The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Hardy pursed his lips, while slowly nodding his head. “Even if you’re wrong, there’s enough evidence here that we have to check out that vessel before it leaves tonight.”

  Cruz pivoted her body back toward Charity. “Cherry, what’s the size of that crate?”

  “It says five feet by four feet…by four feet.”

  “A girl Abby’s size could easily fit inside a box with those dimensions.” Cruz patted Charity on the back. “Good work, Cherry.”

  “Those SOB’s stuffed a girl in a crate like some filthy animal…to be shipped off to another country?” Dahlia had not met Abigail Conklin, but it made no difference. Her mind imagined the President’s daughter, or any sixteen-year-old girl, being held in those deplorable conditions. She grabbed the back of a nearby folding chair and threw it against the wall behind the terrorist. One of the legs became impaled in the drywall, preventing the chair from crashing to the floor.

  Cruz and Charity cranked their heads toward the source of the noise.

  Dahlia whipped around and stuck her finger in Hardy’s face. “We need to get to the docks and rip that ship apart…now.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the man behind her. “And, if anyone gets in our way,” she formed a gun with the fingers of her hand and pointed at the terrorist’s head, “pop, pop…two in the head.”

  Hardy raised his open hands and pumped them at her. “Take it easy, Dahlia. We need to stay calm, and we need to stay focused. None of us are any good to Abby if we’re not in our right minds.” He rotated his head toward Cruz and Charity. “Grab anything we may need from this place.” He held up his hand. “I want to be on the move in five minutes.” He stuck his hand into his pocket, got Dahlia’s attention and motioned toward the door with his other hand. Once they were out of earshot of Cruz and Charity, Hardy put his phone to his ear and locked eyes with Dahlia. “I understand you’re upset. We all are; however, I need to know where you’re at right now.” He pointed toward the room. “I can’t afford to have anyone on this team going off like that again, especially when we make this assault.” Dahlia broke her gaze with him. He leaned to his left and got in her line of sight. “Are we good?”

  She removed her hands from her hips and held up her thumbs. “It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

  Hardy spun to his right and put his left hand on her left shoulder before speaking into his phone. “Director Jameson, I need your help.”

  Chapter 35: Port

  7:52 p.m. (Pacific Time); Port of Los Angeles

  Occupying 7,500 acres of land along forty-three miles of coastline in the San Pedro Bay, the Port of Los Angeles, also known as America’s Port, employs nearly nine hundred thousand people throughout the Los Angeles County area. More than one billion dollars of cargo is moved in and out of the port each day; twenty-three terminals, two hundred seventy deep water berths, seventy-seven container cranes and nine container terminals, along with one hundred thirteen miles of on-port rail, are used to accomplish the task.

  Security for the Port of Los Angeles is handled by the Los Angeles Port Police (LAPP), a specialized police force dedicated exclusively to activities at the port. Under the direction of the Los Angeles Harbor Department and the City of Los Angeles, the LAPP is one of a few law enforcement agencies in the nation that have a twenty-four hour marine unit. The LAPP also has a Joint Terrorism Squad that works to prevent terrorism at the port and nearby areas.

  As soon as the Suburban carrying Hardy, Special Agent Cruz, Dahlia and Charity rolled onto the Port of Los Angeles property, it was met by the leader of the Joint Terrorism Squad. Director Jameson had arranged for the team to be standing by when Hardy arrived. The Squad Leader was a man in his early thirties with closely cropped blonde hair and a goatee. He stood over six-feet tall and had a muscular frame. He, along with Hardy and his team, stood around the hood of their SUV, studying a map of the port.

  Officer Johnson pointed at the map. “This is where the vessel is docked right now.” He slid his finger along the map. “I have one man located here. He’s out of sight, but has a good visual on the target. I’m getting updates every five minutes. There appears to be light activity aboard and the boarding ramp is still down.”

  Hardy broke away from the map. “What about the rest of your men?”

  “We’ve established a perimeter around the ship, including patrol boats in the harbor. They’ve been told to stay back.”

  Hardy nodded his head and waited for Johnson to continue.

  Johnson directed everyone’s attention to a new location on the map. “We’re here.” He moved his finger further up the map. “If you drive to this point, you’ll have the best and closest possible view of the ship without being seen by anyone on it.”

  Using a pen, Hardy aimed it at a spot to the left of where Johnson had his finger on the map. “What’s here?”

  “Warehouses,” replied the officer. “As you can see, they run the length of the dock.”

  Hardy gathered as much information on the vessel and the surrounding territory from Johnson. Taking his foot off the front bumper and standing straight, he cranked his head backward. There was no cloud cover and the moon was full, making for a difficult advance on the ship. He thought about seeing if the lights on the dock could be turned off, but disregarded the idea. That action might spook the men on the ship, heightening their senses. Thinking, Hardy overheard the officer speaking with the man who was watching the ship. He turned toward Johnson and raised his eyebrows.

  Johnson shook his head one time. “Nothing has changed.”

  Hardy held out his hand. “Thank you, Officer Johnson. I appreciate your help in this. My team will take it from here. Have your men ready to move out and storm the ship on my command, but not before. Is that clear?”

  Johnson nodded. “We’ll be in position, awaiting your order, Agent Hardy.”

  “We need to locate and secure the victim before we tip our hands. We don’t know where she’s being held and I don’t want any gunfights breaking out, putting her in danger.” Hardy followed up with a command. “Give your man five minutes more at his post, then have him retreat. If anything changes…” Hardy stopped talking, while his mind came up with a new plan. “The man you have watching the ship, how good of a shot is he?”

  Johnson glanced away, thinking. “He’s not the best I’ve got, but he’s still pretty good. Why?”

  “I want him to act as our overwatch. Link him with our coms and give him the call sign…let’s keep it simple…Overwatch. Shepherd is my call sign. Have him keep me informed of what’s going on aboard that ship. He does not take a shot, unless I give the order.”

  Officer Johnson nodded his head. “You got it. Is there anything else?”

  Hardy thought for a moment. “That should do it. Thanks.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He glanced at each of the women. “Good luck to all of you.” He came back to Hardy. “My team will be ready to go on your command.” Each woman thanked the officer before he left.

  Cruz stepped to her right and took Johnson’s position. She leaned over the map. “That’s a lot of wide open space from where we park the SUV to the base of the ramp. There’ll be plenty of light for anyone aboard to spot us.”

  “That’s why we’re going to shorten the distance.” Hardy called everyone closer. “We’ll park here and get eyes on the ship before moving around these warehouses to this position.” His finger landed on a spot on the map. “From there, we’ll make a dash for the ramp and get aboard. With intel from Overwatch and a little luck, we won’t alert anyone to our presence.” He turned toward Cruz. “Now would be a good time for some prayers.”

  She smiled. “I’ve been doing that since New York.”

  He folded the map. “All right, let’s gear up and get ready.” He addressed Charity. “Cherry, you’re going to stay with the vehicle when we make our assault.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m going in with everyone else.” She followed him to the back of
the SUV.

  Hardy shook his head and reached for the door latch. “That’s not happening, Cherry. You’re not trained for this sort of thing.” He opened the back of the SUV and pulled closer one of the three duffle bags inside the vehicle.

  “I’m not staying out here, while the three of you risk your lives in there.” She pointed in the general direction of the ship. Charity was quiet and easygoing. She never raised her voice or made trouble for anyone; however, when she felt it was necessary, she also never hesitated to assert herself. This was one of those times. She spent her time behind a computer, while other people did the dangerous work. She was okay with that, since she was never anywhere near the action. At this moment, however, that was not the case. She was determined to see this mission through to the end, with her teammates.

  Hardy removed a bulletproof vest from the duffle bag. After taking off his jacket, he slipped the vest over his head and attached one of the Velcro straps. “This isn’t your place, Cherry. Your specialty is information and computers, not firearms and homicidal terrorists.”

  Charity saw Dahlia rummaging through a second duffle bag. Cruz was in the process of exchanging her knee boots and mini skirt for black tactical pants and six-inch high ATAC boots from a company called 5.11 Tactical. Charity slid her arms out of her red blazer and tossed it into the SUV. “I guess you should’ve thought of that before bringing me along.”

  Hardy attached the second strap and watched her unbutton her blouse, yank her arms out of the sleeves and throw the garment aside. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting ready.”

  “I told you—”

  “And, I told you,” she snapped, pointing her finger at his chest. “I’m going in.” She spun her head toward Cruz and Dahlia before whipping it back toward Hardy. “Am I part of this team or not? You made the decision to bring me with you into the field. I was fine with staying in D.C. Now that I’m here, I’ll be damned if I’m going to babysit a vehicle. I’ve had weapon’s training at Quantico. I know how to shoot.”

  Weapon’s training. Charity had received a crash course in how to operate a pistol and a rifle. That hardly constituted weapon’s training. Her job description was operating computers, not guns. Hardy looked at Cruz and Dahlia, expecting their support. They gave their support; however, it was not for him.

  Cruz stopped undressing. “She’s got a point.”

  Dahlia: “I agree.”

  Hardy stared at Charity, who had kicked off her heels and was fumbling with the button on her skirt. When he had first met her on an assignment in Dallas, out of nowhere, she erupted and argued with him, even threatening him. At the time, he was upset. Afterward, he realized she had shown courage standing up to him, especially since she did not know him very well.

  With only a bra covering her upper body, Charity unzipped her skirt.

  Hardy stepped forward and grabbed her hand. “Hold on.” He unfastened the straps on his vest, took it off and held it out to her. “Put this on.”

  “That’s yours. You’re going to need it.”

  Hardy pressed the vest against her body, compelling her to grab it. “The only way you’re going in there,” he jerked his thumb toward his chest, “is with me.” He stuck his finger in her face. “You will follow every order I give you…to…the…letter. And, you will do so immediately and without question. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” She opened her mouth to respond, but he kept talking. “My orders start now.” He smacked the vest, “Put this on,” before he glanced at Cruz and Dahlia and grunted, “Help her with her gear.” Grabbing his duffle bag, he stormed off toward the front of the SUV to give the women some privacy.

  Ten minutes later, Hardy, Cruz and Charity were dressed in black tactical clothing and boots. The team was short one duffle bag. Dahlia insisted Cruz and Charity each take a duffle bag, while she planned to wear Cruz’s clothes—blue jeans, black blouse, black knee-length blazer. She also had on Cruz’s chunky one-inch high heels. While she would have preferred to have something more appropriate on her feet, she could deal with the shoes.

  The weapons available to them were three sound-suppressed MP5 rifles, chambered in nine millimeter, three Glock 22’s and the pistols they were carrying. Hardy gave Charity a rifle and a Glock. Dahlia and Cruz had their Walther PPQ M2’s from New York. Hardy instructed Dahlia and Cruz to grab an MP5, while he would use his personal weapon, a Walther PPQ M2. Retrieving the sound suppressor for his pistol, he attached it to the barrel and re-holstered the weapon, after verifying its readiness. When everyone was fully outfitted, they reviewed the plan one more time before climbing into the SUV and driving toward the forward point.

  Chapter 36: Move Out

  8:46 p.m.

  For the past fifteen minutes, Hardy had stood at the corner of the first warehouse, peering at the shipping vessel docked about one hundred meters away, while his team remained out of sight by the SUV. Parts of the ship had light pouring from it, while the entryway to the ship was dark. The boarding ramp was in position. No traffic could be seen coming or going. The entire dock was absent of people. The quietness gave Hardy an eerie feeling. Cliché as it was, the thought that came to his mind was, too quiet.

  Hardy spun to his right and pulled the Vortex Solo monocular away from his eye. Striding to the SUV, he stowed the monocular in a pouch on his tactical vest. Cruz was the first one to quiz him.

  “How does it look?” She was dressed in black tactical clothing, including black boots and a black bulletproof vest. Her MP5 rifle was slung and she was resting her arms on the weapon.

  “It’s quiet. There’s no one on the dock and no one in sight on the ship.”

  “Doesn’t mean they’re not there,” said Dahlia. She had a bulletproof vest on over her clothing. A black knee-length blazer covered the vest. Her weapon was slung, while she made last minute checks of the rifle.

  “We have to assume they’re on board.” His eyes encompassed Cruz and Dahlia. “You two are Bravo team. Cruz, you’re in charge.” He moved his thumb back and forth between Charity and him. “We’re Alpha team. I’m taking point. Dahlia, you bring up the rear of the column.” He glanced at each of them. None of them has an established call sign. “We’ll use our names for ID purposes—Cruz, Dahlia, Cherry,” he pointed to himself, “and Shepherd. Let’s keep our communications to a minimum. Got it?”

  “Copy that.”

  “Roger that.”

  Charity nodded.

  Slipping his fingers inside the bulletproof vest below Charity’s neck, Hardy pulled her closer. “I hope you’re not bashful, Cherry, because I want your lips glued to my butt. Do you understand?”

  Charity nodded her head, knowing he was speaking in the figurative sense.

  “I mean it. When we get in there, I want you close at all times.” He swung his head to the right to include the other women. “I don’t want anything to happen to any of you on this mission. We get in…we get Abby…And, we get the hell off that ship. Abigail’s safety, and the safety of this team, is our primary focus. We can call in support and deal with those bastards later. Are there any questions?” Dahlia and Charity shook their heads, but Cruz opened her mouth to speak.

  “Have you given any thought to what would happen if Abby is not on that ship?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That ship is the sovereign property of the government of Egypt. If we storm it and don’t find anyone but Egyptian nationals, we could create an international incident. If we shoot any of them,” Cruz closed her eyes and shook her head several times, “I can’t imagine the fallout from that.”

  Hardy had been thinking about the consequences as soon as he learned of Egypt’s possible involvement in the kidnapping. He was not a politician. He had proven that in the Situation Room in D.C. No, Hardy was a soldier, who put the mission above his personal needs. Risking his career, his freedom, his life to save Abigail, a friend, fell within both his patriotic and personal jurisdiction. He h
ad no right, however, to expect his teammates to share his sense of duty and endanger their futures. “If Abby’s not on that ship and this whole thing goes sideways, I’m ready to accept the consequences.” He took a hard look at each woman. “If anyone does not want to go with me, I understand and I won’t hold it against—”

  Dahlia stopped him. “What the hell are you talking about? You woke me from a sound sleep in New York to tell me you need my help. Then, you make me fly to Denver and Los Angeles, where we knock over an antique store. If you think I’m going to walk away now, when we’re so close to finding this girl,” she twirled her index finger at the side of her head, “you’re not firing on all cylinders, Hardy.” She expelled a breath of air and shook her head.

  The corner of Cruz’s mouth curled upward into a half-grin. “My words may not be as eloquent as Dahlia’s, but…I’m going where you’re going.”

  Charity never wavered. “I told you before. I’m seeing this through to the end.”

  Hardy smiled and felt a lump growing in his throat. He wanted to express his gratitude for their devotion, but the compressed timetable of the mission did not allow for it. He did allow himself a few moments to regard each one, however. They were classy and beautiful women—intelligent, highly skilled and faithful compatriots. And, we make a damn good team. Hardy drew his pistol. “All right, let’s move out.” He took the lead with Charity behind him.

  The team moved along the backside of the warehouses, until they were even with the ship’s boarding ramp. Scurrying down a narrow alley, they came to the corner of the front side of the warehouses and stopped, squatting at the corner of one building. Hardy took out his monocular and surveyed the ship one more time. There were no signs of life. He tapped the communication device in his ear. “Overwatch, this is Shepherd. Do you copy—over?”