Shadow Game

by Adam Hiatt

  Reddic had terrible feeling of uneasiness. There were so many unknowns about this plan he knew he should abort. He could be walking right into a trap for all he knew. The Glock 27 pressed against the small of his back was the only reason he wasn’t going completely apoplectic. It would at least give him a fighting chance. Still, at any moment things could get messy. Going into a basketball game unprepared was asking for a butt-kicking, but blindly entering a strange building with an assassin waiting inside was flat-out insane. If there was another way, he kept telling himself, he wouldn’t even consider doing what he was about to do.

  “How many times have you been here?” Reddic asked.

  “A few,” Isaiah said. “We brought the two women here yesterday. It’s been on lease for a couple years.”

  Not at all surprising, Reddic thought. The place was a perfect location to hide out, arrange a covert meet, or run a questionable business. The entire surrounding area was an industrial graveyard. There wasn’t another sign of life in any direction. A macabre thought crept into his mind as he took in the details of the building and surrounding property. It would be a great place to kill somebody as well.

  “I need to call and report to Mahan that we are here,” Isaiah said.

  “Why don’t you just report in person?” Reddic asked. He wanted to get inside the building as fast as possible, preferably without the assassin knowing Isaiah had company.

  “No. It is best this way. Mahan is not a person you want to surprise.”

  Isaiah brought his phone to his ear and stared at the building as he waited for the call to connect. Reddic knew he was completely exposed standing out in the open. He took a step toward the car. After about thirty seconds Isaiah pulled the phone away from his head and looked at the screen.

  “Is something wrong?” Reddic asked.

  “I don’t know. Mahan usually answers right away. He might be—”

  Isaiah didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence. His throat suddenly exploded, sending a cloud of blood particles and tissue into the air. The phone fell out of his hand. The look on his face registered confusion; his brain was trying to process what had just happened.

  Reddic dove to the ground and scurried to the side of the car. He knew exactly what had happened and wasn’t about to stand around watching. Isaiah collapsed hard, clutching his throat. There was nothing Reddic could do for him. He would be dead in a matter of seconds. Reddic ripped the back door open and lunged inside.

  “Drive!” he screamed. Jaxon hit the gas with Reddic half-hanging out of the vehicle. The tires kicked up loose debris trying to gain traction.

  “What’s happening?” he yelled as Reddic pulled himself into the seat.

  “It’s an ambush. Isaiah’s dead and we will be too if we don’t get out of here.”

  Jaxon yanked on the steering wheel and swung away from the building. Bullets slammed into the side of the car. The rear window splintered as another shot passed cleanly through.

  “Step on it!” Reddic shouted, ducking down low in his seat. Jaxon turned abruptly to his right and headed for the far side of the building. Once they rounded the structure Reddic looked up and noticed that there were no windows and, therefore, no more shots. He grabbed Jaxon’s shoulder to get his attention.

  “Stop here, this is good,” he said. “Slow down and let me out.”

  “Wait, what? Are you out of your mind?” Jaxon asked incredulously.

  “Brooke is in that building and we are not leaving without her.”

  “Then I’m coming with you,” Jaxon said. He slammed the brakes and skidded to a halt.

  “No, you’re not,” Reddic said forcefully. “This is not some treasure hunt. This is real. There’s an assassin in there that will put a bullet between your eyes at his first chance.”

  “I can’t let you go in there alone.”

  “Jaxon, we’re wasting time. You must trust me. I need you to get some distance from here and keep circling this place in wide patterns. Don’t get too close or you might get shot at. You’ll hopefully be enough of a distraction for me to sneak in. Now go.”

  Reddic jumped out of the car and sprinted away before his brother could argue anymore. He knew what he was doing was reckless and would eat away at Jaxon, but he was taking a chance that it just might be the best strategy to employ. Mahan would not be expecting him to storm the building, especially with Jaxon speeding away in the car, giving the impression they had been spooked and were on the run. If there ever was a window of opportunity it was now, but he had to move quick.

  Staying close to the rough brick exterior, Reddic made his way to the corner of the building. He carefully inched his head out to survey the scene. Isaiah’s body laid motionless about forty yards away, a stone’s throw from the entrance. That meant the door to the building was about thirty yards away. He looked up and down from ground to roof and saw nothing. All appeared to be quiet.

  He dropped to the ground and began bear crawling along the base of the structure. He needed to stay below the windows to remain out of sight of the shooter. By the time he reached the door his wrists were aching. The uneven surface had put extra strain on his ligaments. He sat down with his back resting against the brick flexing his wrists, flushing the pain out. From afar off he could hear Jaxon closing in on his position with the car. He did not want to be sitting outside when he passed by. It was now or never.

  He took the Glock from his belt, applied the silencer, and flipped the safety off. There was no need to chamber a round; the gun was already hot, ready to fire. He reached up and gripped the smooth knob and silently twisted. He pulled the door open wide enough for his body to fit. Taking a deep breath, he prepared his mind and body to plunge into the darkness.

  The problem was, he had no idea what would be waiting for him on the other side.

  48

  Jenkins paced the room with a heightened level of anxiety. It had been over an hour since she had spoken with President Rutherford. She replayed the call in her mind and realized that he had not given the impression that he was happy to hear from her. Come to think of it, he sounded somewhat agitated, almost annoyed. She should have expected the cold reception, especially considering what she had recently discovered regarding his chief of staff. She had no idea how long Cushman had been plotting her demise. Rutherford’s head was probably filled with who knows how many lies and part truths.

  The phone call, brief as it was, churned out a mixed bag of results, she concluded. For obvious reasons she was unable and unwilling to disclose anything about Cushman’s secret or her involvement with Brooke Hansen while in the presence of the two soldiers. She supposed she could have asked for privacy, but that would have been pressing her luck. She knew if she were in their shoes, she would not even consider it. In fact, she would more than likely have taken the phone right out of the person’s hand and left the room. She was just grateful that Lieutenant Lewis and Captain Wilson trusted their instincts and permitted the phone call.

  She had attempted to persuade Rutherford to order her release over the phone. “Sir, there has been a huge mistake,” she had told him. “I am being held without charges and need you to provide bona fides to clear the matter up.”

  His response was not at all what she had expected. “Madison let me ask you a question. Did I not give a clear directive for you to stay clear of Dr. Hansen?”

  Jenkins didn’t have the time to explain her actions, so she immediately took her unconditional release off the table and moved to Plan B.

  “Sir, it is imperative that we meet,” she said. “Just the two of us. For national security purposes.”

  When Rutherford agreed to meet, she was elated. She remembered ending the call optimistic that she would be free in no time. But as each minute passed by alone in the interrogation room, she began to wonder if the president was to be trusted. In retrospect, he did seem a little too eager to want to meet, almost like a typical political huckster, telling the constituency what they wanted to hear, only to n
ever follow through. Maybe he wasn’t going to show up at all and she would rot away in prison somewhere. Or worse, maybe Cushman was pulling his strings like a puppet master.

  Impossible.

  She knew James Rutherford. It was her job to read people, to discern between the haves and have nots, the trustworthy and the seedy. He wasn’t a run-of-the-mill politician. He had ideals, many of which she didn’t agree with, but idealistic still. He was a man of integrity and principle. More profoundly, Jenkins knew his wife. She hated Cushman and did not trust him. Maybe that’s why we get along so well, she thought. No, Rutherford could be trusted. After all that Jenkins had done for his administration, he at least owed her the courtesy of one last meeting.

  She remembered the first time they met. It was the evening of the inauguration in the Oval Office. They connected immediately. There was something about him that put her at ease. With the change in administrations she didn’t know where she would fit in. The matter was put to bed right away. He made it clear he trusted and supported her fully.

  The heavy door swinging open broke her reverie. She wished they would knock before entering.

  “Ma’am, please be seated,” Wilson requested. She saw Lewis with the shackles in his hands as she made her way to the bench.

  “Really?” she asked. “You think that’s necessary?”

  “Sorry ma’am,” Lewis said. “It’s procedure.” He fastened the restraints and both men hurried out of the room. As soon as they exited two secret service protective detail agents stepped in and examined the room. Within seconds they too were gone.

  There wasn’t much for them to see.

  “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” Rutherford said, taking a seat directly in front of her.

  Jenkins elevated her cuffed wrists to show the leader of the free world. “You and me both,” she said. Rutherford smiled at her self-deprecation.

  “Sir, I first want to apologize for not being forthright with you.”

  “Madison let’s spare the formalities and cut to the chase,” Rutherford said. “You’re in a deep pile of crap and I don’t know if I can help you. But since you have been good to me—”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President,” Jenkins interrupted. “You have a charlatan in your cabinet that is selling you a bundle of lies.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sir let me ask you something. Up until these past couple of days have you ever had reason to doubt me?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. He held up his finger to make a point. “But don’t forget that trust takes a great amount of time and effort to build and can be destroyed like that.” He snapped his fingers for effect.

  “I agree sir. I want you to be honest with me. Has there been any other person besides Kim Cushman that has spoken negatively about me?”

  Rutherford didn’t reply. He seemed to be contemplating the question. “I can’t think of anyone off-hand,” he finally said.

  “So, it appears that Cushman started planting seeds about my trustworthiness right about the time that Dr. Hansen’s alternative energy research surfaced, is that about right?” The president sat silent, but his eyes implored Jenkins to continue.

  “You don’t have to answer,” she conceded. “Part of my job is to be aware of all possible threats to your administration. So, when I learned of Hansen’s groundbreaking discovery, I immediately began assessing the fallout. As you know, there are many oil-rich governments that would want to see it disappear completely out of fear of economic collapse. There are just as many other nations that would want to steal it for economic gain.

  “I was simply a hands-off observer until her colleague and co-publisher William Feldman was murdered. Mr. President, physicists don’t get killed at academic conferences. There was definitely foul play going on. So, I sent one of my agents to look after Hansen. He uncovered a plot to abduct her and saved her life.”

  Jenkins cocked her head to the side and eyed Rutherford cautiously. A hint of recognition flashed in his eyes that caught her attention.

  “You know, don’t you?” she said.

  “I was made aware that there was a Russian presence and I will deal with that later.”

  “That’s just it, sir, the Russian angle isn’t real. It was a diversion.” She wasn’t completely honest. There still was the matter of General Travnikov she had to investigate, but that was a small detail. She still believed he played a minor role in this drama.

  “You’re going to have to expound on that assertion,” Rutherford said. “I’m not sure you know what you’re talking about.”

  “Let me explain it this way. There is a big difference between spying and espionage. Spying is what the Russians normally do. They infiltrate various groups, universities, and companies and assimilate to gain your trust. Then, when you least expect it, they steal information right out from under your nose. The Chinese do the same thing. Do you know what the single greatest attribute for a spy is? It’s anonymity. The ability to be forgotten. A good spy isn’t satisfied with stealing an apple. A good spy wants the whole orchard.”

  “Go on,” Rutherford urged.

  “That’s exactly the reason why if the Russians were really involved, they wouldn’t be running around killing professors and trying to kidnap high-profile people. It’s too clunky and, quite frankly, stupid for a spy to even consider. Spies kill other spies, or people who are about to expose them. They don’t kill for gain.”

  “So, in your professional opinion you believe the Russians are not responsible for any of this?”

  “Oh, they were here and were used as pawns, but I know for a fact that they are not the masterminds.”

  Rutherford gave her a quizzical look. “What are you not telling me?” he asked.

  “I’m getting there,” she said. “Now espionage is a completely different game. It’s layered and diabolical. It’s a complex series of moves and countermoves to create complete chaos and distrust. It’s misdirection and mayhem rolled into one. It’s a nasty business, Mr. President.”

  She paused to let the contrast sink in. She was about to drop a bombshell and wanted Rutherford to be prepared. His terse demeanor thus far had been difficult to comprehend. She had no other alternative but to act out of desperation. She knew she had to put all her cards on the table and force the president to make a choice.

  “This whole mess is pure espionage, sir,” she said. “Using the Russians was a countermove designed to foment discord in the intelligence community and send us on a wild goose chase while the real enemy slipped in and stole the prize. And I know who that enemy is.”

  Rutherford moved to the edge of his seat. Jenkins had dangled a carrot in front of him and he wanted it whole. “Whatever you’re about to tell me, I certainly hope you have proof,” he said.

  “Let me answer that by asking you a question. Does Cushman know you’re here meeting with me right now?”

  “No. This meeting is unscheduled and unofficial.”

  “That’s what I thought. Because I promise you if he knew you were coming here to meet with me, he would stop at nothing to keep you away.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I know his secret.”

  “Excuse me?” Rutherford answered, confused.

  “Sir, you’re going to have to trust me. He is not what he says he is, and I can prove it. He is after the energy source and has been since the beginning. He led you to believe his interest in it is for the country and your legacy. It’s a load of BS, sir. He’s hell-bent on getting power and has a secret organization backing him. He’s been orchestrating the entire affair from the beginning.”

  “Madison, this doesn’t make any sense,” Rutherford said. “Kim has his faults, but…” He abruptly stood and turned away from Jenkins.

  “James,” she said softly. It was time for a personal touch. She needed him to think about her, to consider the source of the information. “You know me.” The president slowly turned to face her. “You know m
y character,” she said. “You know if I screwed up, I would own it. This man is evil, and I can expose him. That’s why I’m sitting here like this.” She put her shackled arms on the tabletop. “My career, my whole life is in your hands. You’re going to have to listen to your heart.”

  Rutherford rubbed his face with his hands. She had seen him do this on many occasions. When he was faced with a tough decision, he did it reflexively. She remembered a recent meeting in the Oval Office when she had outlined the plan to conduct surveillance in a mosque in New York. Rutherford sat at his desk that morning rubbing his eyes and face for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally pulled his hands away his face was beet red. But he listened to her that day and agreed to sign off on the mission. He trusted her. That was all she expected of him—to listen.

  After a few seconds Rutherford sat back down and leaned forward in his chair, locking eyes with Jenkins. His eyes looked softer; not defeated so much as quietly resolved. She knew he had made a choice.

  “I’ve never fully trusted him, you know,” he said. “I never felt like he was completely on board with my agenda. But to betray me like this?” The hands were back on his face. “You can prove this, right?”

  “Yes, sir. I have never let you down before.”

  Rutherford nodded pensively. He stood and looked down at her slender body chained to the bench. A warm smile suddenly fell over him.

  “Let’s get you out of those restraints.”

  49

  Reddic stayed low to the ground as he slid through the door and entered the building. His gun led the way, sweeping the room from left to right, top to bottom. His right index finger applied steady pressure to the trigger, ready to squeeze at the first sign of danger. He kept his shoe planted in the doorframe to stop the door from slamming shut and alerting the world of his presence.