by Adam Hiatt
“So? Why is that a big deal? I printed for free too.”
“But your school is small. Cornell has four times as many students and they charge ten cents a page anywhere else on campus.” Reddic chuckled at his brother’s trivial exuberance. He inserted the flash drive into the USB port and reached for the mouse.
“Let’s see what our man was searching for,” he said. He opened the contents of the memory stick in a file folder on the computer screen. There was only one object in the folder, a program named Arachnid.
“That’s all? This is what he wanted, a program?” Jaxon exclaimed. “That can’t be right. Apart from word processing Dr. Langford is almost entirely computer illiterate.” He put his hands over his face, slowly rubbing his temples with his index fingers.
“I think there’s more here than we think,” said Reddic, staring at the screen.
“Then what are you waiting for? Open it.”
“Is there a computer that’s a little older that nobody really uses anymore in this office?” Reddic asked.
“Yeah, it’s over there, but I don’t see the point.”
“Just humor me and log me on.” For a moment Jaxon didn’t move. He looked at the computer monitor again, straining to see if he was missing something. Finally, he moved over to the seldom-used machine.
Reddic inserted the flash drive, opened the file folder and executed the program. A black animated spider popped up in the upper right-hand corner of the screen and crawled toward the center. When it reached the middle it bent forward, arched its back, and then struck the desktop wallpaper with its pixeled stinger. Small digital crimson rivulets began falling from the top, distorting the screen as they descended. Once they reached the bottom a white light flashed, then the screen returned to normal.
Reddic moved the mouse pointer to the “start” icon in the lower left-hand corner and clicked on it, but nothing happened. He moved the mouse over a folder on the desktop and tried it. There was no response. Reaching down to the computer tower beneath the desk, he pulled the memory stick out of the USB port, but it did little to stop the program.
“What is that, a virus?” Jaxon asked.
“I think so. The whole machine’s seized up. I can’t access anything. The virus is corrupting everything,” said Reddic.
“I don’t get it. What’s so special about a computer virus that someone would try to kill Dr. Langford for it?” Reddic sat still, contemplating Jaxon’s question.
“It couldn’t be the virus they wanted,” he muttered. “It had to be something else. What if the virus was a failsafe?”
“A failsafe? You’ll have to explain that.”
“A backup plan in case all else failed.”
The computer suddenly powered off on its own. Reddic reached down and powered the computer back on. The screen came up black with a white cursor blinking in the upper left-hand corner. He tried typing in a few commands to no avail.
“It doesn’t recognize an operating system. The hard drive must be wiped clean,” Reddic said. “This isn’t a virus, it’s a kill disk.”
“That’s impossible. Kill disks take more than an hour to format a hard drive. This one took no more than two minutes,” Jaxon said.
“I wonder if he got to Langford’s computer. Maybe there’s something useful on it,” Reddic suggested.
“What are you implying?”
“Maybe we should go upstairs and look around a little.”
“That’s out of the question!” Jaxon bellowed. “I’m not going to lose my fellowship by interfering with this investigation. We looked at this disk already, and even that was borderline criminal.”
“So you just want to sit on your hands and do nothing? Think of Dr. Langford. The guy is lying in a coma, Jaxon. Doesn’t he deserve more than this?”
“Of course he deserves more, but there’s nothing we can do. Leave it to the professionals, Reddic. That’s what they’re paid for. I don’t understand your interest in this anyway.”
“This isn’t about you or me, Jaxon,” Reddic said calmly. “It’s about taking a stand against despicable humans that prey on innocent people like Langford, and our parents, if you haven’t forgotten. We have an obligation to do something.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not some FBI agent, you’re a basketball player.”
“You’re right. I’m not with the FBI. But that doesn’t mean that we should do nothing. Justice needs to be served.”
“Justice? Who empowered you to serve justice, or are you referring to revenge? Is that what this is all about? Mom and dad are dead, Reddic. You have to let them go. God will serve His justice.”
“Revenge is for the mentally weak. This is about safety and security, Jax. I don’t even know Dr. Langford. Whether he dies or not doesn’t bother me.”
“That’s an incredibly cold thing to say, Reddic,” Jaxon interrupted.
“Then I apologize. The point is, unless people who are capable make a stand, like you and I, this type of madness will never stop.”
“Who are you going to stand up to? We don’t even know who we’re dealing with.”
“That is precisely what I want to find out. Look Jax, I can’t do this alone. I need you here with me.” Reddic felt optimistic, as Jaxon seemed to consider the proposal for a moment.
“This is what we’re going to do,” he began. “We’re going to turn that jump stick over to the police, pack some clothes, and get out of town. I don’t want to spend another second on campus,” he stated with finality.
“Fine. If you want the bed next to your professor in the ICU, you go ahead with that plan.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It is what it is. We’d better get going if we’re going to leave tonight.” Reddic stood up, stormed to the door and opened it forcefully. He was indignant. “Are you coming?” he asked.
Jaxon sat in the desk chair watching Reddic closely. Reddic knew that his brother was extremely smart. Academia had taught him to discern between fact and fiction when dealing with people. But Reddic was more difficult to read. He prided himself on often being able to manipulate people by fabricating scenarios to get what he wanted. One time in particular he vividly remembered duping Jaxon.
It was during the summer between Jaxon’s junior and senior years in high school. He was seventeen and had just bought his first car; the 1991 yellow Yugo GV. He and Reddic drove up to Lake Chelan on a Saturday morning to boat with some friends. On the return trip home Reddic grumbled incessantly about how slow he was driving, but Jaxon tried to ignore it. He was determined to teach his younger brother responsibility, especially on roadways he explained. Reddic shrugged and told him to keep putting along if he didn’t mind being grounded. He claimed that their mother had specifically stated that they were to be back home by seven that evening. The problem was it was already a quarter-till and they were still thirty minutes away.
Jaxon laughed mockingly, determined to call his brother’s bluff, but Reddic remained stoic. Before two minutes passed Jaxon gave in. He couldn’t suppress his inquisitiveness any longer. He wanted to go to Leavenworth the next day and couldn’t afford to be grounded, a fact that Reddic knew and had used against him.
Ten minutes later they were pulled over on the side of the highway waiting for a state trooper to write Jaxon his first ticket. When they got home Jaxon found out that their mother had never given them a time to return. To make matters worse, his parents revoked his driving privileges for a week because of the speeding ticket.
Reddic had gotten what he wanted then, but Jaxon was no longer a naïve teenager. Reddic worried that he wouldn’t be able to persuade him.
“Well?” Reddic pushed, still standing in the doorway.
“Fine, I give up,” Jaxon said. “Enlighten me as to why we shouldn’t walk away from this?”
“Do you trust my judgment or are you just being petty?”
“I trust it most of the time,” he said. Reddic closed the door and moved to within a
few feet of Jaxon.
“I worry about you being marked?”
“What?”
“Marked, made, identified, they’re all synonymous.”
“I still don’t understand you,” Jaxon said worriedly.
“You told me that you’ve been working with Langford for over two years, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with him in public and in his office I assume, correct?”
“Yes…”
“Then it’s likely to assume that whoever went after Langford will come after you next if they didn’t find what they wanted.” The color in Jaxon’s face faded. He squirmed in his chair, brooding.
“What’s your line of reasoning?” he finally asked.
“Well, based on what I’ve seen, we’re not dealing with amateurs.”
Jaxon scoffed haughtily. “Amateurs? What would you know about it?”
“Just hear me out. When I first saw your professor I didn’t know what to think. There could’ve been any number of explanations for what happened; anything from a despondent student to a hate crime. It wasn’t until I remembered the single most important lesson in sports that things became clear—attention to detail.” Jaxon looked mystified. Reddic went on. “Take, for instance, the precision timing the attacker had with his accomplice, the silencer in the jacket, this flash drive. It all suggests elaborate planning. Yet the most compelling item is the mere fact that he knew Langford was in his office on a Saturday afternoon. You even said it’s rare that professors come in on weekends. In fact, there probably isn’t anybody but us in the building right now. So how did he know?” Jaxon started to speak, but Reddic held up his hand, beckoning him to wait.
“That brings me to my conclusion,” he resumed. “If whoever ordered the assault knew where Langford would be at a specific time, it can be assumed that they would know about you too. And if they didn’t get anything out of Langford, who’s to say they won’t come after you next.”
Silence. There was no response, just silent thought.
“So what do we do?” Jaxon asked quietly.
“That’s entirely up to you. You can either try to forget all about this and flinch at shadows and distrust everybody, or we can go up to Langford’s office, look around, find out what we can, and hope to lead the cops to the bad guys.”
“It’s that easy, huh? Look around a bit, find the bad guys and be heroes?”
“Not exactly. I just don’t want you to take door number one.”
“You know, every brain cell in my head is telling me to leave this alone, but you’re so persuasive.” Jaxon shook his head, not believing what he was about to say. “All right, let’s do it
Chapter Seven
At the main entranceway Reddic found Jaxon pacing uneasily right where he had left him only moments earlier when he ran to retrieve his backpack. Reddic locked the main door as he came through and hurried up to the second level. There, he sent Jaxon down one side while he briskly walked through the other.
Finding nobody, they moved to the third floor. Reddic felt confident that he could work uninterrupted; the building was empty and the doors were locked. They stood in front of Langford’s office, seeing that two strips of yellow police tape spanned the frame diagonally from corner to corner. Reaching for the doorknob, Reddic tried it, not at all surprised that it was locked.
“This is what I was afraid of,” said Jaxon nervously. “I don’t have a key. Maybe we should go.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle the door,” Reddic assured him. He backed up about ten feet to the far side of the corridor and lunged forward.
Jaxon jumped out in front with his hands up. “What are you doing?” he peevishly asked. “You can’t just break the door down.”
“I was just messing with you, man. Don’t be so uptight.”
“Why do you torment me like this?”
Moving his brother aside, Reddic lowered himself to one knee. He opened the front pocket of the backpack and removed two slender, steel stem-like tools that were about four inches in length. Standing in front of the door, he inserted them into the keyhole, fluidly working them around the small opening like a surgeon. Within seconds he heard a click. He pulled out the tools, stuffed them in the backpack and extracted a white handkerchief. Reddic clutched the knob with the cloth and pushed the door open, carefully stepping through the tape to enter the office.
He stood in the doorway taking in the layout. He didn’t bother turning on the lights because the sun illuminated the room through the window cutting into the wall four paces in front of him. The last time he was here he scurried through too quickly to observe much detail. It was a spacious office by university standards; maybe twenty-five feet square. To the right, centered against the wall, was an oversized oak desk with a LCD computer monitor, desk lamp, and a few books neatly organized on the smooth desktop. There was at least five feet between the desk and the walls on both sides. On the wall behind the desk was a Mercator map of the world with a tack board underneath. Sticking out of it were several white and red pins placed in different geographical locations. On the remaining two walls were shelves, three on each wall, spanning about ten feet in length. Potted plants stood in each of the four corners and on the ceiling was a fan with three light fixtures beneath it.
Reddic moved aside so Jaxon could come through the doorway. From where he stood his brother looked bemused. Jaxon crawled through the tape and analyzed the lock on the door behind.
“It’s not as hard as it might seem,” said Reddic, trying to satiate his brother’s obvious curiosity. “These office locks are cheap and easy to pop open. Anybody can do it.”
“I’m afraid to ask where you learned such a felonious tradecraft,” Jaxon responded.
“On the internet,” Reddic offered casually.
Taking a seat behind the large desk in Langford’s comfortable black leather chair, Reddic recognized that only a few hours ago a man almost lost his life in that very spot. He put away the thought and pressed the power button with his knuckle and waited for the computer to come to life. A few seconds later, a black screen and a blinking cursor popped up.
“We’re too late. It’s already been wiped clean,” Reddic said. He leaned back in the chair scanning the walls. “Jax, does anything look different in here? Anything out of place? Anything missing or damaged?”
“Not that I can tell. Everything looks the same to me,” he said. Reddic looked down at the desk trying to think. He opened the drawers one at a time, rummaging through the content within. There was nothing out of the ordinary, only dead files of journal articles and book chapters that Langford had written for various publishers. He suddenly felt foolish, recognizing that even if something were missing he wouldn’t know it. He spun around in the chair and faced the back wall.
“What are these pins on this map?” he asked.
“They’re supposed to be Dr. Langford’s travel log. The white pins are for places he’s been to and the red ones represent those he was planning to visit. He was well traveled.”
“He certainly was,” Reddic said, taking it in. There were pins stuck in every continent of the world. Yet there was something strange about the map in North America. The pins looked organized, as if the professor wanted to form a symbol.
He left the chair and walked to the shelves bolted to the far wall. They were filled with books that Dr. Langford had either written or co-authored. He scanned the titles, noticing that the scholar’s area of expertise was tremendously diverse. There were themes varying from archeological finds to sacrificial rituals of polytheistic religions. How wonderfully exciting, he thought.
He moved over to the other set of shelves on the wall to his left. There were reference books organized by language: Hebrew, Arabic, Latin, Greek, Demotic, English, and others. Reddic reached for the first book he saw in English and thumbed through the pages, scanning the text for any written notes in the margins.
“How many l
anguages are you up to now?” asked Reddic, still turning pages.
“I like to believe that I’m proficient in four of the ancients. Dr. Langford won’t work with anybody who knows less than four.”
“Have you read through these books?”
“Most of them. I’m still working on learning Demotic, though.”
Interesting, Reddic thought. If Langford wanted to leave behind a message or a clue for Jaxon there was a chance that he would use one of these books. But it was only a chance. The odds did not favor it. Still, it was worth it to flip through a few and at least check.
***
Jaxon pulled his attention away from the bookshelf and focused on Langford’s desk. Over two years had passed since he stood in that exact spot just inside the door facing the greatly admired and respected professor. He remembered the day clearly, as if it had been indelibly etched into his mind.
He had never felt more nervous or anxious than he did in that moment. Apart from a research seminar he took in his first semester at Cornell, Jaxon hardly knew the man, but his reputation certainly preceded him. Everyone had told him that in the pantheon of notable historians Matthew Langford topped the list. He remembered standing outside his open door, unsure if he should enter. Then, as if a strong current of wind propelled him forward, he stumbled into the room.
Dr. Langford sat behind his desk reading from a parchment. He kept his head down, evidently unaware of Jaxon’s presence. The moment was awkward. Jaxon stood rigid beside the bookshelf not knowing exactly what to say.
“You’re precisely on time, Mr. Smith. I expected nothing less,” Langford said, breaking the pregnant silence with his deep baritone voice. He looked up from the text and sat back in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him on his lap. Jaxon glanced at the armchairs situated at the near side of the desk, hoping that Langford would invite him to sit.
“I have monitored your progress in the program thus far, Mr. Smith,” he said. “The reports from my colleagues have been most favorable on your behalf.” Jaxon felt himself blush slightly. “You may be wondering why I asked you here this afternoon. I did so that I could more completely evaluate your intellectual capacity and, most importantly, your unwavering deference for history,” he stated. Langford looked regal from where Jaxon stood, almost like a king in his throne overlooking a beseeching peon. Jaxon felt a little uncomfortable in his presence, a sensation he rarely experienced.