The Right to Know

by Michael Byars Lewis

  “Thanks. Someone tried to have me killed in there. Twice.” “Yeah,” Caldwell said. “We figured that out kind of quick.”

  “It was the cleaning lady. She’s not the brains behind it, but I’m sure she knows who is.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Hastings said. “Agent Caldwell will ride with you to the base. He’ll fill you in on some other things, as well.” Hastings stuck out his hand, which Jason shook. The man had a firm handshake. Another thing Jason liked about him. A sign of confidence and honesty. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this, but I’m glad it all worked out and that you’re okay.” Hastings turned to Caldwell. “You’ll fill him in on the rest?”

  “Yeah,” Caldwell said. The two men shook hands and Hastings left the office.

  “Fill me in on what?” Jason said.

  Caldwell looked at Jason. “Your reporter friend has struck again.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “What did I do this time?”

  “Oh, it’s not you. This time, he’s said your father is a Russian spy.”

  Jason fought back a chuckle and shook his head.

  “Let’s go, we can discuss it later,” Caldwell said. “We’ll have a couple of cruisers escort us. The Enid Police have decided it might be in their best interest to help you now, because you’re right—someone is trying to kill you. We’re just not sure who or why.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jason said. “Once we return to the base, the wing commander will kill me for them.”

  “Yeah, about that—” Caldwell was grinning. He had his own run-in with Colonel Jensen eight months before. “I spoke to your dad earlier. He thought that might be a concern and said not to worry. It would be taken care of. Your dad has arranged for a jet to pick us up at Vance tomorrow morning to fly us back to Andrews. You’ll stay there until Saturday morning when one of my agents will drive you to your dad’s place. That night, you’ll head to the Correspondents’ Dinner.”

  Caldwell and Jason were met by four uniformed officers as they left the empty office.

  “We’re waiting for someone else,” Caldwell said. On cue, an attractive, auburn-haired woman strode toward them. “I thought you might need a nurse.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jason said. He recognized the woman. Nancy Williams, the nurse who stayed with Caldwell until he regained consciousness eight months ago. They had developed a relationship that blossomed into something more serious. She greeted Caldwell with a kiss and then turned to Jason.

  “Hi, Jason. Aaron told me about your predicament. I’m here to help. I’ll check you out once we’re at the base.”

  “Thanks, Nancy. It’s nice to see you again. I’m okay, though.”

  She grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Okay,” Caldwell said, “are we ready?” The three of them met the police escort outside, and after a quick brief, they climbed into their vehicles and the small caravan set off for Vance AFB.

  THE SUN DISAPPEARED below the horizon as Dmitri sat outside the police station and sipped his coffee. His parking spot gave him an excellent view of the front entrance and parking lot.

  After thirty minutes, Jason Conrad was escorted out of the building, surrounded by cops. He wasn’t handcuffed, which Dmitri took as a good sign for his purposes. The small group stopped and talked. Two men split off to climb into police cruisers, one in front and one in back. Conrad, three other guys, and a woman climbed into a gray SUV. The guy who sat in the back with Conrad and the woman moved like a Fed. Shifting eyes, straight back. Whoever he was, he was no private security. He had better training.

  Dmitri struggled to formulate a plan. The standard grid pattern that made up the roads in Enid didn’t give much of an opportunity for a sneak attack. And the fact that two cruisers escorted him back to base was another, more significant problem.

  If he had the right firepower, he could pull this off by himself, but he didn’t. A grenade launcher mounted under an M-4 would have been nice. Even an RPG would have helped. But there was no way to isolate the SUV from the two cruisers. While attacking a convoy with a pistol might be an option in American movies, it wasn’t realistic. Plus, where would he go? There was nowhere to escape after such an attack. The area was too exposed; there was too much risk.

  Dmitri shook his head. Once Conrad made it to the base, he wouldn’t leave for a while. Nikolai would use his resources to determine Conrad’s next move. Things around this small Western town were becoming too chaotic. It was time to revert to Plan A in Washington.

  The small convoy pulled out of the parking lot and made a left turn onto Washington Street, then another left, heading west on Owen K. Garriott Drive. Dmitri cranked the engine, steered away from the curb, and tailed them several car lengths back. The convoy turned south on Van Buren Street. He continued to follow them at a distance until they turned right onto Fox Boulevard toward the base. Dmitri sped straight ahead, south toward Will Rogers World Airport.

  38

  May 2, 1996

  JASON TOOK two more Anacin with a swig of Coke as soon as he woke up. His head was killing him. After returning to the base last night, the wing commander posted a guard outside his door and two more SP’s in the parking lot on either side. The man, for some reason, went out of his way to ensure Jason got whatever he needed. It had been another long night, and Jason was grateful when Pete showed up with a pizza and a twelve-pack of Coors Light. It took some convincing for the young SP guarding the door to let Pete inside, but he eventually relinquished when Jason said he’d call the wing commander. Jason drank eleven of the twelve beers, and his head paid the price this morning.

  He finished packing his bag and gathering his mess-dress uniform. The Air Force formal dress uniform wasn’t as traditional or flashy as the other services. It had the appearance of a waiter’s outfit. Plus, he only had two medals, the National Defense Medal, which all military members received when they become active, and a Commendation Medal presented to him after the San Antonio incident. That was one of the wing commander’s peeves with Jason. In his mind, Jason went AWOL, and the Air Force rewarded him for it. Of course, the medal had been his father’s idea. Made it hard for the Air Force to kick him out after they gave him a medal for the same thing.

  He zipped the hang-up bag that held his uniform and some extra clothes and was laying it on the bed next to his carry-on when someone knocked at the door. Caldwell and Nancy greeted him with bright eyes and smiles.

  “You okay this morning?” Caldwell said.

  Jason paused. “I don’t know. I’ve had too much time to reflect, I guess. I took an oath to support and defend the Constitution. Now, someone is using those rights to destroy my family and me. It’s kind of pissing me off.”

  “I understand. Sometimes we’ve got to take the bad with the good. It’s been my experience that guys like this don’t last long.”

  “Well, this guy has lasted long enough. Too long, as far as I’m concerned.” Jason decided to take the conversation in a happier direction when he saw the fresh face smiling at him.

  “Morning, Nancy. You going with us?”

  Nancy shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I have a shift at the hospital. Plus, despite all his governmental pull, Aaron can’t get me on your little airplane.”

  Jason checked Caldwell, who simply shrugged his shoulders. “Hey,” Caldwell said, “the curse of middle-management. Grab your stuff, and let’s go.”

  Jason picked up his bags and followed them out to the Air Force SUV in the middle of the parking lot, engine running. The driver, in an olive-green flight suit, hopped out. Jason couldn’t believe it. Captain Tyler Daily, the wing commander’s executive officer. They were getting first-class treatment.

  “Good morning, sir,” Jason said. “You driving us this morning?”

  “Hey, L.T.,” Daily said, opening the rear door for Jason to stow his bags. “I’m taking you two to base ops, then I’m taking the lady to the hospital downtown. Let’s get moving, I’ve got a flight during second period.”


  Jason threw his bags on top of Caldwell’s bag, shut the door, and climbed in the front seat next to Captain Daily. Caldwell and Nancy were already in the back seat, gazing into each other’s eyes. Daily pulled the vehicle out of the parking lot and headed toward base operations.

  “Jason, I confirmed with your lawyer this morning—you’ve officially been cleared of all charges.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Also, they arrested the cleaning lady at the police station. She’s singing like a canary. Says she was hired by Big Joe McCain.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “What’s the connection with you?”

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  “Hmmm.” Caldwell said nothing for a moment. “We’ve got a C-20B from the 89th Airlift Wing at Andrews flying in. They will be here in about twenty minutes. No engine shutdown. They’ll taxi up to base operations, one of their guys will hop out, and make sure we are who we say we are. Then, we’ll climb on board, and off we go.”

  The C- 20B is the military version of the Gulfstream III. Used for VIP support, the C-20’s provided higher altitudes, longer range, and faster speeds than any other transport. Jason was fortunate enough to ride in one today.

  “Cool.” Jason stared outside of the window, uneasy about the whole thing. The extra attention he received was awkward. He understood why, but understanding didn’t make it any easier. People talked behind his back, claiming his powerful father was pulling strings for the special treatment. Some even tried to be his friend because of his notoriety. That was why he tended to be more of a loner and kept only a handful of friends. He didn’t know who he couldn’t trust. And given the repeated attempts on his life, that group might just have to get smaller.

  “There is a new development in the case,” Caldwell said.

  Jason detected a different tone. He turned to face Caldwell in the back seat.

  “Yesterday, a couple was pulled over, speeding on the interstate toward Tulsa.”

  Jason said nothing, his mind attempting to process the information.

  “What’s the connection?”

  “The passenger in the car was the guy that forensics matched to the shell casings. Kevin ‘Tuggar’ Plimpton.”

  Jason nodded. The guy who worked for Big Joe. Everything now pointed to him. Well, most everything. But the question remained: Why was Big Joe trying to kill him?

  BIG JOE MCCAIN had been rustled from his slumber by a phone call early in the morning. It was Esmerelda’s grandson, crying. The boy was almost twenty, and here, the wimp cried his eyes out. Big Joe was pissed. But then, the boy squeaked out the problem. His grandma had been arrested by the cops just a few minutes ago. For attempted murder, he said. He was scared and didn’t know what to do. Big Joe told him he would investigate it and hung up.

  He knew exactly what was going on. That dumb bitch got caught. It was time for him to go. It would only be a matter of time until she spilled everything. Grabbing a suitcase, he started to pack. Picking up the remote, he switched the television to the local news. It was on for background noise until the reporter mentioned the story after the break: Enid Murder suspect arrested.

  Big Joe stopped folding clothes and stared at the television. The commercials took forever. He sat on the edge of the bed, like a nervous schoolboy waiting to meet with the principal. Neither Tuggar nor Sheila had contacted him since yesterday afternoon. He assumed they were still working the issue. He also figured Tuggar banged her brains out last night.

  After the interminable commercial break, the reporter came back on and talked about how a man and woman were arrested outside Tulsa last night. The man was a suspect in the murder of a police officer in Enid earlier in the week.

  Tuggar, that dumbass.

  Perspiration seeped out of his pores. Big Joe’s heart pounded, then felt as if it would burst out of his chest. It wasn’t a heart attack, he hoped, as he fell backward on the bed. He struggled to get his breathing under control. Once he did, he rolled on his side and pushed himself off the bed. He stood, confused, and anxious. What to do next?

  Think. Think.

  Big Joe didn’t get rich by panicking. He kept his cool. But he was aware his world was collapsing around him, and he needed to get out of here fast. But go where? South. South to Mexico. That was his best bet.

  The cops would be here any minute. No doubt Esmerelda would throw him under the bus soon if she hadn’t done so already. And when the cops put that together with his two employees in custody, his fingerprints were all over the chaos in Enid.

  Big Joe abandoned the idea of packing clothes. He scurried into the kitchen and found a pencil and paper.

  Tuggar and Sheila—

  Gone to Stillwater. Be back 10pm Friday night.

  —Big Joe

  He set the note on the kitchen table in hopes the cops would wait for him to show up here in twelve hours. They might also be diverted to Stillwater. He didn’t think this warranted an all-points bulletin to search for him. Yet. But he should be able to sneak across the border before they got any wiser.

  With the deadbolt set on the front door, he slipped out the back and locked the door behind him. Big Joe pulled back a damaged section of the chain-linked fence behind the house that led to a trail one of his guys made years ago. The gap was small, but he managed to squeeze through, the exposed tips of the fence ripping at his clothes. Ten minutes later, he emerged from the trail in the undeveloped lot that led to a storage facility.

  Breathing heavy and sweating profusely, Big Joe stopped at an outdoor room and dialed a combination, removing the lock and sliding the door up. Inside sat a 1984 Cadillac Coupe de Ville, and a safe that held a duffel bag containing close to seventy-thousand dollars in cash and a .357 magnum. He tossed the bag in the front seat of the Cadillac and drove out of the shed.

  Once outside, he closed the door and reset the lock. As soon as he crawled back into the Cadillac, several police cars raced down the street toward his house. The bitch cracked. His heart rate increased again as he pulled onto the street and wondered if he would ever reach Mexico.

  39

  May 3, 1996

  THE WASHINGTON HILTON was one of the more unique hotels in the D.C. area. Consisting of two wings, each resembling a third of a circle that opened away from the other, the building possessed an impressive display of architecture. From the sky, it resembled a bird flying. From the lobby, it resembled a beehive of activity. The front desk’s wood-paneled wall and granite counters ran well over a hundred feet across, every check-in station manned by hotel personnel. There had to be more than two-hundred people scrambling in the lobby waiting to check in, the line winding around the large, oval, black support beams that blended seamlessly into the curved, segmented ceiling. Additional security procedures put in place by both the hotel and the Secret Service didn’t appear to delay the registration process.

  Dane had checked in to the Washington Hilton earlier in the day and missed most of this crowd. He stopped by the bar before dinner and ran into some producers from ABC News. They chatted briefly and told him he was in the running for a network job. They tried to woo him with free drinks, but Dane insisted, if he was anything, he was loyal. He’d give NBC first shot.

  The bar filled up with other guests for Saturday’s event, and Dane found himself the center of attention. There were congratulatory remarks thrown out at irregular intervals. In time, Dane realized he hadn’t paid for a drink since his first one. By the time he had his fifth, he appreciated the bartender mixing them weaker.

  A sense of warmth resonated inside him. Something comforting. For the first time he could remember, he was happy about his career. Really happy. As a young journalism student, he always wanted the career that he now stood on the precipice of achieving. The entire week had been surreal. His hard work, sacrifice, patience, diligence— it all paid off. And he enjoyed every minute of it. He made the jump to the big leagues in dramatic fashion.

  Dane played it coo
l. Swapping business cards, sharing stories, working the room like a pro. He was on his way, and he couldn’t wait to see the size of the contract NBC would offer him.

  Before he knew it, the time rapidly approached midnight. He had forgotten about dinner long ago. Of course, he nibbled on the appetizers one of the Hollywood types bought for everyone. The stuffed mushrooms were his favorite. The hunger in his stomach gnawed at him. Despite the fact he was having the most fantastic evening of his life, he was ready to call it a night.

  Until she walked in the bar.

  Stunning. That’s how he saw her. A tall brunette with curly brown locks cascading down her shoulders and back. She dressed conservatively, yet elegant. Dane struggled to figure out how she fits into the picture here.

  The woman sauntered through the bar, garnering attention from every male in the vicinity. She appeared to be looking for someone until her eyes fell on him. At least, that’s what he convinced himself. That had to be it. She walked right to him.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “H-Hello,” Dane replied. Idiot, can’t you think of anything better to say?

  “Buy me a drink, sailor?”

  Dane bowed his chest. “Look no further, my lady. I happen to know the bartender. What can I get for you?”

  She ran her finger along his arm. “How about a Pinot Noir?”

  Dane waved the bartender over and ordered her wine. His eyes traced her face. Her hair-style was very ‘80s, which he still liked, despite the trend for women to be a little more progressive. Her body reminded him of Lynda Carter, and that was the biggest compliment he could give. Wonder Woman was his favorite show in the late ‘70s. Him and every other adolescent male across the country.

  “What’s your name?” he said, handing her the wine. “Rachel. You?”