Stone of Truth

by Adam Hiatt

  Less than two minutes went by before the red Audi stopped underneath the Jet Blue awning at Syracuse Hancock International Airport. Reddic jumped out of the car and opened the back door. He reached in and delicately held the girl’s hands as he helped her out. She stood weakly on the asphalt looking at Reddic with sad eyes. She fell into his arms, resting her head against his chest.

  “I never thanked you for saving my life. That monster held a gun to my head, you know,” she whimpered.

  “I would’ve never left you there,” he said. Reddic pulled away for a moment to pick up his backpack resting on the Audi’s floorboard. He found his wallet and took out some money. “Take this and stay at a hotel tonight. I don’t want you driving.”

  “Wait!” she hollered as Reddic turned to walk away. “Where are you going?”

  “To see a friend,” Reddic said. “I have your number. I’ll call you when we get back.” He spun on his heal and ran toward the airport’s doors.

  Reaching into his pack, he pulled out the gun and dropped it into a wastebasket at the entrance. Once inside he headed directly for the Jet Blue desk.

  “I have two tickets reserved for R. Morris,” he said. The woman working the ticket counter started to type at the keyboard. She stared at the monitor, unsure if she was reading correctly.

  “Did you say R. Morris?” she asked. Reddic simply nodded. She reached under the counter and pulled out two blue and white envelopes, handing them over to Reddic. “You only have five minutes. You’d better run,” she said.

  They sprinted across the tiled floor toward security, grateful that they were in Syracuse and not some other mammoth airport. Reddic removed a laminated tag from one of the envelopes and gave it to Jaxon.

  “Follow my lead,” he said. Reddic flashed his tag at the TSA employee. The guard gave a nod and a subtle wave through. As soon as they cleared security Reddic snatched away Jaxon’s tag and put both in his pack. He looked at his phone.

  Three minutes left.

  He could see the gate; it was still open. He extracted a ticket and gave it to his brother.

  “Just in time,” the male airline employee said through a smile. He grabbed their tickets as Reddic and Jaxon walked by. Halfway down the corridor the door behind them closed tightly. Reddic took one more look at his phone—10:59.

  Perfect timing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reclining in his seat, Jaxon watched the television screen that was built into the headrest of the seat directly in front of him. A news program outlined the main events and stories of the evening. There was nothing new, he saw. In fact, it was simple redundancy; violence in the Middle East, stock market woes, and speculation on the upcoming presidential election replayed ad nauseam.

  He wondered how historians would portray his generation in the future. Undeniably, some of the greatest achievements in science and popular culture would be praised, but could that possibly be the only positive recognition? Today’s world was getting more selfish, rapacious, ego charged. The past, on the other hand, seemed so uncomplicated to him. Even events as unsightly as warfare had a certain noble quality attached to them. Enemies were easy to identify.

  Times had changed, however. In today’s age most decisions were predicated upon financial gain or political approval, pure and simple. Yet, for some reason Jaxon maintained a profound admiration for his country. It was primarily rooted from the rich history of its inception. He considered himself a patriot, proud to be called an American, proud of his country’s unyielding stance against tyranny. Sure the Unites States was fallible and flawed, but it was still the most stable and uncorrupted government on earth. Someday he knew he would have a family of his own. He just hoped that his children would enjoy the same freedoms as he.

  He glanced at Reddic’s monitor. He was following a basketball game intently. It looked like the NBA playoffs. Jaxon smiled, but the smile quickly faded. What had he gotten them into? He almost regretted ever desiring to work with Matthew Langford. Not only was his future now in danger, but Reddic’s also.

  Then again, Reddic didn’t exactly shy away from the strange events of the day. Quite the opposite in fact; he seemed to invite it. Jaxon looked out of the corner of his eye at the backpack resting between Reddic’s legs, wondering what those tags were and how did his brother get them. He didn’t know if he should ask or just forget about it. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t leave it alone. There was something that Reddic wasn’t telling him, he could sense it.

  Reddic unlatched his seatbelt and walked down the aisle to the lavatory. As soon as the bathroom door closed, Jaxon seized the green backpack. He unzipped the main pocket and peeked in. Where did the tags go? He saw Reddic place them in there. He pushed aside a tightly packed change of clothes, some harmless looking electronic devices, and tools, but still no tag or envelope. He closed it back up and opened the front pouch. Reddic’s wallet was there, but nothing else.

  “What are you looking for?” he heard. Jaxon jumped in his seat. Reddic stood in the aisle with a questioning expression on his face.

  “I was just…” he tried to say. Why bother? He was caught in the act, guilt written all over his face. He closed the front compartment and set the backpack down. “I wanted to look at that laminated tag that you gave me back in the airport is all,” he said sheepishly.

  “Why didn’t you just ask?” Reddic said.

  “Would you have shown me?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then that’s why.” Jaxon turned away and looked out the window into the blackness. “Where are we heading, anyway?”

  “Utah.” Jaxon whipped his head around.

  “Jet Blue recently introduced a promotional flight offering passage between all major airports in the Northeast and Salt Lake City,” Reddic explained. “It’s my understanding that a destination in the west will be chosen each month. I guess the airline must think that this stunt will help to stimulate it financially,” he said.

  Hypnotically, Jaxon reached under his seat and found his black planner buried in his duffle bag. He flipped through several pages and sections until he located the list that Langford had given him.

  “Is that Langford’s list?” Reddic asked.

  “Yes, I had it tucked away in my apartment,” Jaxon replied. “He wrote the names of three scholars that have published works relating to my dissertation, hoping that I would call them with questions if I needed to.” He briefly paused, gaping at the list. “Look at the last name that he wrote.”

  Reddic reached for the planner, pulling it in front of him. “Don’t know him,” he said, handing it back.

  “Look at where he lives. It’s written just below each name.”

  “It says Salt Lake City, so what?”

  Jaxon raised one eyebrow. “Awfully coincidental that we’re heading in that direction wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would say yes, it is coincidental,” Reddic responded. Jaxon shook his head incredulously.

  “I don’t buy that for a second. Come on Reddic tell me the truth. You can trust me. I’m your only family for crying out loud.”

  “Truth? What truth? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “There’s something that you’re keeping from me, something about your life, I just know it. I mean, ever since mom and dad’s funeral I’ve noticed a gradual change. I’m not saying that the change has been bad; it’s just that you’ve become more elusive, almost enigmatic. Most anybody else probably wouldn’t notice, but I know you better than anybody.”

  Reddic didn’t know how to respond. His brother’s instincts were accurate, but how much could he really tell him? He was unsure if he even fully trusted Jaxon. He sighed. He desperately yearned to trust somebody, but years ago he trained himself to question everything and everybody.

  He remembered it vividly. He was a freshman in college, eager, over-confident, the whole world in front of him. He got a text message from his coach asking him to come to his office. When Reddic arrived he knew s
omething was wrong. The coach was uncomfortably somber. He told Reddic to take a seat, but Reddic remained standing. His muscles tightened as he listened to his coach recount what the police had told him: Reddic’s parents were in an auto accident. They were in New York on a vacation. At first it was believed that a drunk driver swerved into their lane and hit them head on. The assailant’s car was filled with explosives. Fortunately, the vehicle did not detonate during the crash. It allowed the police to identify the driver. He was a Muslim extremist and had enough explosive material to level a couple buildings. The details didn’t matter to Reddic at the time. All that mattered was that his parents were dead.

  Reddic said nothing. He refused to cry. He stared at the coach in disbelief before excusing himself. He ran to his dorm room where he locked the door and sobbed until he could produce no more tears. When he lifted his head from his pillow he vowed to never feel that way again. But there was only one way to do that. He would have to distance himself from those he loved. He would have to be suspicious of everything and everybody.

  Unfortunately, Jaxon was one he could never quite seem to distance himself from.

  “About a month after mom and dad died I desperately needed something to alleviate the internal pain,” Reddic began. “Basketball was good medicine, but apart from the two hours a day at practice it was ineffective. It was like a quick shot of morphine, short and sweet. I wanted something more engaging.

  “So one day I sent an email to a random address at the C.I.A. I didn’t anticipate a response. Some low-level attaché must have read it because I received a reply asking for transcripts, test scores, and some other information. It wasn’t a big deal, so I had it sent. Well, a couple weeks later some guy flew out to Spokane and asked if I would take a placement test. At that point our first game was almost upon us, so I wasn’t too thrilled about taking a worthless test.”

  “Did you?” asked Jaxon.

  “Yeah, and I must’ve done okay because they offered me a job. But how could I take a job at the C.I.A.? I was only a freshman in school. I turned it down and moved on.”

  “What was the job?”

  “Some mid-level analyst gig. Pretty much a waste of time.”

  “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “It just wasn’t what I was looking for,” Reddic responded.

  “What were you looking for exactly?”

  “I don’t know. A sense of purpose I guess. Don’t misunderstand me. I believe sports bring a certain pleasure and enjoyment to people, but let’s face it, being an athlete isn’t the most meaningful occupation.”

  “If only I had a tape recorder for that confession,” Jaxon jibed.

  “Don’t get too excited. I think many professors possess an inflated self-image of their own importance too.”

  “Hold on a second, at least we’re developing the minds of the future leaders of this country,” Jaxon replied testily.

  “You’re right and I respect that, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that subjects like philosophy and ancient Greek literature directly equate to significant societal contribution. I mean, I pretty much want to ask kids majoring in those types of programs if they plan on standing in the recently unemployed or chronically unemployed line.”

  “Hey, you don’t need to be rude with your opinions you know.”

  “Come on, I’m not trying to be mean, it’s just the way the world is now.” Reddic turned away from Jaxon’s menacing glare, managing to sneak a quick peek at the score of the game in progress on his miniature television panel.

  “All right, what I’m about to tell you is highly confidential, do you understand?” Reddic glanced around to be sure nobody was eavesdropping. Jaxon’s countenance seemed to immediately brighten as he nodded his head.

  “A few weeks after I turned down the agency we left to play a holiday tournament in New York. After our last game I was walking to the bus that was supposed to take us to the airport. Out of nowhere this woman appeared by my side congratulating me on the win. I thought she was a sports reporter or marketer because of her look. You know, middle thirties, straight brown hair, tailored business suit, phony smile. I humored her for a minute or two before loading the bus. As I boarded she offered her hand and I took it. When I pulled away a business card rested in my palm. I looked down at it, but when I looked up again she was gone.”

  “What did the card say?” Jaxon asked.

  “Not much, it only had a sentence and a number. I’ll never forget the phrase, though. It said, ‘What separates winners and losers is that losers are afraid to lose.’ The number followed.”

  “So did you call it?”

  “Not right away. I was naturally suspicious. Remember, I didn’t know the woman. I actually waited until New Year’s Eve to call, hoping that I would get the machine or voicemail to find out who she was. Knowing my luck, the woman picked up on the second ring. I almost hung up on her, but ultimately thought better of it.”

  “Curiosity got the cat?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said that she knew some people that could use my talents. I assumed that she was referring to basketball in some way. She told me I was the perfect fit.”

  “The perfect fit, huh? What did you make of that?” Jaxon asked.

  “I don’t know. I asked, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she asked me a hypothetical question in return. She asked if I came across a way to avenge my parents’ death, would I take it. I told her no, nothing would bring them back. Revenge would prove nothing. Of course, that’s not the way my heart felt at the time, but logically it was true.”

  “How did she respond?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s all she said, precisely. Then she said she would be in touch and hung up.”

  “Did she ever get back to you?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t until our season ended.” Reddic cautiously looked around again, stretching, trying to spot anybody that appeared overly interested in their conversation.

  “You know the Air Force base right outside of Spokane? I was supposed to meet her there. They didn’t greet me warmly, that’s for sure. I expected the royal treatment, sort of like a recruiting trip. That’s what I assumed it to be, you know.”

  “You thought the Air Force was recruiting you?”

  “Well, not specifically. It could’ve been any of the military branches. But whoever they were, I just never imagined that they would try to kill me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  He walked forward with his arms raised to the sky. The point of a gun’s barrel jabbed him in the back, prompting him to continue moving. The blindfold over his face was beginning to cause mild irritation. This was all a big mistake. His presence on the base was requested.

  The instructions were clear; Reddic was to go to the security clearance checkpoint and announce that he was Robert Morris. Almost as soon as the name rolled off his tongue three 9mm pistols stared him in the eye. One of the soldiers threw him against the fence and forcefully searched him for weapons. Satisfied that he was unarmed, another soldier covered his head with a wool stocking hat and they took him by the arms

  He took in short breaths, not wanting to inhale any fine fibers from the cloth. This had to be some humorless form of initiation. After all, this was the United States of America. He couldn’t be incarcerated without the consent of a court of law. That much he knew.

  He moved steadily along until he felt a climatic change. No longer did the spring breeze run past his body. He had to be inside of a building. Maybe somebody could finally give an explanation for all the theatrics.

  He felt his captors release his arms. “You are in some real trouble,” an unsympathetic voice yelled. “You used the wrong code boy. Now you’re gonna talk or you won’t see light again.”

  “Wrong code? Where am I? I didn’t use any codes. Why don’t you show your face you coward,” Reddic shouted t
hrough the mask. His legs reacted before he felt the pain. He fell to his knees as his nervous system processed that he had been hit. The blow to the back of his head throbbed wildly. It felt like he had been struck with an iron bar. Tiny specks of light flashed before him inside the stocking hat.

  “What is your business here?” a soldier demanded.

  “I don’t know what—” Reddic’s head snapped to his left. The force of the jolt made his ear ring. He slowly picked himself up to his knees. What was happening? Did they not know who he was?

  “Not smart Morris, or whatever you call yourself. Did you think we wouldn’t know? We’ve been on to you for weeks. It’s too bad your slimy friends ratted you out. We knew you were coming today. I must admit, I didn’t think you would foolishly masquerade under the same alias.”

  “Sir, for the last time I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’d better release me now or—” The nearest soldier kicked his foot out and struck Reddic in the stomach. Falling, Reddic groaned on the cement floor, desperately trying to find air.

  “You’re in no position to make demands. Get up!” another yelled. Reddic could hear the soldier move in front of him.

  “Impersonating a superior officer is a crime punishable by the highest courts,” he said. He slapped Reddic vehemently across his face, the material hardly cushioning the blow. “But stealing military base secrets to sell them to your terrorist buddies is treason.” Another blow belted Reddic on the side of his head.

  These people are insane. There must be a way out of this. “Wait!” he screamed. “What if I give names? Can we work out a deal?” he asked.

  “The only deal you’ll make is with the devil you piece of—”

  Reddic threw up both arms blocking the punch with his left forearm and leaped forward. He tackled his assailant at the waist and drove him down backward. When they hit the floor Reddic reached for the mask, yanking it off his face.

  The soldier lying below Reddic reached up and grasped him by the neck. He couldn’t break the man’s grip. He felt the fingers dig into his skin. Reddic began to panic. He tightened his neck muscles and tried to jerk away, but the tension only tightened the soldier’s clasp.