Surly Bonds

by Michael Byars Lewis

  “It will take a while for me to set it all up.”

  “That’s okay. It gives me time to go through some of this mess.”

  “Do we need a warrant for this?”

  “No,” Alonzo said at the doorway. “These rooms are subject to search at any time. You conduct a monthly inspection, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but that’s different. We’re checking for cleanliness, not theft.”

  As they reached the door, Harrison fished through his pocket for the key. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights as they walked inside the room.

  “Oh, my God,” Harrison mumbled.

  The two stared in silence at the destruction. It appeared as if a bomb blew up in the room. Every box was opened, ripped to shreds. Clothes everywhere, broken glass, papers tossed all over the floor. The room was destroyed.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Alonzo warned. “They’ll need to take prints of this entire room.”

  “I already touched the light switch.”

  “Then don’t touch anything else.” Alonzo scanned the room. “Where’s the computer?”

  “The monitor’s over there.” Harrison pointed to the couch. “The tower shouldn’t be far away.”

  Alonzo and Harrison searched for a few moments before they found the desktop tower under a pile of clothes. It had been removed from the box and crushed. Harrison studied the battered terminal.

  “I think the hard drive may still be intact. If I can get back to my office, I can pull it out and upload it into my system.” It was more of a question than a statement.

  “Do it,” Alonzo replied.

  CIA HEADQUARTERS IN LANGLEY, Virginia, was busier than usual. Hundreds of people shuffled from office to office, like any other work day. The secure satellite communications link had dropped off twice before it established the downlink. The communications specialist grew frustrated with the gentleman in Moscow. There were lots of messages from his office, and they were always emergencies. He changed his mind when Director Hollings came downstairs to read the message with Caldwell. Aaron Caldwell had flown in the day before and was notified immediately after they received the message. It had come encrypted, addressed FYEO Aaron Caldwell. For Your Eyes Only.

  Caldwell and Hollings rushed with the message to the encryption room to decode the message. In a matter of minutes, the message was ready:

  NIKOLAI ARRIVES MONDAY. ENID, OKLAHOMA. LOOK FOR A MAN NAMED ANDREWS. POSSIBLE MILITARY.

  Hollings spoke first. “I want you to go to Enid tonight. Pack for several days. I’ll contact the FBI office in Oklahoma City and have a rep meet you at the airport.”

  “Where do we start?”

  Hollings sat at the table in the dark encryption office. “I’ll get more people in here. Two groups. We’ll trace the background on everyone named Andrews in the Enid area. One group will do the civilians. The other will track the military personnel at Vance Air Force Base. We’ll check Tinker, Altus, and Fort... uh, Sill, I think it is, just to be sure. We should have something for you by tomorrow morning.”

  Caldwell turned to leave when Hollings stopped him. “Aaron,” he said.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I want to nail this guy. Nikolai is a sneaky little bastard, and you know why he’s here. This one will be dangerous—don’t hesitate to ask for help. We can’t afford any mistakes. Someone’s life may hang in the balance.”

  “I understand, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

  JASON STOOD IN THE CROWD behind the yellow police tape as Alonzo walked toward Lenny’s room. When he looked in his direction, Jason waved. Alonzo walked toward him and stepped over the police line.

  “What’s going on?” Jason asked.

  “Let’s take a walk.”

  Jason and Alonzo moved to the back of the building, by the static display of an old T-34. The plane was in dire need of a new coat of paint; the old silver paint chipped away in large chunks.

  “I checked out your story, this morning” Alonzo said. “When I arrived at Lenny Banks’ room with Captain Harrison, we found the room torn apart. Every box opened, their contents emptied. It’s a real mess and will take some time to clean up.”

  Jason’s eyes grew wide. “See, somebody is looking for something.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe someone is trying to hide something.”

  Jason thought about the comment for a moment. “Wait. Wait a minute. You don’t—you don’t think I . . . this is unbelievable. I mean, this is too much.”

  “Slow down there, junior, I didn’t say that. Let’s wait until they finish going over the crime scene. Once they do and we access the computer, we’ll be able to verify your story.”

  “But this doesn’t help me out though, does it?”

  “No, kid, it doesn’t.”

  “Have you contacted my father yet?”

  “No, not yet. I’d like to find some answers first. My hope is this won’t be an issue and will simply go away.”

  “Thanks, Agent Jacobs.” Jason paused. “I finally got to meet him for the first time a few months ago. I don’t want something like this to scare him off. I’ve grown up my whole life without a father. I was kind of hoping to get to know him. We planned on getting together at Christmas.”

  “I understand.”

  Alonzo walked back toward the police line. As Jason approached the dorm, he saw Vince walk down the stairs of the identical building on the other side of the lot. Vince spotted him and marched toward him. Jason studied Vince. Something about him was not right. Did Vince break into the room and destroy it? He must have. Why would anyone else? Did Big Joe McCain and his bunch come back? Unlikely.

  “Hello, Conrad. What’s the occasion?” Vince said.

  “Someone broke into Lenny’s room and trashed the place.”

  Vince shook his head unconvincingly. “What a shame. Word on the streets is you’ve gotten yourself into a little trouble.”

  Jason jerked his head to face Vince. “Where did you hear that?” Alonzo assured him their conversation was confidential, and he had no reason to believe otherwise.

  “Oh, I think it was at the gym this morning. It’s a small base. People talk.”

  He’s fishing for something; information. He’s not sure if I’m on to Lenny and his scheme.

  “You’re right,” Jason said. “People talk. They talk a lot more than you realize.”

  Vince grabbed Jason’s sleeve and pulled him away from the crowd. “What do you mean, Conrad?”

  “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

  “Don’t screw with me Conrad. I’m out of your league.”

  “I’m sorry, Vince. I thought we were grieving over our dead friend.” Jason hesitated for a moment. “Just what are you talking about?”

  “Listen Conrad, whatever you did, maybe I can help.”

  “You can help?”

  “Yeah, whatever you—”

  “I didn’t do anything Vince. They know that. What do you think this is all about?” Jason said, gesturing toward the blockade.

  “Fine, never mind.” Vince stalked off, toward his truck.

  “Hey Vince,” Jason yelled after him. “Be careful.”

  38

  September 10, 1995

  * * *

  THE 737-200 LANDED ON THE RUNWAY, then taxied clear at Will Rogers World Airport in Oklahoma City. Caldwell’s circadian rhythm was out of synch from jumping time zones and working long days. The aircraft pulled into the terminal and the passengers began to unload. Caldwell scooted off the jet, through the jetway, and into the main terminal. His eyes scanned the crowd as he moved past the people waiting for other passengers. It didn’t take long for Caldwell to find the familiar face staring straight at him.

  “Aaron Caldwell, how the hell are you?” Greg Johnson said. The Oklahoma-based FBI officer stood shorter and stockier than Caldwell, but he didn’t carry an ounce of fat. Caldwell grasped Johnson’s hand and shook it firmly as they walked to the lost luggage claim room. It was necessary to bring the FBI i
n on this. The CIA has no jurisdiction within the United States.

  After another ten minutes Caldwell retrieved his bags; all very inconspicuous. They left the terminal and climbed into Johnson’s Jeep Cherokee. Once on the road, Caldwell turned up the radio in the car.

  “So, any developments on our guy while I’ve been on the road?”

  Johnson smiled. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask. We’ve found our man, I think. A lieutenant in pilot training at Vance Air Force Base. Vincent Andrews. He’s the only Andrews in a three-hundred-mile radius we can’t trace back to a birth date. This guy moved around quite a bit in the past four years. We can’t find anything he did before four years ago. We turned up another Vincent Andrews who died at a homeless shelter in Los Angeles fifteen years ago.”

  “Is there a connection?”

  “Oh, yes. Same Social Security number.”

  Caldwell nodded. “That’s our man,” he said.

  “So, what’s the plan from here?”

  Caldwell shifted in his seat. “We know, or at least we are extremely confident, that Nikolai Gregarin is coming to meet with Vince Andrews. What we need to do is find this Andrews and wait for Nikolai. He’ll be hard to find entering the US. Hell, he’s probably already here. But Nikolai is always cautious; Andrews has no reason to be. He’s lived like an obnoxious American for the past four years. Tomorrow morning, we head out to the base to do some preliminary checking around. Once we confirm its him, we’ll bring in the strike team and take him down.”

  “I just hope we’re not too late,” Johnson said.

  “Don’t remind me, Greg. Think positive.” Caldwell laid his head against the headrest and dozed off for the hour and a half ride into Enid.

  ALONZO SAT IN HARRISON’S OFFICE across the street from the dorms. The day had been long and still they came up empty. Lenny Banks’ room was wiped clean of fingerprints and the hard drive was too badly damaged for Captain Harrison to use.

  “Okay, I’ll turn this over to my guys at Randolph, and they can determine if there’s any information on here.”

  Harrison turned away from his computer and faced Alonzo. “He’s guilty as hell. Everything points to him. He went there last night, deleted the hard drive, and then wrecked the place. We need to bust this guy now and bust him hard.”

  Alonzo studied the bland walls covered with photos of T-37s and jet fighters. “Well, until we have proof Conrad stole the tests, we won’t do anything.”

  Harrison exploded. “Proof? Hell, we found every damn test and a hell of a lot of cash in the guy’s room. What else do you need?”

  “That proves he was in possession of the tests and a lot of money. There is a great deal of circumstantial evidence, yes, but there is no evidence to support his being the thief. You’ve seen his test scores. It’s obvious he hasn’t cheated in this program. Even if those are his, he got them from somebody. And that is the person I want. Plus, everyone knows Conrad boxed up Banks’ room. His fingerprints would be all over the place. Why would he wipe it clean?” Alonzo picked up his coat from the chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go discuss this situation with our suspect.”

  “Guilty suspect,” Harrison said

  “Captain, things aren’t always what they seem.”

  The OSI agent left the building and walked across the street to Jason’s dorm room. Alonzo wished he could tell the young captain that Jason Conrad’s father was a potential Presidential candidate, but he wasn’t sure that would change his mind. The evidence they found fit together too well, and it pointed right at Jason Conrad. He reached the dorm and rapped on the door.

  Jason opened the door with a surprised look on his face. “Agent Jacobs, what’s up?”

  “I wanted to talk to you a bit before I left for San Antonio. Do you mind if I come in?”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, this afternoon.”

  Piles of clothes folded on the bed, dishes stacked next to the sink, and papers piled on his desk. The vacuum cleaner stood propped against the wall, unused.

  “What can I do for you, Agent Jacobs?”

  “Alonzo. Call me Alonzo.”

  “Okay, Alonzo. What’s up?”

  Alonzo observed the young man. He didn’t appear nervous, but rather curious about the investigation. Jason appeared as eager to solve the mystery as he was.

  “We’ve swept the entire room for prints, and it came up clean. Whoever did this, did an excellent job of covering his tracks.”

  “So, we have no way of telling who has been in the room?”

  “Not exactly. We’re attempting to access the hard drive on the computer, but I don’t know if it will tell us anything.”

  “So why are you here? To inform me I’m getting kicked out of UPT for something I didn’t do? To advise me to seek counsel to defend me for a felony I didn’t commit?”

  Alonzo raised both hands to his waist, a subtle gesture. “Calm down now, son. I want you to tell me everything you know. Any information concerning the tests, the money, Lenny Banks, UPT, whatever. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, but why?”

  “Look, I believe you. I don’t think you’re involved in this, but folks here will expect you to take the fall unless we find out something quick. I don’t think bringing your father into this will help out anyone.”

  Jason nodded and moved his chair to sit across from Alonzo. He rested his forearms on his knees and stared at the floor in front of him. Jason spent the next few minutes explaining how he was sent to Lenny’s room; and his discovery of Lenny’s questionable stash.

  “Lenny gambled . . . a lot. He never talked about whether he won or lost, but it always seemed as if the teams he liked lost. If his teams were losing, he would have been deeply in debt. So, it appeared to me, he somehow got hold of those tests and sold them.”

  “Sold them to whom? As of now, you’re the prime suspect. Convince me you’re not.”

  Jason stared at Alonzo. He was right—all the evidence pointed to him. Jason took a deep breath and continued.

  “I’m not sure, but I think it might be Vince Andrews. He’s in our class also.”

  Alonzo wrote the name on his pad. “Why him?”

  “Vince and Lenny go way back. They went to college together, and I guess the story is Vince made a few phone calls to get in the same UPT class as Lenny, which I’m not even sure is possible. Vince made a hundred percent on every test we’ve taken so far.”

  “Is that uncommon?”

  “No. But he never studies. And if you talk to him about the material, he can’t answer anything. Also, he throws around a lot of extra money. He claims to be from a poor family, but he owns a brand-new truck that cost an easy thirty grand. He owns a ski boat, and he’s always buying drinks for people and new stuff for himself. Now there’s nothing wrong with that, except it’s just a little unusual for a second lieutenant to maintain that kind of lifestyle.”

  Alonzo nodded. He checked Jason’s background. Jason had no history of gambling. Despite his parents’ divorce at an early age, he grew up basically a good kid. He was given his mother’s maiden name. Apparently, his mother took the future Senator Bowman to the cleaners during the divorce. His grades were not the grades of a student who possessed copies of the tests beforehand. Jason barely passed. And then there was the computer issue. Jason didn’t own one. How could he steal the tests? Alonzo began to believe his story more and more. “Is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all?”

  “Those two were always fighting. Not physically, but they argued a lot. Lenny always acted as if he had something on Vince, some kind of control over him. I think it was the tests. Lenny always made comments about Vince’s knowledge and Vince would make him shut up. It makes sense.”

  Alonzo smiled. “Yes, it does.”

  39

  September 10, 1995

  * * *

  CALDWELL AND GREG JOHNSON checked in at the Holiday Inn on Highway 81, a couple miles from the base. They
were lucky to get a room with the upcoming graduation of a class at Vance. The hotel was filled with relatives and friends in town for the occasion. They shared a room with two double beds. It was eight p.m. Sunday evening, before they unpacked.

  Johnson ordered a pizza from Dominoes while Caldwell sat at the desk and reviewed his files. One file covered Nikolai Gregarin; the other a detailed list of known and suspected acts of terrorism committed or supported by Section Nine. He also had a sheet of paper with limited information about Vince Andrews. Caldwell read over the details on Vince—twice.

  “Is this all the information you have on the Andrews guy?” Caldwell said.

  “Yes,” Johnson said, walking across the room to retrieve a large black case he brought in earlier. “About all we could drag out here in OKC. Driver’s record, tax stuff, you know.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll be busy. I’ll also need to pick up a car. We’ll find out where this guy Andrews lives. I want you to tail him. All day. While you’re doing that, I’ll be on the base digging up what I can on this guy. First, I’ll drop in on the wing commander for a courtesy call. He needs to know we’re investigating one of his people. Hopefully, we get a little cooperation. Hey, when’s that pizza going to show up?”

  “Thirty minutes or less,” Johnson said as he hooked up the fax.

  “Time,” Caldwell said looking at the photograph of Nikolai, “is one thing we don’t have enough of.”

  IT WAS DARK OUTSIDE when Jason returned from the gym, exhausted. His answering machine blinked at him. He hit “PLAY”.

  “Hi Jason, it’s Kathy. I wanted to tell you in person, but I didn’t have time. I’m returning to San Antonio. I’m not sure for how long . . .”

  Jason collapsed on the couch. The one good thing in his life and now she was gone too. She left a phone number, which he wrote down. But he cursed himself for having blown it.