Necessary Means

by Alex Ander

  “So, after I uploaded it, I was going to go home and change clothes. Before I could leave, however, I got a hit.”

  “On Yamadi?” asked Hardy.

  “I think so, but it’s only a seventy-five percent match, and…well, it’s better if I just show you.” She pushed a key on the keyboard and a video played. She held up two fingers. “This is from two days ago.” She tapped another key and the video paused. Charity pointed at the screen. “You see this man here.”

  Hardy leaned forward and squinted. “All I see is the back of someone’s head.”

  “If you look at the rear window of that car parked directly in front of him, you’ll see a reflection.”

  Hardy had to get closer to the screen to make out a faint image in the glass. “Yeah, I guess so. You’re telling me that’s Yamadi. I can’t tell if that’s a man or a woman.”

  “You can’t, but the algorithm is seventy-five percent certain it’s Yamadi.”

  Hardy stared at the image before leaning back in his seat. “So, we have Yamadi in D.C. one day before Abby is kidnapped in Denver.” He held up his hands and waited for Charity to tell him the significance of the discovery.

  Charity re-wound the video and stopped it before pointing out a woman on the right half of the screen. “That is Layla.” Letting the video play at normal speed, she added, “walking into the restaurant.” Fast-forwarding the video and stopping it, she glanced at Hardy. “Watch this next clip.”

  Hardy never took his eyes off the screen. A few seconds passed and he saw Layla again exiting the restaurant and walking in the direction she had come from before she entered the restaurant. Thirty seconds later, the man who had been caught in the reflection of the rear window of the parked car emerged from the restaurant and went in the same direction as Layla.

  Charity stopped the video. “What are the chances the girl who was kidnapped with Abby and the man who we suspect kidnapped her would be at the same restaurant the day before the kidnapping? Is that just a coincidence?” Charity watched for Hardy’s expression.

  Not believing in coincidences had kept Hardy alive and helped him capture or kill the enemy on many missions. He fixed his eyes on Charity, not really seeing her. His mind was running through the possibilities. Thinking aloud, he said, “We don’t really know if he was following her. All we know is that they were there at the same time.” A few moments passed. “Do we know when Yamadi arrived at the restaurant?”

  Charity shook her head. “We don’t have him on video; however, the restaurant has a back door with no camera coverage. He could have slipped in and we’d never know it.”

  “What about the restaurant? Do they have any CCTV footage?”

  “I contacted the restaurant and they do have closed circuit television, but the system is on a twenty-four hour loop. All of the footage of when these two were there has been recorded over.”

  Damn. We need a break. Hardy checked the time. “All right, we need to get moving if we’re going to keep our appointment.”

  “I thought you should have this information before we meet the host family.” She glanced down and touched her coat. “That’s why I didn’t have time to change clothes. We have a little time before the meeting. We can stop at my place. It won’t take me long to throw on some jeans and a shirt.”

  Hardy shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You won’t be running and gunning anyways.” Pointing to the man in the driver’s seat, Hardy raised his eyebrows at Charity.

  “Agent Thompkins,” she whispered.

  “Agent Thompkins, we’re ready—let’s go.”

  The man adjusted the rear view mirror, so he could see his male passenger. “Yes, sir,” he said, stepping on the brake pedal and shifting the transmission into ‘drive.’ The vehicle rolled forward.

  Hardy felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He saw the caller and spoke to Charity. “It’s Cruz. Maybe she has some good news for us.” He slid his finger across the phone’s screen and put the device to his ear. “What have you got for me, Cruz?”

  Chapter 17: Ashar

  5:46 a.m. (Mountain Time)

  Ashar Yamadi disconnected the call from Abdul, broke the cheap prepaid phone in half and dropped it. He cursed his operative for being so careless, while he stepped on the two halves of the phone. The device shattered into many pieces. Yamadi knew the monitoring capabilities of the United States Government. The call had been short, but it was long enough to leave a digital footprint that a skilled computer analyst could find and track to his current location. He had to abandon the hideout, move his operations and ‘the package’ to the next site, ahead of schedule. The whole purpose of using backdoor channels of communication was to stay off the radar of the Americans. One call from a spooked operative had threatened his entire plan.

  Yamadi walked down the hall of the antique shop he was using for cover and found his assistant leaning against the wall near a closed door in the basement of the shop. He told the man the location might have been compromised before instructing him to get everyone ready to move out.

  After the man had left, Yamadi took another prepaid cell phone from his pocket and activated it. Once he had a signal, he sent a coded text message. The message read: The egg must leave the nest. Is the bird ready? Seconds went by that seemed like hours, while Yamadi waited for the reply. He wiped his fingers across his forehead before drying them on his pants. The phone vibrated in his meaty hands and he read the reply. The bird is ready and waiting for her chicks. Yamadi closed the phone and peered through the small window at the top portion of the door in front of him.

  Inside the room, at the far corner, he saw two young girls handcuffed to a very narrow bed. One was awake, but the other one was still unconscious from the drug she was given, many hours earlier. The foolish girl thought she could escape from my men. Smiling, he inwardly admired her spirit and determination. Most girls her age would not have thought about doing what she did, let alone attempt the escape. He headed down the hallway, back the way he had come, worrying about the pushed-up timetable. Each time he moved the girl, the risk of being detected by law enforcement skyrocketed. Because of Abdul, Yamadi was forced to employ an additional hideout location before taking her to the final destination, the launching point.

  Chapter 18: Throbbing

  6:09 a.m. (Mountain Time)

  Abigail’s eyelids opened and closed in brief intervals. Her blurred vision sharpened and the familiar dimly lit room came into view. Her head was throbbing and her shoulders felt stiff. Her arms were stretched above her head. Lowering them a few inches, she heard the rattle of steel chain links rubbing against the vertical slats of the bedframe. Handcuffs.

  “They drugged you again, Abby. How are you feeling?” Layla was handcuffed to the bed in the same manner as her friend. The girls were lying face-to-face on the narrow bed in the storage room.

  Shaking her head several times, Abigail struggled to focus her thoughts. Her voice was quiet and her words were slurred. “Layla, is that you? My head is killing me.”

  “You’re lucky…no, we’re both lucky to be alive. I’m surprised they didn’t kill us as soon as they caught us escaping.”

  Abigail’s face twisted, while she adjusted her body on the bed to relieve the pain coming from her right side. She had no clue how long she had been unconscious. Her sense of time had been distorted, having been drugged on two occasions. What day is it? She could not tell if it was day or night. All she knew was she was back where she had started. Replaying Layla’s words in her mind, the details of what had happened came back to her. “Layla, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

  “No, I’m all right.” She cocked her head backward and tugged on her restraints. “These cuffs are cutting into my wrists, though.” She tried to ease some of the pressure, but the handcuffs were securely attached.

  “Did they drug you, too?”

  “No, they just brought me back in here with you. How are you? You’ve been out for quite some time. They must’ve given you a
double dose or something.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Abigail examined the room. She was tired. Her head and shoulders were hurting, but her mind was searching for a way to escape. “We were so close to getting out. I swear the door was only a few feet away.”

  “I know.” Layla shook her head. “I can’t believe I knocked over that vase.”

  Abigail thought for a few seconds. “How’d you knock it over, anyway? We were at least ten feet away from the countertop the vase was on.”

  Layla made a goofy face and said, “Just clumsy, I guess.” She changed the subject. “So, how are you feeling?”

  Abigail cocked her head. “You already asked me that…twice. I’m…fine,” she said slowly. What’s wrong with her? She’s acting weird.

  Chapter 19: Stop the Car

  8:15 a.m., Washington D.C.

  Hardy heard Special Agent Cruz speaking, but she was not talking to him. He could tell she was holding the phone away from her mouth. Her voice got louder when she put the phone against her cheek and spoke to him.

  “We found Yamadi.”

  “Where is he?” Hardy put his hand on the driver’s shoulder to get his attention. “Stop the car.” The driver brought the SUV to a halt.

  “Dahlia traced a call from her target to Yamadi. He’s in Denver. She was only able to pinpoint his location to the city. I had her send the information to Cherry. We’re hoping she can get more.”

  Hardy covered the phone with his off hand and got Charity’s attention. He gestured toward her laptop. “Check your email for a message from Cruz or Dahlia.” He took his hand away from the phone. “Where are you now, Cruz?”

  “We’re still in New York, but we’re on our way to you. I’m going to see if I can contact the FBI office here and arrange for a plane to take us to Washington.”

  He turned to Charity. “Did you get it?”

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Can you find out exactly where, in Denver, Yamadi is?”

  Charity studied the email’s attachments.

  “Cherry?” he said, his voice giving away his impatience.

  “Yes, but it’s going to take some time.” She was already taking the information from the email and inputting it into her tracking software.

  “How much time?”

  “I should have an address in…” she did some quick calculations in her head, “about an hour…maybe less.”

  Hardy cranked his head around and glimpsed the jet out the back window. “How far is it to Denver, Cherry?”

  Agent Thompkins overheard Hardy’s question and answered. “The Denver field office is less than three hours from D.C., by plane, sir.”

  Hardy stared out his window for several moments, thinking of his options. He heard Cruz’s voice.

  “Hardy, are you still there?”

  “I’m here.” Her voice helped him snap out of his trance. Through the rear view mirror, Hardy got the attention of the driver and jerked his head backward. “Agent Thompkins, take us back to the jet.” Speaking into his phone, he continued his conversation. “Cruz, I want you and Dahlia to get to Denver. Cherry and I will meet you there. We’ll have an address by the time we arrive. I’ll call Jameson and have a Hostage Rescue Team waiting for us at the airport. Be ready to hit the ground running.”

  “See you in Denver.” Cruz ended the call.

  Hardy jumped out of the SUV and jogged toward the jet. The flight crew was pulling up the stairs. He stopped them, boarded the jet and talked to the pilot.

  “I can’t do that, sir. I have orders to return to New York.”

  Hardy had his phone in his hand, dialing Jameson’s number. “What if I can get your orders changed?”

  The pilot shrugged. “If that happens, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  …………………………

  Thirty minutes later, Hardy and Charity were buckled in their seats aboard the jet, taxiing down the runway. Jameson had made some phone calls and the pilot was now taking his passengers to Denver, Colorado. Hardy grasped the armrests of his seat, when the jet’s engines roared and the plane shot forward, rapidly gaining speed. Hardy was not afraid to fly; however, he had mixed feelings about the takeoffs. While the sudden rush of speed was exciting, he knew takeoffs and landings were the most dangerous part of any flight.

  An hour after the plane had departed and leveled-off, Hardy’s phone rang. He did not recognize the number. “Hardy,” he said.

  “Hardy, this is Director Burroughs of the Secret Service. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  “Director Burroughs,” said Hardy, trying to disguise the surprise in his voice. “No, not at all—what can I do for?”

  “I got to thinking about your concerns over why Abigail and Layla were skiing in a restricted. My focus gradually shifted to Layla and her possible involvement in the kidnapping.”

  Hardy sat straighter in his seat.

  “I knew it was a longshot, but I set loose several agents, tracking down everything they could on her. Anyway, I wanted you know what we discovered.”

  Hardy was so focused on his conversation with Burroughs he did not hear Charity trying to get his attention. “What did you find?”

  Burroughs pushed around some papers on her desk. She found the one she wanted. “Layla is not Layla.”

  Chapter 20: Uncomfortable

  6:28 a.m. (Mountain Time)

  For the last fifteen minutes, Abigail had been thinking about her and Layla’s escape attempt, intermittently quizzing Layla and not getting straight answers. Abigail reviewed the events in her mind, leaving her with more questions than answers. Layla was the one who had wanted to ski in the restricted area. How did she know about the break in the boundary fence? Why didn’t she check on the man lying on the trail? She let me approach him first. Abigail closed her eyes and shook her head. If she could have reached her sore eyes, she would have rubbed them. Maybe, I’m not thinking clearly.

  More time passed and Abigail could not shake the nagging feeling. “Layla, I have to know. How did you hit that vase? It’s bugging me. You were right behind me and we were nowhere near it. You would’ve had to go out…of…your…way…” Abigail’s voice trailed off, the loose ends in her mind falling into place like the tumblers on a lock. Her stomach churned, while she stared at Layla.

  Seeing the sudden recognition on Abigail’s face, Layla’s demeanor changed and her facial features hardened. She fumbled around in her thick hair and produced a small key. Slipping it into the keyhole in one of the handcuffs, she turned the key and the cuff opened. She did the same thing to the second handcuff before standing and gawking at Abigail. “You’re just too smart for your own good, Abby.” Layla walked to the door and pounded on it. She took a few steps backward, rubbing her wrists. The door opened and more light spilled into the room, forcing Abigail to squint. A man of Middle-Eastern origin appeared behind Layla and spoke to her in a foreign language.

  “We’re packing up. We need to leave as soon as possible,” said Yamadi.

  “What happened?” asked Layla. “We weren’t supposed to leave for another six hours.”

  “Our man in New York called me on my cell phone. We can’t take the chance the communication slipped past the surveillance agencies.” He pointed at Abigail. “What about her?”

  Layla rotated her head toward Abigail. “She’s figured out who I am.”

  Yamadi shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. Just make sure she understands her safety depends on her cooperation.”

  Layla spun her head toward Yamadi. Her concern must have been evident, because he observed her before re-assuring her that everything was still on track. “That’s good.” She motioned toward Abigail with her thumb. “I’ll get her ready to go.”

  Yamadi put his hand on Layla’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We will succeed.” After a short pause, he added, “Allah is proud of you, Calista.”

  After Yamadi had left the room, Calista strolled toward Abigail, stopping ne
ar the edge of the bed. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she spoke in English. “Oh, Abby…I’m afraid things are going to get uncomfortable for you now.”

  Chapter 21: Layla…Calista

  Hardy dug his fingertips into his forehead, hoping to relieve some stress. “What do you mean Layla is not Layla?”

  “Layla Bassily is actually Calista Nasser, a twenty-year-old Egyptian woman, who spent a year in France after leaving Egypt when she was eighteen. While in France, she worked at a local Antiquities shop that specialized in Egyptian artifacts. Her trail stopped a year ago. It was presumed she had returned to her home country, but we weren’t able to find any evidence of that.”

  “How was she able to enter the U.S. as Layla…”

  “Bassily,” said Burroughs, helping Hardy with the name. “We’re working on finding that out, but we think Calista got the real Layla to complete the paperwork for the foreign exchange program. Then, Calista forged the photo with a recent picture of herself. We have agents trying to get in touch with the real Layla’s parents and Layla herself.”

  Hardy could not believe what he was hearing. “So, a twenty-year-old girl, posing as a teenager, was able to not only circumvent the student exchange process and get into the U.S., but also outsmart the Secret Service, befriend Abigail and get one step away from the President.” Hardy rubbed his face with his free hand. He had been awake for more than twenty-six hours and his eyes were stinging from the lack of sleep. He had been trained to function with little-to-no sleep, but even he had his limitations. He was not a machine. Massaging his eyes, he felt a hand on his left shoulder. He saw Charity mouthing something to him. Speaking into his phone, Hardy said, “Can you hold on a second, Director Burroughs?” He turned his attention toward Charity and raised his eyebrows.