The Right to Know

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Jason enjoyed getting to meet the chief of staff. He was a great man and well- respected by everyone in the Air Force. Jason could see why. He admired the man’s forthrightness and courage under enemy fire. He was a good face for the Air Force who put its needs first. Jason returned to his quarters relaxed that this distant Washington bureaucrat had his back. It made it easier to study his instrument procedures for an hour before watching television for the rest of the night.

  A Secret Service agent met him at ten in the morning and drove him into Washington, D.C., to his father’s home. Jason stepped out of the black sedan in front of his father’s Brownstone apartment on K Street. The heralded location was one of the most prominent inside the Beltway.

  Several dark sedans and SUV’s lined the streets, all with blacked- out windows. He couldn’t determine which ones were watching this house, but Caldwell had said several would be. Marching up the steps, Jason reached his hand forward, but before he could knock on the door, it swung open. His father stood there, beaming.

  “Jason, I’m so glad you’re okay. Come in, come in.”

  “Hi, Dad.” The two men embraced in a warm hug. The senator walked his son through the foyer and into the study.

  Jason’s eyes traced over the amazing bookshelves, statues, and paintings on the walls. A servant walked in and took Jason’s bags up to his room.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” his father asked.

  “How about an orange juice?”

  “I can do that. Come with me, there’s so much to talk about.” Jason followed his father into the kitchen. Again, another lavish set-up. An over-sized kitchen with an island, complete with a dual sink and stovetop. Every surface a beautiful granite countertop; the cabinets, a deep mahogany.

  “How were your visits yesterday?” his father said.

  “They were great. I assume you set those up?”

  “I did. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. It was a joint decision to get you out of Enid and here to Washington.” Bowman opened the refrigerator and poured Jason a glass of orange juice. “I assume you’ve heard the news about me?”

  “You mean where the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree? At least, according to the Taaaser?”

  Bowman laughed. Jason didn’t expect that. “Yes. Dane Robinson. I’ll take care of him in due time. How are you handling this? What he’s doing to you pisses me off far more than anything he could say about me.”

  They talked for thirty minutes, Jason filling him in on his week. He asked about life on the Hill, and his father asked about pilot training and his post-flight-school plans. The doorbell rang, and Charles, the butler, again answered the door. Jason was shocked when he walked back into the kitchen with a smiling lady, dressed to the nines.

  “Mom! I’m psyched you’re going.”

  A huge smile came over her face as she embraced her son. “Your father asked me to go to the dinner with you two,” she said, shifting her eyes toward Bowman. Her smile disappeared for a moment until she looked back at him. “I thought you’d need someone in this town to watch your back.”

  Jason was happy. For the first time in his life, he was with his mother and father, and they were going to an event—almost like a family.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Jason,” Bowman said. “I took the liberty of inviting a certain young lady to accompany us to the dinner.”

  Jason paused. “You set me up on a blind date?” Jason glanced at his mother, whose head was down, shaking.

  “I figured you’d like the company. After being locked up on the base for eight months, being in the company of a lovely young lady might help with your transition back into the world.”

  There was a brief period of silence.

  “I can get my own dates, Dad.”

  “Jonathan, you can be such an ass, sometimes,” Alicia said.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was helping. She’s a nice girl. Works for Congressman Baxter from California.”

  “Baxter? He’s a Democrat,” Alicia said.

  Bowman put up both hands. “I’m reaching across the aisle. Consider it a détente.”

  “Jonathan—”

  Jason sighed. “It’s fine. It’s only dinner. I was hoping we could all enjoy the dinner together. This . . . this would be the first time we’ve ever done anything together.”

  Jason’s parents said nothing. Perhaps they recognized how important this was to him. Maybe they realized it might be important to them, too. Finally, his father spoke.

  “Part of the reason, Jason, is that Debbie will drive you to the Hilton for the dinner.”

  “Why?”

  “This Dane Robinson character has become a major pain in this family’s backside. But to accuse a sitting senator of being a Russian spy is ridiculous. I have intentionally said nothing since his broadcast. I’ve laid low, in fact. My attorney was wrapping things up in Oklahoma when this hit. He let it settle a while, in the hopes that it would die down, but it hasn’t. The morning talk shows have been buzzing with the story, and now the papers have picked it up. He approached the station in Tulsa on Friday afternoon with a lawsuit, and this afternoon I’m having a press conference here, on the front steps of my home, at five p.m. They’re going to have their bubbles burst because I’m going to silence this man, period. We’ll be the front page of every Sunday newspaper and morning show.”

  “Why can’t I watch?”

  Bowman shook his head. “I don’t want you anywhere near the cameras during this. I plan on keeping you out of the limelight as much as possible. If you show up, they’ll keep saying you’re a Russian spy, too, and they’ll run our picture together. No, let me handle it.”

  “Okay,” Jason said, still dejected. He wanted to be there. He wanted a piece of that damned reporter all week.

  “This is a dangerous path too many journalists have gone down this week. The accusation gets made, and that’s the story. No one researches any facts. No one follows up on any of his stories. It makes me fear for the future of this great nation. What used to be known as the Constitutional watchdog has proven itself to be easily manipulated.”

  Jason nodded. It was kind of a screwy week. And Dane Robinson just threw accusations out there and hoped something stuck.

  “Well, if I can’t be at the press conference, what do I do?”

  “Debbie will pick you up at four o’clock. You two will drive around town, go to a bar, whatever you want to do. Just be gone before the cameras show up.”

  “But there will be cameras at the dinner tonight.”

  “Yes, but there will be plenty of distractions with the crowd there. You won’t be quite the big fish at the dinner. Hell, for that matter, neither will I. The president will be there, and the press will be too busy focusing on him.”

  Jason checked his mother. Her eyes said, “I’m sorry.” Checking the clock on the wall, Jason had two hours before he needed to be ready, and he might need to leave before that. He kissed his mom on the cheek and marched upstairs, wondering if going with this woman would turn out to be a smart idea.

  43

  May 4, 1996

  THE STREETS around Foggy Bottom were crowded, but Dmitri successfully navigated through the surrounding groups of people until he found the Metro. He rode south of the Beltway to the end of the Blue Line to the Franconia-Springfield station. From there, it was a short walk to find his current target. Dmitri sat on a bench for the last hour, sipping a bottle of water. The target arrived a half hour ago. It was still early in the afternoon, and the target wouldn’t leave for another three hours. The neighborhood had little activity, and traffic passed through, oblivious to his presence.

  Nikolai gave him all the information he needed. Senator Bowman, Jason Conrad, Conrad’s mother, and the woman who informed their man at the Russian consulate, would be leaving at six o’clock. It was a shame the woman who exposed Conrad must die also, but Nikolai insisted that all loose ends be eliminated on this one. Another useful idiot in the chess game of American politics. Dmitr
i couldn’t believe how the American Left took the saying, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” so literally.

  When the Berlin Wall fell seven years ago, he was still in training. The Section Nine compound outside Kiev had been insulated from the raging youth infected with the capitalists’ venom. Strange how he, who had been trained in the ways of the Americans, had a greater love for his homeland than Russians his own age. Here he was, basking in the “benefits” of capitalism, longing for the arms of Mother Russia.

  He shook his head and focused on Conrad. Killing him would be the revenge he sought for the murder of his beloved Irena. But making him suffer before he died, forcing him to watch his loved ones suffer and die first . . . that would give him satisfaction.

  Dmitri moved along the sidewalk, but not so quick as to draw attention to himself. He walked straight to the apartment, limiting his exposure in this neighborhood. His right hand stuffed in his coat pocket, a firm grip on the folding Buck knife he had picked up at Wal-Mart. Confirming the address on the door, he knocked twice with authority. A scrawny man answered the door, wearing dark slacks and a T-shirt.

  “Hello,” the man said.

  Dmitri forced his way into the man’s apartment, his left hand pushing the man against the wall, while his right snapped the knife open and pressed the blade against his throat.

  “Uniform?”

  The man pointed to the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the bedroom door.

  “Keys?”

  Perspiration poured from the man’s face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Dmitri grabbed them from his hand. The two keys were new and attached to a shiny new key ring. This was it.

  Dmitri pressed the frail man into the wall and ripped the knife against his jugular vein. Blood rushed from his neck.

  The man slipped to the floor, his hands grasping his neck, trying to stop the bleeding. A gurgling sound emanated from his throat as he begged for help. Within a minute, he stopped struggling and lost consciousness. Shortly after, the last breath of life squeaked from his lungs. Dmitri found the bathroom and washed his hands and forearms. After drying them off, he inspected the black uniform on the door. It was too small, of course. Fortunately, it would be simple to find a black suit. He checked his watch. Two hours until he needed to leave. Plenty of time.

  JASON STOOD in front of the full-length mirror in the guest room of his father’s apartment. His formal mess-dress uniform still fit him well. He purchased the uniform for his ROTC detachment “Dining Out” his junior year. That was the Air Force formal dinner—with dates. He was the cadet who oversaw the “Grog Bowl,” a libation of questionable ingredients. The idea is believed to have been started by Lieutenant General Hap Arnold in the 1930s to build morale within the units of the Army Air Corps.

  Dining Out’s, or Dining In’s, were also used to acknowledge hail and farewells, and other activities for increasing morale. The event came with a list of rules for decorum to follow during the event. Violation of the rules resulted in a trip to the Grog Bowl. These days, the Grog Bowl was often an unused toilet bowl, hiding a sanitary means of holding a liquid filled with a variety of ingredients guaranteed to make the evening entertaining.

  Jason studied himself in the mirror. The jacket hung loose yet well-placed on his broad shoulders. The two isolated medals on his left breast and the gold second lieutenant bars on his shoulder boards screamed new guy. The ensemble would look much better when he had his pilot wings to sit above his medals, but for now, he looked good.

  He bent down to wipe some dust off his Florsheim shoes, and straightening his bowtie as he stood, he re-checked his appearance. Picking up his wallet from the desk, he tucked it in his inside breast pocket and then bounced down the stairs. He was kind of excited to attend the dinner—even with a girl his father picked out.

  Despite wanting his family to be together for the first time, he realized his parents—well, his father anyway—felt it better for him to have a date. Perhaps she would give them something else to focus on.

  His mother’s eyes lit up when he reached the bottom step. “Oh, Jason, you are so handsome.” She gave him a hug, and he stepped back. She wore a gold, sequined, full-length dress, with those long gloves that went past the elbow. Fancy. Her hair was up, and her make-up perfect as always. Pearl earrings complemented the pearl necklace that rested against her collarbone, highlighted by her tan skin.

  Alicia rushed into the kitchen and retrieved her camera. “Let’s go into the study,” she said. “Jonathan is in there. I want him to take our picture.”

  Jason rolled his eyes and followed her to the study. There would be no way to talk her out of it. She was a picture fanatic. Regardless, it pleased him to see her happy. When they reached the study, his father was across the room, making cocktails. Bowman appeared perfectly natural in his white tie and tails.

  “Dad, do you think you should drink if you have a press conference in two hours?”

  Bowman glimpsed up and smiled.

  “Oh, this isn’t for me, it’s for your mother. She’s a little worried about tonight.” Alicia took the drink from her ex-husband. She took a sip, and her eyes went wide, then she cast a skeptical glance at Bowman.

  “That’s a little strong,” she said.

  “Sorry. I don’t mix drinks much these days.”

  Alicia handed him the camera. “Here, make yourself useful for something other than bartending.” She grabbed Jason by the elbow and moved him in front of the wall covered with leather-bound books. He’d always liked personal libraries, with rows and rows of books on crafted wooden bookshelves. The wooden ladder on wheels that rolled along the length of the wall was a nice touch too.

  Jason admired the backdrop before his mother made him face the camera. Bowman took a few pictures, then Alicia took several of the two men.

  “I shouldn’t have sent Charles home,” Bowman said of his butler. “I want to get a picture of the three of us.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll get Debbie to do it when she arrives.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Alicia said.

  Jason glanced at his watch. “When is she supposed to be here?”

  “Any minute now,” Bowman said.

  Jason mixed himself a Jack and Coke and sat in one of the firm leather chairs in the study. The three of them talked about the evening for a few minutes until they were interrupted by the doorbell.

  “That must be her,” Bowman said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Alicia cast Jason a quick glance. “Nervous?”

  “Not really. Well, maybe.”

  “It’ll be fine. We’ll all have an enjoyable evening. It might be one we’ll never forget.”

  Jason nodded and sipped his drink. His head jerked up, and he gulped when his father walked in with Debbie. She was, of course, beautiful.

  Debbie wore a strapless, chiffon evening gown with a sweetheart neckline feature, silver beading, and a slit in the dress that ran halfway up her left thigh. Her silver earrings and bracelet enhanced the dress, but she wore no necklace, which somehow made it sexier. Her dark brown hair was neatly arranged off her neck and shoulders in a gorgeous face-framing updo, creating an air of sophistication that added to her sexiness. She looked like a Greek goddess.

  “Jason, I’d like you to meet Debbie Wilkins. Debbie, this is my son, Jason.”

  She moved forward right away, sticking out her hand. “Hello, Jason. It’s so nice to meet you. Your father has told me so much about you. I’ve read all about your exploits in the news.”

  Exploits?

  She spoke to him in a formal manner, like an interview. Her voice, stoic and monotone, almost robotic. Jason felt the illusion crumble. Gorgeous as she was, he feared she was just another political hack.

  Bowman introduced Debbie to Alicia, and the four of them engaged in small talk for several minutes. Well, the three of them. Jason stayed in the background listening to the boring political banter. He started to regret this situation, as a long night lay ahead
.

  44

  May 4, 1996

  DANE SAT IN THE VAST, empty suite at the hotel, alone, confused and fighting off a hell of a hangover. What had he done? Somehow, Joanie had flown to Washington and gotten a key to his room. He tried to remember what happened. Shortly after Joanie walked in, the two women he had sex with all night got up, dressed, and left. Did she chase them off? He didn’t think so. One of them said something about a foursome. Joanie wouldn’t have gone for that.

  Joanie. What would he do about her? Dane faced the facts. He outgrew her. His star was on the rise, about to be offered a lucrative job with the network, a move to the big city, and a new career as an international reporter. And he had to do it alone.

  What a horrible way to find out the wedding would be called off. That was his one regret. He wished he could have let Joanie down easy. It wasn’t his fault women threw themselves at him. If they were to stay together, his popularity would only make her worry. He belonged to the world now.

  Dane dialed her phone number several times throughout the day, but Joanie never answered. He gave up and prepared for his big night. While he dressed, he tore through the apartment, searching for the brunette’s phone number. She had to have left it somewhere. She’ll be back, he thought, perhaps waiting for me in the hotel bar again. Of course, it might be too late by then. There would be a variety of women at the Correspondents’ Dinner hoping to latch on to a celebrity like him. Aside from the president, Dane Robinson would be the talk of the dinner, for sure.

  AFTER TAKING photographs for several minutes, Jason and Debbie walked outside. Jason scanned the area. No journalists lurked around yet, but the press conference was still more than two hours away. He also searched for threats—nothing but the standard dark vehicles that had been in place since he arrived. They slipped into her blue 1995 Pontiac Firebird. The clean interior still had the “new car smell.” She peeled away from the Brownstone apartment on K Street and headed north, toward the White House. He admired how she handled the powerful sports-car—she was a driver. Before they made another turn, a CNN van passed them, heading toward his father’s condo. And so, it began.