Stone of Truth

by Adam Hiatt

  “She had to. Once I left the base I was back in the civilian world. She had nothing on me anymore.”

  “Wow. That’s some story. I would’ve never made it out of that warehouse alive. You probably already know that,” Jaxon said.

  “I don’t know, you might’ve put them to sleep with one of your soporific lectures and walked out unscathed.”

  “But why you? Why would they want you?” Jaxon interjected.

  “She never told me. My guess is that it was serendipitous, almost random. I really can’t think of any other explanation.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” Jaxon said between yawns. He stretched his arms and rested his head against a miniature pillow. “Let’s just get some rest.”

  “Yeah, we need too,” Reddic agreed. “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

  Reddic popped off the reading light and powered off the television panel in front of him. He sat in the dark cabin listening to the hum of the aircraft. All lights around him were turned off. Only the dull glow of a few safety lights on the border of the aisle shown. His body was tired, but his mind continued to function at full throttle. He thought about what Jaxon had just asked. Why him? He knew exactly why. It took time to recognize it, but he did.

  It was the test. Part of the explanation he gave to his brother was the truth. Chance was certainly a factor in his recruitment, but not the only one. During Reddic’s freshman season at Gonzaga his team was asked to attend a compliance meeting on a Tuesday afternoon with the associate athletic director. He didn’t remember much about the meeting only that it consisted of tedious topics, such as the definition of amateurism and extra benefits. At one point Reddic almost dozed off.

  Toward the conclusion of the assembly each player was administered a standardized test. Reddic recalled that a small, underdeveloped man stood in front of the group and explained that the test was being given nationwide that year as part of a research project sponsored by the governing body of intercollegiate athletics.

  It was the most unsophisticated test that he had ever taken. The simplicity of it almost offended him. He failed to understand the relevance. For instance, one page was filled with all capital letters with the object being to try to locate all the capital “A’s” in less than thirty seconds. Another problem required him to copy as many Greek, Arabic, Chinese, and Egyptian symbols as he could in sixty seconds. The test was laughable.

  It wasn’t until after he and Madison Jenkins established a strong relationship of trust that he found out that the test was a filtering process, run randomly by her people for the specific purpose of targeting possible candidates. She gave Reddic an envelope with an instruction to destroy it after viewing its content. A sheet of paper inside showed the results of his test. His scores exceeded the highest total in any category.

  Sitting motionless in the seat, he reflected over all that had happened to him during the past three years. He wanted to tell it all to his brother, clear his conscience, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. There was still too much to learn.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On the left-hand side of the cherry veneer desk was a simple telephone. Its buzz stridently invaded the peaceful ambiance of the opulent chamber in which it sat. Behind the desk an aging American man pulled his eyes away from his book and glanced at the caller identification screen.

  His working space looked untidy and unorganized. Apart from the book he read, loose sheets of yellow legal pad paper, various historical manuscripts, and maps covered the entire surface of the desktop. On each side of his chair was a stack of books. The entire office could be mistaken for a historical archive, as bookcases reaching six feet in height decorated every inch of wall space.

  He checked his watch, noting that the hour had already passed midnight on the east coast. He reluctantly reached for the phone, wondering who it could be. He looked at the caller ID. The number that appeared could mean only one thing; something had gone wrong. The men he controlled understood their orders and responsibilities and usually carried them out efficiently. Failure was rare.

  He lifted the receiver and activated a scrambler. Apart from his contact, these men didn’t know how to communicate with him, and he wanted to keep it that way. Money was the only thing that commanded loyalty and gained respect with these people. Fortunately, he possessed adequate funds to pay them well. Should something go off track, however, and one of them be apprehended, there would be nothing that would lead back to him.

  “I’m listening,” he said. He heard his distorted voice echo in the phone’s earpiece.

  “We need to speak freely,” the soft, accented voice hissed.

  The older man cleared his throat and said, “Yes, what is it?”

  “My men encountered a small problem that needs clarification.”

  “Go on.”

  “How involved was the professor’s understudy in his work?”

  “To my knowledge, his involvement was limited. He’s bright, but Matthew trusted no one.”

  “My sources tell me otherwise.”

  “Your sources are wrong.”

  “What do you know of his brother?”

  “Nothing. I was unaware he had one. What is the meaning of these questions?”

  “They know more than you think and are quickly gaining ground.” The soft voice briefly recounted what his men had reported.

  The academic leaned back in his soft leather-bound chair and sighed. “Where are they now?” he asked.

  “They were last seen heading toward the interstate, most likely towards Syracuse. My men are watching roadways, searching flight manifests, and bus and train stations. We will find them.”

  “They’re running scared.”

  “Doubtful. My men say they are highly skilled. They need to be eliminated.”

  “No,” stated the stranger behind the desk. “We must be prudent. Too many dead bodies will only attract attention. The project is paramount. There is nothing that merits a higher priority. However, when you locate them, I want them brought to me before any action is taken. Understood?”

  “I understand,” the voice replied with a hint of annoyance.

  “I will make a call. Without Matthew there is only one person that can provide the information they seek.” He replaced the receiver and looked over his notes.

  He reached for a map covering a stack of books on the top of the cherry desk and held it in his hands. His heart rate increased as he contemplated the significance of finally bringing an end to the search he dedicated a sizable portion of his entire adult life to. The endless hours and substantial amounts of money he committed to the quest would all be worth it.

  He scooped up his glasses with his right hand and placed them on his nose. Through the vision magnifying lenses he intently stared at the map of Utah. A smile pursed his lips.

  He knew he was close.

  Chapter Twenty

  Reddic groggily tossed the duffle bag into the back of a white van. The trip to Salt Lake City had been much longer than he expected. Instead of a direct flight to Utah the plane traveled to the farthest point across the country and touched down in Seattle. After a two-hour layover, they boarded another aircraft and set off for Salt Lake City. Now, ten hours after leaving the east coast, they sat in a van bouncing eastbound down Interstate 80 toward the city.

  Through the windshield Reddic watched the downtown area draw closer. The central commercial district of Salt Lake City looked insignificant compared to the imposing height of the mountain backdrop. Snow pack dressed the upper third of the lofty Wasatch Mountains, while healthy desert vegetation sprouted from the lower masses. The early morning sun was beginning to rise over the ten thousand foot peaks, forming a picturesque scene.

  The van exited the interstate and drove down a wide street known as 600 South. At the intersection of 300 West they turned left and traveled north for two blocks before stopping under the massive white awning of the Salt Lake Hilton. Two bellboys dressed like airline pilots swiftly wal
ked to the van and opened the doors.

  “Thanks guys, we’ve got it from here,” Reddic said, stepping out of the passenger seat. He reached into his backpack and fetched his wallet. He pulled out a few bills and handed them to the driver.

  Jaxon slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and jumped out onto the concrete. When the van pulled away he took a couple steps toward the street and peered in both directions. It ran south in an undeviating course for miles as far as his eyes permitted him to see.

  He had always found Salt Lake City enchanting. Had the University of Utah had a doctoral program in history comparable to that of Cornell he would have applied. Not only was the city beautiful and clean, the street layout was absolutely consummate. For all the things that Jaxon admired about state’s early pioneers, there was no disputing city planning was one of their greatest legacies. It was so simple, too. It was incomprehensible why other major cities didn’t build in a similar fashion.

  The layout was known as the grid system. A central point of the city was chosen as the primary point of reference. In the case of Salt Lake City, the historic Mormon Temple Square was that point. From there every major street was laid down in all four directions, exactly one-tenth of a mile apart. Only an imbecile could get lost in this city.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Reddic, arriving at his brother’s side.

  “Nothing in particular,” he said. “What are we doing here anyway?”

  “I was hoping that we could find accommodations.”

  “This is a four star hotel, Reddic. It might be a little out of our budget. Why don’t we stay at that cheaper place down the street?”

  “I’m not going to stay in a roach motel, we’re on vacation, remember? Besides, I might have a connection here. Remember when I invited you to come watch me in the tournament this year?”

  “Don’t bring that up again. I was busy, okay. There was no way I could make it that weekend. How many times do I have to apologize?”

  “Hey, hey, hey, it was a simple question. The point of which was to explain that we played up in the Huntsman Center on Utah’s campus. We stayed in town four nights right here in this very Hilton.” A wry smile formed on Reddic’s face. “Take a guess where the manager went to school.”

  “Stanford?” Jaxon deadpanned.

  “Hardly, this guy is smart. He’s got Gonzaga pride stamped on his forehead and I just happened to strike up a relationship with him during our stay. He basically promised that I could find a room here whenever I wanted, pending availability of course.”

  “You basketball players disgust me,” Jaxon sneered. “There is no way an academic could find a connection like that.”

  “I do what I can.”

  The motion-activated tinted glass doors pulled open vigorously as they approached. Once inside the hotel, Reddic headed straight for the front desk, but Jaxon lagged behind. He was overwhelmed by the opulent appearance of the vast lobby and tried to take it all in. His eyes followed the perimeter of the vestibule, noting the furniture strategically arranged over the sizable floor, offering a visibly inviting sensation. Several framed pieces of art decorated the white walls. Jaxon started to move toward them when, to his left, he saw Reddic disappear behind a dark brown, wood partition. He would have to make time to come back, he decided.

  ***

  “May I help you?” a woman at the front desk asked pleasantly.

  “Yes, I wish to speak with the manager as soon as possible,” Reddic said.

  “Certainly, sir. What can I say is the nature of the visit?”

  “Tell him an old friend has come to make good on a promise.” The woman gave Reddic a quizzical look and started to say something, but quickly reconsidered, restoring the warm smile to her mouth as she reached for the telephone.

  Less than a minute passed before a handsome man with a gray suit emerged from behind the front desk. He stoically looked in Reddic’s direction and turned away, disappearing around the corner. The clerk looked stunned. She had never seen her boss act so strangely.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll call him back out again.” Reddic gave no indication that he heard anything. He stood with his arms crossed in front of him, expressionless.

  Seconds later the manager came back into view. The clerk spun around at the sight of her employer. She opened her mouth and tried to say something but no words came out. Over the manager’s long-sleeve white shirt he wore a navy blue Gonzaga basketball jersey with the number 23 embroidered on it. It was Reddic’s number.

  “And our love of old GU. Fight! Fight! Fight!” he shouted enthusiastically, pumping both fists in the air.

  The two men clasped hands firmly and laughed heartily.

  “You know, I played there four years and I still don’t know that silly fight song,” Reddic said.

  “It’s more of a student body thing, I suppose,” he replied. “How long have you been in town?”

  “We just flew in this morning, my brother and I. There he is.” Reddic turned and beckoned for Jaxon to come near. “Jaxon, I’d like you to meet Ed Turner. Ed, this is Jaxon, my older brother.”

  Both men exchanged pleasantries and then stepped back. “Jaxon is finishing his doctorate degree out at Cornell,” Reddic explained. “We just came in for a quick visit before we head off on our vacation.”

  “Where are you off to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “That’s the beauty of it, we don’t know yet.”

  “You can’t be gone that long, I imagine. You have pre-draft workouts coming up, right?”

  “I do. In fact, I’ll probably do one here in Salt Lake soon.”

  “That’s fantastic. I hope that you will stay here with us. By the way, how long will you be in town? Can I fix you up with a room tonight?”

  Reddic smiled inwardly. The incessant devotion of the sycophantic fan was something to marvel at.

  “Only if there is availability, of course. We might not even need to stay tonight. Just a place to freshen up a bit for now would be fine, if you don’t mind.”

  “It would be my pleasure. Let me go get you a key.” Reddic jumped to his side before he got too far away. He put his arm around Ed’s shoulder as he walked.

  “Ed, can you do me a favor? I would appreciate it if you kept our names off the register. You know how invasive the media is,” Reddic said lightheartedly.

  Ed nodded perceptively. “I’ll take care of it.”

  ***

  The elevator stopped on the sixteenth floor and opened up to a long, carpeted hallway. Jaxon walked out of the elevator cabin and immediately wondered where they were. The walls were devoid of guestroom doors.

  Reddic continued down the hall until he reached a wide alcove on his left hand side. He stepped in and inserted the keycard into the electronic locking mechanism located near the right handle of the thick wooden double doors. He removed the card and pushed open the door. Jaxon noticed the brass placard fixed to the entrance: PRESIDENTIAL SUITE.

  “Are you sure we’re in the right room,” he asked as Reddic moved through the entryway.

  “This is it. What do you think?” As soon as Jaxon walked in he stopped. He had never seen anything like it before.

  “Ed said it was twenty-three hundred square feet of pure luxury.”

  That was an understatement, Jaxon realized. Awestruck, he passed through each room trying to absorb it all. The living area, furnished with couches, loveseats, and armchairs, also had a fireplace, a grand piano, and a flat-screen television neatly packed inside the largest oak entertainment chest he had ever seen. He walked around the rectangular table in the dining room, mesmerized by the crystal chandelier hanging overhead. The kitchen was equipped with all the ordinary appliances and a wet bar.

  A few minutes elapsed before he reentered the living room. Reddic sat on a leather couch facing the fireplace with his feet propped on a round, glass coffee table. Falling into the loveseat next to his brother, Jaxon closed his eyes as
the soft material seemed to wrap around him.

  “A two bedroom, two bath suite?” he began. “Please tell me this isn’t a commonplace accommodation for basketball players.”

  “Not in college it isn’t,” Reddic said flatly. He pulled his feet off the table and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Let’s take a look at that list of names you made and see if we can get a hold of any of them.”

  “No problem. It’s over in my bag. Can you go grab it? I really don’t want to get up.”

  Reddic brought the duffle bag back to the couch and dropped it on the floor. Jaxon leaned over and unzipped the center fastener. He found his day planner and pulled out the list of names.

  “Here they are,” he voiced. “Like I said, the list is only three long, but all three scholars are top-notch.”

  “How did you come across their names?” Reddic asked.

  “When it comes to ancient, arcane religious history, these guys are the most cited of all experts, apart from Dr. Langford, of course. I suppose you could say that Langford is the Tiger Woods of his field and these guys,” Jaxon held up the list for added effect, “are the next three contenders. They are very competent, but a large gap still exists between them and the number one spot. Regardless, they should be able to give us some information.”

  Jaxon watched Reddic crack a smile. He knew that his brother would find delight in the analogy. Even academicians nested in their ivory towers were not immune to competitive comparisons.

  “But Langford gave you the list, right?” Reddic asked

  “That’s right.”

  “Interesting. Could these guys have worked with Langford on the project?”

  “I don’t know,” Jaxon said. “I wondered the same thing. Why else would Langford give me the list?”

  “I’m not sure,” Reddic said. “Who’s on it?”

  “The first name is Benjamin Greene, a full professor in the Harvard Divinity School. I just want to remind you that these names are not in any particular order. I’m just reading them as I see them.”