by Adam Hiatt
He shifted his weight to his back foot and deftly dodged the book while reaching into his jacket for his gun. Reddic anticipated this. He reached out and gripped the man’s right wrist while striking him in the nose with his left elbow. Blood began streaming from his nose, but he would not release the gun. Reddic pushed the wrist farther toward the floor.
The man took a swing with his left hand. Reddic used the man’s shift of weight to his advantage. He stuck his left leg behind his adversary and pushed as hard as he could with his right. The reversal in momentum knocked him backward over top of Reddic’s leg, sending him reeling to the floor. Reddic found himself on top of the man, but he kept hold of his wrist. He sent another elbow flying into his already shattered nose.
The man released a feral growl as he tried to free himself one last time. Reddic reversed direction on the wrist and pounded it into the floor. The man’s grip on the gun loosened and the gun fell away. Reddic snatched it up and turned it toward its owner. The man had rolled onto his knees and was moving in his direction. Reddic leveled the gun at his chest.
“Don’t,” Reddic said, shaking his head. The man smiled menacingly. His teeth were coated in his own blood.
“You are a dead man,” he replied with little trace of a Russian accent.
“Shut your mouth and turn around. Place your hands on your head.” The man reluctantly obeyed.
“So, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Reddic asked.
“Screw you.”
“Screw me?” Reddic laughed. “Look at yourself, tough guy. You’re not exactly in any position to flex your muscles here. So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s your choice.”
“Screw you and your mother.”
Reddic sighed. In any other situation he would play along for a while and eventually break him, but regrettably, time was not on his side. This man’s team was already moving in on Hansen. He knew he had to beat them to her.
Reddic glanced at the gun in his hand. It was a Russian Makarov 9mm. He turned it over in his hand and gripped it by the barrel. With one smooth motion Reddic delivered an incapacitating blow behind the man’s ear, sending him to the floor in a heap. Leaving the man where he was, he moved out of the office and found Peterson behind the administrative desk and checked her vital signs. Her breathing was shallow, and her pulse was slightly accelerated, but she appeared fine otherwise. She would just awake with a nasty headache.
Reddic found a roll of duct tape in her desk. He made his way back to Hansen’s office and bound the man’s wrists behind his back, along with his ankles, and wrapped his mouth and eyes. He pulled his heavy body into the office doorway and ran his hands through the man’s jacket. There was nothing to be found apart from his phone. Reddic flipped the phone open and dialed 9-1-1.
“There’s been a break in here at Stanford in the physics building,” Reddic said. “Two people are down, come quickly.” He disconnected the phone, cleared off his prints and dropped it on the man’s back. He then took out the Makarov, wiped it down and let it fall to the floor.
There was nothing more he could do. He turned and sprinted for the stairs. With any luck he would get to Hansen before it was too late.
7
Reddic found Hansen’s street with relative ease. The propinquity to campus was not at all surprising, considering the woman’s reputation as an indefatigable researcher. Still, the fifteen-minute drive was not at all tranquil. Reddic could not shake the feeling that he was behind in the race. The fact that it appeared the Russians were after Hansen was anything but encouraging.
At first, he was surprised by the Russian presence, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Russia’s economy was almost entirely founded upon oil and natural gas production. A closer look at the majority shareholders of the most profitable oil companies would reveal former KGB members and other Soviet-era oligarchs. The inchoate capitalism that took hold shortly after the fall of communism had provided a way for the very same connected families to maintain control of the country while becoming fabulously wealthy.
A new energy source would significantly decrease the price of oil, which in turn would fundamentally alter Russia’s economy to the point of another collapse reminiscent to that of the 1990’s, potentially thrusting the country back to near third world status. Not to mention the wealth and power of the ruling class would crumble. If there was one single country that would most benefit from a new energy source disappearing, it would be Russia.
Technological theft was another possibility to consider as well. Most naïve Americans believed that Russia and the United States were allies, and that the Cold War ended any feud or acrimony that existed between the two superpowers. Nothing could be further from the truth. Russian spies continued to infiltrate, sabotage, and steal many industrial, military, and scientific secrets on a regular basis. Although the KGB’s nomenclature had changed, its methods, its ruthlessness, its effectiveness remained unchanged.
Reddic knew that the Russians were not here to play nice. They would do anything to take Hansen’s research and then eliminate her without any compunction whatsoever. Chills streaked down Reddic’s spine as he turned onto Hansen’s tree-lined street. The familiar feeling of anticipation suddenly surged throughout his body. His sensory perception heightened, taking in nearly every detail of his surroundings.
It did not take long to survey the area. It was a standard urban neighborhood; small lots, maybe one-tenth of an acre in size, with houses standing side-by-side with their backyards bordering their neighbors. Almost every house was a California bungalow, which was a widely popular structure in Palo Alto.
Hansen’s house was located right in the middle of the block. It was a yellow, wood shingle house with a large front porch, sloping eaves, and a gabled rooftop. The grounds were well manicured, and a detached garage stood to the left of the main house. A white plastic fence neatly outlined the rear limits of the property.
Reddic backed into the driveway of the house directly across the street and left the car idling. He had no intention of staying put. He simply killed the lights and cracked open the front two windows. He looked at the sky and involuntarily winced. Time was running short.
The sun was setting quickly now. There was less than a half hour of natural light left on the western horizon. Windows were illuminating throughout the neighborhood and blinds were being pulled. Only one source of artificial light was coming from Hansen’s house. Unlike many American homeowners who mostly left lights powered on whether a room was occupied or not, Hansen seemed to be more energy conscious. This environmental concern, however, also made her an easier target. Reddic saw her silhouette move behind the shades and sit on the far side of the main living room. A sense of apprehension began to rise again. If he could see her move, there were certainly others watching who noticed the same thing.
Reddic’s vision floated up and down the quiet block, looking for patterns of inconsistency. There were numerous cars parked on the street, a common occurrence in residential areas. Turning onto the block only moments before, Reddic noticed a nondescript, white cargo van parked opposite Hansen’s house a half block away. There was nobody in the front of the van, but that didn’t mean a thing. The whole point of a cargo van was to store the actual cargo, whether that was tools, boxes, or in some cases, people.
The van was suspicious, but not exactly incriminating. There could be any number of reasons for a cargo van to be parked on a residential street. Reddic put the thought aside and examined the remainder of the block. When his gaze reached the corner opposite the cargo van he instinctively tensed up. A black SUV with tinted windows faced Hansen’s house. From his vantage point it looked identical to the one he had fled from the night before at the gas station. He now had confirmation that a team was in place. This meant it was a snatch and grab operation, not an assassination. They wanted Hansen alive, at least until they got what they needed from her.
Reddic calmly pulled the Audi out o
f the driveway and turned right. As he approached the SUV, he turned his head and looked away. At the corner he turned left and circled around to the block behind Hansen’s house. He parked the car and stuffed the 9mm in his waist. With the presence of the two vehicles on her street he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice and go in unarmed. As he crossed the street and silently moved between properties, the back of her house came into view. A few trees and flower beds stood out amongst the relatively bland backyard. As far as he could tell, there was no sign of a dog roaming around.
Reddic took four rapid steps and leaped into the air. He stiffened his arm and braced it against the top of the white plastic fence, using the momentum to launch himself forward into a half aerial handspring. He landed softly and continued his approach to the back door. His line of vision moved swiftly from side to side. He was completely on edge. As soon as it was dark, he knew the team of Russians would move in. His hope was to get Hansen out before the trap was sprung.
He pulled open the screen door and lightly knocked three times. Reddic leaned in and placed his ear against the small window on the door. He could hear nothing inside. It was altogether quiet. He stepped back and was about to knock again when a light above the door suddenly came to life. A shadow appeared behind the window treatment. Reddic flinched and reached for his gun resting at the small of his back. He quickly brought his hand back in front and waited for the door to open.
He didn’t exactly know what he was going to say. He had a rough plan to pose as a new neighbor stopping by to make an introduction. The idea was not well thought out, he knew, but all he needed was to get inside to explain the situation.
When the door began to swing inward, Reddic donned his friendliest face. As the woman stepped into the door frame, Reddic’s eyes opened wide. He felt his face melt from one of pleasant innocence to genuine surprise. Standing in front of him was not just a stunning brunette. He could not believe who it was.
It was the same woman he had saved the night before.
A thousand thoughts flashed through Reddic’s mind, but not a single word came out of his mouth. He felt embarrassed that he had not made the connection. The black SUV alone should have tipped him off. In his defense, however, the dossier Jenkins had compiled did not contain a single photo. Come to think of it, there was not a picture of her on the University’s website either. He assumed that she was ashamed of her physical appearance.
Reddic sized her up and immediately wondered how that ever could be the case. She was tall and slender with flowing brunette hair, deep brown eyes, and an athletic body equipped with appealing curves. He felt a twinge of physical attraction, but the feeling dissipated when Hansen’s face changed from that of pleasant recognition to outright distrust. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
“What’s wrong with my front door?” she asked. He was getting the impression that she was sizing him up too.
“Everything is wrong with your front door. That’s why I’m here,” Reddic replied lamely. He was hoping to ease into the conversation of why he had showed up to her house, but unfortunately that plan was now officially blown out of the water. She stood in her doorway in a defensive posture. She clearly was suspicious of him. He decided a direct approach would be the best.
“Is your name Marjorie Hansen?” he asked.
“Yes.” A half smile pursed her lips. “But my middle name is Brooklyn. My friends call me Brooke.” The smile evaporated. “Why are you really here? Reddic it was, right? Is that even your real name?”
“Of course, it is,” Reddic said. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Brooke, you have to believe me. Our encounter last night was completely coincidental. I was out on a walk to clear my head and ended up right in the middle of a kidnapping. Now I’m here to save you again.”
“Save me from what, my frozen dinner?”
“Look, I don’t know who is after you. All I know is it is most likely the same people that killed your professor friend.”
Brooke’s mouth opened wide with incredulity. He had clearly hit the right button. He now had to capitalize on it.
“There are men casing your house right now. I followed them here from your office on campus. As soon as it’s dark they will come with everything they have. If you don’t leave with me right now, they’ll take you, they’ll get what they want, and then they’ll kill you.”
Reddic’s words must have had the desired effect. Brooke squirmed in the doorway and helplessly looked in both directions.
“Who are you Reddic?” she asked. “Why are you trying to help me?”
This was the question that Reddic had been waiting for. For obvious reasons she could never know who he really was or who he worked for. But she also knew his real name, so he could not use an alias or cover story. He would have to give her a modicum of truth.
“All I can tell you is that I work for some people that want to help. It doesn’t matter who. My friend is convinced that you and your research are worth keeping alive. So, grab a bag of personal items and let’s go.”
“Prove it to me,” she said.
Reddic grasped her left wrist with his right hand and led her through the house. The interior of the home was neutral in color but fashionable. It contained all the standard high-end upgrades: crown molding, faux painting, granite countertops, marble tiling in the kitchen, stainless steel appliances, hardwood floors, leather furnishing and much more. It was strange that her home was so nice. The woman was probably seldom there to enjoy its comforts.
When they reached the living room Reddic turned off the lights and led her to the far side of the blinds. He pulled it open and peered through the crack. Brooke stood directly in front of him. The scent from her hair distracted him for a moment.
“Do you see that white van on the corner?” Reddic asked.
“Yes,” she replied tentatively.
“Have you ever seen that vehicle in your neighborhood before?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
Reddic turned his body and nudged her to follow.
“Does that black SUV down there look familiar?” Her body language completely changed as she caught sight of the vehicle.
“It’s the same one.” Her voice was a whisper now.
Suddenly, the doors of the SUV opened, and two men jumped out. Reddic shifted his eyes to the van and watched one more leave its cargo hold. This was worse than he expected—a three-point assault. There was probably a fourth coming from the rear. A team of professionals would not leave an exit unmanned. Their time had officially run out.
Reddic gripped Brooke’s shoulders and spun her around to face him.
“We have to go. You need to trust me.”
She stared into his eyes, trying to discover any hidden motives.
“Okay, I’ll trust you,” she said at last.
Reddic breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do was drag her out of her house involuntarily.
“If there’s anything in the house that is sensitive to your research, they will find it.”
Brook nodded and walked across the room to a painting mounted above the fireplace mantel. She lifted the painting off, revealing a compact safe. She punched in a six-digit code and pulled it open. Inside was a leather computer bag. She reached for it and slung it over her shoulder. She replaced the painting and faced Reddic.
“I’m ready,” she said.
8
Reddic reached the back door with Brooke right on his heels. All the lights in the house had been extinguished so they could move about undetected. He slid to the left side and motioned for her to go opposite. He reached behind his back and removed his weapon. He felt inside his cargo pant pocket and grabbed hold of the sound suppressor and attached it to the gun.
Holding the gun in his right hand, Reddic moved the small blind aside with his left. He signaled for Brooke to turn out the backyard porch light. As soon as the light went out, he saw a fleeting figure move to the right befor
e disappearing out of sight. Reddic stepped back and chambered a round in his gun, clearly frustrated with his current situation.
The rear door was undoubtedly the best way out of the house. Trying to take out the three intruders in the front would be suicidal. At the same time, he did not want to kill anybody. Random deaths only complicated matters and made things messy. The problem was, he knew there may be no way to avoid it, but he would try, nonetheless.
He couldn’t help but imagine what his coach or the organization’s front office would think if they caught wind of what he was doing. While many other players throughout the league were jetting off to tropical islands or recreating in Las Vegas nightclubs, he was jeopardizing his career and his life for a Stanford scientist. The thought taken in a vacuum would either be viewed as a breach of contract at best, or insane at worst. Yet he knew exactly what he was getting into. The extraordinary money that came with being a professional athlete had not changed a thing. For a reason difficult to explain, this was his life, his purpose.
He looked over at Brooke and felt a strange sense of déjà vu standing next to her. Twice now he had been with her and twice he had been forced to save her life. According to Jenkins, though, what she held in the leather satchel was worth the risk and more. Their eyes met. She was overtly frightened, unsure of what to do. Reddic gave her a reassuring smile before stepping over to stand next to her.
“Be ready to move,” he whispered. She tentatively nodded. Reddic shuffled over to where he had been standing with his shoulder next to the door frame.
“When I pull the door open, you hit the light.”
He twisted the doorknob and cracked it open. The screen door was a little trickier, but he managed to prop it open as well. He looked back at Brooke one more time before facing forward. He counted down from three in his mind. Then, in one motion he pulled the door open and laid his shoulder into the screen door just as Brooke flipped the light on. He planted his left foot and dove forward with the gun held firmly in his right hand. His body was perfectly parallel to the grassy surface. He twisted his body so his vision would be to the right side of the yard.