The Unsanctioned Patriot

by Alex Ander

  “Answer me,” growled Hardy.

  “All I wanted to do was serve my country, not live a lie. I never wanted to betray her, or those men.” Ludlum had grown weary of the lies and deceit. Putting a voice to his thoughts gave him relief. His actions were in the open. He chuckled to himself. Talking with Hardy seemed like counseling. The first step is admitting you have a problem.

  Hardy had two hands wrapped around his firearm. He was staring at Ludlum over the top of the sights. “What are you talking about?”

  Ludlum let out a puff of air and grunted. “You still haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

  “Enlighten me. What haven’t I figured out?”

  “You don’t work for the Marines or the military or the United States Government, Hardy. You work for me and I work for The Tucker Group. As far as the military is concerned, you and your entire team were honorably discharged three years ago when I recruited you. All of our missions over that time were unsanctioned operations, given to us by The Tucker Group—a private corporation, having nothing to do with the U.S. Government. In fact, if Uncle Sam had ever discovered what we were doing, we would have been tried and convicted for a whole host of crimes, maybe even treason.”

  Hardy repeated Ludlum’s words in his mind—Unsanctioned operations, private corporation, treason. He thought he was serving his country, not a private company. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. Our government, the American people, they have no idea what we’ve been doing.” He paused. “Do you remember the mission in Russia six months ago, the one where we took out the man working for the Russian mafia?”

  “What about it?”

  “He had no connection to the mafia, whatsoever. He was a Russian ambassador, making things difficult for outside companies that wanted to do business with Russia, and we killed him. Can you imagine the fallout if the Kremlin discovered the United States was involved in the assassination of one of their ambassadors? We’d be looking at world war three.”

  “How?” said Hardy. “You said it yourself. We didn’t work for the U.S. Government.”

  “Do you think that will hold up in the eyes of world leaders? They would all be questioning what else we had done. Our reputation around the globe would be forever tarnished. Anyway, what difference does it make? The people at the top decided to shut the whole program down, and burn all evidence of its existence.”

  Hardy’s body tensed. He tightened the grip on his handgun and gritted his teeth. “What difference does it make? You had my team murdered.” He was shouting when he finished his sentence.

  Ludlum shook his head. “That wasn’t me. The people at the top made that decision. I had a choice to make. I was either in or out. I chose to be in.” Ludlum lowered his gun a little, thinking of his words. His shoulders slumped and the gun in his hands felt heavy. He was tired of the lies and the deception. He wanted it to be over, done. His voice articulated his surrender. “Believe me, it’s a decision I regret.”

  Hardy had his finger on the trigger of his pistol, ready to put two rounds into the traitor’s chest. After three years of deceit, culminating in the outright killing of his team, Hardy felt justified in ending the man’s life. He had it coming. Hardy raised his pistol, putting the front sight between Ludlum’s eyes. He slowly pulled the trigger rearward, but stopped.

  Ludlum sighed. “Like I said, Aaron, all I ever wanted to do was serve my country.”

  Hardy watched Ludlum’s body drop into the chair. The man slouched and gaped at the gun in his hand.

  “Instead, I betrayed her…and those men.” Colonel Ludlum studied Hardy, his protégé. “I’m sorry, son. You deserved better.” He pressed the gun to his right temple and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 19: Escape

  Hardy stared at the lifeless body of his former commanding officer, slumped in the chair. Blood was streaming from the entry wound. Hardy’s world had been shattered. His mind went back to the missions he had conducted in the last three years. He thought he had given his life to his country. He had believed he was part of something bigger. Sure, he killed, but he had thought those men deserved what they got. They were enemies of his country, men who sought the destruction of America. Were they? He was not sure. He was not sure of anything.

  Hardy picked up Ludlum’s glass of bourbon. He brought the glass to his mouth, but stopped. He examined the amber alcohol. Regardless of how he felt, he had a mission to complete. Ludlum had given him a clue in finding who was responsible for the deaths of his men. Finding their killer, or killers, was all that mattered. He could drown his sorrows later. He set the glass on the desk and walked away.

  Before he had taken a step, Hardy heard a creaking sound come from the hallway. It was faint, but he had heard it. The floor in the hallway was made from hardwood boards. No one else was supposed to be in the house. He had cleared it. Hardy stood still and slowed his breathing. He closed his eyes, so he could focus on his hearing. The noise came again. With his Sig Sauer pistol in his hand, he glided across the room and stood behind the open door. He peered through the gap between the door and the frame and saw a figure, a gun. Advancing, the person cleared every room, as Hardy had done. Passing by the last open door, the person was illuminated by the light shining through the doorway. Special Agent Cruz. He holstered his pistol and waited.

  As Cruz entered the room, the gun in her hand emerged from behind the door, above the doorknob. Hardy grabbed the gun with his left hand and her right wrist with his right hand. He pushed both downward and the gun discharged, sending a bullet into the carpeted floor. He twisted the gun out of her hand and tossed it behind him. With her back to him, she thrust her right elbow backward and connected with his stomach. He doubled over. The blow was weak, but strong enough to make him gasp for air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another elbow strike coming toward his head. He ducked under it and Cruz’s momentum spun her body around. She was facing him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drove her backward toward a bookshelf that extended to the ceiling. He felt her body go limp, giving him the time he needed to grab and pin both of her wrists to the bookshelf and drive his left leg between her legs. He shoved his body against hers, so she could not move.

  Cruz fought back. She twisted her wrists to break free of his grip. When that failed, she tried to knee him in the groin, but her leg barely moved. His body was pressed against her torso, forcing her to draw in her stomach and rise to her tiptoes. The back of her head was aching, having hit the bookshelf in the same spot that had smacked the concrete during the shootout. She tried to push her captor backwards. He was too strong. She relaxed her body and glared at him. “I’m an agent of the United States Government. I order you to release me.”

  Their faces inches apart, Hardy gazed into Cruz’s eyes. She was even prettier than when he had seen her in the hospital room. He could see his reflection in her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.” He glanced at her full lips. “You need to trust me. We have to get out of here. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Pinned against the bookshelf, Cruz was out of options. She scolded herself for having been disarmed so easily. She knew better than to walk into a room, leading with her firearm. Staring into Hardy’s eyes, she saw the same aura of danger she had noticed at the hospital. This was a man who could kill with his bare hands. She had seen firsthand what he was capable of doing and she was not scared. She stole a quick look at his lips. “Who’s coming?”

  “Ludlum sent a team to kill me.” Hardy caught the scent of her perfume. Her chest and neck were perspiring. “They won’t care that you’re an FBI agent. After I’m dead, they’ll put a bullet in you, too.”

  Cruz found it difficult to avert her stare from his deep blue eyes. When she did, she saw the slumped body. “Did you kill him?”

  Hardy shook his head. “He shot himself with his own gun.” With her attention focused on Ludlum, Hardy admired her features. Above her buttoned blouse, he glimpsed a gold chain and the top part of a gold cruc
ifix. His eyes moved to her slender neck and jawline. A gold studded earring was centered on her earlobe. He finished at the top of her head, where her hair was drawn tightly into a high ponytail. When he dropped his eyes, she was staring at him. He could not tell if she believed him or not. They were running out of time. He needed to make a move, so he decided to take a chance. “We don’t have time for this, Agent Cruz. I’m going to let you go and we’re going to get out of here.” His body did not budge. Professionally, his mind was telling him to release her. Personally, his mind—more accurately his heart—was screaming never let her go.

  “Well,” she said. “Are you going to let go of me?”

  Hardy relaxed his grip and backed away from her. He half-expected her to mount another assault.

  She lowered her arms and straightened her blazer. Maintaining eye contact, she moved to where her gun was lying on the floor.

  Hardy’s eyes flicked toward the weapon. Moment-of-truth.

  She bent over and picked up the weapon, racked the slide to eject the empty case and chamber a new round. She paused for a moment.

  Hardy could see she was contemplating her options.

  After a few seconds, she holstered her weapon.

  Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Cruz pointed at the dead man. “Now, tell me what happened here.”

  Hardy brushed past her and into the hallway. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, until you give me some answers.” She followed him down the hall and past the living room. “Why did Colonel Ludlum shoot himself? What happened in that SUV? Who are you? What—” her barrage of questions were interrupted when Hardy turned on her.

  “When we get out of here, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” They were really pushing their luck at this point. He wanted to get out of the house. The desperation was apparent in his voice. “Right now, we really need to—” Hardy saw a red dot appear on her groin and move to her chest. He charged Cruz and tackled her. They landed behind a leather sofa. Cruz was on her back. Hardy was lying on top of her.

  Cruz pushed his chest and tried to roll him to her left. “Get off me,” she shouted before the wall behind the sofa was riddled with bullets, sending pieces of wallboard, wood and dust toward them. Hardy dropped his upper body on her, trapping her hands between their bodies, while he raised his hands to cover her head. They jerked their heads away when another round of incoming fire strafed the wall.

  Hardy got to his knees. Straddling Cruz, he twisted his upper body, brought up his gun and fired several rounds toward the front door. Cruz wiggled out from under him, drew her pistol and prepared to return fire. Hardy grabbed her arm and yanked, dragging her from behind the sofa. He led her toward the laundry room. When they got to the door Hardy had used to enter the house, he saw three men coming from the woods, dressed in black tactical clothing and carrying MP5 rifles. He pointed his gun toward the men. “We’re trapped.”

  Cruz saw them. “What now?” Bullets hit the wall opposite her. She stuck her gun out and fired three rounds at their assailants.

  Hardy opened the door leading to the garage. It was clear. He gestured toward the men at the front door. “Keep them busy. I’m going to circle around from behind.”

  She nodded. Pressing her back against the wall, she drove out her gun and let loose a few rounds toward the front door.

  Hardy exited the garage through the door that led to the front of the house. He crept forward and saw the men at the front door. There were three of them, each with silenced MP5 rifles. He saw one of them giving the other two hand signals before reaching for a stun grenade on his vest. They were preparing to rush Cruz and kill her. Hardy had to act fast. He took aim at the one in charge and shot him once in the back of the head at the base of the skull, instantly dropping him. He swung his pistol to the left and shot each of the other two men, aiming for the same spot. They fell to the concrete porch.

  Hardy ran inside and rounded the corner of the living room. He skidded to a halt and found himself looking down the muzzle of Cruz’s gun. Her finger was on the trigger and she would have killed him, if she had added another three pounds of pressure. She lowered her weapon.

  He motioned for her to follow. “The way is clear. Let’s go.” They exited the house, leaping over the dead men and running toward Cruz’s Charger. Approaching it, they saw all four tires had been slashed. A quick look at Ludlum’s vehicle revealed the same thing.

  Hardy jerked his head, “This way,” before he and Cruz made a beeline for the trees to the side of Ludlum’s house and went deeper into the woods. Turning to run back to where he had parked the Ford Ranger, Hardy saw the three men in black enter the house through the back door. He did not stick around to watch. He wanted Cruz and him to be gone before the men decided to search the woods.

  They emerged from the forest and climbed into the Ranger. He started the engine and sped away, the truck tires throwing dirt and gravel when the vehicle transitioned from the loose stones to the concrete surface.

  Chapter 20: Motel

  Leaving Kent Island and crossing over the bridge, Hardy and Special Agent Cruz sat quietly. Hardy stared straight ahead, while Cruz looked out her window at the water. The sun was beginning to set behind her, so she had a clear view of the boats and other various watercrafts. People had begun celebrating the holiday weekend, frolicking on the Chesapeake Bay. The mood in the Ford Ranger was one of silence and unease. The gunfight had taken Cruz by surprise. She re-called her time with the Dalhart Police, specifically, the shootout with the Mexican drug trafficker. Like today, that gunfight had caught her off-guard, too. She felt the butterflies in her stomach. They had increased, since getting into the vehicle. She cocked her head to the right and glanced sideways at Hardy. I’d be dead right now, if he hadn’t knocked me down. The Ford Ranger passed over dry land and Cruz went back to gazing out the window.

  “Thank you…thank you for saving my life back there.”

  Hardy kept his eyes on the road. “You’re welcome. I’m glad to see you up and around so soon after what happened this morning.”

  Cruz’s mind went back to the incident and she half laughed. “That’s got to be a record of some sort—two shootouts in one day.”

  Hardy grinned. His personal best was four.

  “I suppose I should thank you for saving my partner as well. He would have died from that wound had you not helped him.” Her eyes moved across every visible square inch of his body, scrutinizing him. “Who are you, Aaron Hardy?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re able to take out multiple armed men, sitting in the back seat of an SUV, practically naked. Then, you proceed to render medical aid to the wounded, call the police and escape.” She squinted and barely shook her head, while gawking at him.

  Hardy did not respond. He lifted the turn signal on the steering column and veered off Highway 50, near Yorktown. He had spotted a motel. He steered the Ranger into the parking lot of the motel and stopped in front of the hotel manager’s office. “I’ll be right back.” He jumped out and jogged toward the office.

  The man behind the desk of the dingy motel fit the stereotype. His black hair was greasy and matted to his head. He wore a pair of tattered jeans with a white, gray or black t-shirt. Hardy was unsure of what the original color had been. Hardy approached, but the man never looked up from the comic book he was reading. After nearly thirty seconds had passed, Hardy pushed the button on the tarnished bell on the counter.

  “Hello,” the man said, dragging out the word, his eyes glued to the magazine. “How can I help you?”

  “I need a room. How much is it for one night?”

  “Seventy-five and I’ll need a credit card on file.”

  “I don’t have a credit card, so how about I give you a Franklin and we call it good?

  “You can give me a Franklin, but I’ll still need a credit card.” The man flipped a page.

  Hardy put two, one hundred-dollar bills on the counter before
repeatedly pushing the button on the bell.

  The man lowered his reading material.

  “Will two hundred dollars get you to forgo the credit card?”

  “Listen, pal,” the man leaned forward and pointed toward the credit card sign on the counter, “no credit card—no room key.”

  Since cash was no motivation, Hardy decided to appeal to the man’s more slimy nature. “Come on, man, give me a break here. I’ve got my girlfriend out in the car…” Hardy gestured toward the Ranger. “…and she wanted to stop for a while, if you get my meaning.” Hardy winked at the man and smiled. “I’m sure a guy like you has been in a situation like this before. Can you help me out? I only need the room for a couple of hours.” Hardy added a fifty dollar-bill to the money on the counter.

  The man stood and tilted his head around Hardy’s shoulder. He saw the truck and the woman sitting in the passenger’s seat. His eyes went to the money on the counter for a moment before he swiped the bills and stuffed them in his pocket. He plucked a room key from one of several hooks. “No smoking, you clean up any messes you make and you’re gone before the sun goes down.” He gave Hardy the room key, returned to his perch and raised the comic book.

  Hardy left the office, got in the truck and drove around to the back of the motel.

  Cruz had watched Hardy, while he was in the office. “What took so long? Did you know that guy?”

  Hardy thought about telling her the ruse he had used to get the room key, but decided against it. He shook his head. “He just wanted to haggle over the price.” Hardy backed the truck into a parking space directly in front of the window to their room. He and Cruz got out and Hardy tossed the room key to her before grabbing his duffle bag from the bed of the truck.

  Inside the room, Hardy took a few steps forward and threw the duffle bag on the end of the bed. He slid the zipper to the right and took out the tablet. He walked to the desk in front of the window that faced the parking lot, plugged the tablet into the wall outlet and pressed the power button. As the machine went through the startup process, he took a few steps to his left and closed the motel door before returning to the window. He scanned the area and closed the blinds.