by Adam Hiatt
Once inside he was surprised to see that the entire space was empty and cavernous. It looked like an abandoned machine shop. Stains on the floor showed where heavy equipment once sat. Every wall was exposed brick. The tiling on the floor was disheveled and cracked. Broken and chipped pieces were scattered about. Dirt and dust blanketed nearly every square foot. Twelve feet above Reddic’s head, rusted chains hung from steel rafters. The building had seen its better days.
Gloomy as it was, Reddic was satisfied that the main level was unoccupied. He moved farther inside the building, hugging the wall with each step. It was the firmest footing, devoid of the loose tiles that would crunch under the weight of his rubber soles. He made his way to the far end near the large garage door. A black suburban and a midnight blue Kawasaki Ninja ZX-11 were parked just inside. The presence of these vehicles provided some clarity as to what he was up against. He now knew there were as many as two enemies here, but at least it wasn’t a platoon.
A plain looking door built into the opposite wall caught Reddic’s attention. He silently approached it and pressed his ear to the cold steel surface. He couldn’t hear anything discernible. The door was too thick. He wished now more than ever that he was better prepared. This access point could easily be wired with explosives or an armed sentry could be awaiting whoever walked through. In a situation like this he would normally use a fiber optic snake camera to run under the door to view the other side and determine if it was safe to proceed. He had used these on countless occasions, but it was all wishful thinking at this point. All he had was his gun and the clothes that he wore. He didn’t even have his backpack with him. He had left it in the rental car.
Truth be told, he was more worried about the possibility of a guard than any explosives. There was nothing rigged to the entrance to the building, which would have been the first point of deterrence. Secondly, the skeletal structure looked so old and weakened it wouldn’t be able to withstand any type of explosion. The building would likely collapse on top of itself.
Reddic stood outside the doorframe and gripped the handle with his left hand. In his right he held the Glock at eye level. He pulled the door open and slipped his right shoulder through, careful not to expose his torso. In the event gunfire broke out he wanted to minimize potential damage to his vital organs. It was the best he could do without proper gear.
Inside the door was a stairwell leading to the second floor. He exhaled when he saw that it was unoccupied. A dim glow of light spilled into the narrow landing at the top. Reddic stepped in and quietly closed the door behind him. He softly placed his foot on the first step and immediately froze.
He heard voices. And they were getting closer.
He swiftly retreated to the door. The bottom of a staircase was not the best spot for a standoff. He had to get out before he was spotted.
He made it through and was about to close the door behind him when the voices suddenly became clear. He decided to keep the door cracked to catch what he could.
“Isaiah has betrayed us,” he heard. “Go out there and kill whoever was with him. They are all our enemies now.”
Reddic’s breathing stopped. He shut the door and withdrew to a position that would better conceal him. His thoughts turned to his brother driving around the property. His plan had worked to get him in the building, but Jaxon was in serious trouble now. If they had any idea that Reddic was currently inside he would have faced serious resistance already. As it was, he still had the element of surprise in his favor, and he fully intended on taking advantage of it. Jaxon’s life depended on it.
The door flew open seconds later and a stocky man who looked to be just under six feet tall stormed through. He wore a dark jogging jacket and brown Carhartt pants. Reddic couldn’t see his face from his vantage point, but he didn’t need to. He had the ideal target in his sights. It was an easy shot. He was less than ten yards away when he lifted his weapon and trained it on back of his head.
Reddic had few good options at his disposal. He had previously run a checklist of possibilities through his mind with the efficiency of a computer. He considered every non-lethal option, from sneaking up behind and knocking him unconscious to acting like a cop and commanding him to freeze and stand down. He ruled them all out. The risks were too great. Despite his attempts to avoid violence, he knew there was only one option.
Without further thought he squeezed the trigger. The gun recoiled as the bullet shot out at over twelve hundred feet per second, entering and exiting the man’s skull before he realized what had happened. The sound of his body hitting the hard floor seemed to be much louder than the muted shot. Reddic cautiously closed in to inspect the fallen stranger.
He found no pleasure in what he just did. Part of him felt fortunate that he didn’t see the man’s face before he put him down. It helped to dehumanize his actions. Yet the head shot was necessary. He couldn’t leave anything to chance. Body shots were inexact and rarely killed on impact. There could be no screaming, no moaning or shouting, only silent death. Stealth superseded all.
Reddic stood over the body, briefly mesmerized by the pool of blood expanding on the floor. He didn’t mind the sight of blood. In fact, in another life he would’ve become a surgeon. It was the smell—that rusty iron scent. It was emblematic of death. Anybody who claimed to be able to take another person’s life and not feel slightly uneasy was either lying or psychotic. Reddic always felt uncomfortable. He was no assassin. If he killed it was out of necessity or duty. There was no thrill or adrenaline rush to it. If anything, he experienced a self-loathing that he had trained himself to suppress and compartmentalize.
He pulled his eyes away from the man’s destroyed head and focused on the body. He knew deep down what he did was justified. There was no doubt that had this guy known that Reddic was behind him he would not have hesitated in killing him. Worse, he was clearly part of this perverse group of secret oaths and murder. The secret darkness, as it was called. From what he had learned these guys made a living by killing to get gain. It was disgusting, a disease, a virus. Containment was the only way to stop it.
After rummaging through the dead man’s pockets, Reddic found the keys to the suburban and tucked them away in his pants. He pulled the man’s jacket open and saw a weapon concealed under his left arm in a shoulder harness. Upon closer examination he confirmed it was a SIG Sauer P229. Reddic looked up at the SUV and connected the dots. The gun, the harness, the man’s physical features, the vehicle. He would’ve bet his life savings that inside that suburban he would find US Secret Service credentials. First Isaiah, now this guy. How many more are there? It didn’t matter all that much now. There was only one person that he wanted, and he knew where to find him.
Reddic slithered through the door and entered the stairwell once again. He waited at the base of the steps and listened intently. Hearing nothing, he moved up to the halfway point and stopped again. Still silent. At the top of the staircase his heart began to accelerate. It was the same feeling he got before a big game. It wasn’t nervousness. That was mentally draining. It was more like a sense of anticipation.
He crept as close as possible to the corner of the stair landing without being seen. Taking one last calming breath, he pivoted into the open, arms locked straight, pointing his silenced weapon in all directions. What he saw was unexpected. The second level was not at all like the space below. Directly in front of him was a taupe hallway running perpendicular to his right. The floors were laminate hardwood and the lighting was bright and fresh. It looked and smelled like an office building. It was a clever setup. If anybody happened to stumble upon the main floor of the building, they would assume it was just another abandoned relic on the peninsula. There would be no reason to check upstairs.
Reddic moved out of the stairwell into the hallway. About five yards down it abruptly turned left. He shuffled over with his back pressed against the wall and strained to hear any sounds of activity. After a few seconds he felt confident that all was clear. He spun to his
left into the corridor, grateful that his assumptions were correct. The hall was vacant.
He silently walked forward, keeping the weight on the balls of his feet, wondering where everyone was. The hallway was long, running almost the entire length of the building. Windowless doors were spaced along the right-hand wall every twenty feet or so. On the left there were only two doors, separated by about fifteen yards. Reddic approached the first door on his right and pushed it open. The room was empty. He stepped back into the hallway and moved on to the next door on the left.
He nudged it open with his shoulder and stepped inside. What he saw floored him. A corridor, like an observation deck, ran parallel to a wall of glass panels enclosing what looked like a modern lab filled with stainless steel tables and an assortment of equipment. On the table near the middle of the lab a laptop and three computers were on display alongside numerous sheets of paper. Two people were inside working. One was a man whom he did not know. Reddic observed him closely. He didn’t look like a threat, but until he had information proving otherwise, it was safe to assume he was an enemy.
The other person was a woman that he recognized instantaneously. Brooke Hansen was hard to forget. She turned away from the computer she was working on and seemed to be facing his way. Reddic lowered his gun and offered a friendly, reassuring wave. When she returned to her computer without reciprocating, or even acknowledging his presence, he understood why. The glass was only one-way. What Brooke would see inside would look more like a mirror than a window.
The entrance to the lab was a mere ten feet away from where he stood. With renewed energy, he bounded to the lab door. His objective was simple. He would find out who the other guy was and get Brooke and her research out unharmed. With her safety secured he could then work on finding his boss.
He was about to pull on the door when a movement to his left stopped him in his tracks. But instead of turning to investigate he instinctively dropped to the floor and rolled. Almost simultaneously the glass in the door exploded. Reddic blindly fired mid-roll in the direction of the assailant before popping up on his knee. He stared down the gun’s barrel itching to unleash a volley of bullets, but there was no target. He must have ducked back into the main hallway.
On his feet again, Reddic decided to back away from the shooter’s location and retreat to the exit on the opposite end of the corridor. He glanced into the lab and saw Brooke and her companion hiding below a table covering their heads. He wished he could go in and tell her that he was here for her and that everything would be all right but trapping himself in the lab would be foolish.
He continued to walk backward, never taking his eyes off the other end. He was ready to fire at the first sign of his target. Judging by the distance he had created he knew he was close to the exit. He suddenly had a premonition. Something felt very wrong. He couldn’t understand why the shooter hadn’t taken another shot. It was unthinkable. By being outside the line of fire on the other side of the wall he had the advantage. All he would have had to do was reach around the corner and spray the area. It was not as if Reddic had many places to find cover.
It was at that precise moment his gut tightened up. He could sense that he had made a mistake. He spun around just as another man appeared in the doorway only an arm’s length away. Even though he had never seen him in person before he knew it was Mahan. His compact, muscular body, together with his dark eyes and short hair matched the security footage he and Jaxon had watched in Jenkins’ office. A tattoo of a cross on his right bicep jogged a memory. Isaiah had the same tattoo.
Reddic raised his Glock and found himself staring down Mahan’s barrel. In that split second, he suddenly forgot about his own weapon and focused instead on his opponent’s. If he didn’t get that gun out of his face, he would be a dead man. With his left hand, Reddic chopped down hard on Mahan’s wrist, sending his gun flying out of his hand against the wall. Reddic was about to fire when his own arm was struck. He was so caught off guard by the lightning-fast response he lost grip of his Glock and helplessly watched it fall to the floor.
Without a weapon, he stepped inside Mahan’s stance and repeatedly punched him in the kidney as hard he could. Mahan groaned, but countered with a knee blow to Reddic’s abdomen, knocking him back a step. Mahan seized the small opening. He attacked Reddic with a ferocious series of punches. Reddic could do nothing but drop back into a defensive posture and absorb the blows. Mahan was incredibly strong. Despite Reddic’s best efforts, he felt his brain shift inside his skull with every punch, blocked or not.
He quickly retreated farther down the hallway to generate some space, but Mahan remained with him step for step. Reddic knew he needed to go on the attack to change the momentum, so he planted his left foot and kicked out with his right. The bottom of his shoe connected firmly with Mahan’s solar plexus. But rather than fall back, the assassin clutched Reddic’s ankle and held himself upright. He tried pulling his leg away, but Mahan’s grip was too tight. He hopped on one foot to keep his balance, preparing for his next move. That was until Mahan suddenly kicked out, sweeping Reddic’s footing right out from underneath him.
He crashed hard to the floor, his head bouncing off the thin carpet. Stars danced before his eyes as he scrambled to shake off the pain and get back into the fight. He rolled over and propped himself up on his knees, but he couldn’t go any further. Mahan was already on top of him.
The assassin’s arm coiled around Reddic’s neck in his trademark choke hold. Images of the surveillance video again flashed in his mind. If he didn’t get away from the assassin in a hurry, he would end up just like Peter Ellis.
He felt Mahan’s hot breath on his ear as he tried to recall his training. The worst thing to do in this situation was to writhe and strain. That made the hold tighter and sapped the victim’s energy. The best thing to do was to let the body go limp, making the attacker feel like his hold was taking an effect. Then, when an opening presented itself, when there was a split second of the grip loosening, twist the entire body at full force and slip out.
It was a great plan, except Mahan seemed to expect it. As Reddic slouched and relaxed his muscles Mahan shifted his weight and applied more pressure. Panic started to creep in as he began to lose strength. He couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. The light in the hallway seemed to dim. Unconsciousness was fast approaching. He desperately tried to think of another way out of the predicament, but his mind wasn’t cooperating. He was too weak. All he could think about was his pending failure. He had let everyone down—Jaxon, Brooke, Madison, his basketball team, his country—everyone.
He felt a tear roll down his cheek as he struggled to hold on to his last moments of life.
50
Reddic often imagined where his mind would be at the moment he succumbed to death. He wondered if he would dwell on his regrets or if he would feel a sense of satisfaction with what he had accomplished in life. Would he think of his loved ones or focus on those that had wronged him? As he fought to remain conscious while Mahan literally squeezed the life out of him, he thought of none of those things. Oddly enough, his mind was blank, like a stupor of thought had passed over him.
Out of sheer desperation he thrashed his arms, he writhed and flailed, he attempted anything to break Mahan’s grip. He tried scratching his face and gouging his eyes, but nothing worked. Mahan’s grasp was relentless. He felt he was fading fast. His energy was all but spent. His mind was shutting down. Delirium was setting in. In his weakened state he thought he saw a hurried movement to his right, followed by a rush of wind, as if somebody had run past him. His mind was hallucinating now.
Then, out of nowhere, Mahan’s grip suddenly loosened, enough for him to suck in a deep breath. Never had he been so grateful to fill his lungs. Then there was a loud thump, sounding like two objects colliding, and someone shrieking. Reddic was confused, but reflexes took over as the assassin’s hold slackened even more. He twisted to his left and rolled away free, gasping for more oxygen.
&n
bsp; He turned to face Mahan and was astonished to see Brooke standing behind him with a lab stool, swinging mercilessly at his back. With every swing she grunted out of raw exertion. Mahan caught her next swing and ripped the stool from her hands, effortlessly tossing it to the side. He reared up and seized a fistful of Brooke’s hair. She screamed, but it was short lived. A lightning fast punch struck her in the jaw, wickedly snapping her head to the side. Brooke collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap.
Mahan looked toward the lab, as if another attack was coming from the other scientist. When it dawned on him that the assassin was looking his way, Brooke’s companion dropped into the fetal position, covered his head, and closed his eyes. Mahan contemptuously sneered in disgust.
Feeling his strength start to return, Reddic stood to full height, flexed his knees and cracked his neck from side to side. He glared at Mahan with an intense look of determination, anger, and rage.
“You had your chance, now it’s my turn,” Reddic said. Mahan smirked and then charged, but Reddic was expecting this strategy. The assassin clearly believed that he would be too weak to fight off a frontal assault.
He was wrong.
Just before Mahan made contact, Reddic spun left, avoiding the attack. Mahan quickly turned on a dime and threw a two-punch combo. Reddic ducked and dodged the attempts and caught Mahan on the mouth with a jab. He jumped back two steps and waived his hands, beckoning his opponent.
“You better come with more than that,” he said.
This time Mahan took a more cautious approach. Wiping the blood from his lip, he held his hands high like a pugilist and methodically advanced. Reddic knew he now had the advantage. His length, size, and hand speed were his greatest strengths. He needed the fight to be upright. Grappling with a shorter, stockier fighter would be a serious mistake, one he had learned firsthand.