The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  “It seems the two closest shops to the sightings of Halim are in LA and Las Vegas.” Hardy eyed Dahlia and Charity. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.” Dahlia motioned toward the screen. “The next closest ones are in Reno and Tucson.”

  “Can you take away all of the dots that are older than forty-eight hours?” Charity complied with his request and he studied the map. “Did you get any matches of ninety-percent or better?”

  Charity nodded and tapped a couple keys before leaning back. Only a half dozen colored circles remained on the screen—four green and two yellow. “I’ve already examined this combination and the geographical center is only a few miles east of LA. Coincidentally, the three most recent hits are in this grouping.”

  Dahlia crossed her arms over her chest and touched her fingertips to her pursed lips. “The LA shop is the most logical choice. We take the jet and we’ll be there in less than two hours.” Her eyes went back and forth from Cruz to Charity.

  Cruz nodded. “It’s the best move.” She turned her attention toward Hardy.

  Charity affirmed Dahlia and Cruz’s assessment.

  Dahlia pressed him. “What do you say, Hardy? Are we going or not?”

  Hardy stared at the map, thinking.

  After almost a full minute of silence, Dahlia glanced out her window before whipping her head back toward Hardy. “Hardy, we’ve got actionable intel on Halim’s whereabouts, and potentially the President’s daughter, too. What’s the play?”

  Not looking away from the screen, he answered her. “We go to LA.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, speaking from behind his hand. “I don’t want to let the shop in Las Vegas go, however, in case LA doesn’t pan out. Vegas is just too close not to check it out.” He dragged his hand down his face and held up his index finger. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He opened his door and started to get out of the SUV. He stopped, when he heard Cruz.

  Cruz grabbed her phone. “I’ll call Jameson and tell him what we’re doing.”

  Hardy leaned in and touched her arm, stopping her. “Don’t make that call.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get back.” Hardy jogged to the second SUV and talked to the HR Team leader. He brought the man up to speed on their discovery and gave him orders to go to Las Vegas and prepare a raid on Halim’s antique shop. The HR Team was to conduct surveillance. The actual raid would take place on Hardy’s orders. The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Teams were some of the best-trained operators in America’s arsenal of counter-terrorism units, rescuing hostages held by criminals and/or terrorists. If Abby was in Las Vegas and not Los Angeles, he trusted the HR Team would do everything in its power to see to her rescue and safety.

  Hardy slammed shut the SUV’s door and produced his cell phone.

  “So, why aren’t we calling this in to Jameson?”

  Hardy rolled his eyes toward Cruz. “You’ll find out in a minute.” A moment later, he put the phone to his mouth, when he heard the upbeat voice of the President’s secretary. The terrible events of the last twenty-four hours had to be wearing on her; however, she was a professional, not letting her emotions take control of her attitude. “Courtney, it’s Hardy. Can you put me through to the President?”

  “I’m afraid he’s in a briefing at the moment with a few of his directors. I can let him know you called when he—”

  “It can’t wait, Courtney.” Hardy waited and listened. He could sense she did not want to interrupt the President. Hardy urged her to go beyond the protocol. “You’ve met Abigail numerous times, right?”

  “Of course, I have.”

  “Believe me, when I tell you that what I have for the President is a matter of life and death. I need to speak with him, Courtney.” Hardy heard her short shallow breaths coming through the speaker.

  Courtney glanced at the door to the Oval Office, while tapping her pen on the desk. Seconds later, she dropped the pen. “Aw, screw it.” Uncrossing her legs under the desk, she stood. Realizing her thoughts had been audible, she backtracked. “Oops, I’m sorry about that.” She sighed. “It’s been a tough day. Hold on.”

  Hardy chuckled. She was a professional, but even professionals had their limits. He appreciated the brief glimpse into the personal side of her character. “Thank you, Courtney. I owe you one.”

  She let out a short laugh. “If I had a nickel…” She pressed a button on her phone before setting the handset in the cradle. She went to the door to the Oval Office. Knocking, she took a deep breath and entered the room. All eyes immediately went to her. The Secretary of Homeland Security stopped speaking. She slid her body around the open door and walked toward the President.

  The President acknowledged her. “What is it, Courtney?”

  “Sir, I have Agent Hardy on the phone. He says it’s urgent. He needs to speak with you.”

  The President did not hesitate. “Put him through.”

  “I already did, sir. He’ll be there when you pick up the phone.”

  The President put his hand on the phone, but did not pick it up. “Thank you, Courtney.” He waited for her to leave the room before he raised the handset. “Agent Hardy, this is the President.”

  “Thank you for taking my call, sir. I wouldn’t have asked Courtney to interrupt you, if it wasn’t important.”

  “I understand. What is it?”

  “Is Director Jameson with you?”

  The President flicked his eyes toward Jameson. “Yes, he is.”

  “The information I have is for you and Director Jameson only, sir. Can you ask the others in the room to step out?”

  The President considered Hardy’s request to be unorthodox. Considering everything that’s happened, it’s probably par for the course. He covered the phone with his other hand. “Will you excuse me, gentlemen, while I take this call?” Everyone stood and headed toward the door. “Not you, Director Jameson.” He beckoned the man to return. When only the two men were left in the room, the President put Hardy on speakerphone. “Go ahead, Agent Hardy. I’ve cleared the room. Only Director Jameson is with me. You’re on speakerphone.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll get right to the point. I’ve got credible intelligence on where the kidnappers might be holding Abigail.”

  Oh, thank God, thought the President. “That’s great.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Give me the location and I’ll get my people on it immediately.”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

  Chapter 29: Muck It Up

  The President sat erect in his chair. “Could you repeat that, Agent Hardy? I thought I heard you say, no.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President. After what happened in Denver, I’m not giving any other agency the opportunity to screw this up.”

  “Are you referring to Homeland raiding the antique shop?” The President was aware of the situation. He had been given an update from Secretary Gillespie.

  “I am, sir. My people secured the intel for that location, only to have Gillespie charge in like some cowboy and muck it up. I thank God Abby was not there. Homeland’s actions were unprofessional and dangerous. She could have been killed.”

  “Agent Hardy, are you aware that your refusal to give me this information puts your career with the federal government at stake, not to mention a possible court-marshal?”

  “Sir, as soon as Abby is safe and sound, I’ll turn myself in and you can start the official proceedings for my court-marshal. Until then, I won’t trust your daughter’s life to anyone else, but me and my team.”

  The President was uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, he would have excoriated anyone who disobeyed him; however, he was picking up an underlying tone in Hardy’s voice. The tone was more like that of a father, or an older brother, who was genuinely concerned for the welfare of his child or sister. In all of the President’s interactions with his closest staff, he noticed they acted like Abby were another case or mission, needing to be solved or completed.
Jameson’s outburst disturbed the President’s thoughts.

  “Damn it, Hardy, you’re out of line.” He got closer to the phone. “Your Commander-in-Chief has given you a direct order. Give up the location, now.”

  “I’d be more than happy to…on one condition.”

  “Now, you’re bargaining with the President. You’ve crossed a line, Hardy, that I don’t think you can come back from.”

  Not looking away from the phone, the President held up his hand toward Jameson. “What’s the condition?”

  “Mr. President, I want your word this information stays with the two of you. And, I want you to give me the necessary latitude to find and bring Abby home. She’s not just a faceless name in a file folder to me, sir. I think of her as a friend, a friend I would give my life to protect. In this case, that means getting her home to you and the First Lady.” Hardy waited, but no reply came. He played his last card. “Let me make it clear, Mr. President. I’m doing this my way, with or without your blessing. Of course, it would be much better to have it, sir.”

  Jameson came further forward in his chair and opened his mouth to speak, incensed at Hardy’s outright disrespect for the President’s authority.

  The President stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Agent Hardy, you have my blessing. You have proven on several occasions that you put your country, and those close to you, above everything else. I apologize for not seeing that sooner.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jameson’s jaw fell open. He stared at the President, not believing what he was hearing. He leaned closer to his boss and spoke quietly. “Are you sure about this, sir? You’re putting a lot of faith in one man.”

  “He’s not just a man, Phil. He’s a man who thinks of my daughter as one of his own. In my book, that makes him family.”

  “There’s just one more thing, Mr. President.” Hardy’s voice had changed, giving away his feelings of uncertainty.

  “What is it?”

  Hardy hesitated before answering. “One member of my team is not technically authorized to be involved in this mission. Her name is Dahlia St. James and—”

  Leaping out of his chair, Jameson cut off Hardy in mid-sentence. “Hardy, you were only to get information from her, not make her a part of your team. This is unacceptable. You have no idea where her loyalties lie. She’s not even an agent of the United States Government.”

  “We both know that’s not entirely true,” snapped Hardy.

  The President turned his head toward Jameson. “Who is this—”

  Hardy did not hear the President. “Her assistance on this mission has been crucial to us getting this far. She’s called on her contacts and gotten us information on Yamadi’s whereabouts and possibly Abby’s location as well. Without her, we’d be stuck on trying to find Yamadi. As to her loyalties, Director, I’m the one working with her and I’ll vouch for her allegiances, too. Something you would know yourself had you made a little extra effort in the past to reach out to her.”

  Jameson’s face was red, his pulse was beating faster, and the room felt as if it had gotten warmer. Had Hardy been in the room and said that to him, Jameson would have punched him. You have no idea what I did to try to find my daughter, he thought. Jameson decided to keep the conversation professional. He pointed at the phone. “Hardy, I’m ordering you—”

  Raising his voice, the President got the attention of both his subordinates. “Will someone tell me who the hell this Dahlia woman is?”

  Jameson backed down. Getting control of his emotions, he answered in a subdued tone of voice. “Sir, the woman in question is Dahlia St. James. Her real name is Dahlia Jameson, my daughter. She was an FBI agent at one time, but now she’s—”

  The President held up his hand and shook his head a couple of times. “Wait a minute. You have a daughter, Phil. And, she’s an FBI agent. Why haven’t you told me about this?”

  “She and I had a falling out several years ago before you and I knew each other, sir. I just never brought it up. I haven’t spoken to her in years, which is why I have extreme reservations about letting her be a part of this operation.”

  The President stared at Jameson for several moments before looking at the phone. “Agent Hardy, you have a ‘go’ with your mission. If you trust this woman, Dahlia, then you have my approval.”

  Jameson slowly shook his head. “Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I must advise against it.”

  The President walked around his desk and put his hand on Jameson’s shoulder. “Relax, Phil. If your daughter has one ounce of the character and integrity that’s in you, I have no doubts she’ll do just fine.” He gently slapped Jameson on the back and turned around. “Agent Hardy, your team will have the full support of my office. If you need anything, Director Jameson will see that it gets done.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. I appreciate that.”

  “No, thank you. I should have trusted your instincts long before now—my apologies, son.”

  “That’s not necessary, sir. You’re in a difficult situation right now.”

  The President opened his mouth to speak, but stopped and stared at the desk. “Agent Hardy…Aaron…” He stopped speaking for several moments.

  Hardy thought the line had gone dead and started to speak. He stopped when he heard the President.

  “I was a soldier once.” He had served in the Marine Corps with the First Battalion 8th Marines, stationed in Beirut, Lebanon, in 1983. He was among the 128 who were wounded when a suicide bomber detonated a truck bomb near the building serving as the barracks. Two-hundred forty-one American service members were killed. “I know not every mission goes according to plan.” He paused for a few seconds. “If something should happen…please tell my daughter that…her mother and I…love her very much and…” The President covered his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. He was doing his best to keep his emotions under control in front of his people; however, the Commander in Chief in him was starting to lose out to the father in him.

  Sensing the President’s emotion, Hardy intervened. “Mr. President, you can tell Abby yourself, when she’s sitting at your dinner table on Christmas Day.” He waited a few seconds. “Just make sure there’s some spinach for her to go along with the turkey and mashed potatoes.”

  Spinach. The President chuckled.

  “For the life of me, I can’t understand why a sixteen-year-old girl would willingly eat spinach.”

  The President had heard the smile on Hardy’s face and he laughed outright. Hardy had just put into words the President’s exact thoughts. The laughter helped him get his emotions in check. He saw through Hardy’s plan. “Thank you. I needed that.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. There’s one last thing I need to tell you, Mr. President.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Semper Fidelis.”

  The President stood erect and responded, “Semper Fidelis, son.” He ended the call. Semper Fidelis is Latin for ‘always faithful.’ The term has been the motto for the United States Marine Corps since 1883. It guides Marines to be faithful to the mission, each other, the Corps and country. Both Hardy and the President, being Marines, identified with the meaning of the words.

  …………………………

  Even though Cruz, Charity and Dahlia had not heard the President’s side of the conversation, they filled in the blanks, based on what Hardy had said. Of the three women, Dahlia was most affected. Hardy had gone to bat for her with the President, jeopardizing his career. She would not forget the gesture, or let him down. In fact, his faith in her only solidified what she had already come to know about him. He was a man who never wavered from his commitment to the people and things he cared for so very much.

  Dahlia leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. He cranked his head toward her. She smiled and nodded at him. He did the same to her. Not a word was spoken, but everyone knew what had been said.

  Hardy started the SUV, put the vehicle in gear and drove away, heading for the airp
ort.

  Chapter 30: LA

  5:04 p.m. (Pacific Time); Los Angeles, California

  The flight from Denver International Airport to LAX took ninety minutes. Jameson had planned to have an agent waiting for them when they landed, but Hardy declined, not wanting to pull anyone away from the search for Abigail. Instead, Hardy asked for a rental vehicle. A representative from Avis met him on the tarmac and handed him the keys to a black Chevrolet Suburban. After the gear was stowed in the back, everyone climbed inside the vehicle and left for the antique shop.

  Forty-five minutes later, Hardy and Charity were sitting in the Suburban on the west side of South Westwood Boulevard in front of a CVS Pharmacy. They had a clear view of the front of the antique shop on the east side of the boulevard. Before finding the parking spot, Hardy had driven by the store to get a look inside, but it was dark.

  For the next hour, Hardy and Charity sat in the vehicle watching for any activity in and around the front of the building, while Special Agent Cruz and Dahlia went around to the back. Cruz and Dahlia had found a service alley and were monitoring the back door.

  Hardy checked his watch. We can’t sit here forever. The sun had already set. Light from the stores and streetlights was piercing the darkness of the coming night. He had received a text message from the Hostage Rescue Team leader. The HR Team was in position and conducting surveillance on the antique shop in Las Vegas. Hardy needed to give the team time to finish its surveillance before giving the order to go in; however, he wanted to know if Abby was inside the building he was currently scoping out, first. The back doors of the SUV opened. Cruz and Dahlia got in and slammed the doors.

  Cruz blew into her cupped hands and rubbed them together. “There are two cars parked behind the building, close to the service door. There are three windows on the upper level,” she blew into her hands again, “but we should be able to make it to the door without being spotted by anyone inside.”

  A little less dressed for the weather than Cruz, Dahlia was faring better with the chilly temperatures. “There appears to be some electrical panels jutting out from the building right below the windows. With a boost, we could gain entry through the windows, but it would take more time than the service door. Either way, we have two floors to clear once we’re in.”