8:15 a.m., Washington D.C.
Hardy heard Special Agent Cruz speaking, but she was not talking to him. He could tell she was holding the phone away from her mouth. Her voice got louder when she put the phone against her cheek and spoke to him.
“We found Yamadi.”
“Where is he?” Hardy put his hand on the driver’s shoulder to get his attention. “Stop the car.” The driver brought the SUV to a halt.
“Dahlia traced a call from her target to Yamadi. He’s in Denver. She was only able to pinpoint his location to the city. I had her send the information to Cherry. We’re hoping she can get more.”
Hardy covered the phone with his off hand and got Charity’s attention. He gestured toward her laptop. “Check your email for a message from Cruz or Dahlia.” He took his hand away from the phone. “Where are you now, Cruz?”
“We’re still in New York, but we’re on our way to you. I’m going to see if I can contact the FBI office here and arrange for a plane to take us to Washington.”
He turned to Charity. “Did you get it?”
“Got it,” she said.
“Can you find out exactly where, in Denver, Yamadi is?”
Charity studied the email’s attachments.
“Cherry?” he said, his voice giving away his impatience.
“Yes, but it’s going to take some time.” She was already taking the information from the email and inputting it into her tracking software.
“How much time?”
“I should have an address in…” she did some quick calculations in her head, “about an hour…maybe less.”
Hardy cranked his head around and glimpsed the jet out the back window. “How far is it to Denver, Cherry?”
Agent Thompkins overheard Hardy’s question and answered. “The Denver field office is less than three hours from D.C., by plane, sir.”
Hardy stared out his window for several moments, thinking of his options. He heard Cruz’s voice.
“Hardy, are you still there?”
“I’m here.” Her voice helped him snap out of his trance. Through the rear view mirror, Hardy got the attention of the driver and jerked his head backward. “Agent Thompkins, take us back to the jet.” Speaking into his phone, he continued his conversation. “Cruz, I want you and Dahlia to get to Denver. Cherry and I will meet you there. We’ll have an address by the time we arrive. I’ll call Jameson and have a Hostage Rescue Team waiting for us at the airport. Be ready to hit the ground running.”
“See you in Denver.” Cruz ended the call.
Hardy jumped out of the SUV and jogged toward the jet. The flight crew was pulling up the stairs. He stopped them, boarded the jet and talked to the pilot.
“I can’t do that, sir. I have orders to return to New York.”
Hardy had his phone in his hand, dialing Jameson’s number. “What if I can get your orders changed?”
The pilot shrugged. “If that happens, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
…………………………
Thirty minutes later, Hardy and Charity were buckled in their seats aboard the jet, taxiing down the runway. Jameson had made some phone calls and the pilot was now taking his passengers to Denver, Colorado. Hardy grasped the armrests of his seat, when the jet’s engines roared and the plane shot forward, rapidly gaining speed. Hardy was not afraid to fly; however, he had mixed feelings about the takeoffs. While the sudden rush of speed was exciting, he knew takeoffs and landings were the most dangerous part of any flight.
An hour after the plane had departed and leveled-off, Hardy’s phone rang. He did not recognize the number. “Hardy,” he said.
“Hardy, this is Director Burroughs of the Secret Service. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“Director Burroughs,” said Hardy, trying to disguise the surprise in his voice. “No, not at all—what can I do for?”
“I got to thinking about your concerns over why Abigail and Layla were skiing in a restricted. My focus gradually shifted to Layla and her possible involvement in the kidnapping.”
Hardy sat straighter in his seat.
“I knew it was a longshot, but I set loose several agents, tracking down everything they could on her. Anyway, I wanted you know what we discovered.”
Hardy was so focused on his conversation with Burroughs he did not hear Charity trying to get his attention. “What did you find?”
Burroughs pushed around some papers on her desk. She found the one she wanted. “Layla is not Layla.”