The Right to Know

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Jason slipped the knife into his pocket, unsure what he’d use it for, but aware it was better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. Jason flipped open his phone and dialed Caldwell as Debbie pulled behind a line of stalled traffic.

  “Any news?” Caldwell said.

  “Yeah. I confirmed he’s at the amphitheater in Arlington Cemetery. We’re about five minutes away.” Jason gave Debbie a concerned glance—they were not moving.

  “Okay, don’t do anything stupid. The team is getting on the helo now. We’ll infil at a distance and move in and get this guy.” Their infiltration into the cemetery would have to take place far enough away from the amphitheater that they weren’t detected.

  “How long until you get there?”

  “About thirty minutes.”

  “Aaron, I don’t have that long.”

  “You gotta call him and stall for time. Thirty minutes for us to be in position.”

  “I can’t wait. He’s got my parents. I’ve got to do something.”

  “Don’t, Jason. Let us handle it.”

  Jason could hear the helicopter over the phone in the background.

  “I’m climbing on the chopper now with the team,” Caldwell said.

  “Keep in touch.”

  Jason closed the phone and looked at Debbie. “He wants me to wait for them. They’ll be in position in thirty minutes.”

  “If these cars don’t start moving, he’ll beat us there.”

  “Can you see anything?” The nervousness eked out in his voice. A traffic jam was not something he expected to encounter this time of night.

  “I think there’s a wreck up ahead.”

  “Can you turn around?”

  She shook her head. “Not enough room. Plus, as soon as you pull out, the asshole behind you closes the gap and takes all the space you had to maneuver. Look ahead.”

  Jason saw four cars in front of them do exactly that. It would be an hour by the time the cops and tow-trucks managed to peel back the onion of this mess. He struggled to come up with a solution when he felt the Firebird surge.

  Debbie cut the steering wheel to the right and hopped the curb on to the grass. The front fender knocked over a garbage can as she pushed her way through the grass, passing an old softball field, her pace, slow but steady. A couple walking together bolted out of the way as the sleek sports car plowed its way through the grass and trees.

  The car raced through the park, a move that could result in her arrest. After a hundred yards, Debbie reached the intersection with West Basin Drive, where the wreck was located. The drivers and the surrounding pedestrians looked up from the wrecked vehicles that blocked the intersection. They stood flabbergasted as the blue Firebird scooted along the grass. The Firebird’s front bumper scraped the asphalt as it dipped down off the sidewalk. The rear bumper caught the curb and impacted the street with a thud.

  Once on the street, Debbie accelerated, and they sped down Ohio Street to 23rd, then toward the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

  “Nicely done, congressional staffer lady from California,” Jason said. “Now, I think I’m in love.”

  “Don’t shatter the illusion, flyboy. Just go with it.” She pressed the accelerator, and the smile faded from her face as she glanced at him. “Don’t you think we should let the pros handle this?”

  “What? You mean, sit and wait?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you just do nothing if it were your parents?”

  “I don’t like my parents.”

  Jason’s brow furrowed, and he grimaced his displeasure.

  “Okay,” she said, “bad joke. But the kidnapper thinks you’ll be there in twenty minutes. The cavalry will be there in thirty. There’s a ten-minute gap where you’ve got to stall him. Can you do that?”

  “I hope so.”

  Debbie continued through the roundabout, across the 110 overpass, until she reached the entrance of the cemetery. The gates were locked to both Scheley Drive and Roosevelt Drive, and they couldn’t find a way to open them. The guard shacks were locked as well. Jason found shell casings on the ground at the Roosevelt Drive Gate. He picked one up, held between his thumb and forefinger.

  “He’s been here.” The prospects appeared grim. This guy no doubt, was a killer, and he had his parents. “I can’t wait. We’ve got to find another way in.”

  “I think I know a way. Let’s go.”

  The two jumped back into Debbie’s car, and she drove around the outskirts of the park.

  “Where are we going?”

  “A secret entrance.”

  In a few minutes, she pulled over to the side of the road on the south side, out of sight of the southern gate to Fort Myer.

  “There used to be a break in the fence here when I was a college intern. We used it to sneak in when there were protests during funerals.”

  “You protested military funerals?” Jason scowled. He started to say something, but she cut him off.

  “I know. Don’t say anything. I’m not proud of my behavior. I’m horrible, repugnant, whatever . . . we all have our faults. I was young and idealistic.”

  “And stupid.”

  “Yes, and stupid.”

  They climbed out of the car, and Jason followed her to the fence.

  She finagled a couple of locations where the fence was secured to the post. In a few seconds, the fence fell free, and she moved it enough for the two of them to squeeze through.

  “See,” she said. “Sometimes being a liberal protestor pays off.”

  “I wouldn’t brag about this one too much.” He started to slip through the gap in the fence. “You wait here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “The hell I will. I’m in this too.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Besides, you have no idea which direction to go. You need me.”

  He grit his teeth. She was right. She could stay until she slowed him down. Which he predicted would happen quickly once they breached the fence.

  She led him through the gap, and they soon found themselves dodging headstones in the dark.

  They scurried into the cemetery and began their trudge uphill. Jason couldn’t help but notice the headstones everywhere. Despite the darkness, the ambient light cast enough reflection on the headstones that the white memorials glowed in the dark, creating a ghostly appearance. So many men and women who had sacrificed their lives for this great country. He hoped that two more wouldn’t be claimed here tonight.

  Debbie stopped about a hundred yards in and leaned against a tree. “The amphitheater is over that rise in the distance. You should be able to see it when you reach those trees. I’m going to have to stop. I can’t keep up in these heels, and I don’t think I can walk much further.” Debbie removed her heels and rubbed her feet.

  “Okay, wait here. Help is on the way.” Jason darted up the hill toward the amphitheater.

  “How is help going to find me?” she said.

  He didn’t answer as he disappeared into the darkness.

  52

  May 4, 1996

  BREATHING DEEPLY, Dmitri scanned the deserted amphitheater’s surroundings, listening for anything unusual. Conrad’s parents sat helpless on the stage, an empty chair waiting for him. Did they know their son was a murderous scumbag? He couldn’t get the image of Conrad beating Irena out his head. It played through his mind over and over, like a movie on a continuous loop.

  Dmitri adjusted the blouse of the woodland green Army BDU’s he now wore. He bought them from an Army-Navy store in Alexandria last week. He purchased the name tag and unit patches for the 3rd Infantry Division at another store and had them sewn on at a local tailor. The disguise would help his escape. If he were to be caught, he would be labeled a spy and executed. It might be possible to make a deal for his life, but Nikolai would have him killed for his stupidity if an exchange were made.

  Dmitri checked the time. Conrad was a minute late. Dmitri called him for the last time. Any other delay would mean he was trying to
bring help. That was one thing he couldn’t allow.

  “I’m almost there,” Conrad said over the phone. “Three minutes.”

  “You’re late. How do you know I haven’t killed them already?”

  “You wouldn’t have called. Look, the gate was locked, and I had to jump the fence. It’s a long walk through this cemetery at night. I wasn’t sure I was going the right direction until I saw the lights.”

  “That’s from the Tomb of the Unknowns. We’re on the other side. Do not alert the soldiers there. Your parents will appreciate your silence.”

  “I’m not alerting anybody. I—”

  Dmitri hung up the phone. He walked to the electrical panel and turned on the lights, highlighting his captives center stage. The senator glared at him; his cries muffled by the gag in his mouth. Pulling his Beretta 92F from his cargo pocket, he cycled the receiver; a bullet flew out of the ejector port. He caught it in the air, ejected the magazine, reloaded the round in the magazine, and slapped it back in place. With his thumb, he lowered the hammer on the double-action automatic and disengaged the safety. The silencer remained attached to the end of the muzzle, and he slid the pistol back into the cargo pocket on his right leg.

  Standing in the shadows, his eyes traced the circumference of the colonnade, waiting for his prey to enter his trap. But it wasn’t a trap, was it? It was a show. A show for him to experience while his parents died. Dmitri began to question himself. His planning had been impeccable. Using Nikolai’s original concept, he’d tweaked it only slightly. How was he to know Conrad wouldn’t be in the limo. As it stood, his deviation from the plan would help him not only get Conrad but kill him in a manner that would satisfy his need for revenge.

  It was dangerous, he was aware of that. Nikolai wouldn’t be able to argue about what he did. Using the parents was the only way to lure his target out in the open. His actions would need to occur faster than he wanted, but he would have his revenge. He had the handcuffs, gag, and a chair to tie him to, while he watched his parents die. Conrad would be forced to watch them bleed out. Then, while at his lowest, he would put a bullet in his head.

  He had set up several practice bombs like this before; they weren’t loud. More like a strong ‘POP.’ The electrical connections had been checked and re-checked, but he flipped the switch to re-check it one more time. His hostages squirmed desperately as the voltage raced through the seats. Dmitri grinned, teeth clenched. Despite his planning and preparation, he was ready for this to be over. It was a risky plan in a heavily fortified area. No, who was he fooling? It was a stupid plan that, even if executed flawlessly, made his chance of survival less than optimum. The second-guessing of himself had to stop. His emotions had overcome his judgment. Now, he had to deal with the consequences.

  Finally, he was honest with himself. Filling his lungs with the fresh spring air, he exhaled slowly. Aware that he most likely would die, it somehow calmed him, allowing him to focus better on the task at hand. Life was not worth living without Irena, and his revenge now meant he could let the memory of her go. He could finally let her go.

  Thoughts swirled through his head as he continued to scan the colonnade, occasionally glancing at his watch. His wondering stopped when a lone figure wearing an Air Force tuxedo appeared at the rear of the amphitheater. Jason Conrad had arrived.

  JASON’S EYES locked on his parents, who sat in the middle of the stage, their backs to each other, unable to move. Tugging at his collar, he removed the bow tie of his mess-dress and undid the top two buttons. No need to maintain formalities. He resisted the urge to race down the aisle as his eyes surveyed the amphitheater, his lungs gasping for air with each breath. Row after row of the white bench seating separated him and his parents. They were alive, thank God.

  For some reason, this guy acted as if he knew him, but nothing he said made any sense to Jason. Perhaps he mistook him for someone else? It didn’t matter. The son of a bitch had his parents held captive and wanted him dead.

  I hope Caldwell’s team gets here in time. If they get here at all.

  He crept toward the stage, examining everything in sight. When he reached the midpoint, he veered to the right to take the next aisle down to the stage. His mother’s eyes bulged wide, and her head shook frantically when she saw him, trying to warn him to stay away.

  “That’s far enough, Mister Conrad,” a voice said from the darkness.

  Jason stopped in his tracks and assessed the situation. Was this the same guy on the phone? He didn’t have the Russian accent. On the far-left side of the stage, he picked up movement in the shadows.

  “You can come out now,” Jason said, his voice resonating in the empty amphitheater. “You can see, I’m alone and unarmed.”

  The man slid from the shadows. He wore BDU’s, but his hair was a little too long to be from around here. His boots weren’t bloused either. Jason figured this guy wasn’t part of the U.S. military. It had to be the guy, the uniform to help him blend in during his escape. But it was apparent he had no plans to escape yet. This wannabe soldier held his parents captive, a pistol with a silencer pointed right at him.

  “I’M IN POSITION.”

  “Tommy, what do you see?” Caldwell said. He rode in the blacked-out helicopter working command and control as they orbited the cemetery at 3000 feet in a three-mile orbit pattern. Tommy was their sniper, carrying a modified Remington 700 with a Leopold scope. The rifle had a custom-built suppressor on the muzzle. The device wouldn’t totally silence the sound, but it would reduce the decibel level. Unfortunately, the suppressor hampered accuracy, but he was less than two hundred yards away. At this range, it doubled the size of his MOA. The minute of angle, or MOA, was the angular measurement of a shot. At two hundred yards, his MOA spread a little over two inches. The bolt-action centerfire rifle was chambered in .308 Winchester. It would get the job done.

  “I’ve got eyes on the hostages and our boy. The Tango is still out of sight. I’ve got good visibility as long as the lights stay on.” Tommy had no night-vision capability, but the other members of the team, who carried M-4’s, had the AN/PVS-14 mounted to them. They would have the upper hand once the lights went out.

  “Can you change position to pick him up?”

  “Not at this point. I’ll lose sight of the friendlies. He’s got to be somewhere close by.”

  “Give me a SITREP.”

  The CIA sniper peered through his optics and scanned the amphitheater as best he could, his vision obscured only by the columns that stood every twenty feet. This limited his ability to track the target when he came into view.

  “Okay. Hostages are on center stage, secured to chairs. Our boy is approaching the stage from the west, walking down the aisles on the right side. Losing sight of him behind a column. Should be coming—there he is.” He shifted the reticle of his scope to the right of the stage and moved right to left, searching for the threat. Suddenly, he detected movement. “Contact. Threat is on the left side of the stage. North side. Back in the wings.”

  “Okay. Assault team—status?”

  “Still en route. Need five more minutes.”

  “You may not have that long,” Caldwell said. “This may be over by then.”

  JASON FOCUSED ON HIS PARENTS; grateful they were still okay. His mother’s eyes bulged, and she shook her head vigorously when she saw him, trying to encourage him not to get involved; to run and save himself.

  He edged toward the stage. His eyes slid to the figure in the shadows beyond his parents. How would this go down? He was unarmed, except for a Swiss Army knife. His hand patted the tool in his pocket as he moved closer to the stage.

  “Come up the steps. Stop on the edge of the stage.”

  Jason looked to his right and found the steps. He backpedaled, then realized the guy could kill him any second. If he wanted him dead, he would be dead. Jason turned and walked up the steps. His heart rate increased, and his muscles twitched. The man emerged from the shadows and faced him; his pistol still pointed at his ch
est. Jason struggled to figure out who this guy was when he heard a distinct but unfamiliar sound.

  53

  May 4, 1996

  DMITRI FACED his target for the first time. His heart pounded, and he ground his teeth as he fought the urge to shoot the American. Jason Conrad needed to suffer like he did. His emotions bubbled to the surface, and his eyes watered. He took in a deep breath as he pulled the handcuffs out of his back pocket. The gun in his hand, pointed at Conrad, sixty feet away, didn’t budge.

  The silence was broken by the sound of two dull thuds in the distance. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it until the first canister hit the stage between him and his hostages. Smoke poured out just as a second canister landed, filling the air in a thick cloud.

  He was under attack! Conrad brought a strike team with him. He wasn’t sure how, but it didn’t matter. Instinct took over. The decision had been made long ago—if he could only kill one of them, it would be Conrad. He raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger when the lights cut off.

  The muffled thump of Dmitri’s pistol echoed through the darkened amphitheater as he shot at Conrad. His vision obscured by the darkness, the only light—the flames from the top of two smoke canisters. Two more rounds spit out of his pistol, and he turned to rush to the electrical panel. A sharp pain shot through his right forearm and he dropped his pistol, followed by a dull report in the distance. He staggered for safety behind the side wall of the stage.

  Dmitri’s right arm hung at his side, the pain from the bullet immense. He scurried to his control panel and flipped up the safety for the explosives. If he didn’t hit Conrad, he and his team would be distracted saving the parents.

  Pressing the toggle switch, he listened for the pop. There wasn’t one. He cycled the switch again. Nothing.

  Damn it! They cut the electrical power.

  Dmitri abandoned the control box and bolted down the side stairs toward the limo. He climbed in and locked the door. Reaching around the steering column with his left hand, he managed to start the engine and put the car into gear. No sooner had the limo began to roll than a figure in black appeared out of the darkness to his left, firing at the armored limo.