Victor and his team had been positioned in the woods, outside the main gate. They had seen the whole act play out before their eyes. Victor used his status in the Spetsnaz to convince the security guards that Hardy was with him, while Nikolai and Ivan moved to the van. Before they were able to secure him, Rudin had detonated the bomb.
Hardy grabbed Victor’s hand and the big man hoisted him to his feet.
“Are you okay?”
Hardy nodded.
“Where’s Natasha?”
Hardy gaped at the palace. The gray smoke had gotten thicker. He bolted toward the front door. Coming to the steps, he took them three at a time. Glimpsing Michelle and her friends, he saw the look of abject terror on their faces. Other than that, they were fine. Racing past them, he shouted and flung his arm at them. “Get out of here.” If there was a secondary explosion, he wanted them far away.
Making it to the Great Room, all he saw was smoke. He plucked the handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered his nose and mouth. He pushed forward. People were stumbling, holding each other, while heading for the front door. Their blank faces were dirty, as they used their hands to shield their noses from the smoke. Men had their arms around women’s waists, helping them exit the blast zone. Waiters were tending to the injured. Beneath the screams and cries for help, constant coughing could be heard.
With Victor a step behind, Hardy stopped at the fireplace. He took the handkerchief away from his face and shouted Natasha’s name several times, coughing in between calls. He got on his knees and looked left and right of the fireplace. There was so much smoke that everything appeared black. His eyes started to burn.
Victor motioned. “I’ll look over here.”
“Wait,” shouted Hardy. “I think I see her. Follow me.” Hardy had caught a glimpse of royal blue fabric. He kept low and moved parallel to the fireplace, stepping over and around chunks of stone. Outside a small room, where the smoke was thickest, he saw one of the Premier’s security guards lying face down on a woman with black hair. Of course, with so much blackness all around, she could have been a blonde for all Hardy knew. She was on her back. The guard on top had a large gash on the back of his blood-soaked head. Crimson streams ran down the side of his face, dripping onto the woman’s dress. Drawing closer, Hardy saw the woman’s face. Natasha. It appeared as if the guard had shielded her from the blast before being hit by one of the large pieces of stone on the floor around her. He felt for a pulse on the guard. He was dead. “Help me.” Hardy pushed, while Victor wrenched on the guard’s arm, until Natasha was free of the corpse.
Hardy leaned over and put his ear to her nose and mouth. While staring past her shoes, he listened for a breath.
Victor examined her body. “I don’t see any wounds.” He took her wrist in his hand. “I’ve got a pulse.”
“She’s not breathing.” Hardy coughed. “We’ve got to move her away,” he coughed again, “from here.” He slipped his hands under her armpits. Staying in a crouch, he lifted her upper body and began walking backwards toward the center of the room. Natasha’s head rested against his belly. Victor grabbed her knees and hoisted them.
The men carried Natasha away from the thickest of the smoke and placed her on the floor. Hardy put his hand under her neck and raised it to clear her oxygen pathway. He leaned over, opened her mouth and ran his forefinger all around the inside of her mouth, making sure there were no foreign objects. He pinched her nose with his right thumb and forefinger, took a deep breath and blew into her mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her chest rise. He turned his head to the side, sucked in more oxygen and blew into her mouth. He fought to suppress a cough. He repeated the procedure several times, stopping periodically to put his ear to her nose and mouth. She wasn’t breathing.
Kneeling on the other side of Natasha, Victor held her wrist. “Her pulse is weak.”
“Damn it,” said Hardy, shoving Victor and swinging his leg over Natasha as if he was mounting a horse. Straddling her, he slipped his fingers inside the neckline of her dress and wrenched on it. The satin dress yielded to the force, splitting open to below her belly button and exposing her bra and underwear. He slid his fingers under her bra, between her breasts. Finding the area where her ribcage came together, above her stomach. He moved his fingers a couple inches higher, while raising his left fist above his head. Using the middle finger as an aiming point, he gathered all of his strength into his left arm and started to drive his fist toward her chest.
Before he could deliver a blow, Victor clamped onto Hardy’s fist with both hands.
“What the hell are you doing? Let go of my arm.” Hardy was enraged, his voice hoarse from inhaling smoke. Natasha was dying and he had to save her. He cocked his right arm and prepared to knock the giant into next Tuesday, if that was possible.
“Look.” Victor gestured toward Natasha.
His arm poised to strike, Hardy eyed Natasha. She was rolling her head back and forth on the floor, coughing and gagging. Her head came away from the floor with every cough. She gasped for air. Her eyes opened and closed several times.
Victor slid across the floor and lifted her head and shoulders, cradling her in his arms. “You gave us quite a scare, you know that?” He pushed the hair out of her eyes and wiped dirt from her face.
She looked at him and managed a slight smile. She tried to speak, but was stopped by another bout of coughing, her body twisting.
After several minutes, Natasha was able to keep her eyes open and her coughing became more infrequent. Her eyes focused on Hardy, who was still straddling her. Breathing heavily, his chest rose and fell. Her eyes moved further down his frame. Below his groin, she spotted her underwear and the remnants of the dress. Her eyes meeting his, she pointed a finger at their adjoining nether regions. “I don’t know how things are done in America.” She let out a half laugh/half cough. “In this country, however, one dance doesn’t get you to first base.”
His hands fumbling with the torn fabric, Hardy covered her exposed skin as best he could. “Actually, that’s not first base. First base is—” He waved his hand, “Never mind.” He removed his jacket and handed it to Victor before rolling to his right and collapsing beside her.
Victor moved out from under her and placed her head on Hardy’s jacket, which Victor had crumpled into a ball. He put his forefinger under her chin and tilted her head backward. “I’m going to help the others.” He shifted his gaze to Hardy and pointed his finger at him. “You,” he said, before pointing at Natasha, never taking his eyes off Hardy, “Stay with her.”
“Understood,” replied Hardy, not offended by the commanding tone in Victor’s voice.
When Victor had gone, Natasha rolled her head toward Hardy. “Did you get Rudin?”
“He’s in custody.” A few moments passed, giving Hardy time to think. He felt guilty for sending her to take care of the bomb. She could have been killed. “Listen, I’m sorry. I should have been the one to go for the bomb.”
She rolled her head back and forth. “No, you were right. Even though I speak Russian, I had a hell of a time getting someone to listen to me. If you had been there, they would have shot you on sight.” She rolled her head to face him. “By the way, what were you thinking—discharging your weapon like that? I’m surprised the security guards didn’t shoot you. That was crazy.”
Hardy agreed. “Yes, but it was effective. And, for the record, the security guards did try to shoot me.”
Natasha plopped her hand onto his forearm. “I’m glad you’re all right.” Coughing, she pulled her hand away and covered her mouth. “Thank you for your help. I’m not sure I could have gotten Rudin and saved the Premier’s life.”
Hardy re-called their heated conversation along the side of the road. He rotated his head toward her, a devilish grin on his face. “So, maybe Americans aren’t so selfish and self-centered after all.”
Without moving her head, Natasha shifted her eyes toward Hardy and saw his grin. The corners of her mouth slowly lifted to form a smile before a burst of laughter followed. She was still laughing when Michelle, the girl from the party, appeared and knelt next to Natasha. Her two friends were with her.
Hardy lifted his torso from the floor and leaned on his elbows. “Michelle, I told you to get away from this place. What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, making his words sound even more scolding.
“I couldn’t turn my back on these people. If it hadn’t been for you,” she glanced over her shoulder at her friends and came back to him, “we might have been lying where you are right now.” She leaned forward and helped Natasha sit up. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” She draped Natasha’s right arm around her neck, while slipping her left arm around Natasha’s waist. Michelle’s friends helped from the other side. Together, the three of them helped her stand. Michelle pointed at Hardy, who was on his feet. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you were some kind of secret agent. My dad taught me how to recognize a spy when I saw one. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Hardy smiled at the girl. She had no idea what she was saying. Her innocence was both amusing and refreshing. One thing was for sure; she had a good heart, risking her own safety to help others. The world needed more people like her. He saw Natasha grinning at him. “Yeah, I’m a regular secret agent man.” Natasha snickered, while everyone shuffled out of the palace.