The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  Dahlia spread her legs, released the man’s head and rolled onto her side. Continuing the roll, she got to her feet and went to Charity. “Charity, it’s Dahlia. Are you okay?” She heard a low moan. Dahlia finished her interrupted search for bullet wounds and found none.

  “I’ve…been shot,” said Charity, coughing and gasping for air in between her words. “Am I going to die? Ow…it hurts…am I going to die?”

  Dahlia had slipped her hands beneath Charity’s vest and felt her body. There was no blood on her hands. “You’re going to be fine, Charity. Your vest kept the bullet from hitting you.”

  “It hurts like hell.” She groaned and raised her head.

  “The energy from the bullet has to go somewhere, dear.” Dahlia grinned and helped Charity get to a sitting position. “You’re lucky Hardy stuck a couple of SAPI’s into your vest.”

  “What,” said Charity, using Dahlia as a crutch to help her stand?

  “Small Arms Protective Inserts,” said Dahlia, rapping her knuckles on Charity’s chest. “Metal plates. That’s what stopped those rifle rounds from killing you. Come on. Let’s get you back to Hardy.” Dahlia took Charity’s left arm, wrapped it around her neck and steadied Charity, while the two of them began walking back to Hardy and Cruz.

  Charity glanced at the man on the floor. “Is that the guy who shot me?”

  Dahlia nodded. “It was.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Dahlia reflected on how she had killed the man. “He tried to get fresh with me on the first date.” Seeing the puzzled look on Charity’s face, Dahlia grinned. “I decided to break it off.”

  Chapter 39: Off the Clock

  Hardy was the first to see Dahlia and Charity. He got Dahlia’s attention and she shook her head.

  “She’s fine. She took it in the vest…just a sore back.” Dahlia had her arm wrapped around Charity’s waist, but Charity was walking under her own power.

  “Just?” blurted Charity. “Let me hit you in the back with a baseball bat and tell me it hurts just a little bit.”

  Dahlia grinned, while she helped Charity lean against a crate before going to one knee near Abigail. Hardy held her in his arms. Dahlia could see the girl was not responding to stimuli. She touched the girl’s cheek with the back of her hand and pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes. Assessing Abigail’s condition, Dahlia’s face turned a lighter shade of red and she felt a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach. Although the two situations had dramatically different outcomes, her mind was comparing Abigail’s plight to that of the family that was murdered seven years ago—the case that ended Dahlia’s FBI career. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s out of it, but seems to be okay.” Hardy studied Charity before talking to Dahlia in a hushed tone. “We need to get her to a doctor. Is Cherry okay? Is she going to be able to make it out of here on her own?”

  Not turning away from Abigail, Dahlia nodded her head. “Like I said, her vest took the brunt of it. She’s tougher than you think she is, Hardy.”

  “Right now I don’t care about her toughness. I’m just glad she’s all right.” He broke Dahlia’s fixation on Abigail. She made eye contact with him. “Thank you.”

  Dahlia gave him a thin smile before focusing on Abigail. “No thanks needed. I was just doing my job.”

  Hardy opened his mouth to speak, but Cruz stopped him.

  “They had her in a smelly box with paper towels and a bucket to pee in. She was supposed to survive the voyage on junk food and water.” Cruz shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure she would have survived the trip.”

  Listening to Cruz, Dahlia felt the fire in her belly rising and filling her chest. She crinkled up her nose and her eyebrows formed a line across her forehead. She seemed to be in a trance and did not respond to Hardy’s announcement.

  “All right, we’re all here, so let’s move out.” He and Cruz got Abigail on her feet and everyone headed for the boarding ramp, except Dahlia.

  Standing, Dahlia turned around and faced them.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Hardy noticed she was not with them. “What’s wrong, Dahlia?”

  “I’m not coming.” She gestured toward Abigail. “You need to get her out of here.” Dahlia withdrew her pistol and dropped the magazine into the palm of her hand. “It’s time to do what I do best.” She made sure the magazine was full before ramming it into the butt of the weapon and adding, “Hunting.” She tilted her head in the direction of the ship’s bow. “Plus, I can cover your retreat.”

  Cruz pleaded with her. “You can’t go after them alone. You don’t know how many men are still in there. You could be signing your own death certificate.”

  “No disrespect, Cruz, but you have no idea what I’m capable of doing. These past twelve hours…trust me, when I tell you…I’ve been holding back.” She pointed toward Abigail. “These bastards are not going to get away with this.”

  Hardy countered. “When we get her to safety, we can come back with a small army.” He jerked his head and gave a stern command. “Now let’s move out.”

  “Hardy, I’ve held up my end of the deal. I’ve obeyed your orders this whole time. Now that the President’s daughter is safe, I’m…off the clock.” Dahlia acknowledged each of them with a warm smile. Without saying it, she was thanking them, especially Hardy, for making her a part of the team, if only for a day.

  He opened his mouth to issue another command, but paused before bringing his lips together. She was not an official employee of the United States Government and he had no authority over her actions. Their working arrangement had been on the honor system. In a few minutes, the mission to find Abigail would be over and Dahlia’s services would no longer be needed. While he did not like the idea of her going after the rest of the enemy contingent on her own, he realized she was an adult and free to make her choices. Inwardly, he chuckled. Had she been an official member of his team, he would have tackled her and put her in restraints to get her off the ship. Since that was not an option, he simply nodded his head.

  She returned the gesture and turned around.

  “Wait,” said Cruz. She gave Dahlia her pistol and spare magazines.

  “Thanks.” Dahlia stowed the magazines in the pockets of her jeans.

  “Just remember,” interjected Charity. “You wanted to see that programming software of mine. I can’t show you if you’re dead.”

  Dahlia pointed a magazine at her. “I’m going to hold you to that, Charity.”

  “My family and friends call me Cherry. The next time we meet, I will expect you to start using that name.”

  Friend? Dahlia flashed a full smile that showed her ivory teeth. She took a few moments to let that word sink in, enjoying the feeling of the word’s implications. Long ago, she had abandoned the prospect of friendship when her co-workers at the FBI betrayed her. Maybe Charity’s expression would be a turning point her life, a chance to begin again, a chance to be like other people and have friends. Dahlia raised the pistols in her hands to her chest, pointing them upward. The warmness in her facial features faded, replaced by a cold and emotionless gaze. Whirling around, Dahlia moved deeper into the bowels of the ship, until the darkness swallowed her figure and she was gone.

  Everyone took a couple of seconds to stare into the darkness. Holding Abigail in his arms, Hardy spun around. “Let’s go. Cruz, you take point. Cherry, watch our backs.”

  “Copy that,” replied Cruz.

  Charity raised her MP5 to her shoulder and followed Hardy. She glanced behind her, hoping to see that Dahlia had changed her mind. As the team passed the last room and turned right to leave the ship, Charity knew that was not going to happen.

  Chapter 40: Air Force One

  Christmas Eve, 11:59 a.m. (Eastern Time); Thousands of feet above the state of Kentucky

  The blue and white Boeing VC-25 cruised along at five hundred and seventy-five miles per hour; its destination was Washington, D.C. Designated as Air Force One, the modified jet was a
flying White House for the President of the United States. The cockpit was located on the upper deck of the nose of the aircraft. Directly behind the cockpit were the President’s office and the communications’ room. Below the cockpit were the Presidential suite, medical facilities, Presidential security and a conference room. The middle of the jet, toward the rear, contained a dining room (capable of supplying two thousand meals), staff/secretarial quarters, offices and press quarters. The exterior of Air Force One had an array of countermeasures, including an ECM electric deference system that jammed enemy radar and confused missiles, and mirror-ball deference’s, located in the wings, that dazzled infrared guidance systems. Also in the wings were chaff and flares designed to confuse enemy missiles. Finally, the armor-plated hull was capable of withstanding a nuclear blast on the ground.

  Receiving Hardy’s 1 a.m. call, the President and the First Lady immediately left the White House for Los Angeles. After the doctors had given Abigail a clean bill of health, the President took his family home to Washington, D.C. with a few extra passengers; Hardy, Special Agent Cruz and Charity. After they had taken turns using his shower, the President offered his Presidential suite to the women, who were exhausted. They accepted. Hardy had found a nice couch in the conference room, stretched out and quickly fell asleep. The President saw him, closed the door and informed everyone that the room was off-limits.

  Having slept for three hours during the flight, Hardy, Cruz and Charity were feeling more refreshed. Additional sleep would be necessary, but at least they were more alert than when they had left Los Angeles. Cruz and Charity waited in the President’s office; he had called a twelve o’clock meeting. Hardy made his way from the conference room and met Director Jameson at the door to the President’s office. The President wanted Jameson to accompany him on the flight to Los Angeles to keep him up to date on any potential fallout from the mission to rescue his daughter.

  Seeing that the President was not in the room yet, Hardy thought it was a good opportunity to talk to the Director. “Sir, may I have a word with you?” The two men stepped aside from the door. “Sir, I want to apologize for what I said earlier…about you not reaching out to your daughter. Caught up in the heat of the moment, I went way over the line. Still, that’s no excuse for my behavior and I’m sorry.”

  Jameson stared at the floor.

  Hardy waited for a reply, but none came. Seconds went by and the tension in the small space increased. Hardy wondered if Jameson had even heard him. He was half-expecting a stern reprimand from his boss. More time passed. The reprimand would be easier to take than this silence. Hardy turned to walk into the office, thinking that Jameson was not going to say anything; however, the man spoke.

  “In the last six months, you’ve said and done a lot of things that you need to apologize for.” Jameson locked eyes with Hardy. “Speaking the truth is not one of them.” He turned his head away. “The truth is you’re right. I could have done more to locate my daughter. I was mad as hell when you said those words to me.” Jameson paused. “After careful thinking, however, I realized I was more upset with myself than you. Hearing you made me take a hard look at what I did…or didn’t do.”

  Hardy was taken aback. Jameson was not a man who laid bare his emotions…or his personal thoughts. He was all business…all the time.

  “After Dahlia was fired from the FBI, I tried to get in touch with her. She never returned my calls. As the years went by, I guess it became easier and easier not to make the calls.” Twisting his head back toward Hardy, Jameson regarded him. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what I would even say to her if she were standing right in front of me.” He grunted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted nothing to do with me.”

  While listening to Jameson, Hardy had found a business card in his pocket. Clicking the top of a ballpoint pen, he scribbled something on the card and gave it to Jameson, who took the card and looked at it. “You’ll never know, sir, unless to reach out to her one more time.” Hardy turned to go into the office, but stopped. Facing Jameson, he added, “Sir, I’m a pretty good judge of character. While I don’t know what she was like seven years ago, I can tell you…from what I’ve witnessed…You two are more alike than you might think.” Hardy strolled into the office, leaving Jameson alone with his thoughts.

  Chapter 41: Presidential Update

  The President entered the room with Jameson. He took his seat behind his desk. Facing him were Charity, Cruz and Hardy, who were seated in chairs from his left to his right. Jameson sat on the end, next to Hardy.

  Leaning to his right, Jameson spoke to Hardy in a low voice. “Thanks.”

  Hardy gave his boss a quick nod of his head, while the President spoke.

  “Normally, I would apologize for keeping you waiting.” He threw up his hands. “But, where else do you have to go.”

  Everyone chuckled, happy to see the man in better spirits.

  Hardy asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “How is Abby doing, Mr. President?”

  “The doctor is keeping a close eye on her, but says she is doing well. She’s awake and talking, but still tired and groggy. The doctor says it’ll take a couple of days for the drugs to run their course. Her mother hasn’t left her side. Oh,” the President said, remembering something. “We are going to wait a few days before celebrating Christmas dinner. Abby wanted me to ask if all of you would join us.”

  Hardy blurted his reply. “A second Christmas dinner…at the White House…I’m in.”

  The President laughed.

  “I second his enthusiasm, sir,” said Charity.

  After Cruz and Jameson’s affirmation, the President leaned forward, clasped his hands together and rested his forearms on the desk. “I know I’ve said this before, but I can’t say it enough times. Caroline and I are so very grateful to each of you for what you’ve done. I owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”

  “Mr. President,” said Hardy before the President stopped him with a wave of his hand.

  “I know what you’re going to say, Aaron…you were just doing your duty. However, your actions went way beyond that of a soldier’s duty to his country. You risked your life, your career and your freedom to save my daughter. I will never forget that.”

  Hardy decided to accept the President’s gratitude and leave it at that. “Thank you, sir.” He leaned forward and included the women to his right. “I could never have done it without my team.”

  “Indeed,” said the President, glancing at Cruz and Charity. “Thank you.”

  The women acknowledged him before he turned toward Jameson.

  “I wish I could have thanked your daughter in person, Phil. When you see her, will you convey my sincerest gratitude and tell her I’d like the opportunity to thank her in person?”

  Jameson shot a quick look at Hardy, thinking of the earlier conversation between the two of them. “I’ll work on that, Mr. President.”

  The President nodded his head. “Let’s get to the reason why I asked to see you.” He nodded at Jameson.

  “Thank you, sir.” Jameson crossed his right leg over his left leg. “As of this moment, we believe the mastermind behind this plot, Ashar Yamadi, along with his sister, Calista Nasser…A.K.A. Layla Bassily, are dead. After you got the President’s daughter to safety and called in the LAPP’s Joint Terrorism Squad, the JTS did a complete sweep of the ship. They found the men you killed in the central area of the vessel. Moving forward, they came across five more bodies—four men and one woman. Three of the men died from multiple gunshot wounds. The woman had her neck snapped. The last man, who was only a few feet away from the woman, was severely beaten before being shot in the head at point blank range. We’ve been able to positively ID the woman as Nasser, but the man’s face was so…” Jameson could not find the right words. “Let’s just say we’re going to have to find another way to get a positive ID on him, which could prove difficult, since we have no dental records or fingerprints on file.”

  Hardy asked
a question to which he already knew the answer. “What about Dahlia?”

  Jameson shook his head. “She was not on the ship.”

  “What caliber of weapon was used on the terrorists?”

  “The JTS team leader said it was a pistol, most likely a nine millimeter.”

  Hardy had no doubt that Dahlia was responsible for the deaths. He knew what she was capable of doing. He had been told of the carnage left in her wake at a warehouse in Philadelphia, where she killed several terrorists. He also had no doubts that she made it off the ship. She was tough, smart and highly resilient.

  Since his last encounter with Dahlia in Washington, D.C., Hardy had been thinking of a way to talk to Jameson about making her a member of his team; however, the strained relationship between Dahlia and her father was going to make that conversation very difficult. Now was not the time to pursue it with Jameson.

  Jameson continued. “Since there were so many Egyptian nationals involved in this plot, we’re looking into any and all connections to the Egyptian Government.”

  The President interrupted his director. “I’ve spoken with the Egyptian President and while he was upset to learn of our raid on one of his vessels, he quickly changed his tune, when I told him my daughter was found on the ship. I assure you. There’ll be no reprisals from Egypt.” The President motioned toward Jameson.

  “I suspect we’ll never be able to tie any of this to the Egyptian Government, sir. At this point, everything leads back to ISIL.”