Surly Bonds

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Cautiously, he lifted his head, and surveyed the crowd. They scattered like ants to scurry away from the hotel. He stood, checked himself for wounds, and turned toward the burning car, his eyes wide. The spectators either ran like hell or moved around dazed and shell-shocked. A few helped the injured. Everyone seemed to react to the blast. Everyone but one. Perhaps it was the lack of movement that caught his attention. Jason focused on the familiar figure. Not fifty feet away, standing amid the chaos, a lone man facing the hotel entrance.

  Vince Andrews.

  “GET OUT OF THE WAY,” the Secret Service agent yelled as blood streamed from his forehead. He held the senator’s arm firmly with his left hand, his SIG Sauer P226 chambered in .357 magnum in his right. The agent caught a piece of the blast that grazed his forehead. Fortunately, the senator and the three other Secret Service agents with him were untouched.

  The small group hustled into the lobby of the hotel. One cleared a path, two held the senator on each side, and the fourth brought up the rear. The scenario these men rehearsed often, was now executed for the first time.

  It took them less than forty-five seconds from the initial gunshot to move the senator inside the hotel and across the lobby into a service stairwell. The group flew down a set of stairs, turned right, and hustled through a long hallway. The lone figure with a gun at the end of the hallway they recognized as one of their own. Had they not, the point man would have shot him immediately.

  The new figure slung open a door and the group ran through a small alley and into the next building. Racing down another flight of stairs and through another set of doors, all guarded by security team members, the group entered an underground parking garage. In a matter of seconds, they climbed into the waiting limousine.

  As soon as the last of the group hopped on board the limo and closed the door, the driver floored the accelerator and the limousine raced out of the garage and into the streets. The police escort blocked off this portion of the street and four motorcycle cops escorted the limo to the interstate as it headed for the airport.

  JASON LOOKED IN ALONZO AND KATHY’S direction, but they were nowhere to be seen in the ensuing madness around the burning limousine. He glanced back to where his father came out, but he and all the Secret Service agents were gone.

  “Andrews, I’ll kill you,” he said under his breath. He cut the distance between them in half, when Vince turned and saw him approach.

  Their eyes locked. Jason felt the hatred in Vince’s eyes. A violent swell built in Vince’s face, and his body tensed in anger. Almost as quickly as Vince’s anger developed, Jason could see reality set in. Vince Andrews turned and ran.

  Jason pushed through the crowd to keep Vince in sight. The chaos was maddening. People dispersed in all directions, the wail of the police car sirens augmented the screams. Smoke and the smell of burning gasoline filled the air. Jason jumped up periodically to keep Vince in sight. His quarry trudged toward the Riverwalk at the same pace as Jason; the thick crowd slowed them down.

  Jason needed to catch Vince before he made it to the Riverwalk. With the number of shops and restaurants there, it would be an impossible maze. He could lose Vince and never find him.

  “COMING THROUGH—MOVE, DAMN IT!” Vince shouted as he pushed and clawed his way through the mass of frantic people. This was a disaster of the worst kind. His operation crumbled from under him. He had no real backup plan because he operated alone. This was not supposed to happen. A myriad of different scenarios cycled through his mind as he forced his way to the Riverwalk. Why had he killed the two agents in Enid? Why didn’t he kill Conrad, as well? How had Conrad found him? How had Jason and Kathy both found their way here at this particular time?

  Vince knew his plan to return to Mother Russia as a hero, dwindled. If he survived, the second-guessing of all his actions would continue, while he rotted away in a gulag somewhere in Siberia. If he survived.

  The seriousness of his predicament overwhelmed him. He was an assassin in a foreign land. His role had been compromised and he was on the run. Soon, every law enforcement official within five hundred miles would descend upon San Antonio and the surrounding areas. Texans were too proud and noble to stand for a second political assassination in the Lone Star State.

  Escape, he realized, might be impossible. How foolish to take Nikolai at his word regarding the mission. It sounded so easy. Had Nikolai actually thought Vince could kill the senator, walk to a cab, and ride to the airport? Vince cursed himself for his carelessness.

  At the stairwell to the Riverwalk, Vince noticed the crowd dissipated. He checked over his shoulder to see if Conrad still followed him. No sign of him yet.

  “Buddy, go down the stairs or get out of the way!” Vince turned to see a man and his wife frantically try to run around him. He let them pass and scanned the crowd for a moment more.

  What was he doing? He should flee the scene. It won’t get any easier than it is right now. The longer he waited, the more security forces would arrive. And then it came to him . . .

  The little bastard Jason Conrad had been a thorn in his side for months in one way or another. Jason was close behind now, and Vince didn’t want to lose him. He wanted closure.

  Vince glanced down the staircase as two uniformed police officers ran up the stairs. He stepped back. As they passed, the second cop stopped and did a double-take at Vince. Then, he continued running toward the hotel and the destroyed limousine.

  That was more than enough for Vince. His closure would have to wait. Not having seen Conrad, he marched down the stairs, two at a time, toward the Riverwalk. The crowd thinned out, but those who remained were either still confused or busy assisting the wounded. Vince raced toward the cement footbridge that led to the other side of the river.

  When he reached the bridge, Vince slowed his pace and began to ascend the steps. He shoved his way past the man and his wife he passed earlier.

  “Hey, fella! Watch it!” the man exclaimed. He tried to calm his hysterical wife.

  “Out of the way, asshole,” Vince said. He pushed the two to the side, as the man focused behind him, his eyes wide with terror.

  Vince paused and glimpsed over his shoulder to see Jason Conrad not four feet away, running right at him.

  56

  September 14, 1995

  * * *

  ALONZO PICKED HIMSELF OFF THE GROUND shortly after the blast. The sound had been deafening and his ears rang. His body still hurt from the hike through the desert; now the explosion. He was getting too old for this shit.

  Two people were wedged between him and Kathy before the limousine exploded. When he finally looked toward the police barricade, Alonzo stood in horror.

  The entire rear section of the limousine had separated from the rest of the automobile. In fact, it was gone. Burning pieces of the vehicle spread over a hundred-foot radius. It looked as if the first two rows of people had been hurt by the blast. Unfortunately, that was where Kathy stood. The blast was directed up and to the left, toward the crowd away from the hotel. Wounded bystanders were sprawled on the sidewalk and screamed in agony. The total number of dead would not be determined for some time.

  It only took a moment for Alonzo to locate the large police officer Kathy talked to prior to the blast, the back of his body peppered with small fragments of metal. The cop had a huge gash at the base of his skull. Blood poured from the wound and pooled on the muddy ground. The body covered a small female.

  Alonzo detected no pulse from the cop. When he rolled him over, he saw the tattered young girl squished underneath. His hand placed gently on the side of her neck and felt a pulse. Alonzo checked her and found no major injuries—just a few cuts and bruises.

  Suddenly, the girl coughed violently as her body fought for oxygen. Kathy opened her eyes and tried to sit up.

  “Easy girl,” Alonzo said softly, “you’ve been hurt.”

  “Huh? What—?” she murmured and rubbed the back of her head.

  “There was an explosion. You
had the wind knocked out of you. How do you feel?”

  Kathy propped herself up on her elbows and took a deep breath. After a moment, she sat up and did a quick self-inspection of her limbs. “I seem to be okay,” she said. She glanced at the cop she argued with before the explosion. “I’m definitely doing better than him.”

  In the distance, the wail of sirens pierced the air, as emergency rescue personnel and more police officers arrived on the scene. One of the news camera teams positioned near the platform, rushed to film the destroyed vehicle. They were intent on giving the entire country a live broadcast of the latest tragedy in America. Another reporter closer to the blast, lay unconscious and bloody in the street.

  Alonzo helped her to her feet as people wandered back into the area to help the wounded. “My name is Alonzo Jacobs. I’m an agent with the Office of Special—”

  “Hey—aren’t you Jason’s friend? He told me about you.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Where is he?” she asked, more worried about Jason than her own wounds.

  “He’s gone after Vince Andrews.”

  “Vince? He’s still here?” Her face turned crimson and her mouth tightened. “Vince is behind all this you know.”

  “Yes,” Alonzo said. “Jason was right, I’m just sorry it took me so long to believe him.”

  “Where did they go? We’ve got to help him. Vince is dangerous.”

  “Jason was over there before the blast,” Alonzo said, gesturing toward the platform where they stood only moments before. The sky overhead turned a dark gray and the cool, moist wind whisked around them. The two contrasting figures made their way through the crowd. The initial shock of the explosion appeared to wear off. More law enforcement officials and rescue personnel arrived, and the shrill sirens filled the air as Kathy sat on a bench near a staircase that led to the Riverwalk.

  BAM!

  Both of their heads jerked toward the sound, toward the Riverwalk.

  “That was a gunshot,” Kathy said.

  “I think we’ve found them.”

  “Let’s go.” Kathy bolted off the bench and raced down the stairwell before Alonzo could say anything. All he could do was follow, as a light rain began to fall.

  JASON CHARGED, BUT VINCE had enough reaction time to pull out his pistol before he reached him. As Jason plowed into him, Vince fired a shot before the force slammed him into the rail; his ribs absorbed most of the impact. The shot went wide. Vince lost his grip on the pistol and dropped it into the dark river water.

  Jason grabbed the Russian bastard by the collar. He drew his fist to swing. Vince rolled his head to the right, just before Jason’s fist impacted, to ease the blow. Jason jerked him closer.

  “You son of a bitch! I know who you are!” he said. Vince went limp as he held on to him. “I trusted you, and you’re a damn spy. A killer!”

  Jason looked around for a police officer, but there were none in sight. A small group of people stood nearby watched the struggle, ignoring the steady rain.

  Jason, too late, realized that Vince tensed his muscles. It only took a second for Vince to shift his body.

  A quick step to his left, and Vince threw his right arm over Jason’s arms, which still had him in a tight grasp. He continued to move left, stabilize his footing, and brought Jason closer and off-balance.

  Jason had no time to react. “What—” was all that came out before Vince’s right elbow came back and smashed him in the forehead. The pain spread throughout his head like lightning, but he held on.

  Vince’s elbow recoiled for two more quick shots. Somewhere between the second and third hit, Jason loosened his grip. He fell to his knees, as the crowd roared their approval. In no time, Vince turned and ran down the stairs to the sidewalk that meandered along the river.

  His head throbbing with pain, Jason gripped the rail on the footbridge and pulled himself to his feet. Checking his forehead with the back of his hand, he saw no blood. Another two inches lower and the blows would have broken his nose. As he took a few deep breaths, Jason watched Vince jog down the sidewalk and disappear into the mass of people.

  VINCE RUBBED HIS JAW AS HE slowed to a walk. Even though he rolled with the punch, it was a solid shot. His ribs hurt from the impact into the bridge rail. Vince approached the T-intersection of the river and had no choice but to go to the right. The crowd grew thicker. It appeared most of the people were oblivious to the explosion as the rain began to fall.

  As soon as he reached the first restaurant, movement came to a virtual standstill. The masses funneled into the narrow sidewalk, umbrellas popped up everywhere. Between heavy breaths, Vince silently cursed himself for losing his gun. He couldn’t afford to be sloppy any more.

  Moving off the sidewalk toward the river, Vince circumvented the crowd. A hand grasped his shoulder. He turned right into Jason’s fist as it hit him squarely in the nose.

  “Not so fast, asshole,” Jason gasped.

  The force of the blow knocked Vince off-balance on the slippery rocks by the edge of the river. He teetered backward and grabbed Jason’s arm at the last second.

  Awkwardly, the two men fell sideways into the shallow river.

  The water was only three feet deep, but it was enough to cushion their fall. Wrestling under the shallow surface, Vince wrapped his arms around Jason from behind. Squeezing the young American’s chest, he used every ounce of strength to force the air out of Jason’s lungs.

  It was only a few seconds before Jason stopped struggling. Vince, also, was short of air. His hands around Jason’s neck, Vince attempted to stand.

  Vince thrust his head above the surface. His lungs burned as the cool oxygen filled the empty void in his chest. Vince shifted his stance and tried to keep Jason underwater. When he put his right foot down, it landed on a smooth surface covered with the gooey sludge that permeated the bottom of the river. As he put weight on his foot, it began to slide.

  Vince’s feet flew out from under him as he fell on his back into the water. The pressure gone, Jason pushed himself away and up to the surface. Vince kept his eyes on Jason, who wheeled around to face him. He was oblivious to the cheering crowd; hatred burned in his eyes. Vince staggered to his feet. The two men circled each other, anticipating the other’s next strike.

  “Give up, Conrad. You’re going to die.”

  Jason shook his head as he gasped for air. “No way, pal. You’re a long way from home, and your friends are running out fast.”

  “I promise you, if I die, I’m taking you with me.”

  “Not today,” Jason said as Vince lunged forward with a right cross. Jason threw up his left arm to deflect the blow and step inside to deliver two quick blows to Vince’s rib cage. Vince doubled over in pain, his side still sore from the collision on the bridge. Jason followed his jabs with an uppercut to Vince’s jaw. But Vince shifted to the side and blocked Jason’s blow. That move caused a loud cheer from the spectators under the shelters. They assumed they were observing a barroom brawl that found its way outside. No one knew the impact these two had on international relations and the future stability of the world.

  Wincing in pain, Jason struggled to escape Vince’s grip, but could not get free. Without warning, Vince delivered two quick karate chops to the base of Jason’s neck. Down he went.

  Vince headed for the cement river bank. It would only be a matter of time before the police showed up. He waded through the water toward the sidewalk, as people pointed, laughed, or shook their heads.

  The spectators were loud, and Vince didn’t hear Jason charge through the water behind him.

  Vince was in a chokehold, Jason’s right forearm tightly pressed against his neck. Once again, the two fell beneath the surface of the chilly water as the darkness and silence of the river enveloped them.

  57

  September 14, 1995

  * * *

  ALONZO AND KATHY MOVED STEADILY along the Riverwalk, ignoring the rain that pelted them. As the two approached the bridge, a mass of peop
le gathered by the river. They darted through the dwindling crowd on the sidewalk to reach the group. Their heads bobbed from side to side to avoid the open umbrellas.

  “What’s going on?” Alonzo said.

  “It’s got to be them.” Kathy pushed between two people. “The crowd is cheering something. Must be a fight.”

  “Let’s go.” Alonzo grabbed her arm above the elbow as they pushed their way through the crowd. Some people still ran from the chaos near the hotel while others seemed unaware of what had happened.

  Alonzo strained his neck to see over the crowd. “Can you see anything?”

  “No, but everyone’s looking toward the water.”

  JASON RELEASED HIS GRIP ON VINCE and launched himself from the bottom of the river. His lungs were on fire as he broke the surface. He couldn’t take in the fresh oxygen as fast as his lungs demanded it. Standing tall, he held his hands behind his head.

  Two seconds later, Vince shot above the surface in front of Jason. He drew his fist back and delivered a fierce blow to Jason’s stomach.

  Jason doubled over, his hands clutched his midsection.

  Vince brought his fist up in an uppercut that landed squarely on Jason’s exposed jaw.

  SMACK!

  Jason’s head flew back as he fell back into the river on his butt. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

  Vince stood and glared at him for a moment, while he caught his breath. He turned and waded to the side. Slowly, he crawled out of the river and on to the sidewalk.

  As Jason sat motionless in the river, Vince, his face a bloody mess, disappeared into the crowd.

  “DAMN, IT’S HIM,” ALONZO exclaimed. “Keep an eye on Vince.” Alonzo hopped off the ledge and waded toward Jason, who sat twenty yards away.