by Adam Hiatt
“His office is on the third floor. I thought that we would climb the stairs to keep you in shape,” Jaxon said.
Something to Reddic’s right caught his attention. Lying on a coffee table between two armchairs tucked below the stairway was a glossy magazine with a yellow border. He picked it up, noticing right off that it was a National Geographic. A photograph of what looked like a Middle Eastern meeting hall adorned the cover. The title read, The Upper Room Rediscovered.
“Is this a popular magazine in this department?” Reddic asked. Jaxon descended the stairs and walked down to where Reddic stood. He took the magazine out of his hand and opened it to one of the articles.
“That is my professor, Dr. Matthew Langford,” Jaxon said, pointing at a photograph of a man sitting in a wooden chair, legs crossed, in the same room featured on the cover. “National Geographic decided to do a feature article on one of his recent projects,” he said.
Reddic grabbed the publication and analyzed the photograph. Just like the photos he had seen he could tell that Dr. Langford was a big man, despite the fact that he was seated. He sat in the chair looking erudite, knowing that he had discovered something that would bring much public interest. The bespectacled professor had silver cropped hair, a full beard, and neatly trimmed eyebrows. His face looked friendly, almost endearing. His deep blue eyes came across as thoughtful and alive. Behind him in the photo rose the majestic golden mosque known throughout the world as The Dome of the Rock. Reddic flipped through the pages of the article, scanning captions, bold print and subtitles. He gathered that Langford had somehow used a collection of ancillary records and new archeological data to pinpoint the actual location of the biblical Last Supper. He abruptly closed the magazine and tossed it on the table.
“Ready?” he asked brusquely.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jaxon with a look of concern. “Did you see something you didn’t like?”
“No not at all. It’s good stuff. I just don’t want you to be late for your appointment,” he lied. There was something that he didn’t like, but it wasn’t found in the article. It was more profound than that. It was the very nature of the study that perturbed him. He never understood why some religious people sought tangible proof when the whole concept of religion was supposedly based on faith. Was it insecurity, skepticism? Ashamedly, he realized that until that moment he was mostly unaware of his brother’s academic interest. He certainly knew he was a historian, but not a relic seeker like his mentor Langford appeared to be. It was all fanaticism, and fanaticism, he knew, inevitably led to violence and death. It seemed so contradictory to him. If religion was the quest for peace, why had killing so often accompanied it? The Inquisitions, witch-hunts, Jihad, zealotry; the paradox was pitiable. And pseudo-academic pursuits for truth only exacerbated it.
“Are you sure?” Jaxon asked again.
Reddic furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
He brushed by Jaxon’s shoulder and started up the stairs. When they reached the second floor landing Jaxon stopped him to tend to an unlaced shoe. He rested on one knee while Reddic stood by his side breathing calmly. In the stillness Reddic thought he heard something from somewhere above them. He tilted his head in the direction of the subtle noise. It sounded like a dull click, as if someone were cautiously releasing a doorknob. It was too quiet to be normal.
“Did you hear that?” Reddic asked, looking down at Jaxon on his knee.
“Hear what?” Jaxon responded.
Reddic wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he thought he heard something else, like soft footsteps. Not waiting for concrete evidence, he darted off, rapidly bolting up the next flight of stairs, taking three steps with each stride.
The stairway opened up into a hallway about forty yards in length. There were several thick wooden doors, randomly spaced, with brass nameplates on the side of each doorframe. The hallway was empty and eerily silent; only sunlight flooding the hallway from the window on the northwest end intruded on the tranquility.
At the end of the corridor on the north side was another set of stairs. Quickly dashing over, Reddic leaned on a handrail and looked down at the empty stairwell.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Jaxon shouted from the opposite end.
“I’m not sure. Which room is Langford’s?” Reddic asked.
“It’s over here,” Jaxon said hesitantly as he pointed to his left. Reddic swiftly walked over and rapped on the door. There was no response. He gripped the bottom of his T-shirt with his palm and placed it over the doorknob. He lightly kicked the door open and ducked inside. Jaxon, looking over his shoulder, gasped at what he saw.
Professor Langford sat in his chair upright behind the desk, head lying loosely over his shoulder. He looked like a lifeless corpse. Anger immediately swelled within Reddic.
He needed Langford alive.
He approached the ghastly looking body to examine it further. A circle of blood on his white shirt showed where a bullet had entered the right side of his chest. The professor’s eyes remained open, but they were extremely dilated. The face looked deathly pallid. Jaxon turned his head and began coughing in the hallway as Reddic felt for a pulse. The skin was cold to the touch, and sweaty.
He positioned his index and middle fingers on the carotid artery and sensed a weak, but fading beat. He leaned down and placed his ear over the nose.
“Jax! Get in here. I think he’s alive.”
Jaxon cautiously walked back into the room, turning his head again as he caught sight of his professor.
“Call 9-1-1 and wait for the cops. And put something over the wound to stop the bleeding,” Reddic demanded as he burst out of the room.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
He was too late. Reddic was already gone.
Chapter Three
Reddic ran to the staircase, descending each level by leaping down six steps at a time. Not wanting to alert his prey, he slowly opened the oak entry and walked casually out into the quad. He scanned the grounds, not knowing exactly who to look for. He hoped to spot somebody that stood out. But there was a problem. It was about two in the afternoon, a myriad of shadows covered the grounds. It was difficult to see any detail in those areas. He looked to the south, but dense tree branches partially obstructed his view. He jogged out toward the middle of the quad and again turned his gaze to the south. There were a few students scattered about, some walking some sitting. He was about to look in another direction when a man in loose-fitting slacks and a light-brown suede leather jacket, hastily walking between two buildings about seventy yards away stole his attention.
Reddic recognized the structures. About two years ago, the last time he was in Ithaca, he had asked Jaxon about them. One, the Uris library, considered the jewel of Cornell, Jaxon had told him, resembled a medieval European cathedral. The first time Reddic saw it he expected to find wizards, sorcerers, and warlocks moving about inside the lofty clock tower. The other, the Olin library, seemed wildly incongruent compared to the structures surrounding it. It was a massive rectangular, modern edifice looking more like a corporate office than an academic building. Reddic focused again on the man. There was something out of place about his appearance.
Was it the jacket? The temperature was over seventy-five degrees. It did seem too warm for an overcoat.
Having no other suspects, Reddic began walking in line toward the libraries when, in the distance, a tumult of sirens broke out. Judging by the intensity of the pitch they were swiftly nearing the quad.
Reddic continued to watch the suspicious man intently as he moved forward. He wasn’t positive, but he thought he saw him steal a look over his shoulder before quickening his pace and turning left, receding behind the Olin library.
It was enough for Reddic. Any doubt that he had instantly disappeared. He had only one thought; he had to stop him from escaping.
Veering to the left, Reddic charged diagonally to the far side of the quad in a sprint. The cross-trainers
that he wore dug into the compact sod, helping him lengthen his stride with each step. His breathing remained steady but his mind began to race. He felt the pangs of anxiety start to cloud over him.
He had no plan, and he knew it. He was acting on pure impulse.
He reached the southeast corner of the library in ten seconds. He inched his head around the corner, seeing that his target was no more than twenty yards away. He pulled his head back. He still wasn’t sure what to do. He had no weapon and no strategy.
He had to buy some time to think. Casually, he walked away from the wall and removed his cell phone. He placed it against his ear and feigned a conversation just as the man appeared from behind the library. The probable assassin briskly moved passed him, entirely ignoring his presence. Reddic followed at a discreet distance. Finally, an idea came to him.
“Pardon me, sir,” he shouted in his best British accent. “Can you take a moment to assist this lost soul?” The man slowed and turned to see who had addressed him. There was something ominous about this man. He had short black hair, a long face, nearly black eyes, high cheekbones, and dark skin. But it wasn’t his physical makeup that bothered him. It was something subtler. Something only a trained eye would notice. His compact body was tightly coiled and the cold expression on his face gave him the look of a man that lived a life of violence.
“What do you want?” he asked brusquely.
“I’m new here and seem to have lost my way. Maybe you can help. Do you happen to know where the History building is?” Reddic asked.
The man’s right eye twitched just before he sneered, “No.” He abruptly turned and walked away.
“Are you sure? I know it’s here somewhere,” Reddic shouted in vain. The man continued to ignore him. He checked his watch and accelerated into a sprint. For an unknown reason Reddic felt his legs begin to run. With his superior speed he closed the distance within a matter of seconds. Only an arm’s length away, he reached out and grasped the collar of the killer’s jacket, pulling it backwards to slow the man.
Without warning, the man stopped in his tracks. He pivoted on his left foot and swung the base of his right fist around toward Reddic’s nose. Reddic saw the move a split second before it connected. He dropped to his left knee, holding on to the jacket as the fist narrowly erred. Reddic instinctively kicked out and struck the back of the man’s knee with his shoe and pulled down on the jacket.
The killer lost his balance his momentum carrying him downward. But he was well trained, Reddic quickly realized. He let his arms slacken, allowing the jacket to come loose, propelling Reddic and the jacket to the ground. Reddic knew he was now vulnerable to a counteroffensive. He rolled to his left, clearing himself of the predicted assault. But nothing happened. By the time Reddic looked up the killer was running down a road leading away from the quad.
Reddic popped up to his feet and chased after him with all the strength he had in his legs. Reserves of energy surged through his muscles as he again decreased the separation to within a few yards. In his mind he contemplated tripping the assailant. He was almost in a position to do just that when the unexpected happened.
The killer pulled out a gun and indiscriminately squeezed off a few rounds in Reddic’s direction. Fortunately, his aim was off. Reddic leapt to his right, tumbling hard behind a white Tahoe parked on the roadside. He extended his arms to absorb some of the brunt landing. Upon impact, tiny pieces of asphalt embedded themselves in his palms. The abrasion stung mightily. His hands felt like they were on fire. Still, he had to move. Remaining stationary with an armed assassin on the prowl wasn’t a smart game to play.
Reddic slowly ducked out from behind the bumper. The man that he stalked was slowly walking backward, keeping his weapon trained on the white vehicle Reddic used for protection. Staying low, Reddic moved to the other side of the Tahoe where he crept toward his opponent. He intended to over pursue him and attack from the rear.
Reaching the front of the SUV, he sprawled out prone beneath the right fender. He needed one more visual before he set out to attack.
Fear suddenly passed over him. There was no trace of the gunman within his sight. Where had he gone? Reddic’s limbs tightened up. He struggled to find the strength to move away from the vehicle. He knew to stay put would be foolish. He had to relocate his target.
Rolling away from the Tahoe, he started to advance up the roadway. He stepped lightly, yet with swiftness.
He passed three more vehicles before he saw him. He stood at an intersection only fifty feet away, looking down another street. Reddic soon ascertained the reason.
He watched helplessly as a silver Mercedes appeared from seemingly nowhere around the corner. The killer jumped into the passenger side before the car came to a complete stop. It shot down the road away from where he stood, leaving small clouds of smoke from where rubber melted on asphalt.
Angry at his incompetence, Reddic pulled out his cell phone, opened it, found Jaxon’s number in the phone’s memory, and dialed.
The phone rang only once. “Where have you been? The cops are everywhere and I don’t know what to do,” Jaxon half-whispered into the phone.
“Where are you?” Reddic responded.
“I’m standing outside the McGraw. Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Listen, the street running east of the library, what is it?”
“Which library?”
“The ugly one.”
“The Olin. You’re on Tower Road.”
“Does it leave campus?”
“Yes, it does eventually. What’s going on, Reddic?”
“He’s going down that road,” Reddic said impatiently.
“Who is?” Jaxon asked.
“The man who shot your professor. There’s no time to explain. Listen to me, grab the nearest cop and tell him that there are two males in a silver Mercedes S-class, New York plates, okay? I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
Reddic closed his phone and quickly made his way back to where he was nearly overtaken by the killer. The leather jacket was still lying there. He adroitly maneuvered his hands through each pocket. He found a perforated black metallic cylinder, an extra clip of ammunition, and a flash drive, but no wallet or any other form of identification. He slid the small memory stick into his cargo pocket, picked up the jacket and jogged off.
Reddic got to the McGraw just as paramedics passed through the front door with Langford strapped to a stretcher. The professor looked awful, but at least he wasn’t pronounced dead. He had an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and fluids flowed into his arms intravenously. The paramedics loaded him into an ambulance that was backed up to the front of the building and sped off. Reddic started to climb the stairs, but stopped when he saw Jaxon emerge from the main doorway. A fully uniformed police officer was at his side with a notepad in his hand, writing as Jaxon spoke. Looking up, Jaxon saw Reddic standing just below his feet. He excused himself from the cop and stormed down the stairs.
“If you know something that I don’t, you’d better tell me now,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Reddic asked, looking puzzled.
“You know exactly what I mean. My professor gets shot, you go running after shadows, and I’m left to clean the whole thing up. I think I deserve some answers,” Jaxon exclaimed dramatically.
“Slow down, Jax. I know about as much as you at this point. I was only trying to help.”
“Where did you get that?” Jaxon asked, pointing at the leather jacket.
“It fell off the shooter before he evaded me.”
“Evaded you? Are you insane? He could’ve killed you.”
“Unlikely,” Reddic said. Jaxon pulled back in astonishment.
Reddic noticed the emotion in his eyes. He had to calm him down. “Look, I wasn’t thinking, I was just reacting, but nothing happened.”
“Okay, fine. It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I’ve already lost my parents. I suppose losing my only sibling to some senseless display of heroism is no big de
al. What was I thinking?” Reddic didn’t respond. He had become accustomed to Jaxon’s excessive fraternal protection.
“Just give that to somebody so we can go home. I feel nauseous.”
Reddic carried the brown jacket to one of the officers and gave his account of the confrontation with the assailant and a physical description of the man and the escape vehicle. The cop scribbled a few notes on his pad while another officer, a forensic investigator, took the jacket. Satisfied with their reports and seamless cooperation, the officer permitted Reddic and Jaxon to leave the scene.
Inside the Yugo was an atmosphere of tranquility. Reddic was engulfed in his own thoughts as they made their way to the apartment. They descended campus hill on the south, meandering through numerous one-way, narrow streets that were protected by full canopies of elm and maple trees. Jaxon’s duplex was a two-story, brown brick building built on a landscaped lot that protruded from the side of the hill. A small strip of disheveled lawn ran along the lower right side of the building, while the left side was adjacent to a cracked retaining wall. Reddic noticed that the wall, which served to separate the house from the terrain, leaned over at a precarious angle. A set of wooden stairs, supported by a rusting iron frame, ran up the face of the structure to a small patio that opened to the front door of the upper level.
Jaxon parked the Yugo on the street side curb and climbed trance-like up the stairs. He unlocked the front door and headed for an old red recliner chair to his left, plopping down in an exhausted heap. The living area was small but quaint, maybe only two hundred square feet in dimension. It was nominally furnished with two full size couches, a couple of incandescent lamps, a glass coffee table, a fractured entertainment system, and a few movie posters tacked up on the walls. The floor was covered with a stained brown and orange shag carpet and the walls were composed of a beige plaster. The duplex was definitely past its prime, but the three small bedrooms in the rear, the kitchen and bathroom were sufficient for most college-aged students.