Stone of Truth

by Adam Hiatt

  “He was revered as the chief God of Mesoamerica, every bit the equal of YHWH to the Israelites. He was believed to be the son of Pachacamac, the great creator of the universe. He was also known as the gentle God, the ruler of the air, the controller of the sun and rain, and the source of all prosperity. He taught men the arts of civilization. He prohibited blood sacrifices and preached morality, penitence, and peace.”

  “That sounds too good to be true,” Reddic insisted. “An uncorrupted political and spiritual leader in Central America? Surely you jest.”

  “You bring up a good point. According to all surviving accounts, Quetzalcoatl was as virtuous as advertised. He was deemed refreshingly original, as every other personage of divine origin and great power seemed to be bent on bringing calamity and misfortune upon the people if they were not worshipped. He only sought to show the people how to achieve happiness through virtue and peace, but that’s another story altogether.

  “If you break down the etymology of the name you’ll see that it’s composed of two separate names: Quetzal and Coatl. Quetzal is the name of a brightly colored bird indigenous to the region of Chiapas and Guatemala, though it is believed the bird inhabited numerous places throughout Central America anciently. Coatl means serpent in the Toltec and Aztec tongues. The Quetzal bird was revered for its magnificent color and beauty. You see, it has a spectacular crimson breast and a three-foot long iridescent green tail that ripples through the wind. Do you know what Mexico’s national colors are?”

  “I’m reminded every time I go out to eat in a Mexican restaurant,” said Reddic. “They’re red and green.”

  “That’s right. I had the chance to see a Quetzal last year on a research trip. It was perched in a tree on a branch facing the sun. The sun’s rays reflected off its plumage and produced the most resplendent sight I had ever seen. It looked like the bird was totally consumed in flames. Of course it was an illusion, but it made me think about a possible connection with Moses’ brazen serpent. You see, Quetzalcoatl is also known as the Feathered Serpent God. Why would a serpent be plumed?”

  “The feathers obviously represent flight. A bird can’t fly without feathers.”

  “Correct. So in essence, Quetzalcoatl was the fiery flying serpent, the same as in the Sinai Desert; a perfect symmetry.”

  “It’s an interesting theory,” Reddic began. “But quite frankly I don’t see how this project is worth killing for, if you catch my drift.”

  “Right. Well I began to find other parallels between the two hemispheres as I continued my research. Take pyramid building, for example. More than forty thousand pyramids have been discovered in different parts of the Americas, but two in particular caught my attention. In Copas there is one pyramid with exactly the same base and size as the great pyramid in Egypt. Another in Cholula is twice as big as the great pyramid, but with the same general design. Consider the tomb at Oaxaca’s Monte Albán that was discovered. It contained artifacts of sculpted works that were as Egyptian as anything in the Cairo Museum. Within the same tomb were various sculptures that were considered purely Hebrewish.”

  Reddic leaned forward and watched intently as Jaxon continued to name historical coincidences. Although he considered much of what Jaxon said to be relatively insignificant, he could not help but be impressed with his brother’s capacity to store information. He was a walking encyclopedia. It was a shame he was studying history. His mind could be much better served in other fields.

  “Reddic, are you listening?” Jaxon called.

  Reddic refocused his eyes and blinked several times. “Of course I am. I was just trying to memorize what you were saying.”

  “I bet. So, back to what I was saying. I wrote all this up anticipating that Dr. Langford would someday meet with me where I would have the opportunity to present it and astound him. Well, he eventually summoned me, but it was I that was astounded.” Jaxon recounted his first experience with the professor. After he spoke of Langford’s rebuke, Reddic half-expected his brother to hold a dejected countenance, as any victim to academic rejection would. But what he saw was fully unanticipated. Jaxon’s face seemed to glow in the dark. His cadence was optimistic and energetic, not sullen and melancholic.

  “Why didn’t his chastisement offend you?” Reddic broke in.

  “It was meant as an intellectual challenge, not an insult. It inspired me. I must admit though, I wasn’t sure if I would ever find it. I poured over thousands of pages of historical records for any inference to the Quetzalcoatl mystery, but I repeatedly came up empty. I just didn’t know what to look for. Well, after months of disappointment I almost gave up. But I’m glad I didn’t. I decided to look at one more source before I began searching for a new mentor.

  “I found a document with a legend inscribed on it, part canonical part apocryphal. It stated that at one point during Moses’ time as a shepherd in the Midian desert he left his sheep and climbed Mt. Sinai. He didn’t know why or where he was going, only that he needed to keep walking. When he reached the summit YHWH appeared and gave him instructions. When the vision closed Moses looked down and saw a glowing, transparent stone. He scooped it up, put it around his neck, and returned to Egypt. The legend goes on to tell that the stone, which Moses kept secret, had the power to control all earthly elements, including water.

  “I had an epiphany. Could it be that the great deity of Mesoamerica possessed a like item? I had nothing else, so I decided to take a chance. I called a meeting and told Langford that I solved his mystery. We met and I put it out there. Let me tell you, Reddic, it was the most nerve-racking ten seconds of my life. He didn’t say anything. I thought I had it all wrong until he stopped walking and turned with his hand extended and said, ‘congratulations, you passed.’

  “That’s it? That’s all he said?” Reddic asked incredulously.

  “Not quite. We walked a few more paces before he spoke again. When he did, he asked me a strange question. He said, ‘What would you think if I told you that the stone still exists?’ I told him that it would be the story of the century if someone actually found it. His eyes were gleaming as he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. He said, ‘It does exist, my boy, and you must not tell anybody, ever.’”

  The wind began to swirl around the stadium as clouds invaded the clear sky. Reddic thought that enough time had passed for them to safely leave campus, but after what he had just heard he didn’t want to go anywhere quite yet.

  “I don’t understand,” Reddic said. “How could it still exist after all these years?”

  “I asked the same question. Langford told me about an obscure reference in a Mixtec deerskin códice that he uncovered near Mitla. Evidently he was there looking at some ruins when he mistakenly stepped on a fragile piece of clay. His footing gave way and he fell into the side of the ruin, breaking off a section of the foundation. He started to get up when he saw something. He shined his flashlight into the new crevice and saw what looked like a book.

  “The book was actually an archaic folder with several leafs of códice. It covered a fifty-year period of Mixtec history in that area. Langford eventually published that find, in case you were wondering. Anyway, there was one leaf that he didn’t publish. It contained a tale of the sadistic Tezcatlipoca’s treachery. The story follows that Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl ostensibly possessed one of these stones when he ruled Tula over a prolonged period of peace. Well, that one fateful day when Tezcatlipoca intoxicated Topiltzin he allegedly stole it, thinking that it would give him power. When Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl escaped into exile he promised to return, not to rule his little kingdom as most people believe, but to reclaim his stolen stone.”

  “So what happened to it?” Reddic asked. He felt oddly involved in the story, as if he wanted to be part of it. Is this what attracted people to history?

  “Nobody knows. That’s where the story ended. Langford supposed that the followers of Tezcatlipoca kept it hidden in different locations, ultimately settling on one final resting place.”

  �
��That’s some story. If it’s true I can understand why it would be a significant find, but still not something worth killing for. Is there anything else about the stone that we know? I mean, we can’t be sure if this is what almost cost your professor his life until we learn more detail.”

  “I’m ashamed to say I don’t know much more about it. Langford had only recently brought me up to speed,” Jaxon said. “He was always quite elusive, often evading questions that I posed. He would either change the subject or tell me that I wasn’t at that point yet.”

  “Did you ever talk about it in his office?”

  “Only a couple of times, but never in depth. Even then we only spoke in ambiguity. Come to think of it, he preferred to talk about it only outdoors. Terribly strange, I know.”

  “Interesting,” Reddic muttered. He rose to his feet and walked to the end of the row of seats. There was something peculiar about Jaxon’s mentor that he could not quite solve. Clearly, it was eccentric that he acted so elusive with his protégé, but it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. Undoubtedly, he wanted to be the vanguard academician with this new find. It would be inconceivable for a man of his reputation to hand over one of the most noteworthy discoveries in his lifetime to a student. But maybe there was more to it than that. What if he was trying to protect Jaxon? Could his discreetness and prudence actually have spared Jaxon a similar fate?

  “We obviously need to learn more about this stone. We can’t wait for Langford to come out of the coma. Did he have any collaborators or counterparts that were just as, how shall I say, committed as he was?"

  “I think I might know a few. Dr. Langford gave me a list of academics about a month ago, saying that I could go to them at any time. I have their contact information back at my place, so we need to stop by before we do anything,” Jaxon said.

  Reddic checked his watch, noting the time. It was already close to 10:00 pm. Wherever they went from there it would have to be on the ground; no flights out of Ithaca departed this late in the day.

  “It’s got to be a quick stop, though,” Reddic said. “Until we get out of town I don’t want to be in one spot for too long.”

  “Out of town? Where are we going? We don’t even have a car.”

  “We’ll worry about that later. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Reddic strolled over to the walkway steps that separated two sections of seating. He tried to push away the lingering feeling that somebody was watching them. He knew that whoever came after Langford was sure to pick up on their trail after the day’s encounters. It wasn’t the ideal way to prepare for the NBA draft. He had been taking on private workouts for various teams over the course of the previous two weeks. He told his agent that he was tired and needed one week of rest before he returned to the hardwood again. He had to be careful. If word got out to those teams what he was really doing it could jeopardize his draft status, and his cover.

  He could not let that weigh on him. After all, it was his choice to live this kind of life.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the shadows of the press box high above the playing surface an assassin dressed in black clothes waited. He watched the two figures step off the bleachers and exit the stadium to the northeast. He disassembled a device that looked like a rifle scope attached to a radar gun and tightly packed it away in a black plastic briefcase. He removed two earpieces and pulled out his cell phone.

  “The professor’s understudies know about the stone,” he said with a distinct accent.

  “How much do they know, Amjad?” came the reply.

  “Only basic elements, but they are pursuing more knowledge. What is your counsel?”

  “Do you perceive them as a threat to us?”

  “Separately no, but together they may be perilous.”

  “Then eliminate them.”

  Amjad powered his phone off and stored it back in the briefcase. He removed a six inch steel folding stiletto and flipped the blade open. He twirled it in his hand as fragments of light reflected off its brilliant surface. This was his weapon of choice. It was quiet, effective, and most importantly, intimate. It was almost an erotic sensation to feel the last dying breath of his victims.

  Amjad's mind drifted to a distant time in his homeland of Saudi Arabia when he first learned that he had a talent for killing. He was barely fifteen years of age, his entire life ahead of him. He had no father and no siblings. He had switched schools several times, but finally settled on a madrasa that taught Wahhabism. As an impressionable youth he greatly resonated with the teachings.

  One day he found himself walking aimlessly toward his mother's humble home reflecting upon the moral weakness of western cultures learned in school that day. He passed through the front door of the house and immediately stopped in his tracks. He heard a commotion in his mother's room. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and quietly opened the bedroom door. Inside the room was his mother tied to her own bed with a man, naked from the waist down, hovering over her. His mother saw him.

  "Amjad," she managed to say. "You must leave." Her voice was shrill and weak. The man raping her looked toward the door and gave a menacing smile. It was one of the teachers at his madrasa.

  Amjad stood motionless in the doorway, unable to take his eyes off of what was happening. "Get off of her," he demanded. Slowly, his teacher slid off the bed and slipped on his pants.

  "What are you doing here?" Amjad asked.

  "This woman was in the market today without her abaya," he said casually. "The sight of her awrah aroused my passions. The law permits this, of course."

  Amjad felt the anger build inside him. "Is this true?" he asked.

  His mother sat up on her bed, closed her eyes and nodded. A tear streamed down her face. Amjad was stunned. He felt betrayed by his mother. She violated one of the principle components of the mutawa.

  "This sin cannot go unpunished," the teacher said. "Doing so would be worse than her actual rebellion."

  Amjad looked at him with blank eyes. "What do you recommend mudarris?" The question was sincere. Wahhabism demanded strict heed to their code of conduct. Other teachers at the madrasa had let him know that his future was bright if he committed to the orthodox tenets. He recognized that he now had the opportunity to prove his loyalty.

  "It has come to my attention that this woman has also taken other men to bed. Her penalty is death."

  His mother looked at him with fear in her eyes. Amjad held her gaze, but surprisingly felt nothing. He no longer looked at her as his mother. If she would betray Allah and his law, she would eventually betray him too. He moved toward her methodically. He sat by her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulder in an effort to embrace her. He took her chin in his right hand and rested his left on her head. Then, in one swift movement, he twisted with incredible force, snapping her neck instantly. Amjad held her body in his arms for a moment before laying her gently on her bed. He noticed the teacher looking on in admiration. His body experienced a jolt of energy as reality settled over him. He had just taken his first life, and it felt natural.

  "You have proven yourself a loyal servant of Allah," the teacher said. "Your future is indeed bright." He reached down and pulled Amjad to his feet. "Come," he said. "Let us return to the madrasa while this house is being cleansed."

  Amjad gestured for the teacher to lead them out of the room out of respect. He fell in just behind him, step for step. As the teacher reached the doorway Amjad suddenly reared up, pulling his teacher's head back with his left hand while bringing the knife across his neck with his right. The teacher grasped at the lacerated tissue, but his efforts were futile. He slumped to the floor as blood poured out of the mortal wound. Amjad dropped the knife in the pool of blood and walked toward the front door. The second life felt much better than the first.

  A faint smile flashed across the assassin's face as he relived the memory. He closed the knife blade and tucked it inside his pant pocket. He checked his watch and took one more look across the football field. W
ithin the hour he would have two more kills to enjoy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The red Audi A6 stopped alongside the curb outside of the duplex. Reddic and Jaxon stepped out of the vehicle and strolled down the walkway toward the staircase leading to the upper level. Reddic swiveled his head calmly as he searched the area for any sign of hostile activity. He didn’t like coming back here. It would be too easy for anybody to find out where Jaxon lived. All somebody would have to do was search the university’s student directory.

  Yet, he was here, against his better judgment. Jaxon had convinced him that it was necessary to stop by the duplex; it was where he kept his address book he had explained. It didn’t make sense to Reddic how his brother could effortlessly memorize historical minutia but fail to remember simple contact information.

  Reddic took one last look at the car parked on the street waiting for them before stepping inside the duplex. To him it was the epitome of the Ivy League; a young, twenty-one year old attractive female undergraduate student driving a car that most career people could not afford. Still, she did provide a temporary mode of transportation, which, only a few minutes ago as they left the stadium, they did not have. It wasn’t that difficult to attain either, Reddic recalled. When they exited the stadium on the northeast side they immediately turned south, walking behind the east grandstand. They scurried through a bank of trees before arriving at the tennis complex.

  They walked through another small grove and crossed a small creek over a footbridge. They hustled westward down the first street they came upon until they ran into one of Cornell’s most popular social spots: Collegetown. This was one facet of the school that Reddic found immensely appealing. It was an area consisting of about two blocks of small, flat-roof buildings occupied by various eclectic shops, coffee houses, cafes, supply stores, clothing outlets, etc. Usually crowded, it would be an ideal place to expand anybody’s social network.