Surly Bonds

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Vince crept to his room, unlocked the door, and ducked inside. In less than a minute, he zipped up his suitcase and retrieved his plane tickets from the safe. He slipped back down the hallway to the stairs. There was no reason to check out. In twenty hours, he would be on his way to South America.

  53

  September 14, 1995

  * * *

  JASON AND ALONZO STUMBLED along the deserted road for hours. The sun beat down on them; the blistering temperature increased by the minute. The two shuffled along the road, Jason’s tongue felt like sandpaper.

  We must have taken a wrong turn in the middle of the night, Jason thought. He couldn’t speak. Dehydrated, his mouth no longer could function. The two found the paved road just prior to sunrise and after a brief discussion, decided to follow it north. That was almost three hours ago. Their communication was non-verbal ever since.

  Jason was about ten steps ahead of Alonzo. He was younger, in better shape, and was better dressed for the environment. Alonzo still wore yesterday’s suit and his shoes tore up his feet. Jason glanced back periodically, and Alonzo appeared to fall behind more and more each time he checked.

  After twenty minutes, Jason noticed movement on the horizon. Cars. As they moved closer, he saw the cars drive in and out of a gas station.

  Water.

  Finally.

  He stopped until Alonzo caught up, his chest heaving. Jason pointed in the distance. Alonzo raised his head and a smile crept across his face.

  “Can you make it?” His cracked lips ached when he spoke, and the dryness strangled his throat.

  Alonzo nodded.

  The two continued their slow march to the service station. Thirty minutes later, they walked through the door and headed straight for the drinks. Both grabbed a bottle of water and sipped slowly. He knew the danger of drinking too much too fast. Jason pulled out a second and pressed it against his neck to cool his body temperature.

  Five minutes later, the cashier approached them.

  “Hey. Are you two okay?” the cashier said.

  Jason gave him a thumbs up.

  Alonzo showed his badge to the cashier. “Our car broke down in the desert last night. We were chasing a suspect.”

  The cashier nodded. “You want me to call the police?”

  “I’ll call in a minute,” Alonzo said. “Can you get a cab out here?”

  The cashier nodded again and left to call a cab. Alonzo pulled out his mobile phone and cursed.

  “Problem?” Jason said.

  “We need to warn the police. I need to call my office, but my battery is still dead.”

  Alonzo shuffled to the counter. “You don’t happen to sell a charger for a mobile phone, do you?”

  “A what for a what?”

  “Never mind.” Alonzo walked back to the drink section. Jason handed him a Gatorade and Alonzo began to work on that. After a couple of minutes, they gathered their empty bottles, picked up several fresh ones, a few bags of peanuts, and meandered to the counter. Jason focused on today’s newspaper. His father’s picture was plastered in the center above the fold. Alonzo paid for everything, then used the cashier’s phone. He spoke for several minutes.

  “I called the office,” Alonzo said when he returned. “I told them what I know, but there is no way to get them a picture of Vince Andrews. The place is already packed with protestors and supporters. The cops have their hands full just keeping those two groups separated. The senator has several death threats made against him. They adjusted his schedule last night and cancelled his speech after the NAFTA conference.”

  Jason nodded, and wondered how in the hell they would find Vince in the sea of people downtown. The two stared out the glass doors, while they waited for the cab. When it arrived five minutes later, they crawled inside.

  Jason told the driver to take them to the Marriot in downtown San Antonio. Alonzo fell asleep right away. Jason checked his watch. 9:45a.m. He leaned his head back and dozed off.

  THE CONSTANT BRAKE APPLICATIONS woke Jason from his sleep. The Tower of the America’s, the 750-foot tall tourist attraction that highlighted the San Antonio cityscape stood off to the left. The dark rain clouds approached from the west and would be upon them within the hour. The cab was in bumper to bumper traffic. He glanced at Alonzo, who was also awake.

  “How much longer?” Jason said.

  “We’re almost to the hotel,” Alonzo replied, his voice still scratchy from dehydration. “Here’s the exit now.” The cab steered off the exit ramp, drove straight for several hundred yards, and came to a stop. He stared at the line of cars in front of him. Traffic was at a complete standstill. “Oh, crap.”

  “What are we going to do?” Jason said.

  “Not a whole lot we can do.”

  “How much farther?”

  Alonzo pointed through the windshield to the towering building a half mile away. “There it is.”

  “What the hell are we waiting for?” Jason said as he jumped out of the vehicle. “Let’s get moving.”

  “But kid—”

  Jason ignored him. His legs almost buckled from the stiffness of the cab ride and he glimpsed back at his partner in the cab. Alonzo threw some money in the front seat and in moments, followed him toward the mass of people outside the hotel.

  By the time they reached the edge of the crowd, it was almost five ‘til eleven. They franticly pushed through the crowd and fought for each step.

  “Jason,” Alonzo said over the noise. “What are we looking for?”

  “I don’t know. Vince, I guess.” Jason paused and turned to Alonzo. “He could be anywhere. How can we find him?”

  Alonzo’s eyes searched the area. “There,” he said, and pointed to the side. “Head to that platform in front of the news camera. We should be able to see the whole crowd. You keep moving, I’ll follow the best I can.”

  The two men edged closer to the platform, as time ticked away.

  54

  September 14, 1995

  * * *

  VINCE SAT ON THE OUTSKIRTS, a mere two hundred feet from the limousine. He calculated the distance to not suffer any effects from the explosion, though still close enough to ensure the signal would be undisturbed. Of the thousands of people who lined the streets of downtown San Antonio, the crowd at the entrance to the Marriott was the most enthusiastic. The mass of people before him ebbed and swayed like a great ocean. He glanced at his watch—10:58. Bowman would leave the building any minute now. His schedule was tight, and the senator was always on time.

  Vince pulled out the mobile phone. He caressed it, fully aware of its power to change history. He slipped the phone back into his pocket as his squinty eyes surveyed the crowd again. Secret Service agents stood behind the wooden barriers that separated the public from the hotel driveway. No doubt there were several undercover police officers that mingled amongst the crowd. He’d keep an eye out for them.

  Meticulously, he mentally retraced his escape route after the explosion. When the senator got in the car and rolled a few feet, he would detonate the bomb. In the ensuing confusion, Vince would slip into the lobby of the hotel, down to the Riverwalk, follow it to the Alamo exit, and pick up a cab to the airport. That would be far enough away from the hotel to avoid any roadblocks nearby. The flight to Miami left in two hours. It should be no problem to make his flight and fly to South America. Next week, he would arrive in Mother Russia, a hero of the Republic, the catalyst for a new Russia.

  Vince wondered what it would be like to live in his homeland after so many years in the United States. He admitted to himself that he had become spoiled since he moved here—the women, the money, the television, the food, and the cars. The move back to Russia would be difficult, but to return a hero would ease the pain.

  The roar of the crowd brought him back to reality. Vince looked toward the entrance to see one of the hotel employees at the front door. People in the crowd laughed at themselves for mistaking the bellman for the senator. One by one, they called out
the senator’s name, until the multiple calls evolved into a unified chant of, “We want Bowman! We want Bowman!”

  The time was close now, and Vince reached into his pocket and retrieved his mobile phone again. With a flip of his wrist, he opened the phone, and he extended the antenna. His fingers gently ran over the keypad as he stared at this deliverer of destruction. He punched the seven-digit number into the phone and lifted it to his ear.

  There were four rings, followed by four clicks; the bomb was armed. The receiver next to the fuel tank would have a small red light—matching the one on his phone— to confirm it was armed. All he needed to do was press the redial. Vince lowered the antenna on the phone. It operated as a safety switch. At this range, it prevented him from inadvertently setting off the bomb. But when the senator climbed into the limo, Vince would raise the antenna, press redial, and make history.

  KATHY PUSHED HER WAY TO THE FRONT. Her heart raced as she stared at the limousine. The noise swelled when an employee walked out the front door. The crowd surged, and the volume of cheers increased. The deafening noise subsided when the crowd realized this was a false alarm. In less than a minute, they were chanting again, “We want Bowman! We want Bowman!”

  She was on a mission; she must stop the assassination. Jason had told her everything he knew—which was a lot. Kathy scratched her head and analyzed her options, as she searched. Protestors were cordoned off across the street; police formed a fragile barrier between the two groups. She was here, Vince was here somewhere, and the senator would be here soon.

  A mere twenty feet to her left, a police officer stood behind the barrier. She yelled at him, but he couldn’t hear her over the chanting crowd. Frustrated, Kathy clawed her way toward the cop.

  She squeezed between two overweight men and reappeared at the front of the crowd again. Kathy stood against the barrier in front of the police officer a mere ten feet away. He was tall, around six-three, and close to two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. The cop stared at the crowd from behind his reflective sunglasses.

  She tried to get his attention. It took at least twenty seconds before he noticed her. He glared at her for a moment, smiled, and waved back, then continued to scan the crowd. Kathy shook her head. I can’t believe this asshole . . . what an ego.

  Kathy jumped up and down and waved her arms. “Hey, you! Cop! Hello, come over here!” It was only a matter of seconds before she got his attention again as she frantically waved him over to her. He stood there, his hands on his hips, and stared at her from behind the mirrored glasses. Finally, he started toward her.

  “What’s the problem, miss?”

  “The senator can’t leave,” she said. She placed her fingers over her mouth. That was a dumb thing to say.

  “Well, I’m afraid he has to, sweetheart,” the cop said as he turned to walk away.

  Kathy yelled at him. “Hey, asshole, I’m not through talking to you yet.” That got his attention as he stopped, turned, and looked right at her.

  He walked back to her. “Miss, are you going to be trouble this morning? Because if you are, I can put you in jail. That would make my day much easier.”

  “You don’t understand,” she screamed, waving her arms as she did so. “The senator is in danger.”

  JASON AND ALONZO STOOD on the platform with three other people, all protesters to this display of support for Senator Bowman. Each held up a sign calling Jonathan Bowman a pig, a crook, and a puppet of the New World Order. The fact that they insulted the crowd didn’t help matters. The protesters got pelted with things. Jason and Alonzo did their best to avoid becoming targets and kept one eye on the crowd and one eye out for Vince.

  “Do you see anything?” Alonzo said.

  “Not yet. I’m not even sure what we’re looking for.”

  “It’s getting close. I’m going to grab one of those Secret Service guys and tell them to hold up the senator. We know something is going down—we just don’t know how.” Alonzo scanned the buildings as he spoke, noting the various sharpshooters and policemen surrounding the area.

  “Good idea,” Jason said. “I’ll look for Vince from here.” He searched the crowd, until he found a large police officer across the plaza, talking to a woman desperately waving her arms. “Kathy?”

  He spotted his partner. “Alonzo . . . Alonzzooo,” he yelled. The OSI man stopped and looked in Jason’s direction. Jason waved him back as Alonzo pushed his way past a few spectators to reach him.

  “What’s up?”

  “That’s Kathy. She’s over there by the limousine, talking to the big cop,” Jason said over the noise of the crowd. What is she doing here?

  “The one with short, dark hair in the black T-shirt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, stay here. I’ll go get her and warn the cop. You keep looking for Vince.”

  Jason nodded. “Gotcha.” He scampered back on to the platform and resumed his search as Alonzo snaked through the crowd toward the limousine.

  ALONZO FORCED HIS WAY through the mass of people. His back and legs ached, and his feet hurt like hell, as he maneuvered within six feet of Kathy. He could see both of their faces and hear everything they said, despite the noisy crowd. He tried to yell, but his throat was still too raw.

  “What do you mean the senator is in danger?” The police officer loomed over Kathy’s petite frame.

  “Someone is trying to kill him,” she shouted over the chanting.

  Now the officer started to pay attention to what she said. The cop leaned closer to her. “What did you say?”

  “Someone is trying to kill the senator.”

  “Who is? How? Where did you come across this information?”

  “His name is Vince Andrews, but that’s not his real name. He’s a Russian spy.”

  “A Russian spy? So, the Russians are going to kill Senator Bowman?” he replied. “And just who else is in on it? Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa?”

  He must think she was another crackpot, and that aggravated Kathy. The frustration on her face evident. The cop shook his head as he started to walk away from Kathy.

  “Hey, asshole! Are you going to listen to me or not? Call somebody on your damn radio and stop him!”

  The cop stopped and glared back at her.

  By this time, the people around Kathy diverted their attention from the hotel entrance, to her and the cop. The cop returned to Kathy. “Miss, you need to settle down, or you’ll be escorted from the area.”

  Alonzo struggled to get closer, but the people around him wouldn’t budge. The excited crowd grew louder in an instant. Kathy glanced toward the hotel. The senator and his entourage stood just inside the entrance.

  “Look, asshole! If the senator comes out here, he’s dead.”

  Teeth clenched, and jaw tightened, the cop grabbed her arm. “All right, that’s enough. You’re going in.” He pulled out his radio.

  Spectators cheered louder as Senator Bowman exited the hotel and walked toward the limousine. The senator waved to the crowd and shook hands along the way.

  The crowd went wild as the cop turned his head toward the entrance.

  Kathy reached for the cop’s pistol and ripped it from his holster. Alonzo’s eyes widened as he watched, unsure of what she planned to do. She released the safety on the weapon and pointed it toward the long black limo less than thirty feet away.

  “Gun! Gun!” someone in the crowd shouted as Kathy squeezed off three rounds at the limousine.

  55

  September 14, 1995

  * * *

  ALONZO STRUGGLED AGAINST the crowd. Just a little further. His head was down when the shots were fired. His eyes locked on Kathy. The three shots brought a momentary silence; the rounds impacted the side of the limousine.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Cheers turned to screams as everyone scurried away from the front of the hotel. The senator’s handlers took him to the ground and searched for the shooter.

  The large cop wheeled around and pulled the pistol out of Kat
hy’s hands. He backhanded her across the cheek with the hand that held the pistol. The impact caused her to collapse. The cop grabbed her and held her against his chest, so she couldn’t move.

  Alonzo fought the crowd to reach Kathy, but it was like swimming upstream in a raging river. “No!” he shrieked as the cop reared back and struck Kathy again.

  VINCE HEARD THE SHOTS AND LOOKED first toward the disturbance, then at the senator, on the ground thirty feet from the limousine. Kathy? What the hell is she doing here? Damn! What the hell is going on? He only had one option. He slipped the mobile phone from his pocket and raised the antenna, as the senator’s handlers lifted him up and turned to take him back inside. In a split second, Vince decided that he should attempt it. They were still close enough that the bomb blast might kill him.

  His thumb slid down the keys and pressed the re-dial button. There was a slight delay, then . . .

  KA-BOOM!

  The once shiny black limousine erupted in a volcano of fire and steel and lifted off the ground before bouncing back to the pavement, the entire back end missing. The fireball rolled upward and out toward the crowd. The force of the blast knocked those closest, to the ground. Shards of fiery shrapnel and glass flew in all directions, striking many of the spectators.

  Vince stared with anticipation as the senator and his small group all collapsed.

  JASON FELL TO THE GROUND as the explosion ripped through the chaos. He was nearly a hundred feet away and could hear pieces of the automobile landing around him.