The President's Man

by Alex Ander

  Chapter 9: Newspaper

  Hardy followed a man from the café. The man had sat in the corner, pretending to read a newspaper. Hardy had noticed the man never flipped a single page of the newspaper. Occasionally, he would peer over the paper, looking at Natasha. After she had gone, the man chucked the newspaper, tossed a few Rubles on the table and left.

  On the street, Hardy saw the scene unfold. The van came to a quick stop, blocking Natasha’s forward movement. Two men jumped out, rushing toward her. Watching them throw her through the side doors, Hardy knew what was coming next and he had to act. Drawing his Glock 19, he took a step to the right to get a clear shot at the two men near the van. He pressed the pistol’s trigger several times, shooting the man to the left four times, hitting him in the torso. The last shot penetrated his ear, sending him crumpling to the concrete. Transitioning to the second man, Hardy shot him multiple times, until he fell through the van’s open doors. The man from the café telegraphed a move for a holstered weapon. Hardy had been waiting to see what the man would do. He had to make sure the newcomer was not coming to Natasha’s aid. When Hardy saw the pistol on the man’s hip, he had seen enough. He put his pistol’s front sight on the man’s nose and pulled back on the trigger. Mr. Newspaper collapsed into a heap, never getting the chance to draw the pistol.

  Hardy sprinted toward the van. Keeping a safe distance from the open doors, he swung his pistol around and pointed it inside. Natasha was on the floor, a man squatting behind her and pressing the muzzle of a gun against her right temple. His other arm had her in a headlock. She was off-balance, unable to fight back.

  The man said something to Hardy in Russian and drove the muzzle deeper into her skin. Natasha’s eyes squinted and she groaned. Her windpipe was being crushed. Hardy leveled the Glock at the man’s right eye. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Russian.”

  Again, the man spoke to Hardy in his native language.

  Not taking his eyes off his adversary, Hardy spoke to Natasha. “Natasha, this ugly oaf doesn’t know what I’m saying, so this is what’s going to happen.” Hardy waited again to see if his comment got any reaction from the man. It did not. “When I count to three, you’re going to tilt your head to your left as far as you can. Understand?”

  Struggling against her captor’s grasp, Natasha held her hands in front of her, her eyes wide. She managed to shake her head, no.

  “Trust me, Natasha. You’re not the only one who graduated at the top of the class in marksmanship. On three, tilt your head to your left.” Hardy gripped his Glock a little tighter. “One.”

  Natasha’s adrenaline coursed through her body. Her heart pounded in her chest and she could feel her pulse throbbing in her temples.

  “Two.”

  Natasha had met Hardy less than thirty minutes ago. He was expecting her to place her life in his hands. She was not a religious person, but she said a quick prayer and lowered her hands, hearing Hardy say the next number.

  “Three!”

  Natasha put all of the adrenaline surging through her veins to good use. She yanked her head to the left as hard as she could. The muscles on the right side of her neck burned. She thought if she did not die from a gunshot wound to the head, she would break her neck.

  Hardy had noticed the gun being held to Natasha’s head was a Sig Sauer, a double-action/single-action pistol. The hammer was forward and in double-action mode. The man’s trigger finger would have to travel further and exert more energy to discharge the gun. Hardy took advantage of those factors.

  He applied steady pressure to the trigger of his Glock. Natasha had jerked her head far enough to give him a clear shot. He only needed one. The gun in his hands roared. The muzzle rose and fell.

  The muzzle of Hardy’s pistol settled and he saw the man’s body go limp. The grasp around Natasha’s neck loosened and the arm slid off her shoulder. The arm holding the Sig Sauer dropped to the floor of the van. The man’s body slowly leaned back and came to rest against the unopened door of the van.

  Natasha rolled to her left, clutching her neck and coughing. In between coughs, she shouted at Hardy, using her native tongue.

  An interpreter was not necessary. He had learned a few Russian words, starting with the curse words she was spewing. She was not was angry. Adrenaline and fear were driving her emotions.

  Hardy started searching the dead men, while Natasha regained her senses. The first man had a badge. He was a member of law enforcement. Hardy felt a lump form in his throat. He had killed a cop. He held the badge, so Natasha could see it.

  Climbing out of the van, she retrieved her handgun from the ground and holstered it. She snatched the badge from Hardy’s hand and examined it. “What the hell?” she said. Her voice was deeper and hoarse. She held the shield she carried on a daily basis. They’re FSB?

  Hardy checked the other bodies. Each one had the same badge.

  Natasha rubbed her throat. “I don’t understand this.”

  Hearing the gunshots, MacPherson came running from the parked sedan, surprising Natasha, who spun and reached for her gun.

  Hardy stopped her. “It’s all right. He’s with me.” He pointed at the dead men. “Are these friends of yours?”

  Moving from one to the next, she examined each of their faces. “I’ve never seen them before, but that doesn’t mean anything. The FSB is a large agency with many, many agents in its employ.”

  “What happened,” asked MacPherson, holstering his gun?

  Hardy gestured at the corpses. “They tried to kidnap Natash…Agent Volkov.” Without formality, Hardy introduced them to each other. “Agent Volkov…MacPherson…MacPherson…Agent Volkov.”

  MacPherson said, “Pleasure.”

  Not making eye contact, she replied, “Pleasure.”

  Natasha reached into her pocket. “I’ve got to call this in.” Not finding her phone, she jerked her head left and right. The cell was lying on the ground where the man had grabbed her arm. She picked up the device and brushed off the dirt.

  “Wait a minute.” Hardy held up his hand. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I have to. I’m an FSB agent. I have to report this.” She tapped the screen, dialing the number for her supervisor.

  “Exactly. These are your people. Why would they want to abduct you? That makes no sense.”

  She stopped dialing and looked at him.

  “You don’t know who you can trust. You don’t know who ordered this.”

  In the distance, wailing sirens grew louder. MacPherson joined the conversation. “In a few minutes, this area is going to be crawling with police. Whatever you plan on doing, you need to do it, now.”

  Hardy saw patrons from the café, peeking out the window. Some were making their way outside to see the commotion. “He’s right. We need to leave.”

  Natasha held out her arms. “And, go where? We don’t know what’s going on here. I need to find out who these people are and what they wanted from me.” She coughed before massaging her throat.

  “You’re not going to find answers if you’re arrested by the police. Instead, you’ll be answering their questions.”

  Natasha stared at the dead bodies. He was right. Without more information, the police would assume she and Hardy were guilty of killing four FSB agents. She slid her phone into her blazer pocket. “All right, let’s go.” She hurried up the sidewalk. “My vehicle is right around the corner.”

  Hardy waved off MacPherson. “Get out of here. I’ll find my way home, somehow. Thanks for your help.”

  MacPherson nodded. “Take care, Hardy.”

  Hardy ran to catch up with Natasha at the corner of the main cross street. Her SUV was a few parking spaces away. After they got into the vehicle, she brought the engine to life, peeled away from the curb and accelerated as fast as she could without drawing attention.

  Chapter 10: Roadside

  Once they were a safe distance away from the scene behind them, Natasha stopped the Patriot on the side of a deserted roa
d. She slammed the gear selector into ‘park’ and leaned back, running her fingers through her hair before interlocking them behind her head. She mulled over the incident outside the café. Could my own people be responsible? They were definitely FSB agents. Their badges seemed real enough. Letting her arms fall, her hands smacked against her thighs. She let out a long breath and her bangs shot upward.

  Hardy knew what she was feeling—betrayal. Recently, he had faced a similar situation. He gave her a few minutes before pressing her. “What are we going to do, Natasha?” He would have loved to take charge, but he was in uncharted waters. The mission had taken a left turn.

  She rolled her eyes toward him. Her head followed. That’s a good question. She had been attacked by her fellow agents and was essentially on the run from the police. Staring at Hardy, her thoughts lingered over whether she could trust him.

  “Who knew about your meeting with me?”

  Natasha thought for a moment. “I was ordered to work with you by my boss, the director of the FSB.” She paused. “There were several other agents who knew about it.” She stared out the window. The sun was rising and the day was getting warmer. “Anyone could have known about it. It wasn’t exactly a secret.”

  “So, you can’t trust anybody in your agency. Everyone’s a suspect. It looks like it’s up to us to find out what’s going on.” Moments of silence passed, while they pondered their options. “Again, what are we going to do? What’s our next move, Natasha?” He was in a foreign country and did not have any sources to contact, a position with which he was unfamiliar. Like it or not, he was reliant on his new ‘partner.’

  Hardy’s words, ‘you can’t trust anybody in your agency,’ echoed in her mind. Calling the police would likely result in her arrest and a possible murder charge. No, contact with her agency was off the table. Someone there wanted her out of the way. She was confident this attack was related to her search for Rudin. She had focused most of her resources on capturing him. In fact, during the last three months, every other case on her list had been sidelined. To find out who was behind this attack, she would have to catch Rudin and squeeze him for information. Natasha glimpsed Hardy out of the corner of her eye. Reluctantly, she would have to confide in him. Unfortunately, the next phase in their working relationship was about to begin on a sour note, the revelation of a lie.

  Natasha studied her fingernails. She picked at one and flicked her fingers.

  “Natasha?”

  She waited until the silence became more unbearable than the truth. Whipping her head away from him, she came clean. “I was on the phone with my contact,” she spoke as if reading from a script, “when those men attacked me. He told me where I could find Rudin.” Staring at the floor, she felt his eyes, penetrating to her core.

  “You weren’t going to tell me about it, were you?”

  She rubbed the palm of her left hand, the hand that had saved her face from skidding across the floor of the van.

  “You were going to give me a courtesy call…after you had already picked him up.” Hardy’s pulse beat faster and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “If this is what you people consider cooperation, then I don’t want any part of it. It’s no wonder diplomatic relations between our two countries have soured. You people—”

  Natasha whipped her head toward him. Fire burned in her eyes. “And, what is your angle in all of this? I’m sure you and your country aren’t solely interested in helping us find a bomb maker devastating my people out of the kindness of your heart. What’s the real reason you’re here, Hardy? Can you tell me…without using the word ‘cooperation’ in the sentence?”

  “I’m here to end Rudin’s life. He’s a bomb maker, who sells to the highest bidder. I take him out and he can’t make any more bombs. It’s that simple. There’s no angle other than I want to see him dead.”

  “Oh, if it were only that simple. But it seldom is, though. You Americans look out for your own interests. You intervene in the affairs of other nations to accumulate wealth and power, influencing those nations to do your bidding. You’re a selfish and self-centered people. You think you are the greatest nation to grace the face of the earth.” Natasha looked up and raised her hands—“God’s gift to the human race.” She shook her head. “You people are so arrogant.” She started to turn away, but stopped and jabbed a finger in his Hardy’s direction. “Believe me when I tell you…your American Influence does not hold the power you think it does with my country.”

  Hardy and Natasha sat in silence for several minutes. She gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn her knuckles white. Resting on his legs, Hardy’s fists were clenched. Afraid of what they may say if the conversation continued, the agents remained quiet.

  Natasha had lost much in a short time. She had not recovered from her father’s death when Sergei was killed less than a month later. Her nerves were raw. Lately, she had lashed out at anyone who crossed her, even over trivial matters. She glimpsed Hardy out of the corner of her eye. If their working arrangement had any chance of succeeding, she was going to have to temper her feelings. Maybe, he has no ulterior motive in this. We need to start over…if that’s possible.

  Natasha released her grip on the steering wheel and flexed her fingers. She twisted in her seat to face him, making a mental note to soften the tone of her voice. “I know this may seem odd, coming at a time like this, but I never got a chance to thank you for saving my life back there. Thank you.” She let her words hang in the air. “What made you come after me?”

  Hardy gritted his teeth. Oddly, he had been asking himself the same question. Risking his life to save a woman, who repaid him with insults to his integrity—and his country—had not been part of the plan. If he had stayed seated in the café and not followed that man…he let his thoughts trail off before reprimanding himself. You’re not that kind of man. He had done the right thing. Unclenching his fists and wiggling his fingers, Hardy made a conscious effort to relax his chest muscles.

  He shot a look out the window. “There was a man in the café,” Hardy’s voice was matter-of-factly, “who pretended to be reading a newspaper. He left right after you did. I followed him and saw the whole thing.” He faced her and struggled to add a touch of warmth to his tone. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I was there.”

  Natasha noted his exaggerated attempt at a pleasantry; however, she felt an undertone of sincerity in his words. Like her, he was trying. Yes, I think I might be able to trust him. After those words entered her mind, she inwardly laughed. Hardy had killed four men to save her. If it were not for his actions, she would have been abducted, possibly dead by now. “Go after him.”

  Hardy’s eyebrows furled downward. “What are you talking about?”

  “You asked me, ‘what are we going to do?’ We know where Rudin is hiding. Let’s go after him. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? That’s why we’re working together. And, I’m thinking he might have some answers about those FSB agents back there. What is it that you Americans say?” She paused a moment, thinking of the phrase. “It’s a win-win.” She cocked her head to the left and raised her eyebrows, hoping the idiom would lighten the mood.

  Natasha’s attempt at humor was lost on Hardy. His mind was elsewhere. Killing Rudin was the purpose of his mission. In order to accomplish that, he and Natasha needed to be on the same side. She had made an effort to make amends for her words—and actions. A fresh start. He nodded. “Where is he?”

  A smile formed on Natasha’s face. She took out her cell phone. “East of St. Petersburg, on the outskirts of town,” she replied, touching her phone’s screen. “My source told me he has armed men with him. So, we’re going to need some help.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  She hesitated and shot him a sideways glance. “Some friends of mine from the FSB…”

  Hardy rolled his eyes.

  “They can help.”

  “We’ve been over this. You don’t know who’s responsible for sending those men.”

 
Natasha put the mobile to her ear. “Yes, but I know these men and they would do anything for me. I trust them with my life.”

  “I hope you’re right, because it’s not just your life on the line.”

  Natasha put her hand on his forearm. “I put my life in your hands in that van. Now, it’s time to repay that faith.”

  Hardy glanced at her hand. Trust was a complicated issue. He was accustomed to being in control of missions and situations. He gave the orders and his men followed, trusting in his judgment.

  Natasha patted his arm and smiled. A second later, the familiar, deep voice of a man she knew and respected sounded in her ear. “Victor, it’s Natasha.” She turned away from Hardy.

  “Natasha,” Victor’s smile came through the line, “it’s good to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, Victor, but I need your help.”

  “What is it?”

  “How soon can you get your team ready for a trip to St. Petersburg?”

  “Not long, why? What’s going on?”

  She took her phone away from her ear and tapped the screen several times. “I just sent you the address of the location. I need to find someone there and the people inside will not be receptive to a knock on the door. I’ll explain when you get there.”

  “I’ll send you a text when I know our ETA.”

  “Thanks, Victor.” Natasha eyed Hardy. “Oh, I’ll be coming to the event, plus one. Is there any chance you can bring a grab bag?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”