The Right to Know

by Michael Byars Lewis

  Jason followed the Russian onto the track. As he ran along the tunnel, he stumbled but regained his footing. The loose rocks slid under his scuffed up, slick- bottom dress shoes. The second time he stumbled, he caught himself with his hand on one of the rails before he hit the ground.

  There he is.

  In the distance, the Russian staggered along the track. Jason wondered if he were going somewhere intentionally, or simply trying to escape. Perhaps there was some secret passage along the way. No, he reasoned, this guy is hurt and scared. He knows he’s going to prison and possibly executed if he gets caught. This left only one question for Jason: Is this something he’s willing to die for?

  DMITRI CURSED himself as he navigated the dry, dusty tunnel. The concrete walls had numerous doors along the path, each one he tried, locked. The numbness in his arm wore off, and immense pain took its place. After he crawled from the train platform, he was grateful to see two men—soldiers, based on their appearance—fighting Conrad. The uniform paid off. They must have thought he was a veteran. His main objective now was to put distance between his pursuer and himself.

  He had underestimated Jason Conrad. Nikolai would be furious. His remaining days, if he could survive, would most likely be spent in a gulag in northern Siberia. Visions of the love of his life—Irena Vodianova—formed in his mind. How beautiful she was. And friendly. His biggest regret? Not ever being able to tell her he was in love with her.

  Hearing a noise behind him, he stopped and turned to the right as the dirty and bloodied American ran full speed at him. It must have been fatigue that caused him to turn right since it left his wounded arm as the only weapon between him and his attacker. He threw a low kick at Conrad’s knees and tried to raise his arm in defense, but the man was already airborne. The arm deflection did nothing, and the kick missed.

  Conrad tackled him above the waist. The two hit the train tracks with a resounding thump. Dmitri tried to push Conrad off him, so he could regain the offensive, but the American straddled his chest and pummeled his head like the soldiers had done to him on the platform. The blows weren’t too damaging.

  He must be as tired as I am.

  Dmitri continued to struggle when Conrad began to glow. No, he wasn’t glowing—there were lights on him. A train was coming. Fear spread across Conrad’s face.

  The weight on his chest disappeared as Conrad rolled off the track. The vibration in the track increased exponentially, and the tunnel lit up as if it were daylight.

  Dmitri rolled to the opposite wall as the rumbling echoed through the tunnel. He looked up as the train raced toward them, sixty feet away. Shifting his focus to Conrad, who stood with his back against the wall, their eyes locked briefly before Conrad turned to look at the train.

  Everything shook around him, and the noise was deafening. Small rocks between the rails bounced up and down, creating the illusion that they floated. Dmitri hugged the ground as close to the wall as he could while Conrad crept along the wall on the other side of the track.

  The train barreled toward their position when Conrad did the unthinkable. The foolish American leaped across the track.

  57

  May 4, 1996

  LIGHT. Noise. Vibration. Fear. Those were the only things Jason’s senses detected as he soared across the track in front of the oncoming train. The horn blared as if it would do anything at this point. He’d always heard everything moves in slow motion just before you die. That’s what he experienced. Everything appeared to move slowly. Only that wasn’t what happened. His mind moved faster. Taking in everything and processing faster than he knew possible.

  The decision to leap across the track had been instinctive. Why did he put himself in this position? Because the bastard who tried to kill his parents was on this side of the track, and he didn’t want him to escape. Good judgment? Probably not. His senses, now blurred, gave him conflicting chunks of information. All he could do was rely on his instincts. Time stood still as he floated over the track engulfed in the light, ready for impact.

  He hit the ground on the other side of the track, rolled against the wall, and laid as flat as possible. Did he have enough clearance from the train? He prayed he did. The moment he flattened himself, the train raced by. The light now gone, the noise and vibration increasing ten-fold. Dust and pebbles peppered his back, the wind tugging at his shirt, the steel-on-steel of the wheels roaring in his ears.

  It only took him a moment to realize he was safe, but he refused to raise his head until the threat was gone. He couldn’t tell how much clearance the passing train cars had on his body, but he wasn’t willing to risk finding out. Best to be appreciative at this point.

  After what seemed like forever—but only lasted seconds—the train passed. The tunnel was dark again; the shaking and rattling gone. Jason raised his head while his foe rose to his feet, no doubt elated not to have been crushed by the oncoming train.

  Jason reached his feet, able to jog toward the Russian before the wounded man could hobble away or attack. He decided to take a more cautious approach. They were in a dark train tunnel, tired, hurt, and scared. This guy was in it to the death, Jason determined. And after his last stunt, he realized he was, too. Until this guy was stopped, he and his parents were in danger. The Russian wasn’t going to get away. Jason would catch him or die trying.

  Two feet behind the man, Jason reached out to grab the back of his collar. The Russian wheeled around to his left, grabbing Jason’s wrist, twisting him away. The man let go of Jason’s wrist to throw two rapid blows into his kidney on the left side. The punches felt like pistons of an engine—fast and hard. Jason staggered, and the Russian let go when his body’s momentum pulled him away. Spinning back to face the Russian, Jason balanced himself and breathed heavily.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You can surrender.”

  The man shook his head, the Russian accent resurfacing. “There is no surrender . . . only death.”

  Jason threw a right cross that landed solidly on the Russian’s jaw, then set himself for the man’s next move. The Russian threw a jab and Jason slid to the side, swinging his left arm over the Russian’s good arm. The guy only had one functional arm, meaning the only punch he could execute was a jab. It wasn’t a guess; it was a tactical assessment and allowed him to smoothly lock his enemy’s forearm in the crook of his own arm and move his wrist around the back of the man’s elbow.

  The leverage Jason had on the Russian’s arm started to hyperextend the elbow, and Jason increased the pressure, heavy and sharp. The Russian yelped, as Jason thought he heard something snap. The man moaned and crumpled to his knees. Jason stood over him now, and as the man stared up at him, Jason delivered a crushing blow to his nose. The loud crack told him he broke it. His slumping to the ground confirmed it.

  Jason stood with one foot on the track assessing the situation. The man was down. There was no movement. A tingle in his foot that rested on the track quickly turned in to a vibration. That vibration turned in to a rumble. Looking down the tunnel, a faint light appeared from around the bend.

  A train! Again!

  Jason grabbed the Russian and pulled him clear of the track. It was slow progress. Not that the guy was heavy, but Jason was exhausted. He laid the Russian on the ground next to the wall and moved toward his feet.

  The train was fully in view now—perhaps two-hundred feet away. The conductor must have seen him standing as the horn echoed again throughout the tunnel. As Jason bent down, the Russian rolled onto his back. Jason looked at the bloody face of the man and never saw his foot rear back. The G.I. combat boot struck him in the face. Jason fell to the side, his head hitting the metal track.

  His head hurt like hell, but the fierce rumbling told him to move now. He rolled off the track against the wall as fast as he could. The Russian stood and staggered forward, onto the track, attempting to cross. Jason—dazed from the blow—unable to follow.

  The train’s brakes screeched, and sparks flew from the wheels
. Bright white headlights illuminated the figure frozen in the middle of the track ten feet in front of him.

  Jason didn’t hear the impact, but he saw it. The Russian’s body flattened against the front of the train before it separated him from his legs beneath the knees. The train appeared to streak with red before it zipped by. He tucked his head again and tried to think small. The breeze was not as strong as the first train, and the sparks from the brakes showered on top of him, sizzling his bloody shirt as the train tried to stop. The air filled with the stench of sulfur; the result of the gas produced by the sparks.

  Eventually, everything went silent and dark again. Jason breathed a sigh of relief and rose from his sanctuary. The train had passed, the last car was visible behind him. Looking down on the track, he found one of the Russian’s severed legs laying between the rails. Walking toward the train, he found the second leg forty feet away from the first.

  The man was dead.

  Finally.

  Jason stammered toward the stopped train, his breath coming in deep gasps. The pain throughout his body sent signals to his brain, telling him to slow his pace. Yup. His body hurt. But the threat was down. He chuckled to himself. Of all the things to think about, he hoped the wing commander would restrict him to base when he returned to Oklahoma.

  Epilogue

  May 7, 1996

  ALICIA SHIVERED as the breeze blew across the Potomac River, and she pulled the collar of her coat up. She strolled along the empty sidewalk to the Jefferson Memorial, her heels splashing in the small puddles on the way. Numerous lights illuminated the historical tourist attraction, giving the small monument a sense of power and majesty. It had always been Jonathan’s favorite monument. They came here decades ago on their first trip to D.C. when they were dating. It had an “aura,” he said. Something they needed to experience. While the monument was beautiful, she didn’t feel it back then, and she wasn’t feeling it now.

  The last few days had been crazy. All three of them—Jonathan, Jason, and her—went to the hospital on Sunday. Jason remained overnight for treatment of his injuries and flew back to Oklahoma on Monday evening. After he returned to work this morning, he went to the flight doc who told Jason said he would be DNIF—duties not including flying—for at least a week. He got no flak from the wing commander, who had received a new assignment in two weeks. After word got out about what happened, Debbie’s “boyfriend” in California flew out Sunday night. That was perhaps the most positive aspect of the weekend, at least as far as Alicia was concerned.

  Fifty yards from the Jefferson Memorial, she stopped and relished the sight. It was one of the more beautiful monuments at night, but she was curious why Sterling MacIntosh wanted to meet here. The rain had ceased earlier, and the fog dissipated due to the increasing breeze. In the distance, cars raced back and forth along I-395 and Highway 1, although the fog had not quite been pushed back far enough to see the traffic. Every few minutes, an airliner passed by as it took off from Washington National, making the hard-left turn to miss the prohibited airspace. Reaching the front of the memorial, she searched in all directions, but he was nowhere in sight. Checking her watch, she was on time. She asked for the meeting, but he picked the place. Did he choose this location because of Jonathan’s appreciation of Jefferson?

  An occasional tourist who braved the weather lingered by, leaving Alicia alone to breathe in the fresh air that followed the rain. In the summer, it would be a humid nightmare, but the springtime held a special pleasantness. The rain attempted to awaken the cherry blossom trees throughout the city, too late, however, to salvage the dying blooms. Still, the rain provided a freshness that calmed her nerves. She was uneasy about meeting Sterling. She always was. In public, he was fine, but in private, he scared the hell out of her. Meeting in a public place relaxed her somewhat, and she held her chin high. He couldn’t do anything here other than scare her.

  Jonathan spoke to her about getting back together. She laughed when he mentioned the idea. It wasn’t “getting back together”—they hadn’t been involved for more than twenty years. And even back then, it was only a short relationship in the big scheme of life. Strange, she thought, how over the years, he’s been the proverbial playboy, yet now seeks a family. She, on the other hand, had grown confident and comfortable as a single mother and as a woman.

  Still, the past week they had spent together, under a variety of circumstances, helped her believe Jonathan had changed. With encouragement from Jason, she agreed to “explore” the possibility of a relationship, but only if he left politics. He was convinced he was ready to do that, he had said.

  The biggest obstacle would be the man she was coming to meet. He would have to stay out of Jonathan’s way and out of his life if this were going to work. Having never liked the man, Alicia spent the past two decades gathering information on his activities, in case she ever needed it. An insurance policy she felt she needed to use today. Sterling MacIntosh had to stay more than an arm’s distance away—he had to be out of their lives for good.

  She continued her stroll around the Jefferson Memorial toward the Potomac. There, alone on a park bench, sat Sterling MacIntosh. Glancing to the left and right, she saw no one else. Standing erect and squaring her shoulders, she walked in his direction. He rose as she approached and nodded.

  “Alicia.”

  “Sterling.” The cool temperature created mist from her mouth as she spoke. It was supposed to drop below fifty degrees later tonight. Perhaps it was there already.

  “What brings us together this evening? This seems rather melodramatic following the week you just had.”

  “I’ll cut to the chase, Sterling—”

  “I appreciate that,” he interrupted her to say.

  The games started. The verbal jousting back and forth—each attempting to outdo the other. Subtle at first, then more overt as the conversation continued. It happened every time. She knew his style and hated it. So, she had prepared a strategy. He recognized that and was more forceful, faster.

  “I’m here to discuss Jonathan.”

  “Does he know you’re meeting me?”

  “No, he would have stopped me. No one knows.”

  Sterling nodded. “Well?”

  “Jonathan is leaving politics.”

  Sterling reacted little. A slight nod, perhaps, his face stoic. “He told you this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who else? The boy?”

  “No. No one else.”

  “Why would he want to leave the only thing he’s ever wanted?

  The only thing he’s ever known?” His voice firm, yet not angry.

  “H-he says he wants to start a family.”

  Sterling chuckled. “Jonathan? A family man? I find that rather hard to believe. But regardless, what does that have to do with me?”

  “You pull his strings. You have for almost thirty years. If he’s going to leave, you’ve got to let him go.”

  Again, the man chuckled. This time, it seemed manufactured. “I appreciate the compliment, but Jonathan is his own man. He’ll make his own decisions.”

  Alicia tilted her head. “Sterling, we both know that’s not true. You’re the Svengali behind his actions. You always have been; you always will be. He wants us to be a family. Start over—with Jason and me.”

  “And you’re willing to give him that chance?”

  “If he leaves politics . . . yes.”

  Sterling paused as if mulling over some thoughts. Finally, he spoke. “There is a position I could offer him if—”

  “No.” This time she interrupted him. He appeared surprised and annoyed. One did not interrupt Sterling MacIntosh. But she did. It gave her the confidence she needed to continue. “Sterling, I’m aware of your ability to give Jonathan a job, but for Christ’s sake, let the man be. He’s done with the world of politics, and he’s done with you. I know the things you are involved in. He doesn’t need to be a part of that world.”

  “You mean you don’t want him to be a part
of that world.”

  “You’re damn straight, I don’t. Let’s face it. You’re a criminal. I’ve been keeping track of what you’ve done for decades. From buying off city councilmen, voter fraud, and bribing judges to the personal destruction of political opponents and more.”

  “More?” His eyes narrowed, but the rest of his face remained expressionless.

  “Yes, more. You’re too damn cowardly to get your own hands dirty. You buy people to do the dirty work, but it’s still you. You’re responsible. You were involved in the killing of those executives from Century Aerospace. I have proof.”

  Sterling said nothing. Perhaps she crossed a line she shouldn’t have, but she pressed forward.

  “I want you to stay away from us. If Jonathan is trying to make a break, let him make a clean break. Stay out of our lives. So help me God, if you don’t, I’ll release every bit of information I have to the Feds and the media. You’ll never recover, and you’ll go to prison for a long, long time.”

  “Alicia,” Sterling said, a slight smile starting to form on his mouth. “I’m impressed. You’ve got bigger balls than your husband. Maybe I should have backed you to be the president.” He strolled toward the railing by the river as he talked. Confused by his response and curious where he was going with this, Alicia followed. Her head swiveled back and forth. No one else was around. She didn’t see any of his men anywhere, though she suspected they were close by.

  He stood at the railing, watching the calm water below. She walked up and stood next to him.

  “You’re right about me,” he said. “I’ve done terrible things over the years. I’ve destroyed a lot of people. Innocent people. People who had absolutely nothing to do with my objective, whether personal or political. Sometimes I destroyed them just to see how simple it was. It gets easier every time.” A smile stretched across his face as he turned to face her. “And it has become a hell of a lot of fun.”