9:52 p.m.
Driving to General Denikin’s house, Hardy and Natasha talked at greater length about Romana and Mika. He wanted to learn as much as possible about his other two teammates, with whom he would be working on this mission.
“Mika and I met Romana at the FSB Academy.” Natasha checked her side-view mirror. “We started together and finished together. We became quite close during that time.” Her mind was drifting back to her days at the Academy. “She was a natural at everything. Of course, Mika and I thought we were pretty good, too, but she made us dig deeper and push ourselves to be better.” Natasha shook her head slowly, reminiscing. “She had a rough childhood, though.”
Hardy turned toward Natasha. “What do you mean?”
“Romana was born in Bosnia, but she was raised in Russia. When she was five, at the height of the Bosnian War, her parents sent her to Ukraine. From there, she was eventually sent to Moscow to live with relatives, in order to escape the violence taking place in her country.”
“What’s her ethnicity?”
“Romana and her family were Bosnian Croats.”
Hardy winced, knowing the hardships Bosnian Croats had faced during that time. Often, they were the target of unspeakable crimes by the Bosnian Serbs.
“Romana lost her parents,” Natasha’s voice cracked, “and her older sister to the ethnic cleansing.” She took her hand off the steering wheel and swiped her fingers across her cheek. “They were murdered toward the end of the war.”
Hardy stared through the windshield. “Why wasn’t her older sister sent to Ukraine with Romana?”
“Romana’s sister was only a couple years older, but she refused to leave her parents.” Natasha paused to compose herself. “According to Romana, her sister’s death has never been confirmed. Only the bodies of her mother and father were found.”
“Has she tried searching for her sister?” Once the words had left his mouth, he realized he had asked a stupid question. Natasha’s facial expression confirmed the thought.
“Of course, she has. All of us have tried to find her sister. Every road we’ve gone down has led to a dead-end.” Natasha turned her attention back to the road. “The only physical reminder Romana has of her family is a small, heart-shaped locket she wears around her neck. Inside is a family picture of her father, her mother, her sister and Romana.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine growing up without parents and not knowing if my sister was alive or dead.”
“Romana is extremely tough. I know it bothers her, but she never lets it show.”
Not knowing how to politely end the conversation about Romana and ask about Mika, Hardy decided to be direct. “How do you know Mika?”
Thinking of her friend and colleague, Natasha smiled broadly. “We grew up together. She lived a couple of houses down the street.” Natasha chuckled. “We were inseparable. We attended the same schools, played the same sports. We even dated the same men.”
Curling up the left side of his mouth, Hardy raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”
She glimpsed the mischievous grin, shook her head and feigned disgust. “We dated them at separate times.”
He quickly nodded his head, “Oh, of course,” before chuckling.
“After we completed our studies at MSU—Moscow State University—we went to the FSB Academy.”
“Am I to assume that Mika graduated at the top of the class, too?”
How does he know I graduated at the top of my class? She realized he must have read a file on her many months ago before meeting her for the first time. She nodded. “We finished one and two in most of the skillsets, most notably marksmanship and criminal investigation.”
“Who was first?”
Natasha glanced at him. “You men think everything is a competition.”
Hardy grinned. “Said the woman who finished second.”
She pretended to survey the surrounding landscape, which was desolate and heavily wooded. “You know…I could shoot you and bury your body out here, and nobody would find it until the spring.” A split-second later, she added, “But, that’s only if I was sloppy.”
His chest heaving in laughter, Hardy held up his hands, surrendering.
She raised her voice, “After graduation,” emphasizing a return to the conversation, “Mika’s career took a different path. She went into aviation and became a helicopter pilot, transporting FSB agents all over the country.”
Hardy was impressed.
“She was selected to serve as one of the Premier’s personal pilots, but she declined.”
“Why’s that?”
“She wanted to be closer to the action.” Natasha made a pistol with the fingers of her right hand. “She wanted to be on the frontlines, backing the agents aboard her aircraft.”
A nagging question popped into his mind. “Who came up—”
“We’re here.” She pointed with her chin. “That’s General Denikin’s house up ahead.”
Natasha navigated the Patriot toward the guardhouse outside the front gate. She rolled down the window and showed her FSB credentials to the first guard to approach. The guard bent over and studied Hardy. She pointed at Hardy and said a few words to the guard, who stood and gestured to the other man, who opened the gate.
As Natasha’s SUV rolled forward, Hardy cranked his head around, his eyes following the men. “Well, they seem pleasant.” He had no doubt the men were heavily armed and well trained, and would not hesitate to shoot both he and Natasha, if necessary.
Hearing the sarcasm in his voice, Natasha smiled. She steered the SUV up the long, winding driveway toward the mansion’s front door.
“Who came up,” he said, “with the name Nemesis? And, why?”
“It came from Greek mythology. Nemesis was a goddess. She was the goddess of divine retribution and revenge. She was considered remorseless.” Natasha cranked the steering wheel all the way to the left and applied steady pressure to the brake pedal. Putting the vehicle in park and shutting off the engine, she removed the keys from the ignition. “Nemesis comes from the Greek word, némein—to give what is due.”
Hardy nodded, remembering his high school mythology class.
“The Nemesis Protocol was designed only to be used in extreme circumstances. I can assure you the Premier did not make the decision without a great deal of thought. Make no mistake, however. This mission is about retribution. General Popovich will get what is due to him.”
Two guards, who had been waiting for Hardy and Natasha, opened their doors. After getting out, they thanked the men, who escorted them into the house before closing the front door. The guards helped them with their coats before hanging the garments on a rack behind the door. As Hardy and Natasha stepped away, they came face-to-face with an East-European Shepherd, or Russian German Shepherd, standing a few feet away.
The animal was mostly black in color. Parts of its legs and face had tan mixed in with the black. Standing nearly thirty inches tall at the shoulder and weighing close to one hundred and thirty pounds, the dog was impressive to say the least. It had a massive head with oval shaped eyes, high vertical ears and a protruding snout. The breed of dog was known for being aggressive toward strangers and fiercely protective of its owners. Right now, the two strangers had the animal’s complete attention.
While Natasha stood still, Hardy approached the mammoth creature. The animal growled and its upper lip curled upward, showing large teeth. Never hesitating, Hardy issued several stern commands, in Russian, before gesturing with his hands toward the animal. The dog stopped growling and sat on its hind legs. He leaned forward and held his right hand in front of the dog’s nose. As the dog sniffed the back of his hand, Hardy patted the head and neck with his other hand. He took the beast’s head and neck in both hands and ruffled its fur, intermittently patting the dog’s head and chest. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hardy played with the animal. “I’m not one of the bad guys.” He held the dog’s face in both hands and looked into its eyes. He shook his head. “No, I’m not.” Hardy sounded more like a mother talking to her baby. “No, I’m not.” As he frolicked with the dog, a booming voice came from the archway of an adjacent room.
“Ty yemu nravish'sya – He likes you.” The voice belonged to General Vasily Denikin, who stood leaning against the archway with his massive arms folded across his big barrel chest. He had been watching the exchange between his pet and his guest. Denikin was in his mid-sixties, stood six-feet tall and weighed a little over two hundred pounds. His hair was gray and full. Only a slightly receding hairline gave away that he was an older man. He had thick, but tamed, eyebrows that rested above a pair of almost black eyes set deeply into his large head. His nose was large and wide; the nostrils flared when he spoke. He had a bushy mustache, but it was combed neatly. Denikin was dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of black casual pants. A brown and black pair of slippers covered his feet. “I, on khoroshiy sud'ya kharaktera – And, he is a good judge of character.”
Hardy acknowledged the homeowner. “On krasivoye zhivotnoye. Kak yego zovut – He’s a beautiful animal. What’s his name?”
“Medved,” replied Denikin.
“Bear,” said Hardy, repeating the dog’s name, in English.
“Ty govorish' po-russki – You speak Russian?”
“YA tol'ko uchus' – I’m just learning.” Hardy stood and faced the general, continuing to pet Bear.
The general came up from behind Medved, wrapped his arms around the dog and tossed the animal from side to side. The dog loved it, turning its head around and trying to get a playful bite of its master. “Then, we shall use your native language, which is English, I presume. You’re American, right?”
“Yes, sir,” said Hardy. The two men shook hands. “Aaron Hardy—Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, and so late at night.”
Denikin nodded his head. “Do you like dogs, Mr. Hardy?”
Hardy’s attention went to Medved. “I like shepherds. My parents owned them when I was a kid and I’ve worked with them in the military.”
“That explains how you were able to get so close to Medved. Most people would not have even thought about petting him.”
“In my experience, I’ve learned two things are critical when dealing with shepherds.” Hardy held up an index finger. “One, show no fear. Show the animal that you are in command, and he will respect you.”
Denikin nodded his head. “And, what is the second?”
“You have to respect the animal as well.” Hardy leaned over and stroked the fur on Medved’s back and shoulders. “You have to respect its power and appreciate its beauty.” He stood straight and added, “Mutual respect.”
Denikin smiled, tapped his nose with a forefinger and pointed at Hardy. “One hundred percent correct, Mr. Hardy. You are one hundred percent correct.” He glanced at Natasha before turning back to his male guest. “It is nice to find a person who shares my affinity for this amazing breed of dog.” He smacked Hardy on the shoulder on his way to greet Natasha. “Agent Volkov, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gave her a polite hug and kissed her once on both cheeks.
She smiled. “Thank you, but the pleasure is all mine, sir. I would also like to thank you for your time. I wish it could have waited until morning, but I’m afraid it cannot.”
The man waved one of his python-like arms toward the room from which he had come. “If you will follow me, we can get down to business.”
Denikin led them into a room adorned with books from floor to ceiling on three of the four walls. The bookshelves were gorgeous—dark mahogany with ornate trim. A large bearskin rug was in the middle of the room, a couch to the left. On the far and near end of a small wooden coffee table, which sat on the rug, was a fabric chair. Denikin invited them to sit on the couch before he walked to a modest bar that contained different kinds of alcohol, the primary spirit being vodka.
His back to his guests, he opened a glass lid. “Can I get either of you a drink?”
Hardy sat. “No thank you, sir.”
Natasha sat to the right of Hardy and jabbed him with her elbow. “We’ll both have vodka, sir.”
Hardy turned toward her, his eyebrows furled downward. “What are you doing?”
She leaned into him. “It’s the polite thing to do,” she whispered. “You don’t have to drink all of it. Just take small sips.”
The general spun around, smiling. Though he could not hear her, he knew Natasha was educating the American. After handing each of them a small glass, he retrieved his from the bar and sat in the chair on the far side of the bearskin rug, and crossed his legs. He pointed with his chin at the dog that had followed everyone into the room. “I know you did not come here just to play with Medved.”
Hardy glimpsed the dog at Natasha’s feet, its chin lying on the head of the bearskin rug, its eyes rolled backward toward Hardy. Natasha leaned forward and ran her hand along the right side of the animal. The humor of the dog named ‘Bear’ resting its head on the bear’s head was not lost on Hardy, who smiled and chuckled.