Jason gritted his teeth. The man couldn’t see him. He moved the phone behind his back and whispered into Debbie’s ear, “He’s not here. Not in the ballroom anyway. He could be in the hotel.”
“What do we do? Go to the police?”
He shrugged his shoulders and put the phone back to his ear, only to jerk it away because of the screaming on the other end.
“Dude, what is wrong with you? What’s with all the yelling?”
“I’m tired of games, Mister Conrad. I want you to follow my instructions if you ever want to see your parents alive again.”
“Let me talk to them.”
“In due time. I want you to go to the Jefferson Memorial.”
“What?”
“Go to the Jefferson Memorial. You have twenty minutes.”
CLICK.
Jason looked at Debbie. “He hung up. Wants me to go to the Jefferson Memorial within twenty minutes. Can I get there that fast from here?”
“No, you can’t. But I can.”
“Debbie, I can’t let you get involved with this. It’s too dangerous.”
“Too late. I’m already involved. Let’s go.”
She was already hurrying toward the parking garage, faster on her high heels than Jason thought possible.
“Come on, you’re wasting time. If you don’t hurry up, we’ll never reach the memorial in twenty minutes.”
Jason knew she was right. Not only was she involved, right now, but she was also his best hope. He hurried after her, and they reached the parking garage as quickly as they could, in just under two minutes. It could have been faster, but Debbie’s high heels were still a limiting factor.
Once in the car, Jason dialed his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Debbie said.
“A friend.”
The phone was answered on the fourth ring.
“Jason, how’s the dinner?” Aaron Caldwell said.
“We left. Listen, I’ve got a problem. My mom and dad have been kidnapped. I think.”
“What?!?”
Jason explained to Caldwell the situation. He told him the guy sounded Russian.
“What can I do for you?” Caldwell said.
“Do you have any kind of SWAT team or strike team available?” Caldwell paused.
“Officially, no. But I think I can work something out.”
“Okay. We’re on our way to the Jefferson Memorial. I think we’ll get more information there.”
Debbie weaved in and out of traffic, unconcerned with local cops.
They were all located near the hotel. The streets were lined with numerous roadblocks, manned by soldiers from Fort Myer, wearing their battle-dress uniforms and reflective vests. She commented on the contrast. Jason simply nodded. It was nights like these a metropolitan city revealed just how limited their resources were.
“What do you think?” Debbie said. “Will this guy show up?”
Jason shook his head. “No. We’re getting jerked around. Maybe he thinks we would tell the cops to head to the memorial, so they’d put all their men there. I-I don’t know what to think, but it’s too simple. They’re not going to be there.”
They drove in silence for a minute before Debbie began to sob softly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel like this is my fault,” she said.
Jason’s brow furrowed. “How is this your fault? If we were with them, we would have been kidnapped, too.”
“It’s not that. You said the guy sounded Russian, right?”
“Yes.”
“I have a friend in the Russian consulate. He said they had correspondents from Pravda covering the event and wanted to know who was attending. I-I didn’t think it would be a problem. I gave him a copy of the guest list.”
“How in the hell can you have a friend in the Russian consulate?”
“T-the Cold War is over,” the Democrat staffer said. “The Russian’s are our friends now, right?”
“The Cold War is far from over.” Jason started to go further but caught himself. The Russian attempt on his father’s life had been blamed on a Bosnian war criminal. It wasn’t up to Jason to reveal the truth to the public. He stewed for a few minutes as he worked his way through what she said.
“This is not your fault. The media has been talking about this for weeks. It’s common knowledge that my father would attend. In fact, there were no surprises on the guest list except—” The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He was the surprise. It was never announced he was on the list.
“He’s after me.”
“What? Who?”
“The kidnapper. He doesn’t want my parents. He’s using them to get to me.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Once I received the invitation, my life has been put in jeopardy over and over. Somebody’s tried to kill me five times in the last week. In fact, the CIA brought me out here a day early just to get me out of the line of fire.”
“That would have been nice to know before your father asked me to be your date.” Jason picked up the sarcasm in her voice. She flashed him a faint smile, and he sensed the potential danger turned her on. “Why would the Russians care about you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
Debbie drove determined, maneuvering around the numerous roadblocks giving the inbound limousines the right-of-way on the narrow D.C. streets. The further west she went, the more the traffic thinned out. After she dodged a delivery truck blocking her path, she was able to drive like she wanted. Jason both appreciated and admired her skill. He checked his watch. Five minutes to go. In two minutes, the Jefferson Memorial came into view. At night, it was the most beautiful of the monuments in the district. Debbie parked in front, but at this hour, not a soul was in sight. They both stepped out of the car and hurried toward the monument.
“I don’t understand—” Debbie said. “Why here?”
Jason checked his watch. They had three minutes and twenty- seconds. “My father has always been a fan of Thomas Jefferson. Used one of his quotes for his first campaign slogan. Loves the guy. I think it’s like I said, this is a decoy. They’re not here.”
Jason grabbed her hand as they scurried to the back of the monument. His original suspicions were confirmed, his parents were not here. They reached the edge and looked down the sidewalk along the water. Again, nothing. They shuffled along the rail and began to walk up the other side of the monument. Out of the shadows, three figures emerged from different locations and came together toward them.
“They’re here,” Debbie whispered.
“No,” Jason said, “I’m afraid they’re not.”
Three young men moved into the light. Their appearance—street hoods. Instinctively, Jason glanced behind him. No one was there, thank God. He moved Debbie behind him as the thugs approached.
“Lookie here, Ty,” the small one said. “We got us one o’ them fancy dressed soldier boys.”
The biggest one spoke. “Give me your money, honkey-ass white cracker trash.”
Jason considered resisting, but he was on a ticking clock. Best to hand it over and hope they got on their way. The men shuffled toward them, and Jason and Debbie slowly backpedaled. He reached into his breast pocket to retrieve his wallet.
The third guy pulled out a knife. “And gimme the keys to that Firebird, too, homey.”
Jason stopped; the wallet halfway out of his pocket.
Well, that changes things.
50
May 4, 1996
JASON DIDN’T WAIT for them to make a move. He lunged at the guy with the knife. Grabbing the hand with the blade, Jason thrust the palm of his hand into the nose of his attacker, resulting in a loud crack. The man crumpled to the pavement, the knife spilling out of his hand.
The short guy with the loud mouth shifted behind the largest guy, who took up a boxer’s stance. Shifting his shoulder’s back and forth, waving his hands in circular motions, the thug was more flash than thrash. J
ason steadied himself and waited for the guy to make his move.
He swung a right cross, which Jason easily dodged, throwing a quick jab to the guy’s eye. It wasn’t a solid punch—just enough to piss him off. The large guy was quick. Twisting back toward Jason, he grabbed him around the chest, pinning his arms to his body.
Damn. Didn’t want that to happen.
He looked down at the knife by his feet. The thug tried to squeeze the breath out of him, lifting his feet off the ground as he did so. Jason struggled to free himself and spied the smaller guy bending down to retrieve the knife. He wiggled his body until he slid down, his feet touching the ground.
Jason brought the full force of his foot down on the small guy’s hand as it tried to pick up the knife. The heel of his Florsheim shoe impacted the kid’s fingers, pushing them in a direction nature didn’t intend. The kid yelped and cried in pain as he fell to the pavement.
Using the leverage he had with his feet back on the ground, Jason pushed his captor backward. With the thug off-balance, Jason increased his momentum, and in seconds, the big guy tripped over his buddy with the busted nose.
Jason shoved harder, and the thug fell straight on his back, Jason still in his grasp. The thug’s head hit the concrete with a loud crack, and he released Jason instantly. He was done.
The small, loud-mouth punk with broken fingers kneeled on the pavement, crying. His eyes shifted to the right toward the knife, a mere three feet from him. He glanced up at Jason as he approached, then shifted his focus back to the knife. He started to lunge for the knife when the silence was shattered as the phone in Jason’s pocket rang. Confused, the thug turned back toward the noise. Jason kicked the kid in the jaw, sending him reeling backward on the ground.
Jason picked up the knife and threw it into the water, then double-checked the big guy. He had a tiny puddle of blood pooling under his head, but Jason figured he’d be alright. The loud shrill of the phone continued. He quickly found Debbie, who had moved to the side against the rail.
“Are you okay?” he said, dusting himself off. He didn’t have any injuries. All it cost him was time. He slipped the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the number.
“Okay? I think I’m in love! My god that was awesome! Where’d you learn to do all that?” Her eyes sparkled with admiration.
Jason ignored the compliment and answered the phone. “Where are you?” Jason said.
The Russian chuckled again. “Mister Conrad, you are quite efficient.”
“Let me talk to my parents.”
“Mister Conrad, you seem to be mistaken. This is not a negotiation. If you don’t follow my instructions to the letter, you’ll never see your parents again.”
“I’ve followed your damn instructions,” Jason yelled into the phone. “Where are they?”
“Yelling only makes me angry. Drive to your hero’s home. Your parents will take the stage there.”
“Wait. What? I don’t understand.”
“It’s his land, but he’s not buried there.”
The man hung up.
“Let’s go,” he said. He grasped her hand and walked her back toward the car.
Debbie looked at him. “What did he say?”
Jason shook his head. “He said, ‘Drive to your hero’s home. Your parents will take the stage there.’”
“What does that mean? Who’s your hero?”
“I-I, don’t know.” Jason racked his brain. He’d had tons of heroes over the years. “Then he said, ‘It’s his land. He’s not buried there.’ I’m not sure what he’s talking about.”
Neither said anything for a couple moments.
“Arlington.”
Jason’s head snapped toward Debbie. Why had she said that?
“Arlington,” Debbie repeated. “Robert E. Lee owned the land that Arlington Cemetery is built on. The Union buried their dead there. It was his punishment for his role in the Civil War.”
“I wrote an article about Robert E. Lee in college. It was published in the college paper, The Daily Reveille. But Arlington’s a cemetery. What does that have to do with this?”
“Robert E. Lee is not buried at Arlington. He’s buried underneath the Lee Chapel in Lexington, Virginia.”
The wheels were turning in Jason’s brain, but the connection still wasn’t happening.
“I-I, don’t get it.”
Debbie let out an exasperated sigh as they climbed in the car. “There is an amphitheater in the Arlington Cemetery across from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The amphitheater has a stage. You know, the ‘stage’ where your parents are supposed to be?”
“That must be it!” Jason’s eyes opened wide. It all made sense. The Russians would have access to all public information about him. They must have found the story on Lee and mistakenly deduced he was Jason’s hero. “How far are we from Arlington?”
“Fifteen-twenty minutes, depending on traffic. We’ve got to take the Arlington Bridge. The George R. Mason bridge is one-way traffic into the city for another hour.”
“Let’s go.”
Debbie pressed the accelerator, and the pair raced north to the Arlington Bridge.
51
May 4, 1996
DMITRI SAT against a column away from the stage, his hostages still visible as darkness covered the East Coast like a blanket. They sat in metal chairs, back to back, centered at the front of the stage, their legs duct-taped to the legs. Their arms were duct-taped behind the seat of the chair and to the chair itself. Dmitri pressed the button for the electrical shock. The two bodies jiggled in response.
He noticed the motion right away—Senator Bowman’s head weaved up and down. The senator’s importance did not escape him, but the fact that he was out with his ex-wife confused him. He was familiar with their family situation, but this ran counter to everything Section Nine had trained him about American families. In fact, it was the exact opposite of everything in Conrad’s dossier. It didn’t matter. They were the bait to reel in Jason Conrad. It meant twice the suffering for Irena’s killer.
For a brief time, he questioned whether this spectacle was too much. Why not kill Conrad and be done with it? No, he decided, Conrad had tortured and murdered his beloved Irena and then had the audacity to record the entire event on video. It only seemed just. He would do the same thing. Torture and murder those who Conrad loved the most, then kill him. Let his last thoughts be how he’d failed to protect his family.
Bowman groaned louder this time, and the woman began to stir. Dmitri left the shadows and walked to the center of the stage where his hostages sat. The senator struggled against his restraints as he approached.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Bowman said. He studied his surroundings. “Why are we at Arlington?”
Dmitri grinned. “I want your son. He is on his way here now. And then, I will kill him.”
“My son? What did he ever do to you?”
“Your son killed my beloved. And now, I will kill him.”
“Jason’s not a killer. What the hell are you talking about? When was he supposed to do that?”
“Following your escape from our attempt on your life, Senator.” Bowman squinted and grit his teeth. “Russian. Damn, I should’ve figured. You’re not very smart, that’s for sure. I don’t know who you think Jason killed, but he couldn’t have. He’s been on lockdown at his base for months.”
“And yet, he’s on his way here.”
“I’m telling you, Jason didn’t kill anyone! He didn’t leave his base until two days ago.”
“A mere cover for a CIA operative.”
“CIA? You think Jason is CIA? You damn Russians are dumber than I thought. And hell, you brought us to a military base.”
“Of which most of the personnel are across the river directing traffic for your dinner.”
Bowman’s face drooped; his confidence diminished. Dmitri stepped forward and threw a right cross against Bowman’s chin. His head snapped to the right, and he let out a loud groan.
“Jonathan?” Alicia Conrad woke up. Dmitri gagged them both and returned to the side of the stage. He checked and rechecked his electrical connections to the chairs, then his weapon, a Beretta 92F semi-automatic pistol with a silencer. He would use that to kill Conrad after he watched his parents die. A bullet in the temple, that’s what he would get. Just like Irena.
JASON ROCKED in the passenger seat, his leg tapping feverishly as Debbie sped along Ohio Drive on the east side of the Potomac. Neither had said anything since they left the Jefferson Memorial. The silence was shattered when his mobile phone range. It was his mother’s number again.
“Are my parents okay?”
“They are alive, for now. Did you figure out my riddle?”
“Not much of a riddle. I’m on my way to Arlington as we speak.”
“Mister Conrad, you are smarter than I gave you credit for. Come to the amphitheater alone. If I see anyone else approaching, I’ll kill them.”
“Understood. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.” Jason hung up. He wasn’t sure that was the smartest move, but he didn’t want to let this asshole think he held all the cards.
“We’ll be there in five minutes,” Debbie said.
“I know, I was buying some time. Do you have any weapons?”
“Weapons? In my car? Like a gun? No! That’s illegal in D.C.”
“Sorry, just checking.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together as she turned her head toward him. Jason couldn’t figure this girl out. Not a woman of morals, but she didn’t seem afraid of much either.
“There’s a Swiss Army knife in the console,” she said.
Jason lifted the center console and sifted through the items inside until he produced the knife. It was one of the heartier versions, with over twenty-five different uses.
“My dad said it would be a lifesaver one day. Mom said it would be helpful if I ever lost my corkscrew for the wine.” She smiled at him. “Mom was right more than Dad.”
“Well, hopefully, this is the only time your dad has to be right.”
The Right to Know Page 25