Surly Bonds

by Michael Byars Lewis

  “Who the hell are you? What the hell are you doing here?”

  The man jerked, then set the magazine on the coffee table. “Oh, you caught me by surprise. Are you Jason Conrad?”

  Jason grew nervous. He moved to the center of the room, his pulse pounded through his veins. “This is my damn room, I’ll ask the questions here.” Well, that was a dumb thing to say.

  “I guess you are Jason Conrad.” The black man rose from the couch. He’s too relaxed, Jason noted. Jason started to backpedal toward the entrance. Damn, he’s big. Could this guy be one of the guys who worked over Vince and Lenny?

  “My name is Jacobs,” he said, and extended his hand. “Alonzo Jacobs—Office of Special Investigations.”

  Jason stopped backpedaling. OSI? What do they want? Can they just walk into people’s rooms? Gradually, he moved over and shook his hand. “Do you have any I.D.?” Alonzo handed him his identification card and badge. Jason checked both. “How did you get in my room?”

  “I’ll get to that in a moment. Do you know why I’m here?”

  Jason shrugged, “No. Security clearance on someone? Aren’t you a spy?”

  Alonzo chuckled at the spy comment. “What would you care to tell me about these?” he asked, as he pulled the manila envelope out of his briefcase.

  Jason’s eyes grew wide. “W-Where did you find those?”

  “From your desk drawer. How about you sit, and we talk about this?”

  Jason shut the door then sat on the couch where Alonzo had been earlier. Alonzo stared at him.

  “I’m going to read you your rights now, son. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney . . .” The OSI agent’s voice trailed off into the distance as Jason’s head spun in circles. This guy thinks I stole those. I’m going to go to jail for trying to save my dead friend some embarrassment. God must be testing me . . .

  “Are you aware of how much trouble you’re in son?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You didn’t do anything? Son, I’ve got a handful of stolen tests and several thousand dollars in cash, which is quite a bit for a second lieutenant to have lying around. How about we discuss what, exactly, you didn’t do?”

  Taking a deep breath, Jason thought to himself. This was not good. What in the hell was going on? Yesterday, he tried to save a dead friend’s reputation and now he was being labeled a thief.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “You’ve said that already. I’d like to hear something else now. I’d like you to explain where this stuff came from and who else is involved.”

  Jason’s head jerked up. “Who else is involved?”

  “Okay, let me fill you in on where we are.”

  “Should I get a lawyer or something?”

  “A lawyer? Boy, you are in such deep trouble, you’d better forget the lawyer and start to consider a ladder.”

  Jason said nothing.

  “Once we identified the breach in the database, we started our search.” Alonzo held up the tests in front of Jason. “We struck pay dirt with you, Jason Conrad.”

  Jason looked at the tests in Alonzo’s hand. “But I don’t even own a computer,” he explained.

  “True.” Alonzo sat in the wooden chair at the desk. “That’s why I’m here talking to you now as opposed to your being handcuffed in the wing commander’s office explaining this to him and the security police.”

  “Do they know you found the tests?”

  “Oh, yes. Believe you me, they went through the roof. They were ready to have you shot. I calmed them down a bit and convinced them to let me handle it my way.

  “Now, I’m aware you don’t own a computer, so it’s likely you didn’t steal the tests. What I want to know is where you got them from and who else has them.”

  “I-I can’t say.”

  “Lieutenant, don’t be stupid. The time to start talking is now. The longer we wait, the worse this is going to get.”

  Jason sat with his head in his hands. He had never considered himself a snitch. His stomach knotted up as he contemplated his situation. What could he do? He had wanted to protect his dead friend’s name, but not at the expense of his own career, his own life. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his palms became clammy. He might lose everything he had worked for and possibly go to jail. All for a liar, a cheat, and a thief. Lenny had been a friend, but a devoted friend would not put him in a situation like this. But Lenny didn’t put him in this mess. He had done that on his own, to help his dead friend. Jason’s mind raced. Would Lenny take the fall for me? The answer was obvious. He didn’t know Lenny Banks as well as he thought he did.

  “Okay. The person who stole the tests,” Jason hesitated, as he realized doing the right thing was still hard. “The person who stole the tests was Lenny Banks.”

  “Lenny Banks? Isn’t he the boy—”

  “Yes,” Jason said. “He’s the one who died in the plane crash. I’m not sure how he got the tests. I found them in his desk, much like you found them in mine. You see, Gus McTaggart, our SRO, asked me to clean out Lenny’s room yesterday. I boxed everything up. Lenny’s family will pick it up tomorrow afternoon.”

  Alonzo glared at him, his brown eyes observed Jason’s every move, every word. It made Jason uneasy. His story dripped out slowly, out of sequence, with too many holes.

  “I found the envelope in his drawer and the cash fell out all over the floor.”

  “How much cash?”

  “Eight-thousand dollars.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “Well, I was stunned for a moment. I wasn’t sure what I found until I took a closer look.”

  “That’s when you first saw the tests?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, how did they end up in your room?”

  “I didn’t want anyone to find them. I mean, jeez, Lenny just died. I’m sure his family is a total wreck. The last thing they need is to find out their son was a cheat and a thief. I was just trying to protect his memory.”

  “Okay, where’d the cash come from?”

  “I don’t know. Lenny gambled a lot. He liked to bet on baseball games. Maybe he hit it big.”

  “Maybe he sold the tests to his classmates.”

  Jason didn’t like how this conversation progressed. He started to think maybe he did need a lawyer. He sat in silence, cursing himself for not contacting someone immediately about this. That would have cleared him right away.

  “Look kid,” Alonzo said, “if it’s any consolation, I’m starting to believe you. I checked around. You’re not the type who cheats and steals. And you’re not the type who carries around eight-grand in cash.”

  Jason paused. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying there may be some truth to what you’re telling me. Some truth. There are a few things I need to check out first.”

  A brief smile came to Jason’s face. “You believe me?”

  “Somewhat, yes. You see, I’ve read your files and records here for the last hour. I’ve reviewed your test scores. You min rolled the first two academic tests, the first instrument test, and four out of seven stan tests.”

  Jason lowered his head, embarrassed.

  “I don’t think that someone who was stealing tests would cut it that close.”

  “What are you going to do? What can I do to prove I’m innocent?”

  “Well, the best thing you can do is sit tight. You’ve been pulled out of training as of this afternoon.”

  “What?” Jason said. “How the hell can they do that? I’m innocent! They can’t kick me out for something I didn’t do!”

  Alonzo placed his hands up in front of him. “Settle down, kid. Try to see it from their perspective. They had a thief, and as far as they’re concerned, they caught him. It’s only normal that they pull you out of training. I’ll meet with the Wing Commander in the morning and brief him. I’ll recommend house arrest. That will restrict you to base.” Alonzo paused for a few moments. “Look, kid, I know who yo
u are.”

  Jason’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father, Senator Jonathan Bowman, is running for president of the United States. If he wins his party’s nomination, of course.”

  Jason’s shoulders slumped, and his face reflected disappointment. “Who else here knows?”

  “No one else. I figure you have your reasons for keeping it quiet.”

  “I want to make it through this program on my own. I don’t want anyone thinking I made it through because I’m a senator’s son.”

  “I understand. That’s why I haven’t brought it up with anyone else. We don’t want people saying you got preferential treatment because you’re a senator’s son. In the meantime, I’ll check the grades of everyone in your class. There might be a link somewhere else. Can you think of anyone who might have received copies of the tests from Lenny Banks?”

  Jason thought for a moment. He suspected Vince. His scores were too perfect for someone who never studied. Lenny and Vince seemed to always argue about something. It seemed possible, but Jason had no real proof. It would do no good to accuse him of something he might not have done.

  “No. I can’t think of anyone.” Words he had to force himself to say.

  36

  September 8, 1995

  * * *

  PALOVICH BREATHED DEEPLY. The loss of blood weakened him, and his arm was numb. He needed a doctor, a shower, and a warm bed. For the third night in a row, he slept on the streets of Moscow, and waited for an opportunity to escape. He had been unable to travel much yesterday. The assassins and the Moscow police roamed the streets, looking for him.

  He shook the cobwebs from his head and stood in the shadows of the alley. His joints creaked as he stretched his cramped muscles; his attention turned to a newspaper on the ground. Yesterday’s Pravda with his picture on the front page. ‘KILLER STILL ON THE LOOSE’, the headline read. A small photo of his wife sat in the corner of the article. Those sons of bitches. They blamed him for his wife’s murder. Now he must avoid everyone. Complete strangers would be able to point him out to the police. His stomach gnawed with hunger once again, the food from the marketplace long since gone. Palovich could not risk returning to the marketplace or to an ordinary shop for that matter.

  Stumbling through the back streets and alleys, he avoided everyone. In the northern portion of the city, the pedestrian traffic increased significantly. On the far side of the street, he saw two uniformed police officers moving in his direction. The officers stopped to talk to merchants along their path, showed them a picture and asked questions. Palovich surveyed his surroundings. Next to him, a young man knelt, changing a tire on his car. When the man went to pull the tire from his trunk, Palovich reached down, snatched up the crowbar, and stuck it under his coat.

  Scurrying along the street, he ducked into an apartment building and raced up three flights of stairs. His legs and back ached with each step. The pain helped him forget his hunger. On the third floor, Palovich listened for any activity, any sounds of life. There were none, and so he pulled the crowbar from beneath his coat and approached the apartment near the stairs. He placed his ear next to the door, knocked lightly, listened, and then knocked again, louder. No one was home. The door handle was locked. With the tip of the crowbar wedged near the lock, he gave one solid, strong thrust, then another.

  Snap! The door came free and swung in.

  The early morning rays of the sun broke through the openings in the makeshift curtains hanging from the windows. Palovich turned on the light and tiptoed across the living room. Cautiously, he crept through the apartment, the floor gently squeaking with each step. He did notice a phone next to the kitchenette as he walked through. Near the back bedroom, he heard a rasping sound. He sneaked to the doorway, the crowbar gripped tight in his hand, his pistol still in his pocket. The rasping grew louder as he peered around the corner.

  An old woman lay in the bed; her eyes closed, and her breath heavy. She appeared to be in a deep sleep.

  As he meandered around the apartment, he confirmed that he and the old woman were alone. Taking off his coat, he stumbled to the toilet to relieve himself. When he finished, he went to the sink to wash his hands. The icy water he threw on his face shocked his body into consciousness. He pulled off his shirts and checked his wound. Caked with dried blood, it turned moist and washed away as he soaked the area with water. The ugly flesh around the wound was a greenish/blue color, revealing the severity of the infected wound. He must find a doctor soon. First, however, he needed to warn the Americans.

  He returned to the kitchenette and discovered a half-loaf of bread, with mold on one end. The hunger pains told him to ignore the mold as he tore off a chunk from the other end of the loaf. The dry bread absorbed the moisture from his mouth. He drew a glass of water from the sink and downed it at once. After two more glasses, he found a phone and dialed.

  “American Embassy, information center. This is Debbie. How may I help you?”

  “John Smith, please,” Palovich said. John Smith was one of the code names he used to alert the embassy personnel of an incoming covert call. That person would activate a two-way scrambler, which allowed them to have a secure phone call for two minutes.

  “Just one moment, sir,” she said. The process was set in motion. A man answered the phone three rings later. “Go,” he said.

  “It is Palovich.”

  “Good God, where are you man?”

  “No time for that now. I must relay information regarding Nikolai and his contact in America.”

  “I’m ready to copy. Go ahead.”

  Palovich breathed deep, still light-headed from loss of blood and lack of sleep. “He is going to activate an assassin from Section Nine. The man is in Oklahoma, in a place called Enid. Your man may be an officer in the US military going by the name of Andrews.”

  “Enid, Oklahoma. Man named Andrews, possible military, got it. Who is the target?”

  Palovich started to answer when a noise in the next room made him stop. He looked up to see the old woman standing in the doorway, her face frozen in horror. She let out a blood-curdling scream that could have belonged to a healthy woman many years her junior. Palovich dropped the receiver and bolted past her for the door. The old woman continued to scream as he ran past her out the door.

  Racing down the staircase to the streets below, he didn’t realize what he had done until he reached the outside of the building. He had left his coat and hat upstairs in his haste to flee the old woman’s apartment. The gun. It was still in the coat pocket, but now he must escape. The metro. It was his only option. The icy chill of the air pierced his sweater and his entire body shivered. Palovich shoved his hands into his pants pockets to warm them. His wounded arm handicapped him. People formed a crowd in the street. Halfway across the street, the morning quiet was shattered by a familiar shriek.

  “Stop that man! The one with no coat! He is a thief and rapist!” The old woman screamed from her window. It was obvious who she screamed about. Palovich stood out among the crowd.

  Two Moscow policemen on the street corner looked up at the old woman, then moved toward Palovich. One of them talked into his radio. Palovich scurried away from the scene. The old woman pointed in his direction. Palovich spotted the two policemen, as they increased their pace.

  Palovich sped up to a light jog. Where could he go? His pursuers were close, and he was unarmed. If he could only find the metro station from here.

  The lights and sirens caught his attention first. The police car raced through the street toward him, a block away. Behind him, the two police officers in hot pursuit.

  Palovich frantically searched for a way out. Desperation took control and he realized the end was near. Something had to happen, and it had to happen quick, or he was done. He saw an alley and darted toward it. The people in the streets cleared the way for the police car that spun its wheels, as it rushed through the slushy streets. He reached the alley moments before the police car slid to a stop a
t the entrance. Palovich ran as fast as possible, his breath in short gasps.

  “Palovich, stop! Surrender! You have nowhere to go!” one of the men shouted from the car.

  A shot rang out, a warning shot, perhaps. Palovich didn’t turn. He kept running as he reached the end of the alleyway.

  Suddenly, a black sedan pulled in front of him. The door flew open and an ominous bald man stepped out, his face bore a devilish grin. Palovich skidded to a stop and almost fell in the filthy slush. The pain of his wound shot through his arm like an ice pick. His eyes met those of the bald man for an instant. Palovich turned to see the two policemen from the car, crept slowly through the alley, followed by the two on foot who had first recognized him. He wondered how long he could remain silent under torture. Turning back to the bald one, he saw a pistol pointed at his forehead. He began to scream as the bald one squeezed the trigger. The bullet penetrated his skull before a sound ever left his mouth.

  37

  September 9, 1995

  * * *

  HARRISON CAME BY ALONZO’S billeting room at nine-thirty-five in the morning. Together, they walked to the student dorms. Alonzo explained the situation to Harrison twice. He had to calm the over-zealous instructor. Harrison was ready for blood when he first heard about the hacking. When they found the tests in Conrad’s room, he wanted to move in for the kill. Alonzo held him back and laid out the big picture for him, careful not to expose Jason Conrad was the son of Senator Jonathan Bowman.

  “So, when are the parents supposed to be here to pick up his things?” Harrison said.

  “Around one o’clock.”

  “That doesn’t give us much time. Is the computer still set up?”

  Alonzo shook his head. “No, Conrad said he boxed it up. The hard drive is in its own box, and so is the monitor. Should be easy to find.”