The President's Man Read online

  O’Neal nodded. “I also have some information on Hardy.”

  Cruz had walked away and picked up her desk phone. Hearing his words, she held the phone in mid-air and looked back at the computer guru.

  O’Neal glimpsed his watch. “How about I tell you over lunch?”

  Her breakfast had consisted of a cup of coffee. She had not even taken one bite of her bagel before Agent Harper called and informed her of the hospital episode with the fake DHS agents. Her free hand went to her stomach and she felt a hunger pang. “Give me a minute.” She contacted her secretary. “Get me the office of Senator Chuck Hastings, immediately.”

  Chapter 16: Tahoe

  Special Agent Cruz tossed two pills into her mouth and took a swig of her soft drink. Her head throbbed. “So, that’s it. He just disappears from the radar and after three years suddenly shows up outside a bombed-out tavern in D.C.”

  “It’s weird, I know.” O’Neal finished the last of his French fries after swirling them in catsup.

  Cruz started to speak, but stopped when her cell phone rang. She answered it. “Cruz…Uh-huh…Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “What’s going on, Cruz?”

  She dug a twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket and threw it on the table. “They found the SUV from this morning. Let’s go.”

  She dropped O’Neal at the office and sped toward the house where the D.C. police had found the SUV. She parked her Charger in the driveway behind two police cars, hurried to the garage and flashed her credentials to an officer. “What do you have?” She put on a pair of rubber gloves, given to her by another officer.

  The first officer read from his notepad, summarizing his notes. “The homeowner came home for lunch to find the SUV parked in his garage. When he saw the bodies, he backed out and called the police.” The officer pointed toward the three duffle bags in the back of the SUV. “That’s some heavy hardware. What do you think was going on here?”

  “I’m not sure.” Cruz searched the vehicle for clues. She discovered the shots she had fired at the scene made contact with the man in the front passenger seat and killed him. The man in the back seat had his neck snapped, presumably by Hardy. Cruz was impressed. He had been surrounded by four armed men and he killed three of them. After examining their gear and clothing, she could see these men were highly trained. It would have required superior hand-to-hand fighting skills for someone to do what Hardy had done.

  She spent the next two hours talking to the homeowner, investigating the scene and knocking on doors in the neighborhood to find out if anyone had seen anything. She discovered Hardy had taken clothes and a computer tablet from the house and left $500 on the table. He was most likely armed, since there were four men in the SUV and only three duffle bags.

  Cruz checked her phone—it was close to 3:30. She wrapped up everything with the responding officers and thanked them before leaving for her meeting with Senator Hastings. En route, she got a call from O’Neal. “What is it, Marty?”

  “We got an ID on one of the dead DHS agents from the shooting. Are you ready for this? He’s ex-military and employed by…The Tucker Group.”

  Cruz checked her side view mirror. “The same Tucker Group that’s receiving the money transfers from the Swiss bank account?”

  “That’s right. We also found out that twelve of the people killed in the tavern blast were ex-Marines. Like Hardy, their service records stop three years ago.”

  Cruz had another piece of the puzzle. Her mind was in overdrive, trying to put the pieces together. Hardy must have known and served with those Marines. She pushed her foot down on the accelerator to make it through a traffic light. That blast was no act of terror. It’s too much of a coincidence. Four men posing as DHS agents, one of whom was working for The Tucker Group, kidnapped Hardy less than twelve hours after he survived an explosion that killed a dozen other Marines. Her mind was a million miles away when O’Neal spoke to her.

  “Cruz, are you still there?”

  She blinked her eyes. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  O’Neal knew she had not heard him. “I said I think I may have a connection between The Tucker Group and Hardy. Right before they went dark, Hardy and those Marines were under the command of a Colonel Franklin Ludlum. He’s now high up on the food chain over at the Department of Defense.”

  “I’m going to need to talk to him.” Cruz found a parking spot and shut off the engine to the Charger.

  “I thought you might say that, so I took the liberty of contacting the DOD. Ludlum’s secretary said he left early for the day and was heading home. He has a place on Kent Island. I sent you a text with all the information.”

  “Thanks, Marty.” Cruz slammed the car door and hurried toward the building. “I’ll head over there after I’m done with Senator Hastings. I owe you one.” She ended her call and hustled through the front door.

  Chapter 17: Hastings

  Senator Chuck Hastings was the Chairman of the Armed Services Committee and had served several consecutive terms in the United States Senate, representing the state of Massachusetts. His political power stretched everywhere in Congress and he was not above using that power to get what he wanted, politically and personally.

  At age fifty-five, he was bald, except for a small layer of hair around the back of his head, just above the neck. He had a thick, puffy nose below two deeply set eyes. His bushy eyebrows almost came together to form a single brow. He was overweight and reeked of stale cigar smoke. He had never married. Women found it difficult to be in his presence for a few minutes. The thought of spending a lifetime with the man would have discouraged any woman. The absence of a wife did not mean Senator Hastings had been without female companionship over the years. His sexual exploits were known on Capitol Hill. Hastings’ money and power were enough to purchase women whenever he wanted them, sometimes two and three at a time. Although senators, members of Congress and staffers knew about the actions of Chuck Hastings, no one said anything, since Hastings was a friend of the President of the United States, James Conklin.

  Hastings and Conklin had roomed together during their four years at Harvard University. After graduation, Hastings started a career in politics. His cunning intellect and connections from his days at Harvard helped him win a senate seat and rise in seniority. Hastings had helped his friend Conklin win two terms as Governor of Massachusetts after the latter had served his country.

  Conklin was a marine with the First Battalion 8th Marines and stationed in Beirut, Lebanon in 1983, and was among the 128 who were wounded when a suicide bomber detonated a truck bomb near the building serving as the barracks. Two-hundred forty one American service members were killed. Hastings suggested to Conklin that he use his hero status in the election and it paid off. Conklin won in a landslide victory.

  Hastings sat in his office chair, puffing on a Cuban cigar. He heard a knock on the door. He plucked the cigar from his lips. “Come in.”

  His secretary leaned halfway into the room. “Senator Hastings, Special Agent Cruz of the FBI is here to see you. Shall I send her in?”

  Stamping out the cigar in a nearby ashtray, he motioned with his other hand. “Please.” Hastings had refused Cruz’s repeated calls to meet with him. When he got a call from FBI Director Jameson, he agreed to the meeting out of respect for Jameson, whom the President held in high regard. One thing Hastings had learned during his time in politics was not to upset the President or anyone who held favor with the man.

  Hastings stood and clasped his hands behind his back. He strolled around his desk to greet his visitor. On the other side of his desk was a large circular rug, emblazoned with an image of an American bald eagle. He stopped short of stepping on the eagle and waited. The office door swung inward and he watched Cruz enter the office and approach him. She’s gorgeous. The words were so prominent in his mind that he wondered if he had uttered them aloud.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Senator Hastings.” Cruz extended he
r hand.

  Her beauty stunned Hastings. He had not heard a word she had said. He stood there with his hands behind his back, his mind envisioning her naked. She said his name a second time and he responded.

  Hastings stuck his hand out and the two shook. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Cruz. Please have a seat.” He motioned toward the two chairs facing his desk before walking around them and sitting. “What can I do for you? I’m afraid I don’t have much time.” He gestured toward the clock above his office door—it read 3:55. “I’m scheduled to be at a committee meeting in five minutes.”

  “I understand, Senator. I’ll get right to the point.” Cruz spent the next few minutes outlining what she had discovered from Martin O’Neal. She finished by asking the senator a question. “Senator, do you have any knowledge of or involvement in any of this?”

  Any ideas Hastings had entertained about what this woman would be like in bed had been replaced with utter contempt for her. His head went from white to crimson, in color. “How dare you come in here and accuse me of having anything to do with this.” The muscles in his neck strained, causing the rolls of fat above his shirt collar to flap up and down. “I am a United States Senator who has served his country proudly for nearly three decades.” He pointed a pudgy finger at Cruz. “I agreed to this meeting as a courtesy to your boss. Does Director Jameson know what you’re accusing me of doing?”

  “Senator, he was the one who arranged this meeting. I had credible information that public corruption was taking place at a high level in our government. Any information you can provide will help me find those responsible and bring them to justice. No one is accusing you of anything, Senator.” Cruz remained calm, unaffected by Hastings’ outburst. She had constructed her question to elicit a response from Hastings. She did not expect the response to be so damning. No one in Hastings’ position would have reacted the way he did, if innocent. A normal reaction would have been anger, but anger over the criminal activity happening in Washington. An innocent person would have been eager to cooperate with Cruz and the FBI.

  “This meeting is over, Agent Cruz.” Hastings stood, walked to the door and opened it. “Rest assured I will be speaking with Director Jameson.”

  Cruz stood and followed him to the door. She stopped when she was even with the Senator. She turned her head and gave him the most attractive and seductive smile she could muster, knowing his proclivities toward women and how he had stared at her when they first met. “Thank you for your time, Senator. You’ve been more helpful than you know.” She left his office and strode down the hallway.

  When Cruz had disappeared from sight, Hastings returned to his desk and used his personal mobile phone to make a call. After a few seconds, he heard a voice on the other end of the line.

  “Senator Hastings, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Save it, Robert.” Hastings rolled his eyes toward his office door. “We’ve got a problem.”

  Chapter 18: Kent Island

  Hidden among the trees behind Colonel Ludlum’s house, Hardy checked the clock on the prepaid cell phone he had purchased earlier—4:07. He held the binoculars to his face. The Colonel had been home for twenty minutes, but Hardy did not know where the man was in the house. Hardy’s surveillance had shown the neighborhood around the house was quiet. He had not spotted any vehicles loitering on the street, and no one appeared to be waiting in the house. I’ll give it five more minutes.

  As Hardy watched through the binoculars, his mind slipped to other missions he had been on over the years that required a lot of the same type of surveillance. Most everyone who joined the military only thought about the action—the running and gunning, shooting, explosions. There was more time spent in preparing for a mission. The action was over in minutes. The planning and preparation could take hours or days. One mistake could cost you your life or the life of one of your team members. That was unacceptable.

  He recalled his first encounter with the military. He was a senior in high school. One day at lunch, he walked over to the recruiter for the Marine Corps and struck up a conversation. Fifteen minutes later, he knew he had found his purpose. It was the slogan, ‘The Few, The Proud, The Marines,’ that captured his attention. The slogan had appealed to Hardy at his core. Being a loner, he saw himself as one of the few kids who stood out from the crowd. He was never ashamed of who he was or what he did. He was proud, even though all his teachers had repeatedly told his parents he never applied himself to anything, despite his intelligence. Hardy smiled. The Marine Corps had given him an opportunity to apply his skills and he had served his country well for the last twelve years. His smile disappeared when the faces of his men flashed in front of his eyes. He was determined to find who was responsible for their deaths and bring them to justice.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement at the far right end of the house. The curtains in the corner window opened a crack before closing. With a possible fix on Ludlum’s location, Hardy could now move to his entry point and access the structure. He stowed the binoculars and readied his set of lock picks.

  Hardy moved parallel to the back of the house. Using the tree line for cover, he turned right and came to the side of the house, opposite of where he had seen the curtains move. When he was even with the house, he sprinted across the side yard and past the garage, stopping at the back door, next to the garage. He thrust the lock pick gun into the door handle and within seconds had unlocked the door and gained entry.

  The laundry room was on the other side of the door. Hardy drew his pistol and let his eyes adjust to the darkened room. He cleared every room between the entry point and the other end of the house. Keeping low and close to the right wall, he took slow steps, feeling for objects in his path.

  Approaching the last room, he heard a ‘clinking’ sound. Ice cubes. With his body pressed against the wall, Hardy leaned away from the wall, peeked inside the room and stood erect. He repeated this motion two times. The Colonel was alone, sitting behind a desk, pouring himself a drink. His uniform coat lay over his chair. His tie was hanging loosely around his neck and the top button of his shirt was unfastened. Hardy could see sweat on Ludlum’s forehead. The man had taken two sips of his drink, jerking his head toward the window between sips. Hardy watched him pull on his tie, cranking his head back and forth. Hardy holstered his weapon and sauntered through the doorway.

  Startled by his unannounced visitor, Ludlum’s right hand instinctively reached to his right before stopping when he saw Hardy. “Damn it, Hardy. You almost gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that. What the hell is wrong with you? You could have just knocked on the door.”

  Hardy did not respond. He looked around as if expecting to see someone else in the room.

  Ludlum came around the desk and gave Hardy a hug. “It’s good to see you my friend. I’m still in shock that you’re alive. How did you make it out?”

  “I told you, I got a phone call. I couldn’t hear the caller, so I slipped outside just as the bomb went,” Hardy threw his hands into the air, “boom.”

  Ludlum stood in front of Hardy, gawking. He half-turned around. “Can I get you a drink?”

  Hardy shook his head, no. If he wanted to get information from Ludlum, he needed his wits.

  Ludlum pointed to the single chair facing his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Hardy sat, while Ludlum went behind his desk and plopped into his chair. The two men sat in silence for several long moments. They seemed like boxers, sizing each other up before a fight. Judging from their body language, no one would have known they had worked together on dozens of top-secret missions all around the world. Ludlum was the first to break the silence.

  “So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?” He took a sip of his drink and set it next to the nearly empty bottle of bourbon.

  Hardy shifted in the chair. “What do you know about what happened in that tavern?”

  Ludlum shrugged, holding the position for a few seconds. “I only know what the me
dia has been saying. It was an act of terrorism. Everyone was killed.” He avoided making eye contact with Hardy. “It’s a damn shame, all those men being killed.” He lowered and shook his head.

  “Well, almost all of them.” Hardy kept his eyes on Ludlum.

  “Yeah, that’s true. You made it out.”

  “I made it…so did Ruiz and Carlton.” Hardy waited for the man to take the bait.

  Ludlum raised his head and stared at Hardy. “What? Ruiz and Carlton are alive, too?”

  “They went to the bathroom right before I stepped outside. I was able to go back in and drag them out before losing consciousness.”

  Ludlum's jaw was slack. If he had been smoking, his cigar would have fallen onto the desk. “Well, how are they are? Where are they?”

  “They’re fine. They’ve got a few scratches like me.” Hardy set the hook a little deeper. “They’re in the woods right now, armed to the teeth and watching my back.” Hardy needed to know if Ludlum was involved and he knew he was not going to get answers by asking. Colonel Ludlum was a highly decorated military veteran, a shrewd tactician. No, Hardy needed to bait him.

  The Colonel’s gaze went to the window, beyond which were the woods behind his house. Ludlum’s cell phone rang and he flinched. After he saw the caller, he tapped the screen and the phone stopped ringing.

  Hardy gestured with his head. “Go ahead, take it.”

  “That’s all right.” Ludlum flicked his eyes downward. “It’s just the office… I’ll call them later.”

  “So, you don’t have any information about the bombing. Nobody you know has any idea who would want to take out my team.”

  Ludlum’s mind was somewhere else. “You know, I think I will call the office. It might be something important. Do you mind?”

  Hardy shook his head. “No, go right ahead.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Ludlum rose from his chair and left the room.

  Hardy stared straight at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand move. When thirty seconds had passed, he stood and moved to the door. Ludlum was in the next room, talking behind the closed door. Hardy put his ear to the door and listened.