The Right to Know

by Michael Byars Lewis

  “So, why the pressure on the kid?”

  “It’s simple, my dear. The gradual increase in scandals will result in one thing: Jonathan Bowman will be finished in politics.”

  10

  April 26, 1996

  MAXIM CRAWLED UNDER THE TABLE, his knees supporting his full body weight on the linoleum floor. Had he been any taller than five-foot-eight, he might not have fit under the table. Not long after connecting the wires to the master junction box, the loud klaxon went off. The noise startled him, and he hit his head on the bottom of the table when the panel’s red buzzer sounded. Galina raced into the room from the bedroom. She reached the console around the same time Maxim reached his seat.

  Their set-up was crude by professional standards—made with off-the-shelf items from the U.S., but it worked well enough. The two Russian agents had been in Enid, Oklahoma, for five years, the first four-and-a-half years as Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They conducted their safe-house operation north of town from their small ranch. They had a few horses there to help with the illusion. The barn functioned as it should, and a local vet came several times a year to treat the horses. They had quite a professional operation. Their barn hid the most sophisticated comm station possible, capable of sending encrypted messages back and forth to Moscow. Typically, they sent messages to another safe-house in Virginia, where they were hand-carried to the consulate in Washington, D.C., but today, he just finished installing the encryption system in their new home in south Enid.

  “Do you have it working yet?” Galina said, referring to the camera system at the ranch house.

  “Yes. It’s been working since last month.” “What caused the alarm?”

  “They rang the doorbell.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Give me a minute.” Maxim turned on the television monitors at the desk. Their console was a series of nine small black and white TV’s, stacked three high, each screen tied to a specific camera on the ranch property. It was a crude system designed to keep an eye on the property. They had critical equipment there and needed to keep an eye on it until they could move back in under another name.

  The television monitors were older, so they took a few seconds to warm up. The first seven showed nothing. The eighth was the front porch, where they could make out two figures, one of whom was a police officer. The monitor’s resolution stabilized in seconds.

  Her eyes grew wide as a smile emerged on her face. “Can it be?” she said.

  “I’m not sure. He needs to get closer to the camera.”

  They watched in silence. The two men stood on the front porch, the cop peering through the front windows.

  “Perhaps he is just—”

  Maxim cut her off as the second man moved in range, his face clearly onscreen. “It’s him, see? He’s wearing a flight suit. That is Jason Conrad.”

  JASON LEFT the front door and walked down the steps to the side of the house. Inhaling deeply, he embraced the fresh air without the stench of JP-8 searing his nose. It surprised him how much he liked the silence. He really did need to get off that base. The timing must have been perfect. Another week or two and he might have cracked.

  His heart pounded as he rounded the corner of the house. He was desperate. No, not desperate—eager. Eager to find out what happened to the woman he longed for. He didn’t have much time. Rusty would insist they leave soon.

  As he shuffled out to the barn, it occurred to him how much life the horses gave the place. It was kind of eerie and lonely without them. The grass needed to be cut, standing past his ankles. By mid-summer, it would be to his knees.

  Halfway to the barn, a sound rippled across the grass, breaking his concentration. Jason stopped in the empty field. The sound was distinct. One he’d heard on TV a thousand times, but never in real life. The rattle was subtle but well-defined.

  A rattlesnake. But where?

  Jason didn’t move. He listened carefully as his eyes scanned the ground. The overgrown field made finding the snake damn hard. Another unintended consequence of being cooped up on the base— he didn’t consider the fact that winter was over, and rattlesnakes slithered around out here.

  He searched his immediate vicinity, then further out. In seconds, he found the snake. Coiled and ready to strike, the rattler, which he guessed to be around six feet long, lay curled about four feet ahead of him to the right. Jason, aware that any sudden movement could cause the snake to strike, stood still. The snake’s eyes bore holes through him; the forked tongue zipping in and out of its mouth; the tail shaking the rattle faster and faster.

  MAXIM SCRAMBLED the radio after a quick contact with Moscow over the encrypted frequency. The new system functioned perfectly. They found out two days ago that Jason Conrad would be released from his restriction to base, but they didn’t know when. One of the Democrat staffers on Capitol Hill had given a copy of the White House Correspondents’ Dinner guest list to an employee in the Russian embassy. They were intrigued to find Jason Conrad’s name on the list. They suspected the restriction would be lifted next week so he could leave for the dinner. To their surprise, he was out today.

  They were even more stunned when Nikolai said, “Kill Jason Conrad if you have the chance.” The security in Washington was much more stringent, making it easier to kill him in Enid. Maxim pushed back on Nikolai’s directive just to confirm what he heard. Neither he nor Galina was trained assassins. They were handlers.

  Nikolai reaffirmed his orders in no uncertain terms. “Kill Jason Conrad.”

  Maxim knelt to remove a metal box tucked under his new desk. He scrolled the combination into the cheap lock and slid the clasp to the side. Inside, he found a remote detonator, set it on the desk, and stuck the box back underneath the table.

  Focusing on the screens, the cop stood alone at the front door. Conrad was gone.

  “Where is he?” Galina asked.

  “I think he has gone to the barn.”

  A smile formed on Galina’s face as she looked at the detonator.

  “That would make everything much easier,” she said.

  “Yes. Yes, it would.” Maxim continued to scan the screens. On the top right, he thought he saw Conrad in the background.

  “Here,” he said, pointing at the scene. “That looks like him.”

  “We still have the bomb rigged to the safe-room, yes?”

  “Yes. On the propane tank.” The safe room in the barn contained their primary communication equipment. The custom built walk-in safe had six inches of steel protecting the room’s sides, top, and bottom. The safe was built with thermite-filled tunnels, designed to destroy all the comm links, antennas, and panels in the event they needed to make a quick getaway. The 500-gallon propane tank was placed next to the safe to explain how an “accidental” explosion took place. The propane tank was explained away as servicing a heater in the barn, keeping their horses warm during those frosty Oklahoma winters.

  Maxim studied the screens. Conrad had yet to come into view of the barn’s camera. He needed the American to get in that barn. The explosives attached to the propane tank would take care of the rest.

  THE SNAKE CONTINUED to hiss and rattle, aware of the nearby threat. Jason was nervous, his heart pounded in his chest. He’d slain many a water moccasin in the bayous of Louisiana while crawfishing, but the sound of the rattler was intimidating, particularly since he had nothing to kill it with. Perhaps he could find a shovel in the barn —if he could make it there.

  He looked behind him, keeping the snake in his cross-check. Once he determined a clear path, he slowly edged in that direction, his movements slow and deliberate.

  Jason kept his cautious pace until about twenty feet away from the snake. Then he hurried toward the barn, still fifty yards away. He moved with caution as quickly as he could, aware the rattlers blended in with the grass. When he reached the front of the barn, his heart rate slowed, but his frustration continued. The barn doors were padlocked.

  “HE’S GOING TO LEAVE,” Galina said, the glow
of black and white monitors painting a bluish hue on her face in the dark room.

  “No, he’s looking for signs of Irena. He thinks the locks prove something is in there.”

  “Maybe. I say we detonate it now in case he attempts to leave.”

  Maxim picked up the detonator, and caressing the sides of the device, he extended the antenna. True, Conrad might leave, but he was sure the young pilot would try to break inside. Maxim pushed the button on top of the detonator that armed the bomb. All he had to do now was flip the switch.

  He just wanted to wait a little longer to see if Conrad found a way inside. If he did, his job would be much easier. Should Conrad take even one step away, he would do it.

  “Maxim, now! He’s going to leave.”

  “No! Wait . . .” His eyes narrowed as if his increased focus would will Jason to go inside.

  Suddenly, Jason jerked his shoulders to the left. Maxim recognized this as a move to leave and in a split second, he flipped open the cover guard and threw the switch. Galina gasped at the quick movement, then blinked.

  “What happened?” she said. “Where’s the explosion?”

  “Damn,” Maxim said. “We forgot the antenna has a range of about a mile. We’re too far away.”

  Galina looked back at the screen. Jason had turned to pick up a cinder block, knocking the entire locking mechanism off its hinges. He tossed the cinder block to the side and opened the door.

  “Maxim, take the car and head that way. We are six miles away. I’ll keep you updated over the phone. Go! Now!”

  He smiled. His partner was smart; she thought quick on her feet. Maxim grabbed the detonator and dashed out to the car. In seconds, he headed north toward their old house.

  11

  April 26, 1996

  JASON TOSSED the cinder block to the side. He had struggled with his decision. This is someone’s property; someone who recently bought the house, land, and the barn. The barn where he just destroyed the locking mechanism. Knocking it out of the soft wood wasn’t hard; making the decision to knock it out wasn’t hard. What was hard was the fact an officer in the United States Air Force damaged someone’s private property without so much as a thought. But searching for Kathy was worth the risk. Jason would sort out whether he would fess up to breaking the lock later. If he found out something about Kathy, all that would be irrelevant.

  Jason grabbed the rotting wooden door and pushed it open. The door slid to the side, and the bright sunlight illuminated a portion of the barn’s interior. Inside, he flipped the light switch. The inside lit up exceptionally well. He had been in a few barns in his lifetime, and he never recalled one being this well-lit. Perhaps it was because this one also served as a stable for horses. He couldn’t remember how many horses they had—maybe three or four? It didn’t matter now. Like Kathy, they were gone.

  He scanned the interior of the barn. He needed a shovel to fend off the snakes when he headed back. Surprisingly, there were a lot of tools left in the barn: several rakes, hoes, and shovels of various types and styles. He was happy when he stumbled upon a long-handled flat-faced shovel.

  He walked through the barn. On one side, stacks of hay stood six rows deep and five rows high. That’s a lot of hay to leave here. Why didn’t they send it with the horses? Around the corner of the hay bales, he found something more puzzling. A small room, hidden in the barn.

  GALINA MONITORED THE SCREENS. She lost sight of Conrad after he walked into the barn. She cursed herself for not installing a camera inside the barn, but it was more important that she saw him go in and out than what he did inside. If he left, Maxim wouldn’t have to destroy the barn and blow their cover.

  She worried when Nikolai gave them the order to kill Conrad. He was willing to burn two handlers to take out this American. In her mind, it was foolish. They weren’t operators. Yes, they had some basic training, but their role was to support the moles. What is it about this character that caused Nikolai to deviate from standard protocol? Was it possible he knew Irena’s identity? Could they be exposed, as well?

  Across the room, her cell phone beeped. She left the screens and retrieved it. It was Maxim.

  “Hello.”

  “Where is he?” Maxim said.

  “He just walked inside the barn.”

  “Okay, I should be in range in five minutes.”

  “What’s taking so long?”

  “Traffic. Everyone is getting off work. It’s Friday afternoon. Police are everywhere.”

  “Where are you now?”

  He paused on the other end. “I just crossed Owen K. Garriott.” “Well, hurry, before he leaves.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can, Galina.”

  “Go faster,” she said in a teasing manner, but she also meant it. If Nikolai wanted this guy dead, she didn’t want to screw up. She wanted him killed as quickly as possible. She’d heard the stories about those who disappointed Nikolai. A Siberian gulag didn’t seem like an unlikely option.

  JASON WALKED around the small room. It had wood paneling on all sides, but the door was solid steel with a combination lock. He beat on the sides of the room. Solid, like he thought. The walls were also steel, the paneling merely a cover. The room appeared to be a giant safe. A six-inch PVC pipe ran from the top of the room to the roof of the barn.

  What in the hell is this thing? A bomb shelter? A tornado safe room?

  He walked around the exterior of the room and saw a large propane tank behind it. That made sense. He remembered Kathy talking about the propane heaters in the barn for the horses. But the wires running from the propane tank into the back of the room didn’t make sense. Jason stepped closer to examine what he’d found. If they were porting propane into the room, they’d need pipes for that.

  When he moved to the other side of the tank, he froze. The wires were attached to a device secured to the outside of the propane tank. It resembled a bomb. A professional, powerful bomb. Edging closer, he scanned the set-up as best he could. There was no way he would touch the thing, but he studied the rectangle-shaped object up close. He assumed C-4 or some type of plastic explosive. On top, a mechanical device with an antenna extended about three inches. His eyes followed the wiring from the device to the back of the steel room.

  What in the hell is this for?

  The wires were embedded into four slots in the back wall of the steel room. He started to reach his hand up when a pale red glow reflecting on the wall got his attention. His head jerked to the left, and he saw the source.

  A blinking red light next to the antenna on top of the bomb.

  MAXIM ACCELERATED AS he reached the outskirts of town. Most of the land in northwest Oklahoma was divided into one-mile grids. Enid was no different. He was close. Mentally reviewing the procedures, he zipped through traffic as quickly as possible without attracting attention. They hadn’t used such a device in years but thinking it through would have saved some aggravation and embarrassment. The detonator was armed—the little blinking light on top told him so. When the two devices talked to each other, and the bomb was ready, the light would turn solid. Then he would raise the guard and flip the toggle switch and BOOM!

  His heart raced faster than his car. The adrenaline rush was something he wasn’t used to. As a handler, his job was less than exciting, although interacting with Agent Irena Vodianova last year had been quite interesting. Galina had been jealous of the beautiful agent and was more amorous when she was around. And Irena’s intervention in the botched assassination plot moved all of them up the ladder in the new hierarchy back in Moscow. He wondered if their success with this would lead to a career change. He hoped so. The thrill he had in the last few minutes was something new. And he liked it.

  JASON’S HEAD tilted to the side. Did he hit something? Pass through some sort of IR beam to activate it? There was no telling, but he backpedaled quickly, his eyes locked on the blinking light. The light pulsated, hypnotic in its rhythm. He bumped into the edge of the hay bale and maneuvered around it, returning
his focus to the blinking light.

  Until it stopped blinking.

  The light turned solid. He didn’t know why, but that mere act scared the hell out of him.

  Jason turned and ran.

  MAXIM RACED NORTHBOUND, his car now zipping at ninety miles per hour. The red light on the top of his detonator turned solid, the connection complete. Taking the detonator in his right hand, his thumb hovered over the guard protecting the switch, his thoughts clouded with the implications of his next move. His life would change forever. Their lives would change forever.

  The car raced through the empty intersection a mile from the ranch house.

  Maxim jostled the detonator in his hand, steadying his grip. He slowed the car, took a deep breath, then thumbed the guard open, and flipped the toggle switch.

  Initially, he saw nothing. Perhaps he was still too far away, or the system malfunctioned. He wanted—no, he needed—immediate confirmation that everything operated like it was supposed to. Within two seconds, he had his answer.

  On the horizon, the orange-red fireball intertwined with streaks of black billowed upward. The smoke gradually dissipated as the Oklahoma winds blew across the plains.

  Maxim eased off the accelerator, bringing the car within the speed limit. He continued northbound until the one-story ranch house was in sight. Jason Conrad’s Jeep and the police car sat in the driveway, but the police officer was running across the field toward the barn. Maxim stopped on the street and pulled out his cell phone.

  “Did he leave the barn?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “He may have been at the door when the bomb exploded, but the video feed cut out at that instant. I would say he was still inside.”