24
April 28, 1996
DMITRI CURSED as he raced to the lake. Three hours after he first tried to contact them, they returned his phone call. After they explained the situation—in somewhat veiled and cryptic language—he refused to speak any more over the phone. They gave him the name of the lake Conrad was at. He told Maxim and Galina to go home and wait for him there.
The two fools had attempted to kill Conrad with their boat, then tried—unsuccessfully—to shoot him as he treaded water. One of Conrad’s friends had intervened to save him, and his two idiot countrymen had to disengage and egress the area. They were lucky they weren’t identified or followed.
They’d also made his job a lot harder. Conrad would be ready and alert.
He reached the lake at four-thirty in the afternoon. Most of the groups around the lake were starting to gather their possessions and leave. A few hardcore skiers remained, shredding up the lake. Stop- ping his car near the first group, he pulled out the dossier with the pictures of Jason Conrad. He had studied them and the file all afternoon, the face etched in his memory, but he wanted a fresh image as he searched the faces of the waning recreational crowd.
The group was military, so he thought it would be easy. Find the group of young men with short hair and isolate the individuals in the group. He soon realized that most of the young men remaining at the lake had short hair. There were a few with longer hair, but not many. It was difficult, but he scanned every male there, searching for Conrad. If what the handlers told him over the phone was what happened, Conrad certainly would have left by now, if not gone to the authorities.
Dmitri stepped out of his car and walked toward the lake. He sat under a tree and stared at the rippling surface in the distance. He remembered when he was eighteen years old, and the class—the seven who remained—were at a lake outside Kiev for water-survival training. Irena looked beautiful. She was the genetic jackpot winner: beauty, brains, and a body that American supermodels would be envious of. And she didn’t go unnoticed by others either. Dmitri picked up right away how one of the instructors, a former Spetsnaz trooper, had his eyes on her throughout the day, flirting with her whenever he had the chance. Spetsnaz were Russia’s special forces, a fierce and deadly group.
To this day, he wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or concern. Perhaps a little of both, but Dmitri felt the need to watch out for Irena. And his instincts were right. After their training, while the various instructors and students sat in the cafeteria for dinner, Irena and the Spetsnaz instructor where nowhere to be seen. Dmitri left his table to find her. After searching the grounds, he didn’t see her. The only place she could be was the women’s showers. He strode in anxiously, but he moved faster, his fear gone when he heard her scream.
He barged into the locker room just as the instructor slapped her across the face, blood splattering against a locker. Her grip on her towel loosened and she fell nude onto the bench. The instructor started to unbuckle his pants.
Dmitri charged.
He hit the instructor full speed in the shoulders, driving his head into a locker on the side. Gripping his hair with his right hand, the instructor’s face butted against the lockers all the way to the floor, where Dmitri shoved his face into the concrete. The instructor didn’t move, and Dmitri sat on his back, driving his clenched hands into the back of his head. He pounded again and again until another group of instructors raced in and pulled him off.
Dmitri wrestled free of the men holding him and rushed to Irena, curled in the corner, her legs pulled to her chest, her face bloody and swollen. Dmitri draped her towel over her, then retrieved her robe and helped her slip it on. He walked her outside, toward the shimmering lake.
“You saved me,” she said.
Dmitri smiled. “I-I owed you.”
She placed her hand on his cheek and gently kissed him on the lips. He wasn’t expecting that. His mind jumbled and as he started to speak, a group of security officers charged him, pistols drawn. A female officer grabbed Irena and escorted her away. One of the men hit Dmitri in the head with the butt of his AK-47, driving him to his knees. He fell forward as they jerked his hands behind him, placing him in handcuffs. His eyes lingered on the light dancing across the water, Irena’s kiss the last thing he remembered before blacking out.
That was the last time he saw her. Each student went on to specialized training the next week. Dmitri was cleared of any charges, and the instructor who assaulted Irena was never seen again.
How far he had come since then. But he held the memories of Irena deeply in his heart. He leaned his head against the tree, his teary eyes once again staring at the rippling waters. When he finally stood up, he brushed the grass and dirt from his pants. Picking up a stone, he skipped it across the lake and watched it take five bounces before sinking. His shoulders drooped, and stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked off.
Dmitri searched around the lake for another hour, confirming Conrad was gone. He drove back to Enid, furious at the two handlers pretending to be assassins, but even more so at Nikolai for granting them permission to do so.
DANE ROBINSON STEPPED into the opulent penthouse overlooking the Arkansas River in downtown Tulsa. One of the normal “suits” met him at the door and led him into the parlor. A penthouse with a parlor. Wow. His eyes traced over the details of the room. It was impressive: crown molding, and Corinthian trim around the door- frames. He didn’t realize hotel rooms like this existed in Tulsa.
Escorted to the living room, Dane found Draken Black sitting on the couch, the television across from the fireplace playing the WTSR news with the sound muted. The silver-haired man stood as he entered the room.
“Mister Robinson,” he said, his smile full and genuine, “today is a great day indeed. Come, sit. David, please get our guest a Crown Royal.”
“On the rocks,” Dane said, turning to the man who walked him in. “Thank you for having me over, sir. I haven’t had the pleasure of watching one of these new big-screen televisions. The picture is fantastic.”
“It is indeed. I can’t think of a better platform to watch you begin your climb to national stardom. Please, sit,” Mister Black said, motioning to the couch.
Dane sat on the couch as David brought his drink. The whiskey calmed his nerves, not that he should have needed it. He was a seasoned professional. But it was exciting to see his taped segment broadcast on live TV once again. This wasn’t something typically done, but WTSR was a small-market station, and with the hoopla they’d received from the initial broadcast, they decided to re-broadcast the segment, with a lot more advertising ahead of time. Plus, Sunday was a slow news day, so it helped the station fill the void.
The two men made small talk as the news broadcast played. Just before the first commercial, the newscaster teased the segment coming up after the break. Mister Black increased the volume using the remote. When the video came on, Dane leaned forward and smiled from ear to ear. He wasn’t a narcissist, but he knew this was the best broadcast he’d ever done. He was rightfully proud of his work.
After Dane’s piece ended, Mister Black turned off the television. He nestled back into his side of the couch, beaming like a proud parent. “Mister Robinson, I must say—your broadcast was better the second time. The company is pleased with your work.”
Dane felt his face flush at the compliment. He nodded with a subtle grin as he rubbed the back of his head. “Thank you, sir.”
“I wanted to talk to you more about our arrangement. This broadcast was fantastic. I’m convinced after the network picks this up in the morning, they’ll be clamoring for more. Clamoring for you.”
Dane took a sip of whiskey. “Sir, when we first spoke, you said you had more information. What else is there? I need to know what I have to work with so I can plan my story accordingly.”
“Don’t worry about that. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be live on the network. You won’t be making taped broadcasts anymore. You’ll talk about tonight’s story, and then leave t
hem with something new.”
Dane raised his eyebrows, giving away his curiosity. He was going to be interviewed in the morning? How could Draken Black know? He squinted as soon as he realized what he had done, then furrowed his brow, aware his overcompensation was just as obvious.
“And we’ve got a surprise for you. Thursday, we are sending you to Washington, D.C.”
“Washington? For in-brief or out-brief? I’m going to Langley?”
“No, no, this is more of a reward, but it builds your credibility. You are going to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner.”
Dane’s mouth fell open. Holy shit. He would be rubbing elbows with the elite of the elite. This was an incredible opportunity—one he couldn’t pass up. But he deserved it, right? He had always worked hard. He was getting married soon and needed the bump in pay. Married. Dane squeezed his eyes shut. For the first time since he showed up, he thought about Joanie. He always watched her broadcasts when he wasn’t at the station but hadn’t thought about her once since arriving at the penthouse.
“Mister Black, obviously I’m excited. But I’m more intrigued by what else there could be to this story.”
“In due time, Mister Robinson, in due time.” Mister Black reached over to the coffee table and retrieved a thick manila envelope and handed it to Dane. He opened it and glanced inside. Five sets of one-hundred-dollar bills, no doubt bound in sets of one hundred bills each. That was fifty-thousand dollars. Again. Shit, these guys meant business.
“Your task,” Mister Black continued, “is to drive to Enid tonight. Go to the hospital and speak to a nurse named Nancy Williams. Then go to a bar called Chicaros.”
“I know the bar. What’s there?”
“One of the key figures in the San Antonio incident was a girl. Kathy Delgato. She was a waitress there. And she was Jason Conrad’s girlfriend.”
Dane nodded without saying anything. He’d heard rumblings about a mystery girl but could never find out her name.
“Why is she so important?”
“In the big scheme of things, she’s not. She’s a nobody. But we know she found out about who Conrad really is—and he killed her.”
25
April 28, 1996
JASON DROVE in silence as they left the lake. His mother, Alicia, hadn’t spoken much on the ride home. It was just as well. He was still trying to process the attempt on his life. What the hell did he do? Some chick on a boat shows him her tits and the guy tries to run him over? Then she pulls a gun and shoots at him? No—this wasn’t a case of jealous rage or mistaken identity. Someone wanted him dead. But who? And why? He’d been invisible to the rest of the world for more than eight months. Even if Pete squealed about him going to the lake, how did they know to get to his buddy? He checked his G-Shock digital watch. So far, in less than forty-eight hours, someone had tried to kill him twice.
Once they reached Oklahoma City, his mother started talking. A lot. The topics covered a variety of things, occasionally touching on his father. Ever since he met his father after the D-Day flight in England, and particularly after the San Antonio incident, she had discussed him much more frequently. She still has a spark for him, he thought. But it wasn’t sparking today. Jason pulled into the parking lot of the Marriott.
“Okay,” she said as they climbed out of the car. “What’s the story on the instructor pilot who wants to be a stripper?”
Jason chuckled. “You’re just not going to let this go, are you? Her name is Jennifer Watson. She’s a captain.”
“She’s teaching you how to fly?”
Jason nodded. “I’ve only flown with her twice, but she won’t leave me alone when she sees me. I consider her the Air Force’s version of a groupie. I wasn’t even on her radar until San Antonio. She started hitting on me right after that. Hasn’t stopped since. She’s not very popular with the Officers’ Wives Club.”
“I can see why. Tacky. I’m sorry, but she makes Bethany look classy.”
“Mom . . .”
“I know, I know. Sore subject.” They stepped into the elevator, and Alicia pressed the button for the third floor. “Whatever happened to that nice girl you said you met?”
“Kathy?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
Jason shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Like I said before, she disappeared after San Antonio. Nobody has been able to find her, her parents, or the people she used to live with in Enid.”
“Really?”
Jason ignored the doubt in her voice as he thought about the explosion at the barn on Friday. Should he tell her? No, now was not the time for that. She already suspected something had gone down at the lake, and he didn’t need to worry her more. She wouldn’t be here long. He could hold it in until she was gone.
The door opened, and they walked down the empty hall to her room.
“You know, Mom, if it wasn’t for Bethany coming here to try to get back together, I might not have ever found out about the plot against Dad.” It was a stretch, but he threw it out there to get his mom off the topic of Kathy. What’s done is done; there’s no changing that now. Alicia unlocked the door, and they entered her room.
“Your damn father pisses me off,” Alicia said out of nowhere.
Jason wasn’t surprised. “What now?” She clearly wanted to talk about him.
“Are you kidding? He missed your birthday. Of all the times in your life—well, he’s missed every single one. But after meeting you— and you saving his life . . . you’d think the bastard would have the decency to show up for your birthday. At least send you a card or make a phone call.”
Boy, Dad really got under her skin. Jason couldn’t remember when she cursed so much. He wondered if she would accept his father’s invitation to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner this week as he plopped down on the couch.
“Mom, he’s a busy guy. Despite not running for president anymore, he still is busy with his work in the Senate. And there are rumblings he may be Dole’s running mate.”
“Dole won’t pick your father. They’ve never liked each other. Plus, he brings nothing to the table. The people he would have brought to the table are far fewer than the party thought before San Antonio. The mantra of him being a deadbeat dad began to trickle out after the explosion, but the media backed off after he dropped out of the race. If he jumps back in, they’ll turn on him in a heartbeat. He’ll get chewed up and spit out like he was yesterday’s lunch.”
Jason chuckled at his mother’s comment. It was true, though. All of it. But what made him laugh was how animated she became when she talked about his father. She almost sounded like she was defending him. And she never referred to the assassination attempt for what it was. She called it “the San Antonio incident,” “the explosion,” or some other generic term like she was a reporter playing it safe.
He always knew his mother was well-connected, and her political savviness was impressive. “So, what’s your plan?”
She sat on the other end of the couch, her jaw set and forehead wrinkled. “My plan? My plan is to chew his ass out.” Now she was being mama bear protecting her cub. “I can’t believe he didn’t show. And he expects you to drop everything and show up to his event this week.”
“Mom, I didn’t drop everything. The president is honoring dad and invited me. The Air Force chief of staff ordered me to go, which forced my commander to cut me TDY orders. Dad had nothing to do with it.”
“You don’t know your father and his cronies. They have their fingers in everything.” She huffed as if disgusted. “I’m so glad I’m out of that world. It stressed me out then, and it’s stressing me out now.”
“Are you going to come? You were invited, you know.”
She lowered her head and squinted. A little dramatic for the simple question.
“I’m not sure. I was going to go back to New Orleans tomorrow, but I’m changing my flight to Washington.”
“Really?” Jason grinned.
She looked up as he dripped out his respo
nse. “Wipe that smirk off your face, young man. It’s not what you think. He’s getting a good old-fashioned rear-end chewing. He’s not treating his son like this without me straightening him out.”
“Uh-huh.”
Alicia slapped him on the arm with a smile. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug. “Jason, it was so good to see you this weekend. And I’m glad your dreadful commander finally let you off the base. You can thank your father for that.”
“I know. Look, I’ve got to get back to Enid. See you in D.C.?”
She flashed a smile. “Maybe.”
TUGGAR AND SHEILA waited in the penthouse, eyes wide at the extravagance. It even had crown molding. Hotel rooms didn’t have that. He knew—he used to install it before he came to work for Big Joe, and they never put it in a hotel room. He ran his hand along the edge of the soft couch. It was the nicest couch he ever sat on. He leaned forward and grabbed the ornate wooden box sitting on the handcrafted coffee table.
“Don’t touch that,” Sheila said.
His lip curled as he glared at her. “Why do you care?”
“Because it don’t belong to you.” Tuggar opened the box which contained at least twenty cigars inside, and a humidifier attached to the lid. He’d never seen cigars that weren’t inside a paper carton in a convenience store. Closing the lid, he set the box back on the table.
Big Joe, back in the day, had plenty of money to throw around, and he did. But he never had any classy things like this place. Tuggar fidgeted in his seat, waiting for the man to show. Both knees bounced, and he continuously scanned the room, his eyes trying to take it all in. His cowboy hat sat tilted forward, his attempt to appear menacing. Sheila had convinced him to stop here on the way to Enid. No problem—he was always interested in making extra money.
For some reason, this silver-haired fella wanted them to do something. Whatever it was, she said it was worth five thousand dollars. That was good enough for him. Times were lean, and Big Joe didn’t seem to be crawling out of his pit very fast. Tuggar remembered this guy. He followed Sheila home from the club a week ago. He’s the one who told Big Joe that Jason Conrad was the reason his boss lost everything.
The Right to Know Page 13
