by Adam Hiatt
“Good. Grab your stuff. We have to get out of here.”
Within sixty seconds Jaxon was leading the way to the rear exit of the main level. Whereas most students were harassed by security personnel entering and leaving the famed “stacks” of Harvard's Widener Library, professors were privileged to come and go pretty much as they pleased, assuming they had their faculty identification. That was the most important lesson that Jaxon learned early on in his time teaching at Harvard. Never leave the office without an ID badge.
A lone attendant manned the desk at the little-used faculty checkpoint. Even though Jaxon frequented the library often, he still had to swipe his badge on the turnstile and show it to the attendant. The employee simply nodded as they walked through. Reddic kept his head down and away from the security cameras he spotted as they approached the exit. Never had he witnessed so many security precautions in a library.
Jaxon explained it away as a necessary deterrent to preserve the invaluable collection of books and documents found within the building. It was a hefty price to pay, Reddic thought. With all the personnel and equipment, he had noticed throughout the library, he estimated the school was spending upwards of five million annually just for security. With that kind of money, it wouldn’t be long before what just happened upstairs was discovered.
Reddic pulled on his brother's arm once outside the library. “Take Brooke back to your office,” he said. “No stops on the way. I will meet you there in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?” Jaxon asked.
“I need to clean this up. And you need to find out about her research. We need to know if it's worth dying for. Now get going.”
Jaxon opened his mouth to protest, but quickly reconsidered. He reached out for Brooke's hand and started to move away. Brooke turned to Reddic with a worried look on her face.
“You’re not coming with us?” she asked. Having saved her now three times, her reluctance to go anywhere without him was evident.
“I'll be right there. Don't worry. Everything will be fine.”
With that he turned and walked in the opposite direction. He couldn't imagine what Brooke was going through. She thought she was making the world a better place by creating a revolutionizing alternative energy source. Now there were people desperately seeking to steal her research and dispose of her like they did with her colleague and mentor. The world was a nasty place sometimes.
Reddic put his hands in his pockets as he casually rounded the rear of the library. To his great relief there was no pedestrian traffic on the narrow sidewalk intersecting the Widener and Houghton libraries. On both sides of the walkway were a few yards of well-manicured grass, bushes, and shrubbery leading to both buildings. On the grass leading to the Widener directly underneath the shattered window above was where he found the body.
He stole another look in both directions before dropping to a knee. He checked for a pulse but found none. The man's skin was already starting to cool. Reddic grabbed the corpse's arms and pulled it behind one of the larger bushes. The man still held his gun with a tight grip. Reddic pried it from his lifeless fingers, unscrewed the sound suppressor, and stuffed the gun away in his waistline.
The first time that Reddic came face to face with a dead body was a troubling experience. He struggled to sleep for a few nights. He couldn't shake the image of the deceased person from his mind's eye. Over time, however, he learned to compartmentalize death. He wasn't a callous man by any means. But, like anything in life, the more one experienced something, the more desensitized one became.
Reddic was not surprised by what he found in the man's pockets. There was virtually nothing apart from a set of rental car keys and a cheap talk/text cellular phone. The car was a dead end, he knew. No operative would leave anything of importance in a rented vehicle. The phone, on the other hand, might prove to be useful. Reddic powered the phone on and opened the call log and frowned. No calls had been made. He checked the contact file. Nothing. The man was thorough. He was a pro.
It was another dead end. But it did confirm that after all the obfuscation, all the precautions he took, they had somehow tracked them to Boston. Yet it also proved that they were grasping at straws and got lucky by finding her here. If they knew exactly where she was an entire team would've been sent to apprehend her and eliminate him. Somebody had to have spotted her in the airport. If that was the case, then these men had very highly placed contacts.
Reddic left the dead body behind the bush and nonchalantly walked away from the library. He removed his own phone and dialed Jenkins. “Can you talk?” he asked when the lined connected.
“Yes,” she responded quickly.
“I was doing some reading with my history friend in his library when we were interrupted by another friend from Moscow. He already left and sadly won't be visiting us again.”
He knew Jenkins was rapidly translating the message in her head. The Russians found him in Boston. Reddic's history friend was an obvious reference for his brother.
“Are there any messes to clean up?” she asked.
“You bet. There's a little cleanup on the southeast side of the building behind a bush.”
“I will get a cleanup crew there within the hour. What else do you need?”
“I need a plane at the airport north of town. I'm pretty sure the one here is going to be too crowded. I'll give the destination when we arrive.” Jenkins agreed. Logan International would be watched closely. New Hampshire would be much more discreet.
“It will be there in thirty minutes,” she said.
“I want to research uninterrupted,” Reddic said. “See if you can find out who is crashing my party on your end.”
“I’ll keep looking into it.”
“One more thing. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Have you figured out a way to keep our friend safe?”
This was the bigger issue. Jenkins knew that Reddic could take care of himself just fine. But the odds of keeping Brooke safe were getting smaller by the hour. At this point there was nobody else to trust her with. At first, she believed that a press conference making Brooke's discovery public would protect her, but that was ruled out when the president got involved. Although she wasn't certain as to what the president's intentions were, she believed it best to keep things under wraps until they had more information.
“Nothing yet,” she said. “I'm afraid you might have to follow this trail and see where it leads.”
Reddic disconnected the call and hurried toward Jaxon's building. That was precisely what he feared.
20
Madison Jenkins was a very simple woman. She was completely devoted to her country and to her job. Nothing else really mattered. Although she had had many suitors, she was not married. She had decided that marriage would have complicated her life. There was no way she could possibly be devoted to a husband and a job.
She did have two brothers, one a real estate developer and the other an attorney. Both were older than her, and apart from an occasional holiday, she rarely spent much quality time with them. Her parents were aging, but still had their health. Being the youngest child in the family, her entire childhood was one big scheme to gain favor in her father's eyes.
Her mother adored her, but more in a sympathetic way than anything. She never thought she was asking too much. All any daughter wanted in life was for her father to respect, notice, and love her. But with two older brothers, that was a task easier said than done.
The family grew up in a small town on the outskirts of Minneapolis. Her brothers were great athletes and very popular. As the younger sister she naturally looked up to them and wanted to be like them. Jenkins was a very good athlete herself. She was regarded in high school as the best female athlete in the state. But that didn't stop her dad from missing her games to watch the boys play. It was a tough way to learn that girls’ sports were not quite the same as boys.
As she grew older, she realized that she wasn't going to be like her brothers. She came to
terms that her dad did love her, just in a different way. Her mother had always told her that she was mature beyond her years. If not for that maturity she would've never learned that life just wasn't fair sometimes and never would be. She decided that all she could do was make the most of her situation and try to make a difference in society.
When Jenkins graduated from high school she was tempted to stay in Minnesota and again follow in the footsteps of her older brothers. She had opportunities to pursue athletics in college, for the home team no less. But she had already gone down that road in trying to be like her brothers. It was time for her to walk in her own shoes.
So, she enrolled at Georgetown University, took student loans and studied political science. She earned a PhD and began a career as an analyst for the Central Intelligence Agency. The job wasn't anything like she saw in the movies. It was a lot of paperwork, never ending research, and a few presentations. She kept her head down and worked her tail off.
She never expected a thing from her employers. She didn't expect the same pay as her male colleagues, equal respect, or equal promotion tracks. She only expected to do her job better than anybody else in the building. Her attitude soon caught the attention of her superiors and she climbed the agency ladder at a remarkable pace. At the age of thirty-five she was named the director of the CIA's Counterterrorism Unit. A short time later EOS was created, and she was asked to run it. If only her brothers and her dad knew what she did for a living. That would surely get their attention.
Jenkins turned her Tahoe into a garage just off Washington DC's L Street. The garage was built underneath a popular Planned Parenthood branch. It was the perfect cover. If anybody was ever curious enough to follow her to work, they would assume that she was entering the Planned Parenthood building from the alley behind. Plus, her official cover was that of special advisor to the president over domestic affairs. Most interpreted that as a lobbyist for women’s health issues and the advancement of feminism. Of course, nobody knew she was already one of the most powerful women in the country.
The garage was nebulous, non-descript, and perfect for her job. Calling it a parking garage, however, would be a misnomer. It was more like a bunker. The garage door itself, which only she had access to, would withstand anything short of a military-grade munitions.
Per protocol, Jenkins waited inside her SUV until the garage door was sealed shut. Once it closed, the entire parking space suddenly became illuminated. Jenkins exited her vehicle and walked to the only door in the entire room. She swiped her access card, punched in a code, and heaved open the heavy metal door.
It opened directly into her office space, her world. A large anteroom with a conference table, video monitors, encrypted phones and a shredder led to a small hallway. On one side of the hallway was a fitness room with stationary bike and elliptical machine, and on the other was a fully stocked kitchen. Suffice it to say she spent many hours in the building.
At the end of the hall was her office. It was large, but not luxurious. There was a leather couch and an armchair opposite her desk against the wall next to a small, private bathroom. On the desk was a secure phone and three secure computers. She took her seat behind the screens and powered them on. In succession the screens came to life and displayed the symbols of the CIA, FBI, and NSA.
Jenkins had the world at her fingertips. When EOS was created the president authorized a secure intranet feed between her office space and the three agencies. This was how she coordinated the special assignments for her team. She had access to the daily briefings and the constant flow of information within the walls of these agencies. She could change, deactivate, or classify certain pieces of intelligence so that her team had exclusive priority. Her access to intelligence was incredible.
Her most urgent task was to authorize one of the CIA's private jets to be fueled and ready for Reddic in New Hampshire. She had already reached out to a few contacts in Boston to dispose of the body that had been stashed behind a bush. The next item of business was to enter the National Security Administration's mainframe. She had been taught to never go into any of the agency's databases directly. Even though she had clearance from the White House, a firestorm would be raised if any one of the agencies knew an outsider was viewing their content.
Each one of her computers was encrypted with special algorithms designed to erase her digital trail. In theory, if a trace was ever run, the trail would dead end at the desk of the department's director. Jenkins ran a search for Marjorie Brooklyn Hansen's name and came up empty. She queried the words professor, physics, energy, and Stanford, but again found nothing. Leaning back in her chair she ran her fingers through her long hair trying to think.
She decided to narrow the search to Sacramento's airport to see if their system was accessed. A hit appeared on the screen. She opened the file and saw still frame shots of a woman's profile walking through security. A facial recognition analysis was performed only a few hours ago. The results were stored in a file that was designated “Priest.” Inside were several photos of Brooke, her personnel file, and scores of other documents.
Jenkins rapidly moved her fingers across the keyboard. She needed to find out who ran the search and who created this file. Of most concern she needed to know who this Priest was. A name came up on her screen. Peter Ellis, a top-level analyst.
“What are you doing, Peter?” she said, again reclining in her chair. “Who are you working for?”
She browsed through the contents of the file and gasped. There was folder after folder of sensitive information, such as medical records, financial records, and much more.
“You're definitely snooping around in things you shouldn't be,” she muttered.
Rising from her chair, she grabbed her keys and headed for the garage. Peter Ellis had some very serious questions to answer.
21
The circuitous route was the only logical way back to Jaxon's office. Reddic’s senses were on alert now. It wouldn't be out of the question for somebody to be watching out for him. The best course of action was to act like a student and stroll along Harvard Yard in an insouciant manner, but to remain hyperaware. If there was somebody following him, he would flush him out.
With eyes constantly on the move, Reddic analyzed every face that he saw, trying to discern intent. He was halfway across the west side of the square, on the backside of University Hall, with everything seemingly checking out. Not wanting to take any chances, he entered the Harvard Memorial Church through the west doors. His plan was to randomly choose another exit, circle around the building and determine if there was anybody following him. Unpredictability was the key in shaking a pursuer.
Daylight was flooding in through the large windows, casting a soft radiance on the beautiful columns and exquisite craftsmanship. Reddic briefly wondered how often his brother frequented the chapel. He imagined his brother spending many afternoons reading ancient literature.
Reddic's gaze moved throughout the church. His eyes fell on the only other occupant there, a man sitting quietly in the fifth row from the front. Reddic observed the man as the west doors closed behind him with a resounding thump, breaking the still quietude. Oddly enough, the stranger did not move to investigate the source of the intrusion. Reddic immediately grew alarmed. The man appeared to be meditating, but his actions were wholly out of place.
Anybody in that situation would have at least turned to face the source of an unexpected noise. Maybe on another day Reddic would've been fooled, but not after the string of events he'd witnessed in the past twenty-four hours. This was an act, a ruse he was familiar with. The objective was two-fold. Act disinterested and maybe the unforeseen guest would simply pass by. However, if the intruder had hostile intentions, feigning indifference could serve as a tool to generate sloppiness and a sense of over-confidence, giving the hunted the advantage over the hunter.
The ploy was counterproductive in this case. Reddic probably wouldn't have given the man a second glance had he reacted like any other person. As
it was, he couldn't help but believe this man was somehow a threat.
He removed the weapon he stole from the dead Russian outside the library and silently reapplied the sound suppressor. He chambered a round and began walking up the aisle with his hands behind his back, concealing the automatic. His head was on a swivel as if he were admiring the church. He slid into the pew directly behind the man and sat.
“Zdrastvitye tovarish,” Reddic said, greeting the man in Russian.
Reddic watched his reaction closely. As soon as the words left Reddic's lips the man's head rose a fraction of an inch. It was all he needed to see to confirm his suspicions. Reddic brought the gun up and pressed the tip of the silencer against the man's skull.
“Do not move or I’ll put a bullet in your head,” he commanded. He forced the man's head forward as he snuck a glance over his shoulder. On his lap was a hymnal with its binding separated from the cover.
All at once everything started to become clear. The other Russian must have been on campus to pass along information. The hymnal was the dead drop. The man must have spotted Brooke walking into the library from a distance and followed. Now knowing that it was pure happenstance that they were found made Reddic feel slightly less unsettled. His gaze fell on the man sitting in front of him. He was obviously here to collect whatever was left by his dead colleague.
“Who are you?” Reddic asked. The man sat silent. Reddic was not in the mood for stubbornness. He pressed harder against his head with the gun. “I asked you a question.”
There was no response. Reddic was on the verge of losing his composure. He inhaled deeply to calm his temper. Interrogation was an incredibly stressful and mentally challenging enterprise, forfeiting control of the situation could make it all go sideways. The problem was, Reddic didn't have the time or the resources to be patient. If anybody happened to walk in on this impromptu interrogation, he could quickly find himself in deep water with the police. This was a time to be forceful and use any reasonable measures to get this guy to talk.