The Right to Know

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Yep. She knew what he wanted. His hands reached to her slacks and unbuttoned them, sliding down the zipper. His hands moved up and undid the buttons on her blouse while continuing to kiss her neck and ear. She checked her watch. 4:02 a.m. She had time. Maxim would have to wait.

  IT HAD BEEN a long and grueling night, and Maxim was exhausted. He had waited outside Chicaros last night while Galina flirted with her mark, then followed them to the base. He should have gone home, but he couldn’t. The jealousy ripped at his heart. He wondered if Galina had felt like this when Irena lived with them. If so, she never let on. Maxim couldn’t deny his feelings, however. He wanted her, and it was beyond physical attraction. He sat in the car outside the base all night, the thoughts of what she was doing ripping out his soul.

  When she left the base at 4:30 in the morning, he followed her home. He tried to start an argument there, but she kept them focused on the mission. As they drove to the lake, Maxim struggled to keep the thoughts of what the blonde American did to her throughout the night. He focused on the idea that after they killed Jason Conrad, his friend Pete Peterson would be next.

  They arrived just before sunrise to scout out the lake. It was beautiful, Maxim thought, to observe the sunrise and experience the kaleidoscope of colors dancing across the water as night turned into day, despite the cool temperature. He stared at Galina as she sauntered along the water’s edge. She wore a one-piece underneath her blue-jeans and hoodie, with matching sneakers and ribbons in her hair. How American.

  The two of them had been here for fifteen minutes. They had discussed their options as they drove from Enid to the lake and had come to one conclusion. They had no plan.

  When she hopped back into the truck, she scooted closer to him, attempting to warm herself. She slid toward him, her elbow on the console, the side of her head propped up with her hand. Maxim smiled and leaned into her until their heads touched. They both gazed outside at the rising sun painting its mosaic across the lake.

  “We need a boat,” she said.

  “I’d like one, too.”

  “No, I mean, we need a boat to kill him.”

  Maxim sat up and turned to her.

  “A boat?”

  “Well, we can’t use the rifle. We would never be able to fire a shot without everyone around the lake identifying us.”

  He was aware of that. “What will the boat do for us?”

  “We suspect he’ll be engaging in some form of water sports, yes?”

  “Seems natural.”

  “We wait for him to get in the water and do what he does.”

  Maxim grimaced. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means . . . If he gets on the water to ski, or drives the boa, or Jet-Ski—we have an accident. It would be much easier to explain the accident than to evade detection shooting the rifle.”

  Maxim gave a subtle nod as he contemplated her words. They didn’t know what they were doing. Were they exceeding the boundaries that decades of covert operations had established? Yes. But they were under orders to do everything possible to kill Jason Conrad.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? You mean, you agree?” Her eyebrows raised.

  “It’s not the most efficient plan, but it will do.”

  Ten minutes later, a young couple pulled their boat to the boat ramp to ease it into the water. Maxim and Galina hurried in their direction. The couple was the first to arrive at the lake, and they needed to get this done before more people showed up.

  Maxim struck up a conversation with them as they prepared the trailer to slip the boat into the lake. Said he needed a jump. The truck’s battery had died, and they had been here half the night. The young man was friendly enough and said he would jump them off after they loaded the boat into the water. They were fortunate the couple was not expecting anyone else to join them today. The man was teaching his girlfriend to ski, and they didn’t want their friends to witness her embarrassment. Galina asked if she could ride in the boat as they set in the water. They would be buying a similar one soon, she said, and she wanted to be an expert in loading and unloading the boat.

  The young man backed the boat into the water, then hopped out of the truck to loosen the crank and let the boat ease in. His girlfriend started the motor and idled the craft away from the trailer. The young man climbed back in the driver’s seat and pulled away to park the truck and trailer.

  Maxim approached him as he put the truck in park, removed his Smith & Wesson 9mm from his back waistband, casually screwed in the suppressor, and pointed it at the man’s head.

  “Whoa, dude! What the hell!” the young man said.

  Maxim squeezed the trigger, and the bullet entered his left eye socket and exited near his ear. The round took a downward trajectory and impacted the passenger’s seat. Maxim looked toward the water in time to see Galina shoot the girl on the boat with her Ruger .380. The report echoed across the water, and Maxim scanned the area for other people. He saw no one. They got lucky this time; they wouldn’t use that noisemaker again.

  He opened the door and shoved the body on to the floorboard of the truck, covering it with a tattered blanket and dirty windbreaker he found behind the seat. Maxim covered the body as best he could. Blood had splattered on the seats and the rear window, but there was no other indication. Under the seat, he found some old napkins from McDonald’s and used them to clean the window. Twenty minutes after he killed the man, Maxim felt like he had hidden the body well enough. When it came time to leave, they’d drive the boat close to shore, climb out, and walk to their truck.

  The cold water jolted him when he stepped in, goosebumps forming all over his body. He waded out to the boat up to his waist, his teeth chattering and his body shivering. Galina found a small ladder and hung it over the back by the motor. When Maxim climbed in, he was shocked at the blood all over the deck. He grabbed a towel and dried off his legs and feet.

  “She’s a bleeder,” Galina said.

  “Clearly.” Maxim found himself surprised by her casual response. For someone who just killed for the first time, she was amazingly calm.

  “I need your help with the body.”

  “I got it. Find something to wash this blood off.”

  Galina drove the boat to the middle of the lake. Maxim dragged the body to the bow of the boat, tossed the cushions aside, and opened a storage bin. He pulled out the life preservers stored there and set them aside. The girl’s tiny body curled—or rather, folded, into a ball inside the container. After he put the cushions where they belonged, he glanced back to check on Galina’s progress. She used a bucket of lake water to wash out the blood, the red-stained mixture sliding out the aft drain ports on the deck. As he turned, he saw a car in the distance towing a boat toward the boat ramp, followed shortly by another. He went behind the wheel, pushed the throttle up, and steered the boat toward the edge of the lake.

  For having no plan at all, things were going perfectly.

  20

  April 28, 1996

  JASON’S SKIN tingled when they reached Canton Lake. A cloudless blue sky framed the recreation area, the lake’s surface glistening like diamonds as the wind blew the ripples across the vast body of water until the ski-boats raced by, churning gentle crests in their wake. The hour-and-forty-five-minute drive from the hotel in Oklahoma City was boring, but it gave him time to talk with his mother. They spoke about his training mostly, avoiding the topic of his father. Jason almost slipped in his name a few times, but always thought better of it. He wanted his mom to enjoy the day as much as he would.

  He found the location of the party, parked, and climbed out of his jeep. Stretching after the long drive, he scurried around to help his mother out. He grabbed their bags and double checked he had his wetsuit. The temperature was in the high 50’s today, and the water would be frigid, but he didn’t care. He’d been isolated for months and needed something different.

  They strolled through the field, the tall grass tickling the tops of his feet around t
he straps of his Tevas. His shorts and T-shirt exposed the pale arms and legs that stood out in stark contrast to his face, as he attempted to defy the elements. His mother, next to him, wore khaki slacks and a long-sleeve button-down with a sweater draped over her shoulders, looking like she belonged in a Land’s End catalog.

  Alisha reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a tube of sunscreen.

  “I’m your mother, and I’m only going to say this once,” she said, handing the tube to Jason. “Put on sunscreen.”

  Jason chuckled as he took the tube. “Yes, ma’am.” He wasn’t sure if he’d get any sun today, it was still too cold to go shirtless. But he knew the dangers of getting sunburned as a pilot in the Air Force. The consequences were severe if a pilot couldn’t fly because he had a little too much fun in the sun and couldn’t put on his parachute. The loss of training and screwing up the schedule was one thing, but a letter of reprimand in an officer’s records would be a hindrance to future promotions. Jason suspected if it were up to Colonel Jensen, he’d end up with an Article 15. Best to avoid the sunburn, he thought.

  Alicia set her bag with their lunch on the picnic table, and Jason introduced her to everyone. Pete was pulling one of their classmates behind the boat. Another raced a Sea-Doo from one side of the lake to the other. Two Jet-Skis were tearing up the lake, simulating a dogfight.

  Jason sat at a picnic table to cover his pale legs and arms with sunscreen. He unzipped his bag, set his wetsuit on the table, pulled out the sunscreen. After applying it for a minute, a instructor made a beeline straight to him. Captain Jennifer Watson, wearing a bikini that barely covered the essential parts, bounced toward him, her body covered in goosebumps. She looked out of place—everyone else dressed for the weather.

  “Hi, Jason. Let me help you with that.”

  “Uh, hello, Captain Watson. I’ve got this.”

  She grinned and stopped five feet away, striking a pose with her hands on her hips, her lips quivering. “You’re not going to reach your back no matter how good of shape you’re in. And you’re not going to be in that wetsuit all day. If you get sunburned, your parachute is going to hurt like hell next week.”

  Jason caught his eye, tracing the outline of her figure. Captain Watson wasn’t the prettiest woman around, but her body was—in pilot-speak—smokin’ hot. And she liked to show it off. She had started hitting on him after the San Antonio event, especially when she realized he was going to be in their flight.

  “Well?” she said. She held her pose as he finished putting the sunscreen on his arms.

  Jason handed her the bottle. “Can you put on a jacket? I’m getting cold just looking at you.”

  “Yippee!” Captain Watson clapped as Jason pulled off his shirt. She slipped on a blue-jean jacket from the Gap and opened the lotion.

  She slid behind him and gasped. “Oh, my god, what happened to you?” He still had numerous cuts on his back, the large wound now protected with an oversized bandage. His mother treated the wounds with a combination of hydrogen peroxide and aloe this morning.

  “Fell down the stairs.”

  Jennifer paid no attention to his answer as she squeezed the lotion into her hand and rubbed it on his back. She took her time, lightly, methodically, running her hand over his muscles and more sensitive spots. He could tell she was trying to be as sensual as possible.

  “Are you done yet?” he asked.

  “No, silly bear. You must rub the lotion into the skin for it to work right. I want it in deep.”

  Damn. Can she be more obvious? Jason checked to see his mother was still occupied. The flight commander’s wife was chatting with her, but she glanced periodically in his direction. He felt his cheeks flus, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his mother watching the almost nude woman put sunscreen on him or the overt sexual innuendo she made.

  Jennifer ran her hands down his sides, then reached around and pinched his pecs.

  “Wow, Jason, you’ve been working out.”

  “Jesus, Captain Watson. My mother is right over there.”

  Jennifer released him and backed away.

  “Your mother? I thought she was a date.”

  Jason laughed. His mom would get a chuckle out of that one. Should make her feel good, too. Jason rose from the bench and walked toward the rest of the flight. To his surprise, nobody besides his mother noticed Jennifer rubbing the lotion on him. Thankfully, Captain Watson took a different route back to the main gathering.

  When he approached his mother, the smirk on her face grew into a smile.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said in a low voice.

  It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what it looked like. And it looked like a naked girl was putting suntan lotion on you.”

  “Any advice on how I can make her go away?”

  She laughed aloud, causing a few nearby classmates to look in their direction. “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to figure that out on your own.”

  Jason searched the lake and saw one of his classmates, Clint Weller, steer his Sea-Doo toward shore. Not many classmates had wetsuits and so didn’t want to brave the chilly waters.

  “I think I’ll try and lose myself on the lake.” Jason removed his wetsuit from his backpack and pulled the thick material over his legs, torso, chest, and arms. His mother zipped up the back, and he jogged toward the inbound watercraft. The bright yellow Sea-Doo XP800 was a relatively new machine. While the XP800 still had the Rotax rotary valve engine, it also had variable exhaust port valves, and the 110-horsepower engine was paired with a tuned variable water injected expansion chamber and dual carbs. That, coupled with the overhauled hull, made this a beast on the water.

  He waved down Clint, who steered right for him. Jason put on a life jacket, kicked off his Tevas, and stepped into the lake. The cold water sent a chill up his spine and heightened his awareness as the gooey sludge of the lake bottom squirted between his toes. Jason grabbed the black handle behind the seat and pulled himself on the soft yellow cushion and nudged the throttle, steering toward the center of the lake.

  21

  April 28, 1996

  DMITRI’S HEAD swiveled back and forth as he drove between the wheat fields, studying the landscape. Oklahoma was flat. The terrain escaped him on the ride from Oklahoma City to Enid last night, the flattened plain hidden in the darkness. He couldn’t think of anywhere in Russia that compared to it. Once outside of town, the uniformity of the horizon enveloped him again. The blue backdrop covered the horizon in all directions. Not a cloud in the sky, which highlighted its massiveness.

  After he spent the night in a hotel, he returned to the address he had for the handlers. Still, no one was there. He repeated his pattern of driving through the small town, then headed to the original safe- house. His goal: ensure the contents of the safe were destroyed. He arrived at the ranch house after a few minutes. Easing off the accelerator, he slowed his rental car as he approached. Several vehicles were parked out front, including a red pickup with lights on top. As he got closer, the writing on the side identified the fire chief’s truck. No doubt he was investigating the cause of the explosion. Police tape ran along the front of the property, then north for some distance. He had no chance of getting in there today.

  He felt a tightness in his heart. Irena had stayed here with her two handlers. This was not standard procedure, but he remembered Nikolai insisting on it. His concern? American pilots would be all over her if she lived alone. Dmitri was aware she trained for such things, but perhaps Nikolai knew better. He always said she was destined for bigger things.

  When his car reached the intersection where the ranch sat, he took a right turn. He stopped about a hundred yards beyond the intersection and looked back toward the barn. The entire roof and back half were missing; the rest a charred memory. He sat there for a moment with his memories, reminiscing about Irena until a ting from his burner phone on the seat next to him got his attention. When he pulled it out and saw the number, he clenched his teeth and be
at on the steering wheel. Finally, somebody was doing something. He had called Nikolai last night from his hotel in Enid and told him his contacts were not home. Could he have been mistaken? Did he have the wrong address? Did they have a cell phone?

  Dmitri checked his mirrors for traffic behind him. At least a half- mile away from the burned-out barn, he was isolated. Pulling the car to the side of the road, he wrote the number down, then transcribed the number numerically preceding each number. Adding a 2-1 before that number provided him with the phone number to call. The number for Mr. and Mrs. Jones.

  MAXIM SCANNED the group with his binoculars. After he hid the body on the boat and cleaned the blood off the deck, he pulled the boat close to shore. Galina stayed on board, while he returned to shore and sat in the back of his SUV with the rear window open toward the lake, fuming on the inside. Every failure he incurred made him appear less of a man to Galina. He would never win her heart that way, not after she spent the night with that tall pilot. He understood why she did what she did but —he didn’t like that aspect of the mission.

  On their drive to the lake, Galina said nothing about her night other than she had fallen asleep, justifying why she returned so late. He chose to say nothing. It didn’t matter; they were here to kill Jason Conrad. Peering through the binoculars, he followed Galina’s tall blond pilot driving the ski boat across the lake. Conrad still lingered on the shore.

  The boat bobbed in the small waves pushing against the shore, too gentle for her to notice. Galina moved around on the boat, familiarizing herself with their new acquisition. Their plan—weak, but it would at least give them a day on the lake for a suntan. Earlier, they admitted to each other Conrad might never enter the water. Just to be sure, Maxim kept Conrad in his crosscheck since he’d arrived with the unknown woman.