by Alex Ander
“Hold on. I’m hacking into the navigation systems now.”
“Tick tock, Cherry.”
“I know I know.”
Hardy and Cruz heard fingers tapping computer keys.
“I’m in. I see your signal.” A moment passed. “I got the other vehicle heading…northwest on…Fleminggatan.”
“And Dahlia’s phone?”
“I’m still getting a hit from your location.”
Facing Cruz, Hardy pointed through the windshield. “We have to make sure—”
“I’ll check the hotel for her.” Cruz shouldered her door open.
“Call Cherry when you know something,” he shouted before the door shut. Hardy stomped on the gas and was gone.
Charity: “The vehicle just turned left on Marie…Bergs…Gatan. Boy, these names—”
“Talk me through it, Cherry. I can’t read street signs and drive. Tell me where to go.”
“Turn left at Jakobs…Gatan. You’re there…turn now.”
Hand over hand, Hardy made the curve on two wheels. “Now what?”
“I think he’s heading for the airport. If that’s true…you can catch up to him if you hang a left at…oh boy…Ragnar…Ostbergs…Plan.”
“What the hell kind of…” Hardy gripped the wheel tighter and sped forward. “Just tell me when to turn.”
Thirty seconds later, Charity: “Take the next street—left—and follow that up with a sharp right at the next road.”
Hardy did as instructed.
“Open it up. Except for two roundabouts, it’s a straight stretch to Bromma Airport.”
Hardy did as instructed, and the SUV went over a hundred miles per hour.
“Pence’s entered the highway. He’s only a mile ahead of you. Wait a minute.”
“What is it, Cherry?” Hardy navigated the roundabout and accelerated.
“The highway’s closed. It looks like they’re rerouting people to the airport through Bromma. He’ll have to slow down. You’ll be on him just after you get to the borough.”
Swerving in and out of light traffic, Hardy made it through the second roundabout. “Coming up on Bromma…which way, Cherry?”
“Go right at Kvarn…Backsvagen…the first street you come to once you enter the roundabout.”
“Copy that.” Hardy looked between three trees on his right and saw an identical SUV disappear behind a building. Hardy’s SUV skidded and fishtailed through the curve. “I got him, Cherry.” He straightened the wheel, situated himself in the seat, You’re mine now, and punched the accelerator.
Hardy drew up behind Pence at First Hotel Brommaplan, waiting for his opportunity.
“You’re right on him, Hardy. What are you going to do?”
“Let me know when you get word from Cruz.”
He zipped by building after building on both sides of the street. Hardy frowned. I can’t keep this up much longer. He’ll spook and I’ll have a real car chase on my hands. A half a mile later, Charity broke into his thoughts.
“I have Cruz on the other line. Dahlia’s safe.”
“Copy that.” He rocked his right foot forward and got into the oncoming lane.
“Be careful, Hardy.”
When the right front corner of his SUV reached the left rear corner of Pence’s ride, Hardy cranked the steering wheel to the right. Metal collided with metal. He eased off the gas and watched the lead SUV spin out of control, slide sideways and back into a streetlamp.
Hardy brought his foot down hard on the brake, and the two-ton behemoths faced each other; getting out of his, he was greeted with a barrage of gunfire. Bullets skipped and skidded off the hood and pavement, creating a light show on the dimly lit street.
Drawing his Walther PPQ M2, he returned fire before darting to the rear and squatting at the back bumper. Silence was followed by several gunshots and more silence. Hardy leaned out, sent a volley alongside his vehicle and took cover. “Give it up, Pence. You’re not going anywhere.”
“That’s what you think. I didn’t come this far just to give up.”
Hardy covered his head when window glass rained down on him following a string of fire. He glanced around in all directions, searching for cover. “So tell me. Why did you do all this? Were Cruz and I a part of your plan from the beginning?” Get him talking, Hardy.
“No…not until I saw your girlfriend at dinner that night.”
Hardy gave the area another look. Those buildings are too far away. He’ll pick me off before I get there.
“I knew,” Pence continued, “if I got you two out of there that whatever agency you worked for would mobilize every resource to get Wells.”
Hardy squatted at the left rear bumper. “And you figured you’d tag along for the ride.” He swapped out a partially spent magazine for a full one.
“What can I say? I still had my Army connections. They got me on your team and…well…you know the rest.”
Hardy crept along the left side of his SUV. “One thing I don’t get.” He stopped at the open door. “How does Weston fit into all this?”
“Wells gave up the location of where he had hidden the flash drive. I just needed to give you a name that would get me to Stockholm.”
“So you sold out a buddy of yours.” Hardy slipped inside the running vehicle.
“Every war has its collateral damage. You should know that.”
Hardy put the transmission in ‘drive’ and, Here’s some damage for you, sent the SUV on a collision course with the other vehicle.
… … … … …
His door jammed, Hardy crawled across the front seat and fell out of the passenger side of the SUV. Horns from both four-wheel drives played an unrhythmic tune. He put his hand down on broken glass and got to his feet. Shaking his head and hand, he staggered a short distance before getting his bearings and creeping up to Pence’s vehicle.
A peek through the doorframe told him his mark was not inside. Slowly, he made his way to the rear, gun up, finger on the trigger. He peeled around the corner and pointed his weapon in all directions—no Pence.
On the opposite side, he repeated the process—no Pence. Hardy spun around and stared into the darkness. A tiny grove of trees and short shrubs obscured his vision. He whirled around in time to see the blur of a figure. After soaring through the air, Hardy landed; the Walther left his grasp. He did a backward somersault, got to his feet and saw the first punch coming, a right cross.
Hardy’s left hand shot up before his right delivered a blow to Pence’s left eye. Unfazed, the man came back with two punches to Hardy’s midsection and an uppercut, sending the FBI agent stumbling sideways.
“Is that the best you got?” Pence danced. “I expected more from you.” He rushed forward and stopped when his opponent’s hands came up, a feigned attack. Laughing, Pence danced and darted left and right, hands up to his face. “You should know I boxed in the Army. I used to revel in knocking the snot out of new recruits.” He beckoned with his hands. “Come and get some.”
After wiping his chin, Hardy eyed the blood on the back of his hand. “One flaw in your plan.” He charged, came in low and feinted right. Pence took the bait, opening up his right side. Hardy connected with a left cross, grabbed the back of his foe’s neck and drove a knee into the man’s midsection. Going down, he swung a leg and swept the older man’s foot. “I’m not a new recruit.”
On his back, Pence spun and kicked Hardy’s feet out from under him, bringing the FBI agent crashing to the ground beside him.
Hardy blocked an elbow strike and caught Pence’s ribcage with a vicious blow, forcing air out of the man’s lungs. Hardy rolled away and stood.
Making it to his feet, Pence listed and took a couple unsteady steps, holding his side and gasping for a full breath.
Hardy came in hot, swinging fists—two to the head, one to the gut. He grabbed Pence’s wrist, twisted and dragged the man’s arm over his shoulder; the body followed.
Pence crashed to the concrete, his face contorting and
his free hand reaching for his back.
Hardy wedged a knee into the man’s neck, twisted the hand more and sent his other knee into Pence’s elbow.
Pence howled and slapped the roadway, his legs flopping around.
“A little more pressure and…snap.” Hardy held the position for several seconds. “Where’s Trebuchet? Tell me where it is and this all ends.”
The former Ranger let out a strained laugh. “Go f—”
Hardy pulled. Pence screamed. “Where…is…Trebuchet?”
“Okay, okay,” the man sucked in a breath, “in my…pocket…right front.”
Switching Pence’s wrist to his other hand and fishing around in the man’s jean pocket, Hardy did not see the blow to his crotch. Instant agony filling his stomach, he let go of the wrist. A left cross to the temple sent him reeling. On his back, holding his groin and head, he heard metal scrape against metal before seeing the glint of the blade.
Pence landed on Hardy’s midsection and swung his arm. Hardy caught the hand, but Pence’s bodyweight brought the point of the knife closer. His other hand was trapped between the two men’s groins. Hardy’s arm burned; the sharp blade a few inches away from his chest. He wrenched his hand free and thrust a thumb into Pence’s eye. Crying out, the man turned away.
The weight on Hardy lessened. He re-positioned his grip on Pence’s hands, let the knife’s handle rest on his chest and stopped resisting. A split-second later, he and Pence were nose-to-nose. Hardy reached around with both arms and hugged his adversary as hard as he could.
A trickle of blood formed at the corner of Pence’s mouth. He half smiled and half sneered, his teeth stained red. “Well done.” He grimaced. “See you in…” his eyelids dropped, “hell,” and his head fell onto Hardy’s shoulder.
Hardy took a breath and rolled the dead man to one side, the knife handle protruding from the body. He took a few seconds to gather his strength and got up on one knee. Crossing his forearms over bended knee, he observed the corpse, the deceased’s last words, See you in hell, echoing in Hardy’s head.
Cruz’s words came next…the One who created the universe, the world and us…chose to speak to you. Hardy clasped his hands, glimpsed Pence’s body and replayed the dead man’s final farewell in his mind, See you in hell, before bowing his head. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Closing his eyes, he did something he had not done in a while. God…
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 39: Beat It
February 19th; 5:59 p.m.
Washington, D.C.
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Sitting in his usual seat in the OR, Hardy turned a page. A hand touched his shoulder and someone sat in the chair to his right. He looked up and smiled. “Hey Cruz. Give me a second. I’m almost done here.” He finished reading the paragraph, leaned back in the chair and eyed his girlfriend.
Cruz lifted eyebrows and nodded at the table. “What’re you reading?”
“Did you know,” he thumped a page and half closed an eye at her, “that Abraham was going to kill his only son, because God told him to do it?”
She smiled. “Yes, I did.”
“Can you imagine the stones it would take to do something like that?”
“Well,” Cruz chuckled, “I don’t think a man’s stones have anything to do with it. It was Abraham’s faith that gave him the,” she glimpsed Hardy, “strength…to follow God’s command.”
“Yeah, but still…” shutting the Bible, he wagged his finger at her. “And the son carrying the wood for the fire was similar to Christ carrying his own cross, don’t you think?”
“Am I late for Sunday school again?” Dahlia had sneaked into the room and taken her seat across from Cruz. She glimpsed Charity, who had plopped into the chair beside her, before going back and forth between Hardy and Cruz. “Who’s carrying what wood?”
Hardy waved a hand. “It’s nothing.” He spied the time on his watch. “Where’s Jameson, anyway? He’s late. That’s not like—”
“Not all of us have the time to,” Jameson claimed his place at the head of the conference table and gestured at the Bible, “sit around reading books. For some, the work never stops.”
Hardy spun his chair to face the director. “Sorry sir. I—”
“I’m just busting your chops.” Jameson interlaced fingers at the back of his head, reclined and studied his team. “Great work people. You’ve managed to keep a potentially damaging and deadly software program from falling into the wrong hands…and stop a man from plying his trade ever again.”
Dahlia crossed her legs under the table. “How is our Mr. Isaac Wells?”
“He’s at an undisclosed location, answering questions. Let’s leave it at that.”
Hardy smiled. Black site. “Do we think we’ve secured all of Trebuchet?”
Jameson shrugged. “We got the flash drive that,” he nodded at Hardy, “you retrieved from Pence. Agents are scouring every known property that belongs to Wells, searching for additional copies. So far, the drive appears to be the only copy out there.” He hesitated. “We’ll never know for sure if he didn’t squirrel away another somewhere else. On the plus side, we have our computer engineers working around the clock, trying to crack and understand Trebuchet’s code, so we can get a better handle on what it does…in case someone else has a copy and uses it against us.”
Cruz rested her forearms on the table and fiddled with her fingernails. “What about Pence, sir? Any ideas on why he did what he did?”
Jameson righted his chair and motioned toward Charity.
Charity opened a laptop. “Tom Pence fell on hard times after his son died and his wife divorced him.”
Dahlia looked down at the table. So he was telling the truth.
“He racked up a fair share,” continued Charity, “of gambling debts to the tune of several hundred thousand. He lost everything before going into the private security world.”
Hardy faced his boss. “How’d he get with the CIA…as a contractor?”
“He worked with them years ago before,” Jameson lifted a finger toward Charity, “his problems started. He was doing legitimate jobs for the CIA before he went into security. No one thought anything of it when he surfaced again and joined your team.”
Hardy leaned back. “He fooled me.”
“He fooled us all. Don’t take this on your shoulders.” Jameson went around the table. “I’m proud of all of you.” After a chorus of ‘thank you sirs,’ he gave a second look at his daughter, Cruz and Hardy. “And I’m happy to have the three of you back safe and sound.”
Hardy, Cruz, Dahlia: “Thank you sir.”
“Now,” Jameson placed hands on the table and stood, “you folks have earned some time off. I don’t want to see your faces around here for the next seventy-two hours. That includes you, Cherry. Am I clear?” Everyone chuckled, and the director cocked his head toward the door. “Beat it.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 40: Cowboy
February 21; 6:21 p.m.
Washington, D.C.
The Flats at Dupont Circle Apartments
Transitioning from feather duster to vacuum, Hardy fired up the Viper Cyclone and went to work, starting in the main living area. At less than a thousand square feet, the apartment’s floors, half of which were carpeted, would be clean in no time.
After making a few passes, he steered for the radio, rotated the volume dial all the way to the right, “I love this song,” and picked up where he left off on the carpet.
For the next two minutes, the speakers played an instrumental melody from the classic age of rock and roll. At two-minutes and fifteen seconds, a slow crescendo built into a jam of drums and electric guitar. Hardy’s heel tapped. His head bobbed and his hips gyrated left and right, while his mechanical dance partner kept in rhythm with his movements.
Two-minutes and twenty seconds into the song, he raised the Viper’s handle to his mouth and b
ellowed, “I’ve been on a long ride…” The cleaning apparatus was now a microphone. “Over highway, countryside.” Hardy’s foot thumped the floor. “But I will always find you…And I will always lo-ove you.”
The former Special Forces soldier turned covert agent swung a leg over the Cyclone and spun away from the door. “Ride o-on…to a far-off sunset.” He shook his butt and did a one-eighty. “The open road it calls me ho-o—” Hardy froze in the middle of a shoulder shake, squatting and facing the front door, holding the vacuum handle to his slack-jawed mouth. Dahlia, Cruz and Charity were lined up, left to right, staring at him.
Dahlia lowered the volume on the radio, “Cool song,” and held up a brown paper bag. “We thought we’d surprise you with dinner.” She pointed at his lower half. “If I had known we’d be getting a show, I’d have brought popcorn too.”
Standing in stocking feet and wearing boxer shorts and a gray Detroit Lions t-shirt, Hardy glanced down before eyeing Cruz, his ears and cheeks matching the color of the red underwear. Letting go of the vacuum and holding his hands at his sides, he frowned at her. “Of all people, I would think you would have my back. Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”
Mouth agape, Cruz slowly rotated her head back and forth, showing him her palms. “I—I’m sorry.” She glimpsed the tiny white hearts on the boxers, the other half of her Valentine’s Day present for him, a gag gift. “I was like a deer in headlights. I—I couldn’t turn away…I couldn’t—I just—”
Hardy headed for the bedroom. “I’m going to go put on some pants.”
Studying the floor, Charity gave him an upturned thumb. “Good call…and you might want to check the fly on those boxers too.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, blinked a few times and shook her head. “I think a button or two might be missing.”
Dahlia leaned around Cruz. “I don’t think so, Cherry. They’re designed that way for…” she noticed Cruz staring at her, “…easier access to…” Cruz’s eyebrows shot upward, “…a man’s—” Dahlia stopped short and flashed a smile. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget you two are together.” She held up the paper bag, “I think I’ll just go get dinner ready,” before making her way to the kitchen area.
