Surly Bonds

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Nikolai arrived in the sleepy little town, found his destination, and circled the hotel. When he reached the back, he observed a man in a suit sitting in his truck. Unusual. Perhaps he waited for someone. Nikolai continued his drive around the parking lot and parked on the west side of the hotel. At the front desk, he had the clerk ring Mr. Jason Conrad’s room. She gave Nikolai the handset on the first ring.

  “Hello,” a man’s voice said.

  “It’s me.”

  “Room 134, around back.”

  Nikolai handed the telephone back to the clerk. Vince’s room was in the back, as was the man who sat in the truck. He would be careful. No one should know he’s here. No one could track him this far, this long, to the middle of nowhere; he was too careful. He ditched them in Moscow and evaded them in Frankfurt. Surely, there was no way they tailed him in New York. With his zigzag across the continent, how could they know he was coming here? Perhaps he was being too suspicious.

  Toward the rear of the hotel, he crept like a cat along the walls. Nikolai slid the overnight bag from his shoulder and held it firmly in his right hand. At the end of the walkway, he stopped and peered around the corner.

  Across the parking lot, he saw the man in the truck. Still watching.

  Nikolai pulled his head back and rested it against the brick wall. Did he imagine things? Casually, he rounded the corner and walked to room 134. His keys held loosely in his right hand. The room sat in the center of the hotel; a location both good and bad. Good to monitor if they were followed; bad if they needed to escape undetected.

  Nikolai knocked on the door, which opened right away.

  “Don’t step outside.” Nikolai was authoritative yet smiled and nodded. He dropped his keys on the ground. As he bent down to pick them up, he glanced at the truck. Its driver stared at him. Nikolai stepped inside.

  “It is good to see you, Comrade Gregarin—”

  “Hush, you fool. You are being watched.”

  “That cannot be. I’ve been most careful. No one knows I’m here. Certainly, no one suspects who I am.”

  Nikolai furrowed his brow as he tossed his overnight bag on the spare bed. He walked to the television, turned up the volume, and walked to the bathroom. The cool water from the sink refreshed him as he washed his face and hands. As he walked out of the bathroom, Vincent handed him fresh bourbon on the rocks.

  “Thank you, Vincent,” he said, careful not to use the assassin’s Russian name. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “It is the obligation of every subordinate to be aware of his superior’s favorite cocktail. I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

  “Long, but comfortable. How will you explain your absence at the base?”

  “There was a death in the family. I have been granted an emergency leave status for a week. By then, I will have returned home to mother Russia.”

  Nikolai smiled and set his hand on Vince’s shoulder. “Yes, you shall return a hero.”

  43

  September 11, 1995

  * * *

  JASON STARED OUT THE WINDOW of the truck-stop café on the outskirts of town. He took a small bite of his cheeseburger. It was the only thing he had eaten all day. The French fries were greasy and cold, so he opted not to eat them. He sat alone for the moment; Caldwell stepped to the back of the restaurant to make a phone call. Jason glanced at the clock on the wall: five-thirty.

  Caldwell returned after a few minutes. “The food’s here? That is fast service.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Don’t eat the fries, though.”

  Caldwell tasted one and set it back on his plate. “I get your point.”

  Jason took a long sip of Coke. “So, what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, something’s going on that you’re not telling me. You come to my room asking questions without ever really telling me why. Then you drag me off the base when I’m not allowed to leave and bring me here—”

  “Hey, the truck-stop was your idea.”

  “Yeah, I know, but the entire time we’re here, you’re on the phone. I’m a little curious as to what is going on.”

  Caldwell nodded as he chewed a mouthful of burger. He put the burger on the plate and wiped his hands with his napkin. “Okay, tell me about Vince Andrews.”

  Jason shifted in his seat. “He’s an asshole.”

  “Besides that. What’s he like in pilot training?”

  “Vince aces the tests, but he doesn’t study much and doesn’t seem to understand the material. Apparently, he flies well. He has what we call a halo effect. That means he aces all the tests and he flies well, so the instructors assume he has a firm grasp of the information. Therefore, he makes good grades on his daily rides, too.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “I don’t know him that well. He hung out with Lenny Banks. They went to school together. We hung out more the first few days. Vince is the kind of guy who tries to size up the competition and get close to them. I think he decided I wasn’t his main competition and stopped socializing. He never talked about his past much.” Jason paused. “I think he has a bad temper.”

  “Explain.”

  Jason shifted his position in the booth. “He’s kind of like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute he’s schmoozing’ everyone within eyesight and the next he’s blowing his top about something stupid. And he’s a fighter. A damn good one. Lenny told me how he got jumped by two guys outside Chicaros once . . . that’s a bar where we hang out. And Vince decked them both.”

  Caldwell searched through his briefcase and removed a couple of files. He slid a piece of paper across the table to Jason.

  “Read and sign please.”

  Jason reviewed the page. It was a non-disclosure statement saying what they were about to discuss was classified and he could go to jail if he discussed it with someone who didn’t have a need to know. He huffed as he signed the sheet and slid it across the table back to Caldwell. Caldwell tucked the paper in the briefcase and slid one of the files back across the table. Jason opened it. The file contained a photograph of a well-dressed man in a crowd. He didn’t recognize the location, but it appeared as if it might be Europe. Jason shrugged his shoulders.

  “The man’s name is Nikolai Gregarin,” he said in a faint voice. “He’s a part of the KGB, where he leads a group of highly trained assassins. Through informants, we’ve been able to establish some methods of their operation. They train their assassins to be moles, to blend into a community in whatever country they’re in. The moles might sit dormant for years before being activated to carry out their assigned mission. Nikolai does this personally. Which brings us to where we are now. Nikolai is in Enid.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’s here to contact his mole. I just got off the phone with my partner whose been staking out the suspect all day. Nikolai showed up at his room over an hour ago. We believe his contact to be the man you call Vince Andrews.”

  Jason’s mouth fell open. He was confused, nervous, and angry. “Are you trying to tell me Vince Andrews is a Soviet agent?”

  “Technically, there are no more Soviets, but yes, a Russian agent we believe is Vince Andrews is at Vance Air Force Base. He’s an assassin getting his assignment from Nikolai Gregarin.”

  Jason stared at him blankly. “Wow, this is too much. It’s like out of a movie or something.”

  “I understand your shock, but please realize I need your help. We are running out of time.”

  “My help? Hell, I’m not sure I believe your story. It’s too farfetched. A student pilot in UPT is really a Russian assassin. This isn’t possible. You’re reaching hard for something that may not exist.”

  Caldwell slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his I.D. again. “I’m sure you thought I was DIA conducting a routine background check, but I’m not. I’m CIA, and we’re not reaching.”

  Jason examined his ID, closely this time. He had never seen a CIA identification card and badge, but i
t looked as legitimate as other federal I.D.’s.

  “Now, I need your help to lure him out and trap him.”

  “Great, that’s all I need. Spend my spare time trapping Russian agents.”

  “Where is his dorm room?”

  “Across the parking lot from my place.”

  Caldwell slid out of his chair. “Let’s go.” he laid cash on the table. “We may have only a little time.”

  “A little time for what?” Jason followed Caldwell through the swinging glass door.

  “A little time to look through his room.”

  “Don’t you need a warrant?”

  “I’m not the police.”

  Jason contemplated that one as they climbed into Caldwell’s car. “It’s still illegal, though.”

  “Don’t remind me. It makes me feel guilty.”

  Jason and Caldwell rode in silence; twenty minutes later, they parked at Jason’s dorm. The setting sun cast shadows across the parking lot.

  “Do you see Vince’s truck?” Caldwell asked. Jason scanned the area and nodded.

  “It’s right over there,” he said pointing.

  “Okay, what’s his phone number?” Caldwell pulled out his mobile and dialed as Jason told him the number. It rang four times before the answering machine picked up.

  “He’s not picking up. Do you want to accompany me, or do you want to stay here?”

  “I guess I’ll go. Maybe I can help out in some way.”

  “Okay, follow me.” The two scurried across the parking lot. When they reached Vince’s room, Caldwell knocked. No answer. He knocked again with the same result. Caldwell pulled a small leather case out of his coat pocket. He unzipped the case to reveal several lock picks. He selected one, along with a tension tool. In a matter of seconds, he opened the door.

  Jason hadn’t noticed, but at some point, Caldwell swapped his lock picks for his pistol. When they entered the dark room, they did so behind the weapon. “Turn on the lights,” Caldwell said.

  Jason found the switch and flipped it up, illuminating the room. Vince’s room, despite the messiness, appeared like any other student’s room: aircraft manuals left on the desk and various study guides laid out.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Caldwell said. “This room may need to be fingerprinted.”

  “Not a problem.” Jason stood with his hands in his pockets as Caldwell poked around Vince’s room. He glanced back at the open door and wondered what would happen if Vince came home.

  Caldwell sifted through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. “I don’t see anything that can help us.”

  RRRIIINNNGG!

  Both men were startled as the telephone rang. Caldwell chuckled at himself. The answering machine answered after the fourth ring.

  “Hi. This is Vince. I’m not here right now. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.”

  BEEP!

  “Hi, Vince, it’s Gwendolyn. I just called to see if you got that information on your flight. If not, I can come over and give it to you in person. Call me. ‘Bye.”

  Caldwell looked over his should at Jason. “Who’s Gwendolyn?”

  “She’s a girl who’s had the hots for Vince for a while now. She works at a travel agency downtown.”

  “Travel agency?” Caldwell smiled as he moved closer to the blinking box. There were five messages on it. One had just been left by Gwendolyn, and one Caldwell had hung up on earlier. That left three. “Here goes nothing,” he said as he punched the small blue button that said ‘Play’.

  The first two messages were inconsequential. The third message was the familiar voice of Gwendolyn.

  “Hi, Vince, it’s Gwendolyn. I have you booked on Delta Flight 201 tonight, Oklahoma City to San Antonio. It leaves at ten-twenty p.m. Your reservation at the Davy Crockett Hotel is confirmed. Call me once you arrive in San Antonio if there’s any issues. I hope you have questions. Call me.”

  Caldwell turned toward Jason, a grin stretched across his face. “Pay dirt,” he exclaimed, raising both hands in triumph.

  San Antonio.

  DARKNESS FELL OVER THE QUIET TOWN of Enid. Nikolai and Vince spent the better part of the afternoon going over the mission. Vince would leave tonight for San Antonio. He would check into the Davy Crockett Motel downtown under the name Henry Wells.

  “Then what?” demanded Nikolai

  “From there, I will establish my base of operations. Wednesday, I will survey the area to finalize weapons selection. The Marriott sits on the Riverwalk in downtown San Antonio. My first choice would be a remote-control bomb. It will be more feasible because of the congested area I’ll be forced to operate in.” He studied the map spread out on the bed as he spoke.

  “Thursday, I will investigate the security surrounding Senator Jonathan Bowman. The hotel, Secret Service, limousines, routes of travel, everything. The operation will be finalized that evening. Friday morning America will be short one presidential candidate, and I will be on a Miami flight bound for Argentina.”

  Nikolai smiled. The Mako had done well. Had the progress reports been false? Was there too much suspicion placed on this young operative? Nikolai pondered these thoughts as he walked to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. Moving across the room, he turned off the lights, sauntered to the window, and pulled the curtain back slightly. The man in the SUV still sat there. They were being watched. Somehow, they had been compromised.

  “Vincent, come here,” Nikolai said as he let the curtain slide back into place.

  “Yes, Comrade Gregarin?”

  “A dark-colored SUV sits at the far end of the parking lot. The man in the driver’s seat. He’s been there since I arrived. I believe you have been followed. I would like you to take care of this.”

  Vince moved up to the window and peered out. The sliver of an opening was enough for him to determine his course of action.

  “It will be a few minutes before I return.”

  “Bring him back here,” Nikolai said, turning the lights back on.

  “What do you plan to do?” Vince retrieved a Smith and Wesson 9mm from his suitcase, checked the magazine, and tucked it in the front of his pants. He grabbed the empty plastic ice bucket and stepped to the door.

  “We’ll decide that when our guest arrives.”

  44

  September 11, 1995

  * * *

  BEEEP-BEEEP.

  “Hello?” Agent Greg Johnson answered his mobile telephone, the frustration in his voice evident. He’d flipped through the same magazine four times before darkness stopped him from flipping through a fifth.

  “Hey, partner, how are you hanging on?”

  “Caldwell! Where the hell have you been?”

  “Sorry, Greg, I’ve been busy. I think we’ve got a good lead on our boy Andrews. I’ve got a fella with me that I need to drop off at our place. He can’t go back home until this is over. I’ll be by there in about an hour with a photo of Vince Andrews. If he’s the guy in the room, we’ll nail him.”

  “Damn, Caldwell, what are you trying to do to me?”

  “Sorry, Greg, this kid is in danger.”

  “All right, I guess I can hold on for another hour. See you when you get here.” Johnson pushed the off button on his mobile phone and set it on the seat next to him. It had been several minutes since his suspect left for ice.

  He sat in silence for another ten minutes. Where did Andrews go? Something must have gone wrong. Nobody takes fifteen minutes to get ice. He contemplated what course of action he should take. “Nuts,” he said. “I got to see what’s going on.”

  He reached for the automatic door lock and thumbed the plastic tab forward. All the doors in the Jeep Cherokee unlocked with a dull thud. He grabbed the handle and opened the door.

  VINCE SLINKED THROUGH THE RUGGED brush next to the hotel and maneuvered himself twenty yards behind the SUV. The vehicle sat shrouded in darkness, which would serve him well. He watched for several minutes as the man stared at his room and talked on a
portable telephone. He crept toward the target and gently pressed against the rear of the vehicle. Vince reached into his belt and pulled out his 9mm automatic, gripped tightly in his right hand.

  Vince had been next to the bumper for two minutes when the locks of the door disengaged with a loud “CLUNK.” He edged himself to the bumper on the driver’s side, his breath steady, his heartbeat unchanged.

  The door opened, and a foot set on the ground. The man stepped outside of the vehicle and shut the door to the Cherokee.

  Like a fog that rolled in on the unsuspecting shore, Vince swiftly and silently rounded the corner of the vehicle. Within two seconds, he had the Smith and Wesson 9mm stuck in the small of the man’s back.

  “I’d advise you not to make any sudden movement, friend,” Vince said. “Your spinal column will be severed in half if you do.”

  Vince made a quick search of his prey. He removed the pistol from the man’s shoulder holster and stuck it in the back of his pants.

  “You’ve been watching the room all day. Now’s your chance to see what it looks like inside. Walk over and knock on the door.”

  “Hey, look fella, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said. “You can have all my money. Here, take my wallet,” the man began to reach behind him. Vince reacted swiftly and struck him with the butt of the pistol at the base of his skull. The short, stocky man fell to the ground in pain.

  “I give the instructions here,” Vince said as the man crawled to his hands and knees. “Get up and move.”

  The man rubbed the back of his neck as he stood. He started to turn, but Vince gave him a commanding push. The man understood the message and walked toward the room.