The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  He emphasized his words, “We…are…closed,” before he turned his back on her.

  Pounding on the door with such fervor that the man whirled around again, she repeated her request. She watched him speak to the others before ambling toward the front door. Cruz had positioned herself, so the minimal light coming from behind her could shine on her clothing. It worked. The man took special notice.

  “What do you want? We are closed.” His eyes dropped to her legs.

  “A friend told me about this place. She said you might have something for my father. If you open up, I’ll just take a quick look around and be out of your way.” Cruz rocked back and forth on the heel of her left boot. She watched his eyes travel the length of her body before he glanced over his shoulder at his companions. “Please,” she begged, hoping her schoolgirl-pleas would convince him to open the door. “I promise it won’t take long.”

  The man reached into his pocket and produced a set of keys. Finding the right key, he unlocked the door. He heard a noise from behind him and cranked his head around to see the commotion.

  …………………………

  Down on one knee, Hardy put the lock pick tools back into his pocket and readied his pistol. Dahlia had been standing with her back to him, hiding him from the view of bystanders, while he picked the lock. She had her pistol in her hand, tucked inside her blazer. Getting to his feet, he tapped her on the shoulder and took a position on the right side of the door. Dahlia retreated a few steps, until her back was against the building on the opposite side of the door. They waited for Cruz to give the code word that she was in the building. He and Dahlia maintained radio silence.

  Hardy checked his watch; it read 6:13 p.m. Come on, Cruz. Give us the order. He tightened his grip on his nine-millimeter Walther PPQ M2 and glanced at Dahlia. Her eyes were narrow slits. Her body was rigid. Her hair fluttered at the back of her head, when the occasional breeze blew past her. She looks like a tiger that’s spotted its next meal. She averted her gaze from the door and signaled she was ready. Before he could acknowledge her, the back door opened.

  A man stepped outside and jumped back, when he saw Dahlia. Holding the door open with his left hand, he and Dahlia stood motionless, staring at each other. He spied the gun in her hands and his eyes grew wider. Twisting his body to the right, he bolted back inside, shouting in Arabic.

  Before the man had taken two steps, Hardy was on him, wrapping his left hand around the man’s mouth and hauling him backward. Dragging the man to the pavement, Hardy motioned toward the door and hollered at Dahlia. “Go, I’ve got him.”

  …………………………

  Cruz did not hear the disturbance at the back door, but sensed something was wrong when the man on the other side of the door quickly whipped his head around. Taking advantage of the distraction, she grabbed and yanked on the door handle, jerking the man’s arm toward her. She thrust her open hand under his chin and his head rocked backward. Lifting her right leg, she drove her boot into his chest and the man stumbled into the shop, falling to the floor and sliding into the end of the wooden display case.

  Charging through the door, she gave the code word for Hardy and Dahlia to breach the back door. Gunshots filled the enclosed space of the shop. Cruz recoiled. Feeling bullets rush by her head, she dove to the floor.

  On her knees, facing the end of the display case, Cruz slid her right hand inside her jacket and grabbed her pistol. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement before feeling one hand on her right breast and a second hand on the collar of her jacket. The man on the floor was not out of the fight. He was grasping her clothing, pulling her down to the floor.

  Chapter 33: Gunfight

  Special Agent Cruz had no room to draw her pistol and shoot the man. She brought her hands together and forced them upward between the man’s arms, breaking his grip on her. His upper body fell back to the floor. Cruz struck him in the throat and delivered several blows to his head. Clutching his throat and gasping for air, he stopped his attack. She drew her pistol and pressed her left shoulder against the display case. “Hardy, Dahlia, I’m taking fire. What’s your status?” Cruz heard more gunfire, coming from a larger caliber weapon.

  “Southeast corner…pinned down by fire,” replied Dahlia above the noise of rifle rounds, hitting the corner of the wall where she was taking cover.

  Hardy’s voice filled the airwaves. “I’m on Dahlia’s six. One man down…how many left?”

  “I’ve neutralized one at the front door.” Cruz leaned to her right and fired three rounds down the length of the display case. “There’s one left…he’s toward the back of the store behind the counter.” More bullets zipped past Cruz.

  The terrorist had positioned himself in the small area where the two wooden display cases came together to form an L-shape. The display cases did not come together completely, giving him a place of cover. Cruz was situated to his right and Dahlia and Hardy were straight ahead of him. He had a pistol in his right hand, firing at Cruz and a semi-automatic rifle in his left hand, the stock wedged between his left arm and body, firing at Hardy and Dahlia.

  Cruz squatted and fired four shots over the top of the display case before taking cover once again. “We’ve got to take him out before he kills someone on the street.”

  Dahlia put her pistol in her left hand and shoved it past the corner of the interior wall. She pressed the trigger several times and drew her weapon back, when pieces of the wall exploded in front of her face. “I can’t get a clear shot.”

  Hardy was crouching behind her, surveying the room. He saw the staircase to his left and thought about making a run for it. Gaining the advantage of height, he could get off a shot at the man. After closer inspection of the area, he re-considered. There was a lot of open space between him and the bottom of the staircase, and the terrorist had a semi-automatic rifle.

  Cruz peeked around the left side of the display case. She had a clear path all the way down to the back wall of the room. “I’ve got an idea.” She dropped the magazine from her pistol and stowed it in her jacket pocket. “Don’t return fire. Just keep him busy.”

  Hardy cranked his head away from the staircase. “What’re you doing, Cruz?”

  “I played softball in high school,” she said, retrieving a full magazine from her pocket. “The best part about the game was stealing bases.”

  Hardy had a bad feeling in his gut.

  Dahlia twisted her head toward him. “What is she talking about?”

  Cruz slammed the full magazine into her pistol and got into a low crouch, facing the display case and the terrorist. “I was pretty good at it, too.” A couple more bullets went by her on her right; one ricocheted off the side of the case before it left the store.

  “Talk to us, Cruz,” said Hardy.

  Dahlia leaned left and tried to spot her teammate. “What are you planning, Cruz?”

  Cruz took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m stealing second base.” She leaned to her right and fired three times before taking off on a dead run down the left side of the display case. Halfway down, she heard the rapport of the man’s weapon several times.

  Dahlia caught a glimpse of Cruz’s head, moving left to right before it disappeared. “What the hell is she doing?”

  Three feet before the end of the display case, Cruz threw her left foot forward. Her right leg was under her left knee, when her right hip landed and she skimmed along the floor. Clearing the end of the display case, she saw the terrorist. He had his back to her, pointing his pistol toward the front of the store. Cruz’s legs were straight out, while she slid on the right side of her body. Pointing her pistol at the man, she squeezed the weapon’s trigger four times. Four times, she hit her target. The first two bullets struck him the back of his neck. The third bullet penetrated his skull, while the final one cut his ear and sliced a gash along the left side of his face before hitting the wooden case, sending splinters into the air. On his knees, the man slumped forward and his head banged against th
e display case.

  Cruz continued to slide, her body rotating ninety degrees to her right, until she came to rest with her back against the interior wall. With her weapon trained on the man, she hailed her teammates. “Target is neutralized…I repeat…target neutralized.”

  Hardy responded. “Cruz, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Hardy tapped Dahlia on the shoulder. “Check the rest of the main floor. I’m going upstairs.” He ran toward the bottom of the staircase and ascended the stairs.

  Dahlia moved out from behind the corner of the wall and cleared the main room, ending her search in the back office. Re-emerging from the small room, she checked to make sure the terrorist Cruz had shot was dead, before giving the ‘all clear’ and heading toward Cruz.

  Hardy’s voice came over their earpieces. “Second floor is all clear.”

  Cruz was lying against the wall. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and her leather skirt was split up the right side. The zipper had split apart and the back half of the skirt was under her butt, while the front half rested on her stomach. She put the heel of her left boot on the floor and reached out with her left hand.

  Dahlia clasped Cruz’s hand and helped her get to her feet. “Really, Cruz…white briefs? At least add a little color…maybe some reds or blacks.”

  Cruz bent over at the waist and tried to push the skirt’s zipper back down the side; it wouldn’t budge. The skirt had a permanent slit in the side, running to the waistband. She stood erect and fiddled with the zipper. “I think I ruined it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty more.”

  Hardy came down the stairs, talking on his cell phone. Joining the women, he put away his phone. “The Hostage Rescue Team is making their assault now. I’ll have a report in fifteen minutes.”

  Charity interjected. “Is everyone all right?”

  “We’re all good,” replied Dahlia.

  “Hardy, I can hear the sirens. The police are on their way.”

  “Intercept them at the front door, Cherry. I’ll be right out.” He acknowledged Cruz and Dahlia. “Is anyone still alive?”

  Hardy had dragged the man, who exited the back door, to the concrete. Once the man was on his stomach, he pulled a weapon from the front of his pants and fired upward at Hardy. Hardy had no choice. He put two rounds into the back of the man’s head and his body went limp, the gun in his hand clattering against the hard surface.

  Cruz pointed. “The one at the front of the store still is.”

  Hardy commanded Dahlia. “Get what you can from him.” He spun his head toward Cruz. “Take a look around in here and see what you can come up with. I’ll send Cherry in to help.”

  Cruz nodded her head, while she massaged her right knee.

  “Are you okay?”

  She waved her hand at him. “My knee’s sore. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know how you did it, but nice work.” Hardy left her and hurried out of the store, fishing out his FBI credentials from his pocket. He could see the flashing lights on two squad cars from the Los Angeles Police Department.

  Chapter 34: FBI Credentials

  With both hands in the air, his right one clutching his FBI credentials, Hardy identified himself to the LAPD. “Aaron Hardy of the FBI,” he said, approaching the nearest police vehicle. “This is a federal investigation, officers. I’m operating under the direct authority of the President of the United States.” He told Charity to go help Special Agent Cruz. When she had gone, Hardy began speaking with an officer.

  The officer examined the badge and gave Hardy his bi-fold. “What’s going on here? We received reports of gunshots being fired and people on the streets, scrambling for cover.”

  “This is a federal investigation, officer. I’m tracking down a kidnapper.” He swung his head left and right and gestured with his hands. “I need your men to stay back and set up a perimeter.” Hardy took out his phone and dialed the number for Director Jameson. “I’ll have confirmation for you shortly, officer.”

  Two minutes after Hardy disconnected his call with Jameson, an LAPD officer ran up to the one speaking with Hardy and handed the man a cell phone. Thirty seconds later, the man handed the phone back to the second officer and looked at Hardy. “The chief tells me I’m to cooperate with you and your team. What can we do, Agent Hardy?”

  Hardy talked with the officer for the next ten minutes, outlining what he needed. Hardy’s phone rang. He saw the caller. “Thank you for your assistance, sir. I appreciate it.” He held up his phone. “I need to take this. Please excuse me.” He turned his back to the officer. “This is Hardy.”

  Back inside the antique shop, Hardy made for the back room. Ending his call with the leader of the Hostage Rescue Team, he walked into the room. “I just got off the phone with HR Team leader. Abby was not there. There were no apparent signs that she was ever at that location.” He turned his head to the right and saw the remaining terrorist sitting in a chair. He was not restrained. His chin was resting on his chest and his arms were straight down at his sides. Hardy’s attention went to Dahlia. “Is he…?”

  “He’s fine. The interrogation was a bit much for him and he passed out. I assure you. He’s still alive.”

  Hovering over Charity, who was staring at a laptop, Cruz added to Hardy’s assessment. “That’s because she probably was never there.”

  Dahlia wiped her hands and face with a paper towel, and came closer to the other women. “How’d it go with the LAPD?”

  “We’re good. They’re holding the perimeter and giving us our space.” He gestured toward the laptop. “What have you got?”

  Cruz updated him. Standing, she motioned toward the man in the chair. “Dahlia was able to get some intel that proved useful.”

  Hardy crossed his arms over his chest and took a position behind the women.

  “He confirmed Abby was here, but he doesn’t know where she was taken…only that she left in a white delivery van with the logo for the Los Angeles County Museum of Art on it.”

  He faced her. “So, she’s at the museum?”

  “No, we think it was a stolen van or someone slapped on the logo to bypass security or gain access to some other business or location.” Cruz handed a flyer to Hardy. “I found this lying on the desk over there,” she pointed toward the corner of the room, “and it caught my attention, only because I saw the same flyer at the antique shop in Denver. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

  King Tut’s Treasures. “Okay, there was a King Tut Exhibit on display at the LA Museum. What about it?”

  She pointed at the flyer. “Check out the dates.”

  Hardy ran his eyes down the page. “July first through December…” his voice trailed off, when he read the date. “It ended yesterday. Is there a connection?”

  Cruz turned to face Charity. “That’s what we’re—”

  “I’m in.” Charity’s fingers tapped the keys. “I’m bringing up the shipping manifests now.” She had hacked into the computer system for the Port of Los Angeles.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out now.” She put her left hand on the back of Charity’s chair. “All right, Cherry, bring up all the manifests for any vessels leaving tonight or tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got several.”

  “Are any of them headed for Egypt?”

  “It looks like there are two of them.” She split the screen and displayed both manifests.

  Cruz studied the manifests. “What’s this number here?”

  “That’s the capacity of the ship. Basically, the number is the percentage of fullness for the vessel.”

  “So, this one is only at fifty percent?”

  Charity nodded her head.

  “Make that one full-screen and tell me what it contains.”

  Charity made the manifest fill the screen. “I can’t tell you what’s in there. It only shows the number of items being shipped and the size of each item. This looks to be a shipment of wooden crates of vari
ous sizes; fifty-seven crates to be exact.”

  “Wooden crates,” Hardy said. “You mean like the ones we found in Denver?”

  Charity bobbed her head. “More or less,” she responded, her mind seeing the crates from the Denver shop. “Wooden crates can vary in size, but judging from the dimensions here, these are all pretty large, much bigger than the ones in Denver.”

  Cruz tapped her lips with her index finger. “Keep that up, Cherry and get the incoming shipping manifests from the three days prior to July first from all ships originating from Egypt.”

  A minute later, Charity had found three manifests that met Cruz’s criteria.

  “Are there any there with fifty-seven crates listed?”

  Charity scanned the manifests. “No, but one has fifty-six.”

  “Let’s see it. Actually, can you put that manifest alongside the one that’s shipping out tonight?”

  Hardy and the three women studied the information. Hardy was the first to notice the sizes of the wooden crates matched. They were in a different order, but they matched. “So, you’re thinking these are the incoming and outgoing manifests for the King Tut Exhibit?”

  Cruz examined the screen. She pointed at a specific line item from the outgoing manifest. “Cherry, can you find this item anywhere on the document from six months ago?”

  Charity scrutinized each line of data on the laptop. “Nope, it’s not there.”

  Cruz stood erect. “That’s got to be it. Fifty-six come in, but fifty-seven go out. That extra crate is how they’re going to get Abby out of the country.”

  Dahlia crossed her arms over her chest. “How can you be so sure? That extra crate could be more pieces from the exhibit.”

  Cruz shook her head and held up her index finger. “One—Yamadi, his sister and Halim are all Egyptian. We have to assume that one of them has the necessary contacts in their country to make this happen.” She added her middle finger. “Two—Halim deals in Egyptian artifacts, antiques and knockoff items. He’s also known for his smuggling activities. This operation would require someone with his skills to get Abby to the ship. Three—we have the King Tut Exhibit leaving with an extra crate. The items in this exhibit are priceless. I’m sure each item is catalogued and has a specific place inside a specific crate. They’re not just going to wrap some newspaper around a four thousand-year-old artifact and toss it into a box.”