word ‘difficult’ to a new level. He was not even attempting to be cooperative. Trying to ease the tension between them, Hardy stuck out his hand. “Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot, Agent O’Neill. I’m Special Agent—”

  “I heard you the first time,” snapped O’Neill. “I’m not deaf.”

  Still fuming about the circus remark, Dahlia launched a verbal blow. “No, stupidity is your strong suit.”

  Agent O’Neill was in the process of walking away. He whirled around and glared at Dahlia. “What did you say?” He got in her face and repeated his question. “I asked you a question, Agent…” he paused to find a badge or a nametag. “Who are you? What is your name?”

  “I’m a talent agent for the circus.” Dahlia’s eyes moved up and down O’Neill’s body. “Our clown called in sick. Any chance you’re free to take his place for the show? You’d be perfect.”

  Charity separated herself from the group, snickering and putting her cell phone to her ear.

  Hardy had known men like O’Neill. They possessed inferiority complexes and compensated for their shortcomings by denigrating those around them. They built themselves up by tearing down others. Women were not spared from the attacks. If a woman was disrespectful, she could expect to receive the full force of the man’s temper. The woman standing before O’Neill, however, was no ordinary woman. Hardy knew Dahlia would not take any crap from the man. He had to intervene before the situation got out of hand.

  His fists clenched, O’Neill raised his hand and pointed his finger at Dahlia, who already knew how she was going to break his finger if it touched one fiber of her clothing. “You can take your smug attitude and get the hell away from my investigation.” His finger was inches away from Dahlia’s face.

  She stared at the finger. Come on, just a little bit closer. She had opened her hands and was waiting to pounce.

  O’Neill leaned forward, nose-to-nose with Dahlia. “If I see you around here again, I’ll have you forcibly removed…no, I’ll have you arrested.”

  Dahlia took a step back and waved her hand in front of her face. “On second thought, I’ll get someone else to play the clown. I wouldn’t want your bad breath scaring away the children.”

  Standing to the left of Dahlia, Cruz’s body went rigid. She studied O’Neill. His face was turning red and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. She inserted herself between O’Neill and Dahlia. Holding up her hand, she saw Hardy appear to her right. He had stepped between the two combatants. “You put one hand on her—” Cruz stopped speaking, when she heard Hardy’s deeper-than-usual voice.

  “And, I’ll make sure you never use that hand again.” He watched O’Neill’s eyes shift toward Cruz before coming back to him. Hardy saw the man’s nostrils flare and his jaw muscles tense. Whether it was on the playground at school or in some hellhole in another country, the dance of two men sizing up each other before a fight always started in the same manner. Hardy slid to his left, boxing out Cruz. He did not want her taking the first punch, or any punches.

  Dahlia, preparing to go on offense, had been pushed out of the way by her teammates. Taken aback by their actions, she swung her head left and right, looking at Cruz and Hardy. Having operated on her own for so many years, she had forgotten what it was like to hav
e people stand up for her. Her body would not respond to her mental commands. A lump formed in her throat and she felt butterflies dancing in her stomach. Get it together, Dahlia. Get your head in the game. She shook her head and blinked her eyes.

  O’Neill’s long fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, while the muscles in his forearms burned. He could not see his agents around him, but he sensed their eyes upon him. He was not going to be disrespected in front of his people. He flexed his muscles and prepared his body for the fight. Before he could throw a punch or block one, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye.

  Chapter 24: DHS

  Charity was holding her phone out toward O’Neill. “Agent O’Neill, there’s a phone call for you.”

  Remaining motionless, O’Neill flicked his eyes toward the phone and then leveled them at her. He curled his eyebrows downward before returning to his standoff with Hardy.

  Charity lifted the phone higher. “Trust me. You’re going to want to take it.”

  After several tense seconds, O’Neill relaxed his body, stood straight and snatched the phone out of her hand. Glaring at Hardy, O’Neill pointed at him. “This isn’t over.” He stormed away, speaking into the phone. “This is Agent O’Neill.”

  Charity took a couple steps forward, spun around and faced Hardy, grinning. “Oh, I think it’s over.”

  Hardy broke his stare with the back of O’Neill’s head to study Charity. “What did you do, Cherry?”

  “While you three were exchanging insults,” she raised her eyebrows at Dahlia before including Hardy and Cruz, “and picking fights, I thought it best to go over Agent O’Neill’s head…way over his head.”

  Everyone stared at her.

  She motioned toward O’Neill. “Listen,” she said.

  Hardy, Cruz and Dahlia trained their ears on O’Neill’s conversation.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President...Yes, sir…I understand, sir…No…I will…Yes, Mr. President…Yes, sir—” O’Neill took the phone away from his ear to see the screen. He put the phone back to his ear. “Mr. President?” The Commander in Chief had ended the call without any formalities. O’Neill stared at the phone, while he made his way back to Hardy.

  Before O’Neill was within earshot, Hardy smiled at Charity. “Nice,” he said, to which Cruz and Dahlia echoed similar assents.

  O’Neill had not stopped staring at the phone. “I don’t know who the hell you people are, but I’ve just been ordered by the President of the United States to assist you in any way possible.” He stuck out his arm toward Charity, her phone in his hand. When she had taken the device, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you folks?”

  Hardy could see it was taking every ounce of O’Neill’s willpower to be polite. To his credit, he was succeeding. Not wanting the situation to deteriorate again, Hardy was respectful. He pointed toward the building. “Agent O’Neill, I need to get in there and have a look around.” He wagged his finger and examined the scene. “Can you tell me what agencies are here as well as what happened?”

  O’Neill motioned with his arm for Hardy and his team to follow him. “Let’s walk. I can fill you in on the way.” He took a few steps, heading for the shop. “I’m with the Department…”

  Hardy asked Charity to inform the Hostage Rescue Team to stand down before he caught up with O’Neill. “I’m sorry, could you start over.”

  O’Neill nodded and began again. “I’m with the Department of Homeland Security and these are my men. I was told an hour ago that Ashar Yamadi was hiding in this store with two hostages. I got the order to go in, take him out and rescue the hostages, one of whom is the President’s daughter.”

  “Was she in there? Do you have her?”

  O’Neill shook his head. “Negative,” he said. “My men were met with resistance,” O’Neill paused and got the attention of one of his agents. Lifting up the badge around his neck with one hand, he held up four fingers from his other hand. When the agent nodded, O’Neill finished his sentence. “They swiftly took out the targets. There were no other casualties.”

  “Who was killed?”

  O’Neill glanced at Hardy. “If you’re asking if Yamadi was one of them,” he shook his head, “the answer is no. Neither of the men matches Yamadi’s description.”

  “Who gave you your orders?”

  “The Secretary, himself,” replied O’Neill. The group reached the front door of the store. “He wanted us to move quickly. I believe he used the words ‘hard and fast’ when he gave the orders.”

  Hard and fast. Hardy could feel his pulse quickening, thinking of Secretary Gillespie and his decision to storm the building. Thank God, Abby was not here. She could have been killed in the crossfire. Gillespie was not thinking of the hostages. He was concerned only about his career and his standing with the President. Another example of a soldier turned politician.

  Jogging, an agent approached from behind and gave O’Neill four ID badges. O’Neill handed one to Hardy, Cruz and Dahlia before giving the last one to the man standing guard at the door. “A woman in a red jacket and skirt will be here to get this. Let her though.”

  Taking the badge, the man acknowledged his superior.

  Once inside the shop, Hardy saw several agents shuffling around main showroom. Some held clipboards and were writing, while others had plastic bags, picking up items with their gloved hands and placing the items into the bags. Ahead of him, Hardy caught sight of two lumps on the floor, covered with white sheets. Squatting, he pulled back the sheet and examined the body. A few seconds later, he threw the sheet over the body and stood. He joined Cruz, who was inspecting the other corpse. When she confirmed it was not Yamadi, Hardy addressed O’Neill. “Have you found anything that might be useful?”

  “Come with me.” O’Neill led everyone to the back of the store, through a doorway and down a flight of stairs. Once they were in the basement, he took them down a hallway, turned left and continued a short ways. Stopping at a door, he had a brief conversation with an agent before entering the room.

  Chapter 25: Bedframe

  O’Neill strolled to the far corner of the room and stood at the foot of a narrow bed. “My men have finished gathering fingerprints and DNA samples from this room. We believe the two hostages were held here.” He went to the head of the bed and pointed out gouge marks on the vertical slats. “These marks were made by a chain, most likely from a pair of handcuffs. Rope, zip ties or any other material would not have made such marks in the wood.” He motioned toward the door and the agents outside the room. “I was told they found some hair and dried blood on the bed. It will be tested to see if it matches that of the President’s daughter.”

  Charity joined the group, while Cruz and Dahlia scanned the bed and the surrounding area. Cruz clicked on her small flashlight and shined the beam at all the dark corners and places where the scant light of the overhead bulb was not reaching.

  Hardy’s eyes followed the beam of Cruz’s flashlight. “Do you know who owns this shop, Agent O’Neill?”

  O’Neill took a small pad of paper from his jacket pocket, flipped through a few pages and said, “Faas Essam.”

  Dahlia heard the name and whipped her head toward O’Neill.

  O’Neill rattled off the highlights from his notes. “Egyptian…forty-nine…has lived here for almost ten years…no known relatives in the States.” He flipped another page. “Not much is known about him. He hasn’t had any scrapes with the law. On paper, he seems to be an upstanding citizen.”

  “Where is he now?” Hardy motioned for Cruz to shine her light on a section of the bed frame.

  “We’ve tried contacting him, but he’s…”

  Surveying the underside of the bedframe, Dahlia was lying on her left side. Her leather jacket and skirt rose further up her legs, while she reached under the bed.

  Standing near her feet, O’Neill glimpsed the elastic band of her red thigh-high stockings. “He’s…he’s not answering his phone.” He focused his attention on
his notepad. “Actually, we think his phone has been turned off.”

  “That’s convenient.” She stood and adjusted her clothing.

  “Thank you, Agent O’Neill.” Hardy shook hands with O’Neill. “Can you give us the room, please?”

  “As I said, the President has ordered me to help, so if you need anything, just let me know.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  When O’Neill had left the room, Hardy lifted the mattress and had Cruz shine her light on the metal bedframe. His eyes shifted back and forth. He started to let go of the mattress, but stopped. “Shine your light over here, Cruz—a foot from the headboard.” He glanced at Dahlia, “Stand back, Dahlia,” before pushing the mattress over the edge of the frame. He sat on his haunches and leaned closer to the area lit by Cruz’s flashlight. “That’s blood. And, I’m willing to bet it’s Abby’s.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Dahlia had drawn up behind Hardy and Cruz and was squinting to see the area in question.

  “Look at the pattern of the frame.” He pointed. “There’s a section of it missing there.” Hardy got closer. “The edge of the remaining metal looks like it’s been bent back and forth several times.”

  Cruz twisted the flashlight to see the metal from a different angle. “Just like someone would do if they were intentionally trying to break it off.”

  Hardy nodded and stood.

  Dahlia switched places with him and went down on one knee. “But, why? Why would she need a piece of metal?” She held out her hand toward Cruz. “Can I see your flashlight?”

  Walking away, Hardy ran his fingers through his hair, stopping at his neck to massage the muscles. “It’s just a hunch, but over the summer, I taught Abby how to pick locks with various common items from everyday life. If she was handcuffed to this bed,” he gestured with his head, “she could have used that missing piece of metal to get out of her cuffs…possibly.”

  Cruz faced him. “Do you think she escaped?”