Shadow Game

by Adam Hiatt

  “Ma’am, please stand and place your arms out in front of you,” Wilson said politely.

  Jenkins obeyed and stood ramrod still as Lewis reached around her waist and fastened a thick leather belt, cinching it tight. “Please take your seat, ma’am,” he said. Once seated, Lewis attached a chain to the belt and wrapped the slack under the bench and up between her legs. Jenkins looked down and saw a pair of handcuffs at the end of the chain. Lewis restrained her wrists and both he and Wilson exited the room without another word.

  As soon as the room was clear another man walked in carrying a chair. He closed the door behind him, placed the chair opposite Jenkins and took a seat. He had a mocking, satisfied look on his face as he studied her.

  “I would shake your hand, but you seem to be a bit tied up at the moment,” Kim Cushman said.

  Jenkins glanced over his shoulder at the surveillance camera. The red light was off. This meeting was off the books.

  “Would it offend you if I told you I was expecting you show to up?” she asked.

  “Of course not, Madison. I have great respect for your intelligence.”

  Jenkins ignored the sarcasm and got right to the point.

  “What are you up to, Kim?” she asked.

  “You were explicitly warned to stay out of this,” he replied.

  “What exactly am I being charged with?”

  “Look where you’re sitting. Isn’t it obvious? You’re a terror suspect.”

  “You know that won’t hold up in court,” Jenkins said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “This is a farce and you know it. You should be more worried about the investigation that will be coming your way real soon.”

  “I beg to differ. Don’t forget, you disobeyed a direct order to stay clear, and you lied to the president’s face. Then, to compound your error in judgment, you actively interfered with our best efforts to protect Dr. Hansen’s research from foreign enemies.”

  “I was doing my job,” Jenkins countered.

  “The president sees it differently.”

  “So that’s what this is about then. You want my job.”

  “You will learn soon enough,” Cushman offered.

  At that very moment as the words rolled of his tongue it felt as if a billion neurons fired across the synapses in her brain, triggering a very distinct memory. Her office. A priest at her desk. The assassin and Brooke. She closed her eyes and replayed the events of that day. Cushman’s response, you will learn soon enough, echoed in her mind. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide as the connection was made.

  “You’re beginning to see,” Cushman said, as if he could hear her thoughts.

  Jenkins’ mouth went dry as she stared at him in disbelief. All she could think to say was what she already knew.

  “You’re the priest.”

  45

  “This is why she brought us here,” Reddic said, pointing to the computer monitor.

  He had rewound the security footage to the point where Jenkins and Peter Ellis were in the small conference room of her office together. The video was paused, showing Ellis seated at the end of the table and Jenkins standing in the middle to his left, both palms pressed against the surface. Ellis was passing an envelope to her. Reddic put his finger over the image.

  “We need to see what’s inside that envelope,” he said.

  The footage played on. Jenkins grabbed the envelope from Ellis, entered the bathroom with it, and exited empty-handed. Reddic and Jaxon caught one another’s eye, silently sharing the same thought. Reddic shot out of the chair and stepped into the restroom.

  He flipped on the light and analyzed the room. It was a tight squeeze, a new addition to the workplace. The soft pastel coloring of the tile was well intentioned but failed to make the space feel any bigger than it was. It was large enough to accommodate a compact vanity, a toilet and modest shower, but also small enough that two people would bump elbows. Not surprising at all, the area was clean, tidy and smelled like disinfectant.

  Reddic turned slowly to take in the entire area. He envisioned Jenkins in the bathroom looking for a place to hide the envelope. Due to the lack of space and features, the number of adequate locations was somewhat limited, unless there was a concealed safe, a thought he had not considered. He ruled that idea out quickly. If it were him, the whole purpose behind hiding the envelope would be to keep it out of Ellis’ hands in order to prevent him from having any second thoughts about handing it over. An out of sight, out of mind type of model. If she had a safe it would be in her office, not here.

  A bathroom was not a typical place to hide sensitive materials. In fact, for Reddic, it was completely unorthodox. He had rummaged through plenty of bedrooms, offices, living rooms, and even kitchens in pursuit of various items while on past assignments, but never a bathroom. Had he not seen the surveillance video he probably would have been tearing the office and conference room apart trying to recover the envelope. Nonetheless, he was confident he would find it in no time.

  Without any previous experience to draw from, Reddic deduced the most logical place to start looking was behind the mirror. He gently pulled it away from the wall and inspected the backside. Unfortunately, that option came up empty. His next thought was to look in each of the drawers on the side of the vanity and under the sink. Again, nothing. He started to reconsider the possibility of a safe.

  “You’re looking in the wrong place,” Jaxon said.

  Reddic turned toward the doorway where Jaxon stood, slightly caught off guard by the remark. He wasn’t necessarily insulted, but the fact was, his brother was a history professor, a bookworm, a theoretician, not a trained professional covert operator like he was. He had never snuck into a highly fortified enemy’s home, recovered delicate information and disappeared into the night leaving no trace that he had ever stepped foot on the property. Jaxon’s criticism was akin to Reddic dissecting his research methods and citations.

  Reddic was about to respond when Jaxon stepped to the side of him and approached the toilet. He put his left knee on the seat and reached behind the tank with both hands. Seconds later he triumphantly pulled the envelope out with his left hand and presented it to his brother.

  “Everyone thinks toilets are disgusting,” he said. “That’s why I would have hidden it there.”

  Reddic stood and watched as Jaxon strutted out of the bathroom with the envelope in hand. “That’s right where I was going to look,” he said.

  “Yeah, it sure looked like it,” Jaxon replied over his shoulder.

  He left the bathroom and followed Jaxon to the small conference room, slightly embarrassed for being outmaneuvered. He snatched the envelope away and dumped its contents on the table. Two documents fell out. The first was a glossy, eight by ten photo. It captured a large, majestic building with a Greek portico and columns that flowed into two symmetrical Byzantine towers built atop silver-gray brick. Behind the towers a massive dome protruded from the rooftop. A golden cross capped each of the two towers and the dome.

  “Do you have any idea where this is?” Reddic asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Jaxon replied. “It’s actually quite distinct. This is the Baltimore Basilica. It’s the oldest cathedral in the United States, built in 1821. The funeral for Charles Carroll was held there. Did you know he was the only Catholic to sign the Declaration of Independence?”

  Reddic disregarded the question and slid the second document closer. It was an architectural drawing of the same basilica. Each room was labeled with its function. A circle was drawn just behind the high altar on the east side of the building around a symbol indicating a staircase leading to the crypt. Next to the circle was a handwritten word in the margin.

  Priest.

  “Ellis told Madison that he met the Priest in a church,” Reddic said. “I remember asking her where the church was, but she hadn’t thought to ask Ellis. I’ll bet you this is the place. Have you ever gone below to the crypt?”

  “I’ve been in many crypts, but not in this cathedral,” Jaxon sa
id. “They are pretty similar. The crypt is a place where various sarcophagi and relics are kept that are sacred to that specific basilica. You know, a crypt itself is not that spacious. Most of these cathedrals have an undercroft, which is pretty much a storage basement and is much bigger. The crypt is just part of the undercroft.”

  “Look at this,” Reddic said, turning the cathedral floor plan over. Jaxon moved in closer to get a better view of the handwritten note inscribed on the back.

  Basilica #

  Press 1

  Extension: 21201

  Answer: I desire illumination

  Answer: The new name I have received (Simon)

  Meeting time set

  “What is this?” Jaxon asked.

  “This is most likely how Ellis would schedule a meet with the Priest,” Reddic responded enthusiastically. “This has got to be his protocol and the key words he’s supposed use when making contact. Madison said that Ellis had some documents that could lead to the Priest. I think this is what he was talking about. Everything we need to finally end this is right here.”

  “Should we try it?”

  “No, not yet. We need to have a plan before making any contact. Do me a favor and gather these up. We need to leave in a couple minutes.”

  Reddic left Jaxon in the conference room and entered Jenkins’ office. His mind was racing with excitement at the new discovery. He had no idea what to expect trying to contact the Priest, but just having access to the communication protocols was an intelligence coup. He knew he had to temper his enthusiasm and tread cautiously, however. Notwithstanding the urgency he felt to locate Jenkins and Brooke, he knew he couldn’t make any rushed decisions. He needed time to prepare.

  For that purpose, he sat behind his boss’s desk and opened the largest drawer. It was full of files. Contracts, travel manifests, research, and an abundance of other paperwork were neatly ordered with color-coded folders. Reddic carefully removed them from the drawer and placed them on the floor. He licked his fingertips and placed them on the bottom. They stuck to the thin metal like ten little suction cups. Dropping to his knees, he pressed down firmly, making sure to distribute the pressure from each finger equally. The bottom of the drawer gave way, dropping down about a quarter of an inch, allowing Reddic to slide it inward. A hidden compartment opened, revealing a sub-drawer lined with a fabric soft case. There were several cutouts in the lining holding the items that Reddic was looking for.

  During his only other trip to Jenkins’ office she had told him about the concealed compartments in her desk where she kept her emergency weapons cache. He picked up a Glock 27 from one of the larger cutouts and examined it in his hand. The weapon was perfect for his purposes. It was light, accurate, and packed a punch for a .40 caliber subcompact. The other cutouts in the drawer held two extra magazines with nine rounds each, as well as a sound suppressor. Reddic grabbed all three and stuffed them in his backpack. He slid the bottom of the drawer back into position and replaced the files before exiting the office.

  “Do you have all that you need?” he asked, passing through to the anteroom.

  “Yeah, I’m all set,” Jaxon replied.

  Outside of the building they waited for the garage door to seal closed before walking down the alley to their rental parked on the street. Reddic shifted the vehicle into gear and pulled out into traffic on L Street. He took his first left onto 16th Street and headed northbound.

  The sides of his mouth curled upward ever so slightly in amusement as he peered into his rearview mirror. There was much about the past couple of days that had utterly surprised him, but this wasn’t one of them. Ever since he saw the security footage in Jenkins’ office, he had expected this.

  “What’s so funny?” Jaxon asked.

  “Just another day at the office,” he replied. “I think we’re being followed.”

  “Where?” Jaxon cried, contorting his position to look out the back window.

  “Face forward,” Reddic said, reaching for his shoulder. “There’s a blue BMW about three cars back. I want to make sure that we’re really being tailed. If we are, I don’t want this guy knowing we’re on to him.”

  Reddic turned left onto M Street as they passed the beautiful marble and limestone National Geographic Society building. It stood out amongst the architecture of “old” Washington DC north. Outside of the federal district, the buildings in this sector were anything but old. Sure, there were a few historic red brick gems and the Second Empire-style rowhouses closer to Dupont Circle, but most every block had been transformed in the past thirty years into eight-story modern, utilitarian office spaces. The National Geographic campus certainly bucked that trend.

  At the corner of M and 17th Street he took another left. The BMW kept its distance but had followed their every turn to this point. Outside Reddic’s window packs of tourists entered and exited the National Geographic Museum. A half a block ahead he came to a stop at a traffic light. Four cars behind them the blue sedan settled in. It was all the confirmation he needed.

  “On the back side of the museum I’m going to turn into the alley,” he said. “It runs all the way through to 16th Street. I’m going to get out and you need to slide over and take the wheel. When you get fifty feet from the end of the alley you need to hit the brakes and stop. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, of course,” Jaxon said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to get some answers.”

  Reddic turned left onto Sumner Row and popped the car into neutral, coasting down the narrow alleyway. He grabbed his backpack and opened his door as the vehicle continued to roll forward.

  “Remember, fifty feet from the end, stop.”

  Reddic jumped out and nearly tumbled to the asphalt. The hard impact caught him by surprise. It took great effort to remain upright, but he found his balance and scrambled behind a white service van parked at the museum’s rear entrance. Moving to the front of the van, he leaned against it in a casual manner as he quickly took in his surroundings. He was relieved to see no other foot traffic in the alley, but there were cameras high on the National Geographic exterior walls. He would have to be as discreet as possible to pull this off.

  Keeping his vision toward the alley entrance, he put his bag on the hood and felt for the Glock inside. He gripped it with his left hand and began twisting the silencer on with his right as the BMW turned into the alley. Reddic chambered a round as the car passed by his position.

  So far everything was going according to plan. In these moments it wasn’t so much about getting every detail right as much as it was anticipating tendencies. It’s what gave athletes, businesspeople, politicians, and anybody else in a competitive industry the upper hand. When they could understand their opponent well enough to predict an outcome, an action, or a reaction during a pressure situation they could then expose it to their advantage. It all came down to staying a step ahead of the competition at all times.

  Projecting the tail’s next move was precisely what Reddic was doing. He anticipated that when Jaxon hit his brakes and stopped, the BMW would follow suit to remain unobtrusive. The driver would then intently watch their Ford rental and that was when he would attack. He pulled a baseball hat from his backpack and wore it low on his forehead to partially obscure his face. He kept the gun close to his body as he stepped out into the alley.

  About a hundred feet ahead the brake lights came to life on Jaxon’s vehicle. Reddic massaged the trigger with his index finger and steadied his breathing. Timing was critical. Most mistakes in life, let alone the field, were made with uneven, unmeasured emotions. Being able to maintain a singular, emotionally detached focus was paramount to success.

  Less than twenty feet in front of him the BMW slowed to a stop, waiting. Reddic lifted the gun to shoulder level, aimed, and fired. The normal sound of a discharged weapon produced a thunderous crack that could be heard in an urban area well over a mile away. With a sound suppressor the result was much more subdued. It was more of a loud cough t
hat wouldn’t be distinguishable outside of a few yards. As a result, instead of the spontaneous chaos that would ensue when a normal shot was fired, he could now operate largely unnoticed.

  The left, rear tire dropped to the asphalt as the air rushed out of the bullet hole. Reddic sent another round into the rear, right tire. He was on the move, rushing the car before the driver realized what had happened. He ripped the rear door open and jumped into the backseat directly behind the driver just as he was turning to investigate. Reddic pressed the tip of the silencer against eye socket.

  “Turn around slowly and keep your hands on the wheel,” he said. The driver slowly faced forward and held the steering column tightly.

  “Good. Now gently turn into this loading bay.”

  Directly to their right were three loading docks running perpendicular away from their position. The BMW shook from side to side on the shot-out tires as it moved out of the alley.

  “You’re making a big mistake,” the driver said, parking the car outside the nearest loading bay door. He stared at Reddic in the rearview mirror, his eyes showing not fear, but boiling anger.

  “You’re probably right,” Reddic said. “It would be a mistake to keep you alive.”

  He steadied the Glock and fired.

  46

  The rearview mirror exploded, spraying shards of glass and plastic throughout the BMW. Spider web cracks spread like veins across the windshield from where the bullet cut through the glass.

  “Jesus,” the driver cried out, reflexively covering his face. “What is your problem?”

  Reddic kept quiet, ignoring the driver and the pungent scent of cordite lingering in the vehicle. He was about to play a hunch. That was the thing about intuition. There was no conscious reasoning, just a perceptive understanding at a subconscious level. He knew this man was part of the brotherhood, the secret darkness. He couldn’t explain it. He just felt it.