Surly Bonds

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Around the corner at the Marriott, Jason paused and surveyed the back patio. Outside the men in the ill-fitting suits stood guard. No doubt each of them had some sort of small automatic weapon underneath their coats. What would he do about his father, the senator? Where would Vince strike? Hopefully, Alonzo had some ideas.

  Alonzo walked along the empty stretch of land by the river. Jason continued to follow Alonzo, but a little further back. When Alonzo reached the next intersection, he turned right and was out of sight. Jason didn’t increase his pace. His hands tucked into in his pockets and his head tilted down; he tried to be inconspicuous. His fake ponytail flailed in the breeze.

  When he reached the corner, he spotted Alonzo again. Jason watched him cross the footbridge to the other side of the river and walk toward the Naked Iguana. He concealed himself in the crowd. The ponytail made his neck itch, and he adjusted it slightly.

  Alonzo sat at an outside table and surveyed his surroundings. Jason observed him for several minutes. He appeared to be alone. Not that Jason could be sure. But he had seen all the movies. That’s the way to do it, right? He left the seclusion of the crowd and walked across the footbridge. Alonzo glimpsed at the menu and didn’t notice the scraggly young man approach his table. “Agent Jacobs.”

  Alonzo’s head snapped up from the menu; Jason stopped in his tracks. “Jason? Good God, I hardly recognized you. If I hadn’t seen your eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it was you. Have a seat, son.”

  Jason moved with caution, unsure if he would be jumped by the police in some form of trap.

  “Relax, relax. You said to come alone, and I give you my word, we are alone. Don’t insult me by implying that if I wanted to take you in by myself I couldn’t do it.” The black man’s face broke into a big smile. “Now tell me, boy, what the hell is going on?”

  “Kathy Delgato, my girlfriend from Enid, is missing. She never called me back two nights ago. She’s from San Antonio. I talked to her when I first got to town to warn her, told her he may try and contact her. She never called back. Which means more cops will probably be looking for me.”

  “Jason, you’re not giving me complete information. Who may contact her and why?”

  “Vince Andrews.”

  “The fellow in your class you thought might be getting the tests?”

  “Yes. He’s a Russian spy.”

  “What?”

  “That’s where the CIA guys come in. They were tracking some guy named Nikolai for months. I guess he’s Vince’s boss. The CIA followed Nikolai to Enid, where he contacted Vince. Because I knew Vince better than anyone else, the CIA guy, Caldwell, came and found me.”

  Alonzo nodded. “I talked to Caldwell a few days ago. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “Somehow,” Jason continued, “Nikolai and Vince discovered the CIA on their trail. While we were in Caldwell’s hotel room, Vince came to the door and shot him. I was in the bathroom at the time, so he didn’t know I was there until he drove away in his truck.

  “I called 911, then bolted back to the base to find him. He wasn’t there,” Jason said as he adjusted his cap.

  “Why didn’t you stay in Caldwell’s room until the police showed up?”

  “I’m not sure. Too much adrenaline, I guess. I thought he was dead. The realization that everything he told me about Vince was true . . . I was angry. I wanted to strangle the bastard.”

  “So, is he here?”

  “That’s where I know I’m right. Caldwell and I had learned earlier, Vince was going to San Antonio, and Caldwell linked it to the NAFTA conference. Before Caldwell was shot, he briefed me on Nikolai and Vince. These guys are assassins. Vince is a mole they’ve activated to assassinate Senator Bowman. That’s why he’s here, to kill my father.”

  Alonzo stared at Jason, his mouth open. “Where does the girl fit into this?”

  “When I got into town, I called her and told her Vince might call—”

  “Wait—why would Vince contact her?”

  “Well . . . that’s a whole different story. Basically, when we were all happy and normal in Enid, he was making the moves—”

  “Okay, I get the picture. Continue.”

  “Well, Kathy doesn’t know who to believe. She sees on the news that I’m supposed to be a killer on the run. Then I tell her Vince is a Russian spy. She gets confused and decides she’s going to figure all this out for herself. She headed home, and I haven’t been able to contact her since.”

  Alonzo nodded. “There could be numerous explanations for that.” He paused. “I tell you Jason, you’ve got a hell of a story. I almost believe you. I want to believe you. I’d like to try and call Agent Caldwell and get more information. Just to give you some credibility.”

  Jason slammed his fists on the table, knocking over his water glass. “Damn it, Alonzo we don’t have time for this. We’ve got to start looking now.”

  Alonzo glanced from side to side. Jason’s actions drew a few looks from the people around them, but nothing too obvious. The waiter approached the table. “Check, please,” Alonzo said. The waiter set the check on the table, and Alonzo laid three dollars on the small plate to pay for his tea. Jason and Alonzo stood and walked out of the restaurant, back toward the mall.

  “I’ll drive?” Jason said. “I’ll feel safer that way.”

  “I’m not sure I even want to hang around with you, kid. Bad things seem to happen to people who do.”

  Jason grinned slightly as he glanced at him.

  The two continued along the Riverwalk until they reached the Mall entrance and went up the escalator to the parking lot. They climbed in Jason’s car and pulled out of the garage.

  “I want to show you what I know so far,” Jason told Alonzo as they entered traffic. “Vince’s hotel is a couple of blocks away. The Davy Crockett.”

  Jason snaked through the traffic toward the hotel. As they turned on to the hotel’s street, traffic was almost non-existent. They passed the hotel and went a block beyond before Jason made a U-turn on the empty street and came back on the opposite side. Jason parked the car on the side of the hotel.

  “What are you doing?” Alonzo said.

  Jason stared at the hotel. “I thought we might just sit here a minute. Maybe he’ll show.”

  “We got a better chance of winning the Publisher’s Clearing House, than for Vince Andrews to show up while we sit here.” Alonzo pulled out his mobile phone and tried to dial. “Damn, the battery must be dead. I thought I recharged this thing.” He gawked at the phone as if it were a foreign object he didn’t understand.

  “Who are you trying to call?” Jason looked away from the hotel for the first time.

  “I need to call my wife and let her know what I’m doing. I don’t want her to worry. Then I want to call Enid and see if Caldwell is awake or find anyone who might back up your story.”

  His grip on the steering wheel relaxed and Jason pointed forward. “There’s a phone booth right there on the corner if you need to call.”

  Alonzo saw the phone booth about two hundred feet away through the front windshield. “Thanks, kid,” he said as he opened the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He closed the door and walked toward the phone on the dark empty street.

  ALONZO REACHED THE PHONE BOOTH at the hotel entrance. Pulling a quarter out of his pocket, he slid it into the slot and dialed. His wife asked him question after question.

  When she hung up, he called the hospital in Enid. A nurse answered the phone. “I’m trying to find out the status of Aaron Caldwell. My name is Agent Alonzo Jacobs, and I’m with the OSI in San Antonio.”

  “Just one minute please,” the nurse said as she put him on hold. Alonzo looked back toward Jason in the car when a reflection in the booth caught his attention. He wheeled around as a truck came down the street, a block away. The truck moved at a moderate pace. Alonzo didn’t think much of it and continued to scan his surroundings.

  In a matter of seconds, the truck pulled up to the load
ing zone in front of the hotel. Alonzo turned and focused on the truck. He couldn’t see the driver until he opened his door and stepped out. Alonzo poked his head out of the booth to get a clearer look. The man fit the description of Vince Andrews.

  The sound of Jason’s car starting up caused him to look away. No, kid, not now. When he turned back toward the man, he, too, looked at the sedan down the street. His focus shifted to Alonzo, as if he’d noticed him for the first time. Their eyes locked for what seemed to be several minutes. Actually, it was about two seconds.

  Suddenly, the man’s right hand reached under his coat and whipped out a pistol. He started firing at Alonzo, who had nowhere to hide.

  52

  September 13, 1995

  * * *

  THE FIRST TWO SHOTS WHIZZED BY Alonzo’s head and smashed into the wall behind him. The third shot was wilder and hit the sidewalk several feet to his left. By the time Alonzo dove and rolled behind a cement and wooden bench, the shooter leaped into his truck and cranked the engine. Instinctively, Alonzo snatched his 9mm from his holster. In one quick movement, he managed to squeeze off two shots at the truck as it peeled away from the curb, its tires spinning in trails of smoke.

  Jason pulled the sedan forward to a position between Alonzo and his would-be killer. Alonzo jumped in before the car came to a complete stop. “Follow that son of a bitch,” he yelled.

  Jason floored the gas pedal, whipped the car around in the opposite direction, and followed the taillights of the truck up the dark street.

  “Stay with him. Is that Andrews?” Alonzo said.

  “Yeah. I got him.”

  “Gutsy move, kid. Thanks.”

  “Yeah, just be sure to tell the jury for me, okay?”

  The truck slowed as it rounded the corner toward the interstate. Jason pushed harder on the accelerator and closed the gap between them.

  “Easy, kid, that turn’s coming quick,” Alonzo said as he buckled his seatbelt.

  “Don’t worry.” Jason concentrated on driving. “Hang on.”

  Jason applied the brakes as they approached the corner. When he reached the intersection, he hammered down on the gas again and accelerated through the turn.

  “Where’s he taking us?”

  “He’s heading to the interstate,” Alonzo replied. “It’s that huge overpass a quarter mile out front.”

  “Got it, and he’s going left.”

  Jason raced up the steep incline of the entry ramp. The underpowered sedan had a slight surge before it shifted and caught in a lower gear. Vince pulled away. The sedan entered the interstate and moved into the flow. Traffic was light but steady. Vince was still in sight. The Ford F-150 zigzagged between cars as Vince attempted to blend in with the traffic.

  They were about one hundred yards behind him now and gaining. Jason gripped the steering wheel as if he held on for his life. His breath, heavy and labored. He loosened his grip, wiggled his fingers, and took a couple of deep breaths.

  Alonzo pulled his pistol out of its holster. He ejected the magazine and noted the rounds, then checked his other two magazines as well. Jason paid little attention to Alonzo. His focus was the truck ahead of him driving seventy-five miles per hour.

  Gradually, they started to gain on Vince. They headed due south toward Mexico. “How far to the border?”

  “Too far. He won’t go there,” Alonzo said. “He knows he’ll get stopped by the border patrol.”

  “So, do you believe me now?”

  “Kid, you could tell me just about anything and I’d believe you.”

  They followed for ten minutes, when Vince exited an off ramp.

  “There he goes, kid,” Alonzo said. “Get over, you’re clear over here.”

  Jason glanced over his right shoulder as he pushed the accelerator to the floor. The car scooted across the three lanes and lined up on the off-ramp the truck took only moments earlier. The exit led to a dark street and Vince continued to the right, past a Texaco station, which appeared to be the only open building on the street.

  “He’s getting nervous,” Alonzo said. “That was a big mistake. For all he knew, we lost him. Now, he’s highlighted himself again. He’s going right.”

  “Where’s he going?” Jason wiped the sweat from his brow. The sedan plunged down the off-ramp, leaving the solitude of the elevated interstate to race through the unsuspecting neighborhood.

  Alonzo looked around. “If he took a left when he got off the ramp, it would have taken him back to town.”

  “Where does the road lead to the right?”

  “The desert.”

  THE SEDAN TURNED ON TO THE STREET with a slight fishtail before it straightened out in pursuit. “Damn,” Vince said, “Jason Conrad, I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

  Old newspapers on the side of the road flew in its wake, as the truck zoomed through the dimly lit street. Vince searched desperately for a way out. Small houses and buildings peppered either side of the road, but no side streets.

  He cursed himself for being sloppy during this operation. There were too many factors which went wrong that shouldn’t have. Next time it would be different. Only there would be no next time. This was his opportunity, his sole purpose for existing for the last six years. He either went back a hero or got sent to the gulag.

  The buildings thinned out. The fuel gauge said a little more than a quarter of a tank. Something had to happen fast. The headlights were still present in his rearview mirror, a hundred yards or so behind him.

  He could try to shoot his way out, but he didn’t know what kind of weapons they had or how many of them chased him. No, a shootout would be a last resort. There had to be something.

  There . . . in the distance. A sign for a side road to the Desert Springs. Vince made the turn on to the dirt road, and quickly put the truck into four-wheel drive. The car followed him. Vince led them down the road for about two miles, then made a left turn on to the hard clay that surrounded the dirt road. Vince waited a few seconds and checked his mirror again. They still tailed him. He eased off the gas and put his lights on high beam as he led them deeper into the blackness of the desert night.

  JASON MANEUVERED THE SEDAN along the dirt road without much difficulty. When he left the asphalt, the car answered with a resounding thud.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Alonzo said. “He’s got us in his element.”

  The car pushed sluggishly through the rough terrain.

  “The ground seems okay for now. We’re not in any soft stuff.”

  Alonzo strained to see the two faint taillights in the distance through the dust-filled darkness. They bounced up and down and side to side. “The terrain is getting rougher,” he said.

  “How can you tell?” Jason shot back. He worked twice as hard to keep the car from running into the small rocks and trees that obstructed their path everywhere.

  “He’s bouncing around too much . . . too much dust to see,” Alonzo said, tightening his grip on the dashboard.

  “He doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s trying to—”

  BAM!

  The car came to a sudden stop and the two pursuers’ seatbelts dug into their waists and chests and held them in place. The airbags in front of them inflated and smashed them back in their seats. Jason gasped for air as the shock of the airbag knocked the wind out of him.

  The two sat motionless for a minute, still dazed from the impact. Alonzo spoke first, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Turn off the headlights. We don’t want him to know we’re stuck.”

  Alonzo pulled out his pocketknife and pierced the bag. The bag made a dull hiss as it deflated. He leaned over and punctured Jason’s bag as well.

  Jason reached around the deflated air bag and flipped the lights off. His eyes scanned outside the car, to search for Vince. It didn’t take long for him to spot the headlights about a mile away, heading toward the road. For the second time in a week, Vince Andrews left him stranded in th
e middle of nowhere. “Damn! He threw out the bait and reeled us in. I should have seen that coming,” Jason said.

  “I think you did. It was just a little too late.”

  The truck bobbed and weaved in the distance until it passed behind them, then they got out of the car. Jason pulled out the small Mini-Mag flashlight he uses as a key ring and shined it on the front of the vehicle.

  “It’s totaled,” Alonzo said, walking around the car. It was a mess. The front end sat in a two feet deep depression and had rammed into the rocks that were on the far side. It looked like the rim bent and blew the tire on the driver’s side. “Do you have a spare tire?”

  “Yeah, but not a real tire. It’s one of those tiny ones they use these days to get you to the nearest mechanic. It’ll never get us out of here. Even if we had a real one, I don’t think we can jack up the car. We’re gonna need a tow truck to pull the thing out of this hole.”

  “How far to the main road?”

  “I’m guessing . . . three to five miles.”

  “What do you say we start walking?”

  “Yeah,” Jason said. “Not like we have much of a choice.”

  IT HAD BEEN FIVE MINUTES since Vince last saw their headlights in the desert. He left the desert as the truck climbed on to the asphalt and headed back to San Antonio. There was no traffic for miles.

  The drive back to his hotel took longer than Vince expected. He had to move. Somehow, he had been compromised. He’d spoken to no one. How could he have been discovered? Conrad, the bastard. He’d been in the hotel room with the second agent. What was he told? How much did they know? They knew where he was staying—could there be more of them?

  Vince parked down the street from the Davy Crockett and entered the back door. He surveyed his surroundings, alert for any unusual signs that might indicate trouble. His silent footsteps fell one after the other and propelled him closer to the stairwell. He bounded up the stairs until he reached the fourth floor. No sound came from the other side of the door, and he peered into the hallway. Empty.