Shadow Game

by Adam Hiatt

  “There is still much of Molay’s record that is yet to be translated, right Jaxon?”

  “We have only read less than ten percent,” Jaxon replied testily.

  “Gabriel, I think since the professor here was instrumental in discovering this historical treasure, he should be afforded the opportunity to further his translation of the record in the near future. I’m certain there is much in there that would be noteworthy without revealing the sensitive material. Perhaps he could make a return trip to accompany you to the archives soon?”

  “Monsieur Reddic, I believe that would be an acceptable compromise.”

  “Jaxon, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I feel like I just won the lottery only to find out that I wasn’t allowed to spend any of the money.”

  “You will get your chance. In the meantime, we have much bigger things to worry about. Before we left the states, I had an interesting conversation with my boss. She told me about a man that works for the NSA. He admitted to her that he was part of this secret brotherhood. After learning what we have tonight things are starting to make more sense. He is the key. We need to go see him.”

  Reddic began formulating a plan in his mind. Peter Ellis was the man Jenkins spoke of. He was the key to cracking this open. Reddic suddenly felt a burst of energy flow through him. The helpless feeling of playing catchup was quickly being replaced with confidence that things were turning in his favor. But he needed to speak to Jenkins urgently to get the ball rolling.

  He pulled out his burner phone and powered it on. He punched in the number to Jenkins’ line and dialed. The phone rang eight times before Reddic hung up. He held the phone in his hand and counted to thirty. When he finished, he flipped the phone over, removed the battery and dropped the phone to the floor. Using the heel of his shoe he stomped on the small device, rendering it inoperable.

  “What’s the matter?” Jaxon asked, alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Reddic said.

  He lied. Something was very wrong. Jenkins was in trouble. She would rarely ever not pick up his call. Even if she were in a high-level meeting, she would call back within half a minute. Anxiety began welling up in his gut. Just when things were starting to fall into place this happens.

  He removed his personal phone and opened a web browser. He punched in the address for the message board that Jenkins had set up and scanned the innocuous posts. He had used this message board on a handful of occasions as more of a drill than anything else. Never had he been in a situation where he failed to connect with his boss on the phone and had to resort to this.

  Reddic scrolled down the page and suddenly stopped. He saw it. His code words were there. He read the message twice, not wanting to believe the implication. The anxiety turned into rage as he processed the turn of events.

  Madison Jenkins was somehow compromised.

  “What’s wrong?” Jaxon asked again.

  “Our plans just changed. We need to get out of here.”

  41

  The Gulf Stream touched down at Reagan National just after 9:00 pm local time. The flight was anything but restful. Being in the air for seven hours unable to act made Reddic extremely apprehensive and uncomfortable. Yet he forced himself to rest his eyes as much as he could during the flight. As an athlete, he knew the importance of sleep. There were many players in the league that ignored the guidelines of adequate rest, preferring to burn the midnight oil, especially on road trips.

  What happened to these players was very predictable. They would perform at a standard output for the first game of the week, but when a back-to-back or an eight-day road trip was in question, their performance dwindled to ineffective at best. Throughout his first season Reddic made it a priority to try to get to bed before midnight for recovery purposes. There were many nights, however, when the team didn’t arrive at the next city until two or three in the morning. On these occasions, he slept as much as possible during the day to catch up.

  That was precisely what he attempted to do on the flight back to Washington DC. Even though his mind was spinning wildly, he was able to shut it off three times and sleep for thirty-minute intervals. It wasn’t the best sleep he had ever gotten, but it was something; and something was always better than nothing.

  When he wasn’t sleeping his mind was focused on Madison Jenkins. He had known her for a few years and had grown very close to her in a protective way. He looked up to her like a big sister. She had recruited him. He still remembered his first interaction with her in New York after one of his college games. She believed in him and recognized his potential talent as an operative.

  She was tougher and smarter than any woman he had ever known. He knew firsthand how tough she was. He vividly recalled a time during his recruitment assessment when he tried to overpower her physically. She exposed every one of his weaknesses and threw him to the ground repeatedly. It was a valuable lesson he learned that day; one that he remembered daily.

  Never underestimate one’s opponent.

  Despite her toughness Jenkins was not a field operator. She was a talent evaluator, a strategist, an administrator, a leader, but definitely not operational. There was a big difference between what he did and what she did. Jenkins planned and prepared each operation, yes, but she allowed Reddic and the other operatives to find the means to accomplish that operation. Often that meant getting one’s hands dirty and bending the rules of engagement. It was a nasty business in a world of nasty people.

  Hence his anxiety. A lot could have happened in the seven hours that he and Jaxon were on the jet. There were so many unanswered questions. Where was Jenkins compromised? Where was she now? Was she hurt? What about Brooke? Was she still alive? The more he thought the more he worried, and the more he worried the less focused he became. It was an enervating cycle, one that he couldn’t allow to continue.

  He tried engaging Jaxon in conversation to discuss their next move. That proved useless as Jaxon was more concerned with Fournier being closer to Molay’s documents than he. Before the sudden disappearance of Jenkins, the idea was to make the quick flight to Rome and have Fournier’s Vatican contact grant them access to the archives where they would hide Molay’s record until Jaxon could return later. But that plan was no longer a priority.

  Reddic did the next best thing he could by locking them up in a hidden safe inside the Paris flat. It wasn’t as secure as the archive option, but there was no way Fournier could access the apartment or the safe. Reddic also bought a prepaid phone for the archdeacon to keep a leash on him. Jaxon acquired the number and tried calling every twenty minutes to get an update. The effort was futile as there was no cellular service at cruising altitude, a fact that was evidently lost on his brother.

  But Gabriel Fournier was not a threat. That much Reddic was certain of and explained as much to Jaxon. A little eccentric, overly protective, and idealistic, but not an enemy. That didn’t mean that he trusted him completely. There was no way he was going to leave the priceless documents with him while he and Jaxon were across the ocean. When the time came, they would return to Paris and reunite with Fournier.

  With Jaxon being distracted, that left Reddic with ample time to breakdown the coded communication on the anonymous message board. He looked over the post several times and realized that in typical Madison Jenkins fashion, it was quite detailed and produced a plan, or at least a starting point. He read it so many times it was indelibly impressed upon his mind.

  How would a team play with no coach? Players with great parents that planned could overcome. Bird, Stockton, West, and Jordan, Russell, Duncan. Their parents were always watching them and protected them to the greatest heights.

  Like with any message board post, there were several responses from other posters engaging the question. The thread turned into an argument on many fronts, from sports to politics, to religion and social opinions. Reddic couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly disguised the message was.

 
After disembarking the jet, they rented a nondescript Ford sedan and drove straight to L Street. Reddic expected his brother to comment on every national monument and government building they passed, but he simply looked out the window with a distant gaze. Reddic knew it must have been beyond difficult for him to leave the Molay manuscripts behind, but it had to be done. He needed Jaxon to concentrate on finding Brooke, not on publishing.

  “Where are we going?” he finally asked.

  “We’re following Madison’s message,” Reddic replied. “Speaking in code is like another language for us. Her first line about a team playing with no coach was her distress call. She is the coach and we are the team. The coach is no longer with the team, meaning she’s in trouble. She talked about great players with parents that planned. That’s where we’re going. Her office is underneath a Planned Parenthood branch right around the corner.”

  “That’s clever. What are we going to do when we get there?”

  “I don’t know yet. One step at a time, I guess.”

  Reddic pulled the car to the side of the street a block away from the building. He had been here once before about two years ago. Jenkins showed him how to access the building in case of an emergency. She didn’t, however, give him any codes that day, only instructions and a brief tour.

  They left the car and walked down the small alley behind the building. At the base of a ramp leading to the garage door was a combination pad. Reddic thought back to Jenkins’ message. She had named some of the all-time greatest NBA players for the specific reason of providing the access code. Larry Bird’s uniform number was 33; Stockton’s was 12; and Jerry West’s was 44. Reddic punched in the numbers 33-12-44 and the garage door began to lift.

  Entering the garage, he quickly made his way over to the fortified steel door in the corner, which he knew was the entry to Jenkins’ office. He stared at the lock as the garage door closed. This lock was much different than the exterior keypad.

  “What’s the matter?” Jaxon asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “This lock requires a card and a code. I don’t have an access card.”

  “So, you’re telling me we get all the way in here and hit a dead end? That doesn’t seem a little off to you?”

  “You’re right. I’m missing something here.”

  He knew Jenkins had never given him an access card. The only card that he possessed from EOS was a credit card.

  That’s it, he thought. The credit card.

  Reddic reached into the front pocket of his backpack and removed the credit card from his wallet. He swiped it through the reader and punched in the next set of numbers – Jordan – 23; Bill Russell – 06; Tim Duncan – 21. He pulled the door open as soon as he heard the lock click.

  Lights flickered on as they stepped into the anteroom. Reddic handed his backpack to Jaxon and signaled for him to remain silent and stationary. His senses were on full alert as he inched along the wall to her office. He dropped to a crouch at the door frame and risked a peek. He was relieved to find the room vacant.

  “We’re all clear,” he said, standing upright.

  Reddic took a seat behind Jenkins’ desk and powered one of the computer monitors. The screen came to life, presenting a dark blue background with a small white space in the middle asking for a password.

  “Any ideas?” Jaxon asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “The phrase about parents protecting their kids to the highest heights is obviously referring to the password. The password protects and the highest heights is the password.”

  “It will have to be something tall, something personal to her. Does she have a favorite city? A favorite building maybe?”

  “Wait a second,” Reddic said. “She told me once about the time she climbed a mountain when she was younger and how it changed her life and made her realize she can accomplish anything.”

  “She climbed Everest?”

  “No. It was Mount McKinley, the highest mountain in the northern hemisphere.”

  “That’s got to be it. Type it in,” Jaxon said excitedly.

  Reddic smiled at his brother’s enthusiasm. It was good to have it back. He typed in McKinley and pressed enter. Reddic furrowed his brow as the password bounced back invalid.

  “Dang,” he said. “That’s not it.”

  “I know why,” Jaxon said. “It’s because the name McKinley isn’t recognized by expert climbers or native Alaskans. McKinley wasn’t used until the late nineteenth century. Before that it was known by its indigenous name of Denali. Try that.”

  Reddic typed in Denali. The blue backdrop on the screen melted away to reveal the desktop and its icons. The background picture was perfect.

  Mount Denali.

  42

  Mahan stood outside the laboratory watching the woman work. She worked with her laptop and three other desktop computers that he provided with her notes spread across a vast table. She moved back and forth between monitors and paper at a feverish pace. On the screens were sequencing models, charts, and statistical analyses. He watched them change each time she punched in new commands. Mahan had no idea what Brooke Hansen was working on, nor did he attempt to pretend. That was precisely why he had another physicist in the laboratory assisting.

  The new person, a bright, young and handsome PhD from Georgetown University, was on loan from the school. At least that was the official reason for the temporary leave of absence. The real reason was much simpler. It was the weakness that all men shared.

  Greed.

  Mahan had visited the ambitious quantum mechanics professor in his office less than two days ago. As soon as Mahan entered the small room he got right down to business. He knew it would be a waste of time to attempt any perfunctory chitchat. This was partly due to the fact that he knew his own shortcomings. He was a man of few words. If he engaged in small talk he would most certainly come across as insincere at best, and categorically threatening at worst.

  An extensive background check run by the Priest before the meeting revealed that this man was the ideal candidate to approach. Not only did his research mirror that of Hansen, at least in terms of fields of expertise and interest, but the young physicist, named Michael Beckman, had an apparent thirst for material possessions. He had racked up thousands of dollars of credit card debt, held a substantial mortgage, car payment, and had no savings. He was an easy mark.

  Beckman’s eyes almost popped out of his head when Mahan opened a briefcase full of cash on his desk. Mahan explained that there was one million dollars in that case. He purposely allowed Beckman to process that number before he set the hook. Mahan explained that he represented a group of wealthy investors that tasked him to recruit the brightest minds at whatever the cost to brainstorm new energy sources. All that was required from Beckman was one week’s commitment. At the conclusion of the week he would be paid the full amount.

  Despite the adage that if something was too good to be true than it probably was, Mahan knew that Beckman would have no other option but to agree. After all, it was his academic field and it presented a quick fix to his financial problems. Mahan even provided a contract detailing the payment, time commitment, and expectations.

  Beckman barely read it before signing.

  The contract wasn’t legitimate, and neither was the money. As soon as these two experts completed the formula for the new energy source Mahan would kill them both. The only hesitation he had was deciding which one he would kill first. He glanced at his watch and calculated that only a few hours remained from the twenty-four-hour deadline he had given the woman. He still had some time to make that decision.

  Mahan’s eyes once again fell on Hansen as she moved about the room conversing with Beckman. He lustily studied her every movement and bodily feature. A flutter of arousal surged through him that he had not felt in a long time. When Beckman came back into his view, Mahan impulsively decided that he would slit his throat first and save the woman for himself. Perhaps she would enjoy what he had in store for her before he st
opped her breathing too.

  The phone vibrating in his pocket interrupted Mahan’s fantasy. He blinked twice to bring his focus back to the present. He noticed he was breathing heavier than normal. Checking the caller ID, he saw that it was the man he left to watch the spy-whore’s office.

  “What is it?” Mahan asked.

  “Two men just arrived and are entering the garage.”

  Mahan turned and took a couple steps away from the window.

  “Did you have a photo to send me?”

  “No. I was not in a good position. I’m parked on the street just outside the building.”

  Mahan considered his options. He wanted so desperately to leave the laboratory and confront these men. But since he didn’t know exactly who they were and what their intentions were, he decided it would be more prudent to remain where he was until the project was complete. It would take him at least thirty minutes, more if there was traffic, to drive there. They could be gone before then.

  Plus, he could trust his man on sight. He had taken the same oath and was a brother in the order. Not to mention he was a highly trained government employee, like so many others in the brotherhood. He was more than capable of surveilling and pursuing with force if necessary.

  “Stay where you are and wait for them to leave. I want to know who they are and where they are going.”

  Mahan hung up before any response could be given. He turned back toward the lab window and lusted after Hansen once more. Deep down he knew the real motivation for not leaving.

  He was looking right at it.

  43

  Reddic searched for the program on Jenkins’ computer. He knew it was there somewhere. It was the final piece of the code she had left for him. He explained to Jaxon that the line in the message board post about parents always watching was a reference to security equipment in her office. There was clearly something on the surveillance tapes that she wanted him to see. It was simply a matter of finding the program.