by Adam Hiatt
Reddic was suddenly frustrated at his impotence. He and Jaxon were at a significant disadvantage. They were weaponless and pinned down—sitting ducks as the cliché stated. The enemy, on the other hand, was armed, protected, and relatively hidden.
The only way to even the odds was for him to get outside of the office. But he couldn’t do that without a distraction to divert the assassin’s view of the door. He rested his eyes on the professor’s slain body and then looked at his brother sitting against the far wall. Reddic playfully winked, letting him know that everything was under control.
He slid over to the dead body and rolled it over, cleaning the blood off of the face with a handkerchief that he found in the breast pocket of the tweed jacket. Grasping the sleeve, he yanked one of the late scholar’s arms through, doing the same with the opposite. Quickly, he grabbed hold of the bottom of the polo and pulled it over the man’s head, baring the upper body. As he did, rivulets of blood poured out of the open bullet wound in the center of his back.
Reddic used the old, faded clothing material to absorb some of the gory mess. He crawled over to the desk and found a roll of scotch tape in one of the drawers and carried it back to the body. Placing the handkerchief over the wound, he taped it down, expecting it to temporarily stop the bleeding.
Opening his green backpack, Reddic extracted a white t-shirt and covered the professor’s semi-naked body. He gripped Hall by his underarms and pulled him closer to the door, being careful to keep out of the sniper’s sights.
“Jaxon,” he called out. “Pull a few of those books off the shelf and throw them out the window on my command.”
Jaxon nodded passively, speedily crawling over to the where the bookshelf rested against the wall. He carried a handful of books to a spot just in front of the desk.
“Okay, I’ve got them,” he whispered.
Reddic rolled the professor’s dead body over on its back, disgusted by what he was about to do. He threw himself on top, chest to chest. His face was a mere centimeter from Hall’s. Grasping both shoulders, he heaved to his left, pulling the body on top of his own.
“Now,” he shouted as he started to lift the man. Jaxon began hurling the books out of the window, as Reddic, knowing that each second was precious, pushed upward with his palms, feeling the scholar’s body levitate. With his arms locked and fully extended, he pulled his legs back toward his head and raised himself to his knees, lifting the scholar even higher.
The man’s soft physique felt like dough in between his fingers. In one final motion he propelled the deceased corpse upright, hoping that it would remain that way for at least a couple of seconds. The body was positioned directly between the window and the door.
Reddic dove for the office exit, clutching the handle and wrenching it open. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that gravity was carrying the body downward. Then, sounding like darts hitting a board, Reddic heard two muted thuds. Two more bullets were embedded into the late professor’s back, the force of which pushed the corpse forward.
Pulling the door closed behind him, Reddic plummeted into the hallway, fluidly rolling to his back and springing up to his feet in one motion. The corridor was silent, momentarily abating his tension. He moved back over to the door and parted it only a few inches.
“Jax, hang tight. I’m going to take care of this little problem,” he said. He closed the door behind him, quickly deflating any protest.
Stepping lightly, he made his way to where the stairs opened into the hallway. With his back firmly pressed against the wall, he inched his head around the corner until he could see the first flight of steps. Seeing nobody, he sat on the smooth, wooden railing to slide down to the next landing.
Walking up those same weathered steps twice already today, he knew that they had a tendency to squeak and crack with the application of weight.
Detecting no sign of human activity on the second level, he slid down to the next floor. After checking both ends of the corridor he was about to descend to the main level when a sound stopped him in his tracks. It was precisely the same sound that inspired him to glide down the railing—a crack.
It came from somewhere below, presumably the stairs. But was it just his imagination? He couldn’t be sure. Sometimes old buildings screeched and cracked without explanation.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and activated the camera mode, feeling grateful that he remembered to charge the battery back at the hotel. Sliding it between the handrail, he captured an image of the open stairway and pulled the phone back through. On the miniscule phone display he saw the outline of a man crouched low at the bottom of the stairwell. He held a gun with both hands, pointing it at the second level.
From the man’s stance Reddic could tell that he was a professional. He would be extremely cautious and would probably shoot first and ask questions later. Reddic knew he had to take the killer by surprise. Looking down the hallway he conceived of an idea. Next to a water fountain, jutting out of the wall was a four-foot aluminum waste basin. He skipped over to it and silently lifted it over his head.
Only a few feet from the stairway leading to the main level, Reddic hurled the wastebasket down the declining steps. Then, as if he were trying to snatch it out of the air before it struck the bottom, he ran and leaped down the eight-foot drop. In that split second in which he floated downward, he saw the killer follow the path of the aluminum basin with his eyes. By the time he saw Reddic it was already too late.
The soles of Reddic’s shoes caught the man squarely in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall. The sound of the killer’s head smashing against the hard surface was like that of a melon cracking.
The body inertly slumped down to the floor.
Trying to shake the sting that surged through his own limbs, Reddic slowly picked himself off the tile. A sharp pain pierced his left hip. He failed to take into consideration the impact his body would take in the collision. Ignoring the discomfort, he slid to his right and felt for a pulse on the fallen man’s neck. He was still alive, but would surely be concussed and unconscious for a while.
Reaching for the 9mm on the tiled floor, Reddic kicked the door open and jumped outside. He crouched low and held the gun in a firing stance, prepared for any sudden movements.
Everything seemed calm and tranquil. A trace of sulfur oxide crossed his face from the mild north breeze. Putting aside the stench, he darted to the side of the building, heading straightway into breezy stench.
Unsure if the assassin would have a sightline, Reddic hugged the side of the outer wall until he could be certain. He stretched out his neck far enough to see that a flag, now waving in the wind, was mounted to the rooftop of another building separating the parking garage and the faculty offices. It would inhibit the sniper’s view. There was no telling when the wind would die down; he had to take advantage of it now.
He was a mere seventy yards away from the entrance to the parking structure; a distance of only seven seconds for Reddic. Using the building as a shield, he sprinted to the north side entrance. In the heart of the structure at the south end was a ramp that led to the upper, uncovered level. With his customary long stride he sprinted to the top, pulling back before fully surfacing.
Shuffling forward cautiously, he saw the blue sedan parked where he expected it to be. His gaze carried over the vehicle’s roof. There, straightway in front, was the shattered window of Hall’s office. An unsettling thought came to him. Had he been standing where the professor was in the office he would have been the one lying cold on the floor.
Hunched over low, Reddic quickly made his way to the rear bumper of the car. He felt his muscles tighten as they so often did in these types of moments. The anticipation of an attack was almost palpable. He focused his mind on jerking open the door. He couldn’t fumble with it, he knew, or the surprise would be spoiled, eliminating the only advantage that he had.
Squatting low, he placed his fingers under the handle. He counted down from three in his head, gripping
the weapon that he held in his offhand more securely. He pulled up on the handle and whipped the door open.
His heart kicked against his chest as he stared blankly at the backseat of the vehicle.
There was nobody there.
Feverishly turning to sweep the panorama, an unbearable realization suddenly became clear; he had fallen into a trap.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Curled under the office desk, Jaxon waited in silence. Barely two minutes had gone by since he watched his brother acrobatically leap out the door and into the hallway, but it felt like much longer.
It was becoming increasingly more difficult to avert the macabre sight of the slain professor. The dead body was almost mesmerizing. He wanted to approach it to see if he could offer some form of aid, but he knew it would be hopeless. The man had already spilt too much blood, and he hated blood. To make matters worse, the t-shirt that he wore was now a crimson discoloration of its former self.
The morbid stench of blood and death began to fill the room, along with another viler odor: bodily waste. The scholar must have soiled himself when the first bullet struck his back. The smell was repulsive and nauseating. Jaxon stirred beneath the desk, contemplating getting up and running out of the office in that very instant. But he didn’t move; Reddic had specifically told him to wait.
But that didn’t make it any easier, the wait was intolerable. What if somebody abruptly entered the room, like a janitor or another faculty member? What would he say then? That was just it, he didn’t know. And he didn’t want to be there if it happened.
Still, there was the issue of exiting the office to take into account. Somebody outside was shooting at them. He couldn’t just stand up and walk out. Reddic didn’t. He had to use the late Dr. Hall as a human shield just to leave. That ruse wouldn’t work again. Plus, he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull it off.
If he only knew the assassin’s exact location, perhaps he could engineer a diversion of his own. However, the only way to find that out was to steal a peek; an incredibly dangerous task in his estimation. Jaxon saw what happened to the professor. He saw what happened to the mirror that Reddic held up. He would not hastily expose his head unless he knew it was safe.
Crawling over to the bookshelf on the far side, Jaxon was watchful that he didn’t wander into the pool of blood forming around the professor. He grabbed hold of the first hardcover book he saw and carried it back over to the desk.
With the hardback firmly in hand, he raised it high above his head so that it would be visible above the windowsill. After two seconds he lowered it, and then raised it right back up.
Nothing happened.
Feeling more confident, Jaxon squatted down in front of the desk and lifted his head. He immediately pulled it back. Slowly, he inched it up again until he could see over the sill. The sizable Salt Lake valley seemed to rush into the room. Trees and various urban structures appeared to occupy nearly every acre of available land before him.
He brought his focus back to the campus, examining the perimeter areas. He didn’t see anybody. The entire campus looked abandoned from his vantage point. The only indication of human activity came from a blue car on the upper level of the parking structure. It was parked near the northeast corner, parallel to the short wall that bordered it.
Jaxon was about to turn for the door when a subtle movement caught his attention. It came from within the vehicle. He thought he saw somebody moving. He looked closer. There was somebody there, and he looked to be barking into a handheld radio.
The rear door flew open. The stranger, wearing a dark shirt and pants, jumped out of the vehicle and ran across the concrete surface to the southeast corner. Where was he going? He descended out of view. Jaxon peered at that section of the parking garage. It looked different than the other three corners. For obvious reason he quickly realized; it was a stairwell.
Parking structures usually possessed such exits to discourage pedestrian activity in areas of heavy motor vehicle use. With this garage the busiest area would certainly be the central ramp that descended into the belly of the structure. It was the only way to access the top level.
There was a flash of movement near the mouth of the ramp. Another person was there. Jaxon couldn’t believe his eyes—the person was Reddic. He must be going for the car, thinking that he had the man cornered. Jaxon’s heart began to race. Reddic was walking into an ambush.
He leaped for the office door, hurdling over the dead body on his way. He ripped it open and tore down the hall. Taking two at a time, he awkwardly hopped down the steps, almost tripping over his feet.
Coming around the last corner near the front entrance, he spotted a man lying on the floor. Hesitantly, he moved in to investigate, wondering if he was dead. A closer look revealed that the unconscious man was breathing steadily. There was no time to do anything else. He had to warn Reddic.
Jaxon dashed out of the yellow brick building and sprinted in the direction of the parking garage. Just as he was about to enter, a slender object made him decelerate. Lying near the curbside was an old tire iron. Somebody must have changed a flat tire and left it behind. He picked it up, hoping that he wouldn’t have to use it.
Turning inside and hurrying up the ramp, Jaxon stopped near the top, wanting to make sure he proceeded vigilantly. He poked his head up over the short brick wall.
His legs felt weak when he spotted Reddic.
He was on his knees in the northeast corner. The man that he saw get out of the blue vehicle was standing behind his brother with a gun pressed against the back of his head.
He was going to execute him.
Fueled by pure primal rage, he dashed to the left, creating an angle that would keep him out of view of the killer. In seconds he stood within two yards. He gripped the tire iron with both hands and took one silent step closer. He brought it back to his right shoulder like a baseball player preparing to hit a pitch. He knew he couldn’t risk striking the man in the body; he had to go for the head.
He felt his trunk begin to uncoil and the bar swing. Suddenly, a familiar sound abruptly emerged from within his pant pocket. Panic stricken, he reached for the source of the audible intrusion, unable to believe its ill-fated timing.
His cell phone was ringing.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The concrete surface was hard on Reddic’s knees. With his hands elevated to ear level his knees supported his entire weight. Trying to put off the irritation, he stared into the corner of a brick wall only a few feet in front of him. His stomach ached. He possessed a sickening awareness of his own impotence and helplessness. Oddly, in that moment he remembered another occasion when he experienced a similar sensation.
During his senior season at Gonzaga his team was in Malibu, California playing against conference rival Pepperdine. The contest was characterized by excessive physical play and poor officiating from the very second the basketball was made live at the opening tip-off. With only three minutes left in the game Reddic was whistled for his fifth foul. His disqualification was particularly untimely because the score was very close. He sat on the sideline feeling like he had abandoned his team. The Bulldogs relied heavily on Reddic for offensive productivity and leadership, but there was nothing he could do at that moment. The outcome of the game was out of his control.
Now he felt like he was on the verge of abandoning his brother, the last member of his immediate family. He couldn’t allow that to come to pass. He told himself he was going to escape the precarious situation, but that, he knew, was a task easier said than done.
Sadly, he knew that he had made a mistake. He had approached the blue sedan in haste. He was sloppy. He allowed his ego to interfere and ultimately supplant sound reasoning. In retrospect, he knew he should have performed a thorough perimeter search before he advanced on the car. But he failed to, and there was nothing that he could do to correct that error now. There were more important things for him to worry about.
Whatever he chose to do he knew he had to
be cautious. He was dealing with a professional. No amateur would have been able to shoot with the accuracy that this man did. Nor would an amateur had anticipated and prepared for his assault. Reddic knew that he needed to remain calm, not only to temper his own nerves, but for the benefit of his attacker. Any sudden movements on his part could trigger a fatal reaction. The assassin’s intentions, he knew, were hostile; the lump on his head from being pistol-whipped proved that much.
Reddic tried to gauge the distance between himself and the armed man. If he could somehow find where the assassin was in relation to himself he would certainly try to overpower him. But it was impossible to know for sure. The man was too careful. He made little noise and never spoke.
Suddenly, as if a prayer had been answered, Reddic got his wish.
The man’s phone began to ring!
The source of the sound came from a few paces away, much farther than Reddic thought it would be. Still, it was within striking distance, but he had to act now while he had a window of opportunity. Reddic surmised that the unexpected emergence of the ringer had to have startled the assassin, rendering him unprepared for any kind of offensive engagement on his part.
It was now or never.
Reddic bent over forward, placing his chest over his thighs. In one fluid motion he arched back and propelled his torso and arms behind him. Pushing off with his legs, he jerked his knees up. He felt the abdominal muscles burn with the exertion.
The full weight of his body balanced on his wrists as his legs began to swing over the top. On the downside of the acrobatic maneuver he kicked like a mule. He felt the sole of his sneaker make contact with the target just before his kneecaps crashed down on the concrete. Quickly, Reddic pushed himself off the paved surface. When he turned he saw someone he didn’t expect to see.