by Adam Hiatt
Chapter 18
Somehow Reddic knew that going to Paris would be too simple for his brother. He should not have been surprised. His older brother had acted this way his entire life. Perhaps no other example illustrated their unique relationship than when Jaxon accompanied him on his college recruiting visits. Many programs had offered Reddic athletic scholarships to play basketball after his senior year in high school, but under the governing body's rules, he could only take five official visits. Having grown up in the central part of the state of Washington, there was only one school he wanted to play for. The Bulldogs of Gonzaga University.
Jaxon drove the car the short two-hour distance to Spokane, Washington. They were making good time, arriving to town an hour before they were to meet up with the head coach in his office. Reddic wanted to get to campus as soon as possible, but Jaxon had other ideas. Before he knew it, they were parked in front of Our Lady of the Lourdes Cathedral in the city center. Culture was how Jaxon explained the detour.
Since Gonzaga was a catholic university, it was smart to visit the local cathedral before visiting campus, Jaxon explained. Unfortunately, Jaxon had other motives. He was researching cathedral architecture for an academic project. Reddic soon found himself following his brother up into the bell towers of the cathedral. Once they reached the top, a clergyman found and reprimanded them for exploring the building without permission. Reddic's heart sank. He just knew that word would get back to Gonzaga and his scholarship offer would be rescinded.
Fortunately, there were no such consequences to Jaxon's adventure. Reddic ended up playing for Gonzaga, but he learned a valuable lesson about his brother. Simple plans did not exist in his world. There always had to be something to explore.
Before they even thought about traveling to Paris, Jaxon insisted he show them an important document. He led Brooke up the steps of the Widener Library as Reddic took in the vast structure. It looked like a robust courthouse or federal building. It was built out of brick with twelve stately columns guarding its entrance. A massive set of concrete steps spanned nearly the entire width of the building. Jaxon explained that there were over three million volumes inside its walls, but it was the special collections they needed to see.
Reddic stopped at the top of the steps and squatted down, pretending to tie his shoe as he let his gaze fall on Harvard Yard below. In between the towering trees there were pockets of students coming and going along the crisscrossing sidewalks. Maybe it was simply a case of being overly suspicious, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
As they entered the library a visual transformation fell over them. It seemed as if they had stepped into another era. The palatial marble interior emitted a feeling of nineteenth century aristocracy. The detail was, perhaps, ostentatious for a university library, but Reddic couldn't deny the fact that it was striking.
They made their way up the baluster lined stairs to the top level. Jaxon opened the doors to the special collections area. Reddic grinned as they walked into the narrow hallway. Gone were the marble embellishments, the grand chandeliers, the arched doorways, and the waxed floors. In their place was ceramic tiling, dim lighting, wood paneling, and mobile shelves with books scattered about. The layout was simple. A quadrangular hallway wrapped around the floor with elementary school-like doors offering access to various special collections. Each door was designated by historical region.
Jaxon stopped outside the Middle East section. He punched in a pass code and waited for his two guests to enter. Brooke stepped through first and sat at the table just to the right. The room felt restricted. Bookshelves and file cabinets and document bins were everywhere. It resembled a storage shed more than a research lab.
“Physics labs are a lot different than history labs,” Brooke opined.
“I guess we're not as needy,” Jaxon said, winking at Brooke.
Reddic rolled his eyes. “Why are we here?” he asked.
“What I'm about to show you never leaves this room. Understood?” Jaxon asked. Both Brooke and Reddic nodded. Jaxon eyed them both before moving to the back wall. Reddic hadn't noticed before, but the wall was lined with small doors the size of gym lockers. Jaxon again punched in a code and pulled open the door. He extracted a lockbox and brought it to the table.
“I was given permission from the Vatican to enter their secret archives last year. The president of Harvard is a childhood friend of Cardinal Roland. He pulled some strings and got me access. Now, there was a contingency. I could freely conduct my research, but I could not remove anything from the archives nor make copies. I followed the rules, but they didn't say anything about scans.” Jaxon held up his cell phone. “Did you know these smart phones have scanners?”
He unlocked the box and removed a document, placing it on the table where Brooke sat. “This is a scan of a page allegedly from Jacques de Molay's personal diary. The handwriting has been authenticated. I don't know why or how the Vatican obtained this. All I know is that there are no other copies and absolutely no knowledge of Molay's diary location.”
“Could the Vatican also have the complete diary?” Reddic asked.
“If they did, it would be destroyed, along with this page.” He removed another sheet of paper, this one white and new. “Even though Molay was French, he wrote in Latin. I've made a translation of the letter. And it wasn't an easy feat. Medieval writing is difficult to understand, at best. I was blessed to have learned paleography during my PhD days, so it now reads like a modern-day script.”
Before Jaxon finished, Reddic stood to the side of Brooke and began reading the document.
There was great unrest in the Holy Land. The Egyptians were too strong, and our forces had been depleted. I had petitioned monarchs, rulers, and popes for more men, but my requests had gone unheeded. I feared we would lose the Holy Land forever. To this end I embarked on a perilous crusade. With only two Knights in my company I passed through the Egyptian ranks into the holy city. As the Grand Master, I had no greater duty than to protect the world from the secrets.
The passages beneath the holy site were dark, but I was oriented. One of the sacred obligations of the Grand Master was to intimately know the secret passages discovered by our ancestors. I desired to destroy all the records before they were revealed to the world. But fate was not with me. I was too late. Our sacred vault had been breached. All that remains is what was in my possession.
I have since felt the darkness begin to grow. It will soon sweep across every land if not exposed and destroyed. According to the records, many civilizations have passed into extinction caused by this darkness. I have pleaded with my Lord that I can be an instrument in His hands to shine light on this evil. For this cause I kept my record, not to preserve these combinations, but to expunge them. May the Lord Almighty grant the next Grand Master this record, for my days are coming to an end. The darkness has come for me.
Our lady will justify me and my gaze will never leave her. My place amongst the kings will be a watchman for my record. Adieu.
“Incredible,” was all Brooke could say after finishing the document. Reddic stepped away from the table and looked at Jaxon with a stoic expression. Nobody spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Jaxon broke the silence.
“This single document has changed my research,” he said. “I entered the Vatican looking for documents completely unrelated to this. This page was not catalogued where it should have been. It's as if I was supposed to have found it.”
Reddic was about to respond when a knock on the door made them turn.
18
Pavlov lost sight of the woman when they entered the library. He cursed under his breath at the enormity of the building. He knew she could be anywhere. All at once he was faced with a choice. He could wait it out at the entrance for her to return, or he could begin a blind search. The challenge with the first option was that the woman had help, and from what Pavlov and his men had seen so far, the help came from a professional. No pro would exit the
building the same way he entered.
With a building this size there had to have been numerous exits. No, waiting it out was a poor idea, Pavlov concluded. The problem was he couldn't get too excited about blindly moving about the library either. First and foremost, it was inefficient, but more importantly, he would be an easy mark for any professional. He began to feel his frustration rise. He was too close to let her slip through his grasp. There had to be another way.
A man brushing past Pavlov brought his thoughts back into focus. The man was wearing tan slacks and a light blue, collared shirt. He had graying hair and walked with a purpose. Pavlov watched the man climb the first two steps when an idea suddenly struck him. The man was carrying a leather satchel over his shoulder. Pavlov quickly replayed in his mind the image of the woman and the two men accompanying her into the library.
A jolt of optimism ran down his spine. One of the men with her was also carrying a satchel. Pavlov began to connect the dots in his mind. The man he was watching now and the man he had seen earlier may have something in common. They may both be professors at the university. If that were the case, perhaps there was an area exclusively reserved for faculty. The logic was thin, Pavlov knew. It was simply a hunch. But in his business, sometimes a hunch was all he needed.
Pavlov decided to follow his instincts. He fell in behind the older man and climbed the steps to the top floor. He watched the man enter the special collections area. Pavlov quietly slipped through the doorway and watched his new guide enter a door designated as Latin American Studies. Pavlov hurried his pace and walked past the door before it closed. The man was alone in the room.
Pavlov looked around, taking in the odd surroundings. The hairs on his neck began to stand on end. The predator always knew when the prey was close. He could sense it. He suddenly had an unyielding certainty in his mind that he was in the right place.
He slowly walked through the hallway listening for any sound. Behind any one of these doors the woman was ensconced. He had made it halfway around the floor when he thought he detected muffled voices. He followed the sound until he was outside the door reading Middle East.
His gut told him this was the door. He reached for his gun, making sure a round was chambered, and held it behind his leg. He stood off to the side of the doorframe and formulated his plan. It was simple. He would identify the woman first, then kill anybody else in the room. The anticipation was building. He was moments away from saving his country.
He calmed his nerves and knocked on the door.
19
The wrapping at the door acted like an alarm going off in Reddic's head. Sadly, this was his life. Undoubtedly there were times when he wished he could live the aloof life of a professional athlete. To them, and anybody else for that matter, a knock on a library door was nothing, a simple everyday occurrence. Nobody would give it a second thought.
But in Reddic's world it was very significant. Even when he wasn't actively working as an operative, he possessed a heightened sense of awareness. During halftimes of games, for instance, while walking through an arena's tunnels toward the locker room, he would memorize every face he saw, know which security personnel carried weapons, and always spotted secondary and tertiary exits. Of course, it wasn't always the easiest proposition for him to be hyper-vigilant and focused on his games simultaneously, but he learned long ago that good habits could save his life.
It was along these lines that he sat at the table nervously eyeing the door. He noticed as soon as they had entered the room that there was not a secondary exit. Only a frosted window rising from floor to ceiling, casting dull daylight into the cramped room, offered any alternative egress from the building. The problem was, they were on the top floor of the library, some thirty feet from the ground. As far as he was concerned, they had cornered themselves into a tomb.
Reddic jumped to his feet and headed for the door in an athletic stance. “Does that happen often?” he asked in a low voice, pointing at the door. He didn't want to alarm his brother or Brooke, so he kept his cadence calm and tried to act natural.
“You mean the knocking?” Jaxon asked.
Reddic nodded.
“Rarely, unless I'm expecting a research assistant to bring me something,” he said.
Reddic grimaced. He looked at Brooke. Her face registered concern. His attempt at indifference wasn’t working. She knew that something was wrong.
“Get back against the wall,” he said.
“Reddic, calm down,” Jaxon ordered. “It's a library. People knock on doors.” He reached for the door with his right hand.
“Wait,” Reddic exclaimed. He was too late. Jaxon had already opened the door.
In the time it took for the door to open Pavlov was already in the room, bull rushing Jaxon, knocking him to the floor. He had his gun up sweeping from side to side. The man was a pro, manifested in the way he moved and in the way he clinically assessed the environment. Reddic knew he wouldn't shoot until he located Brooke. When that happened though, he would not be so restrained.
Reddic's window of opportunity was small, so he had to act quickly. He was out of the man's immediate line of sight, since he positioned himself behind the door. Without warning he lunged forward, grabbing hold of the weapon with his right hand while delivering a vicious kidney blow with his left. He repeated the punch and wrenched Pavlov's arm into a hammer lock. He heard the gun clank to the floor, but he kept his arm in a tight lock.
“Get her out!” he screamed. Jaxon scrambled to his feet and practically dragged Brooke out into the hallway.
Pavlov swung his left elbow and connected with Reddic's ear. Losing his equilibrium for a moment, he released Pavlov's arm and stumbled back. He saw stars flash before his eyes and the side of his ear felt like it was on fire. Like a boxer knowing his opponent was vulnerable, Pavlov pounced on Reddic, trying to deliver the knockout blow. The man was shorter than him, and much stockier. His low center of gravity would be advantageous in these close quarters. Reddic needed to get space between them.
The first punch Reddic deflected, but the second caught him in the ribs. Reddic gasped for air, but he didn't cover up. Instead, he threw a left cross into Pavlov's mouth. The punch stunned the shorter man, putting him back on his heels. Reddic wasted no time. He planted his left foot and brought his right up into Pavlov's genitals with everything he could muster. The breath rushing forth from his throat was strikingly audible.
Reddic began to close in when suddenly Pavlov reached for a chair and hurled it toward him. Reddic easily ducked out of the way as the chair sailed past. It was a weak attempt to inflict any damage. It was at that moment when he realized the chair was not meant to hurt him. It was meant to distract him.
Pavlov was picking his gun off the floor just as the chair crashed against the wall nearest the door. The fight had rapidly become unfair. Reddic stood in the middle of the room assessing his options. There was a chance he could make it to the door and be in the hallway without being shot, but there was an equally good chance a bullet would be lodged in his back. His other option was to do the unexpected. He could charge the shooter.
There was no doubt in his mind what he was going to do. He stayed low and moved to his left. Planting his foot, he changed directions at a rapid pace and launched himself into the chest of Pavlov. He knew he hit the man hard. He felt it in his own body. As he fell to the floor, he watched Pavlov lose his balance and stagger backward. His arms shot up into the air and momentum carried his hands behind his head. He involuntarily discharged the weapon wildly behind him as a result of the unanticipated attack.
The sound of the bullet leaving the suppressed automatic wasn't as loud as the impact it had with the window. A hole appeared in the middle of the glass with spider web veins streaking in every direction. Pavlov tripped over his feet and connected with the broken window. Normally the glass would've held his weight, but in its weakened state it exploded outward, pulling Pavlov through turbulent vorticity.
The man bellowed a
s he fell to the concrete below. His panicked cry lasted only a moment as the impact drew silence. Reddic remained away from the window. He knew the man's flight was fatal. Only amateurs would expose themselves for any potential witnesses below to see. He also replayed the man's final word as he flew out the window. It was a curse word, and not just any curse word, it was Russian.
He reversed direction and sprinted out of the room. He found Brooke and Jaxon at the end of the hallway inside another research lab. He motioned for his brother to come to him. Jaxon hurried down the hall and entered the research room. Reddic rubbed his bruised ear, which was throbbing heavily. Jaxon took in the room and noticed two obvious facts; the attacker was gone, and the window was shattered. It was easy to deduce what had transpired.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“You need to remove any research that you don't want to fall into the wrong hands,” Reddic responded. “This whole floor is going to be a crime scene within the hour.”
Jaxon's face looked ashen. The thought of him being implicated in this man's death caused uncontrollable fright. He was not yet a tenured professor. Being a suspect in a murder trial would destroy his career.
“Are you the only person allowed in this room?” Reddic asked. He knew what Jaxon was thinking. He too was worried about his brother's potential involvement.
“No way. Any faculty member can enter any one of the special collections labs. We all have codes.”
“So, there's no way anybody can know if you've been up here or not without seeing you?”
“That's right. There are no security cameras up here and all professors have the same codes to each lab.”