Natasha yanked the hem of her dress to her crotch, revealing a small pistol strapped to the inner part of her left thigh.
Hardy leapt to his feet, whipped back the lapel of his suit coat and placed his hand on the Walther PPQ M2, chambered in 9mm. “What is it, Natasha?”
“Colonel Vasik was very loyal to General Popovich.” —General Popovich was the man ultimately responsible for the bombings in and around Moscow earlier in the year. He had managed to escape capture, and it was believed he had fled the country, or was hiding out in a small town on the outskirts of Russia. Either way, Russian authorities had not been able to apprehend him— “I can’t believe I didn’t see this sooner.” She pushed her dress down and ran toward the stairs, her Glock 26 in hand.
Hardy was a step behind her. “Do you think Popovich could be behind the murder of your agent?”
“I don’t know, but right now I’m not taking any chances. First, we need to make sure the Premier is safe. Then, we can investigate.”
Taking two steps at a time, Hardy passed Natasha on the stairs and was the first to make it to the third floor. The President’s room was at the top of the stairs. A Secret Service agent stood to the right of the door, facing Hardy. “I need to get in there and make sure the President is safe.”
The agent held out his hand. “No one is getting in there.”
“I have reason to believe the President’s life might be in danger. We need to make sure he’s safe.” Hardy advanced, but the agent’s extended right arm stopped him. “We don’t have time for this, Charlie.” Hardy had gotten to know the agent fairly well throughout the day. He had the impression the man was thorough, but also rigid in his approach to unorthodox matters. Bursting into the President’s bedchambers at night fit into the category of unorthodox matters. The agent was not going to budge, forcing Hardy to take a different course-of-action. Sorry, Chuck. He grabbed the agent’s outstretched hand, twisted it to the right and spun Charlie in a circle, until he slammed into the wall. The agent’s head bounced off the wallboard, and he dropped to the carpet.
Approaching the third floor, Natasha saw everything. “That’s not going to make you many friends.” She went right and rushed toward the Premier’s room.
Hardy opened the door to the President’s room and entered. Realizing she was not behind him, he stepped into the hall. “Natasha, don’t go in there alone—Natasha.” She moved down the hallway, either not hearing him or ignoring his admonition. “Damn it.”
Hardy quickly cleared the main area of the President’s room before proceeding to the inner bedchamber. With his pistol at the low ready, he threw open the door and charged inside, swinging his firearm back and forth, careful not to point the muzzle at the President and his wife.
The President and first lady were in bed, watching television. They jumped and scrambled to cover their bodies with a blanket. The President frowned and scolded his agent. “What’s the meaning of this, Hardy?” Squinting, he saw deep lines in Hardy’s forehead and a look on the man’s face that could have killed without saying a word.
The first lady, who had liked Hardy from the first time she had met him, added to her husband’s rebuke. “How dare you barge into our bedroom in the middle of the night—what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”
The President put his hand on his wife’s arm and softened his tone. “What is it, son?”
Hardy saw the President and his wife were alone. He took out his Cold Steel Recon One tactical knife. “Lock the door after I leave and open it for no one, but me.” He tossed the knife onto the bed. “Use that if you have to, sir.”
The President locked eyes with his agent. “Abby.”
“She’s next, sir.” Hardy rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
In the hallway, Hardy found the downed agent’s communication device. “Leatherneck is in danger.” Leatherneck was the Secret Service’s codename for the President. “Leatherneck is in danger—all agents converge on the third floor, northeast corner bedroom.” Hardy dropped the earpiece and dashed across the hall to Special Agent Cruz and Abigail’s room. His eyes darted left. The two agents, who were guarding the Premier’s room, were not there. A bad feeling gripped the pit of his stomach.
He opened the door and flicked on the lights. The women had been sleeping. Abigail rolled away from the light, covered her eyes with a pillow and mumbled. “Shut off the light.”
Cruz propped herself on an elbow and rubbed her eyes.
Hardy took two giant steps and ripped open the closet door. “Are you both okay? Is anyone else in here? Have you seen anyone?”
“Hardy, is that you?” Cruz scooted backwards into a sitting position. Shielding her eyes, she looked as if she was saluting him. The soft light coming from the lamps on either side of her bed shone like a spotlight on her face. “What’s going on?”
“There might be a shooter on the premises. Do you have your gun?”
She threw back the bedcovers, “Of course,” and swung her bare legs over the side of the mattress.
“Get it and protect Abs. I’ll be back when everything is safe.” He spun and ran for the door. He heard Cruz retract the slide on her weapon before letting it go back into battery. “Lock the door when I’m gone.” Closing the door, he heard her direct Abby to get to the far side of the room.
The next door was Natasha’s room, so he bypassed it and headed for the Premier’s room, the last one on the left. The door was open a quarter of the way, but only darkness lay beyond. Standing at the entrance, Hardy was preparing to go in when he saw something on the floor outside his room.