by Adam Hiatt
“The story intrigued me,” said Faulkner. “My mind was infatuated with the possibility that something like this could exist. After months of relentless research I found another reference indicating that Abraham carried the stone around his neck, allegedly giving him some sort of an extraordinary power to heal all physical defects.
“I searched and searched for more information, but repeatedly came up empty. I did not know where to go next. I had hit a dead end. It was at that point that I knew I would have to involve an expert in order to explore the subject matter further. One day I found an article that analyzed the religious parallels of the ancient Jewish and Egyptian cultures. A professor named Matthew Langford wrote it. I do not feel inclined to recite to you Matthew’s résumé, so suffice it to say that I was impressed with what I later learned of him. I arranged for a meeting in Cairo. It was there that I presented to him what I assumed to be groundbreaking research. As a symbol of trust he disclosed to me what he had discovered on a deerskin códice in Central America. The common thread between the two stories was immediately obvious; the Stone of Truth. I overzealously urged him to accompany me on an expedition to find it, but he being the consummate academic was not willing to develop any inchoate theories or embark on any ‘wild treasure hunts,’ as he called it, without more research.
“So we undertook the project as partners. I agreed to finance the research and aid the great Dr. Langford in acquiring and translating manuscripts. We soon discovered that most every primordial religious culture possessed a tradition relating to the strange and mysterious stone. For instance, amongst the Jews it was believed to be a jewel of discernment that judged between good and evil. They knew it as the Urim and Thummim, and it, along with the Ark of the Covenant, was perceived to be the instrument that communicated the will of its deity.
“The Phoenician and Babylonian rulers carried heavenly tablets with precious stones embedded in them when they passed judgment and decided on the destinies of their kingdoms, and the world. The king of Egypt possessed a precious emerald that was originally set in the obelisk of Zeus, the sunstone at Heliopolis, where the prehistoric Egyptian center of solar worship originated. As you may know, the Egyptians viewed luminosity as the very essence of divinity. In fact, they tried to create their own shining stones by covering rocks with efflorescent salt to make them shine. Islamic tradition held that at the creation of man God gave to Adam a diamond of paradise that, because of human depravity, turned black, and became the famous Black Stone of the Ka’ba.
“Historical evidence also showed that a divine sphere or globe of clear crystal clearly existed in the Middle Ages. He who had possession of it was the symbol and source of world dominion. The Byzantine emperor, Manuel Comnenus, purportedly held this great round jewel at his coronation. It was later passed from the emperor to the hands of Baldwin of Boulogne at his coronation as king of the Franks. Of course Baldwin later rose to be the king of Jerusalem after the First Crusade.
“There are many other examples that I could relate. It is enough to know that the Stone of Truth is a symbol and transmitter of awesome power. A power that is greater than any in this world.”
“Is it worth killing anyone in your way to obtain?” Jaxon demanded. “Even good and decent people that trusted you.”
“If you’re referring to Matthew you should not use the words good or decent to describe him. He was anything but decent. As I said, he betrayed our trust. There were to be no secrets between us, he knew that. However, over the better part of a year I learned that he was compiling additional information and was withholding it from me.”
“How do you know that?” Jaxon asked defensively.
“I had him followed. He traveled under false pretenses. He used academic conferences, speaking engagements, research trips as fronts to disguise his real intention. He was looking for the Stone of Truth on his own. He was drowning in his own rapaciousness. Do not look so incredulous, Jaxon, he was using you too. All that research for your dissertation was for his gain not yours. But you did not know that, did you? You did not know that you were being manipulated. You trusted him. I made the same mistake once, but I corrected that error.”
“You’re a liar!” Jaxon shouted, jumping to his feet.
“Sit down!” Faulkner boomed. “Or there will be more blood spilt on this plane.”
“Let’s just everybody calm down,” Reddic said. He grabbed Jaxon’s arm and pulled him down. “Nobody needs to get shot, okay? Let’s be civil.” A moment passed before anybody spoke. “Why are you telling us this?” Reddic finally asked.
“I would like to employ your services. I will pay handsomely for your skills.”
Scoffing, Reddic said, “No thanks. We’ve already seen how well you treat your employees.”
“The men working for me are fanatical mercenaries, enemies to your country, Reddic. You should feel grateful there’s one less terrorist in the world.”
“My gratitude’s overflowing,” stated Reddic caustically.
“Besides, I do not trust them like I trust both of you,” Faulkner replied. He smiled widely, displaying a mouthful of crooked coffee-stained teeth. “I wonder how much you really know about the Mitla códice, Jaxon,” he said, changing the subject. “Are you aware that the leaf that your mentor declined to publish was significantly newer than the others?” Jaxon only shook his head. “It was, by some five hundred years. It was also written in script, not pictograph like the others. But you did not know that. You were never told.”
“There were many projects of Dr. Langford that I knew nothing about,” Jaxon retorted. “The fact that I was not privy to the chronology is inconsequential.”
“If that were his only indiscretion I might agree with you. However, the fact that you know little about the actual content speaks volumes. The códice in question was written in the common Nahuatl script, relating an ancient narrative of which you are familiar. What you do not know is that placed randomly throughout the leaf were primeval Hebrew characters. The discovery of said characters ignited a whirlwind of queries. Matthew believed that the presence of Hebrew script might have jeopardized the authenticity of the document. We questioned at what point the Hebrew language infiltrated Mesoamerica.”
“Archeologists have found evidence of Hebrewism that date to as early as the sixth century BC,” Jaxon said. “Also, it was the Hebrews who built the great pyramids in Egypt before they were liberated from their captivity. It’s not a random occurrence that pyramids were once a central figure in Mesoamerican culture.”
“We reached similar conclusions,” Faulkner added. “The next logical step was to verify if a message was being conveyed in the writing. We extracted the characters and began the translating process only to find out that it was meaningless. There was no order. Matthew proposed that perhaps it was a cipher. Granted it was a reach, but it was worth looking into at a minimum. We knew that if it really was a cipher we would need a code-key to decrypt it. So that became our new focus. But we knew not where to look. Desperate, we approached a number of cryptologists with the text to have them attempt to decipher it. Unfortunately, they were as helpless in their efforts as we were. As it was a major roadblock, we agreed to put it aside and come back to it at another time. It was about then that Matthew began to act secretive.
“He slowly moved away from the work, contending that he had other projects to complete. I grew suspicious and had him followed. I learned that Matthew made frequent trips to various sites in and around the Yucatan, scouring through local village records. He was intent on exploring one specific family line: that of Moctezuma Xocoyótzin.
“It was no secret that Matthew theorized that the early Aztecs, or Mixtecs, defeated the remnants of the Toltecs in a fierce battle in the early thirteenth century and took possession of Quetzalcoatl’s stolen precious stone. The Aztecs then, he believed, concealed it in a secret location of which only the chief ruler knew. The whereabouts of the precious gem had to have been known by Moctezuma II. At least that�
�s what Matthew learned from the mouth of an old farmer in Oaxaca. According to the old man his family preserved an oral tradition that told of the emperor’s trepidation upon Cortez’s arrival. Fearing that Quetzalcoatl had returned to reclaim his stolen property, Moctezuma had two of his royal guards leave the city with one of his sons and a sealed parchment, never to return to Tenochtitlan. The story went that the son was admonished to never disclose his true identity and was to safeguard the parchment with his life.”
“The king must have been afraid of his son’s abduction and a subsequent blackmail,” Reddic said. “Why else would he warn against using his real name?”
Faulkner’s grip on the weapon loosened just a bit. Reddic’s plan seemed to be working. He knew that if he put forth the pretense that he was deeply invested in the story then he might be able to catch the old man unprepared. Just a little longer.
“I suspect there is more to it than that,” Faulkner proposed. “What if the son is the key? The key to the ancient cipher, I mean. What if the parchment he carried was the same códice that Matthew found all those years ago?”
“So if you find the son’s name then you can decrypt the cipher. Sounds simple enough,” Reddic said.
“It’s not that simple,” Jaxon cut in. “Moctezuma II allegedly had close to one thousand wives. It’s been written that he had over one hundred and fifty pregnant at one time. Finding the right son would be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“I am certain that Matthew asked you to research it at some point, did he not?” Faulkner questioned.
Reluctantly, Jaxon said, “He did request the information. I compiled over twenty-five pages, relying purely on primary sources to find the names of every wife and mistress and their offspring.”
“I know you did. I read your work. It was well written. You see, he used you to find the key for himself. He used everybody.”
Jaxon didn’t protest the latest accusation. Reddic knew that his brother wanted to believe that Dr. Langford was an honorable man, but the evidence was quickly stacking up against him.
Faulkner went on. “But there was a gap in your research. You knew this and so did your professor. One of his wives had a son born to her in 1498, but the name is nonexistent. It’s as if the data had been erased.”
“Xiuhtonal,” Jaxon uttered quietly.
“Yes, Xiuhtonal. If the name of the boy ever existed, there may be only one place it could be, and you, Reddic, are going to recover it for me.”
Reddic’s eyes immediately narrowed. “What makes you think I would ever help you?”
“Because there is something in it for you,” replied Faulkner evenly. He slid his thumb over a black plastic circle on the arm of the chair and pressed down on it. Within seconds three Arabic men emerged from the back of the private jet and grabbed a hold of Jaxon and violently pulled him away. Reddic jumped up to his feet.
“Do not act foolishly, Reddic,” ordered Faulkner. He leveled the Beretta on Reddic’s chest. “There is no time to waste. You only have two hours before a bullet is put in your brother’s head.”
Chapter Thirty
A manifold of thoughts collided in Reddic’s head as the nondescript Lincoln bounced down the Interstate. He was thinking of Jaxon. He understood the risk it was to bring him along, but he also knew that the risk was necessary. Without his expertise he would have learned very little. Sadly, he knew that in any other circumstance an asset like Jaxon would be expendable, but Jaxon was certainly no ordinary asset. He was his only brother, not to mention he possessed the vital erudition to find this mysterious stone that has become a top priority to his superiors. He would get him off Faulkner’s jet safely, of that he had no doubt; but not, he knew, until he took care of the task at hand.
Reddic slipped a quick peek in the rearview mirror. His gaze met a pair of dark eyes that looked to be filled with abhorrence and hate. They belonged to one of Faulkner’s hired killers sitting in the rear of the vehicle. Although he couldn’t see it, Reddic knew that he had a high-powered weapon aimed at his spine. Faulkner said that he was merely an escort, but Reddic knew better. He was there to ensure that no communication with law enforcement took place. Yet there was another reason. Faulkner would be forced to eliminate him once the piece of information was acquired and verified. It would be much simpler and quieter to do it and dispose of the body in an area away from the airport.
Lying on the passenger seat was a plain manila envelope. Calmly, Reddic reached over and pulled it to his leg. He had already reviewed the packet of material it held inside, but the proximity of it helped him focus on the details of the operation. When Faulkner revealed the location of the facility, Reddic nearly broke out in laughter. The Granite Mountain Records Vault was one of the most secure places on earth. An entire army would fail to penetrate its security.
Owned by the LDS Church, the repository was located twenty miles to the southeast of downtown in a picturesque canyon known to the local residents as Little Cottonwood. It was virtually impregnable. Over seven-hundred feet of solid quartz monzonite protected it from above while thick iron gates and several armed men vigilantly guarded the lone entrance. Only employees were allowed to enter the facility, and even then few had access to all areas inside.
Reddic reached inside the envelope and pulled out a generic laminated visitor’s pass. How Faulkner was able to obtain this he didn’t know, since they were only procured with special permission from president of the church. Faulkner must have made a substantial donation of some sort because he clearly fell short of this religion’s code of behavior. Reddic played with the tag in his hand, rubbing his thumb over its surface. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he assumed that a GPS tracking device was concealed inside. Why else would Faulkner have demanded that it be with him at all times unless he wanted to follow its movements? That was okay. He would play along with Faulkner’s little game.
The Lincoln came to a stop in the vault’s parking area. Reddic looked at his phone to check the time. Thirty minutes had already gone by. That meant that he had approximately ninety minutes to find the name and get back to the airport.
No problem.
He jumped out of the car and offered a cheap smile to his backseat companion. To his surprise the Arabic killer also got out of the vehicle.
“Where are you going?”
“We go together,” he said curtly. He pulled another visitor’s pass out of his pocket and clipped it on his shirt. The tension between the two was plain. Reddic felt a sudden urge to charge the killer; a sensation he quickly suppressed. He would save that for later.
The main entrance to the facility was inside an archway carved out of the mountainside. There, three armed security guards met them. One perfunctorily examined their credentials while another meticulously swept the outside of their clothes with a metal detecting wand. Using counterfeit identifications that Faulkner had supplied, Reddic and the Arabic killer signed the registry as Kevin Williams and John Baker and stepped forward to the first gate. Through the iron bars Reddic watched as another member of the security brigade swiped a card and typed a pass code into a small keypad mounted to the wall inside the entry. Simultaneously, both gates hummed and then swung open. Accompanied by a guard, Reddic and the killer smartly walked through.
They followed a narrow hallway to a set of white doors. Again, the guard swiped his card and punched in a code. Reddic made sure he was in position to see it. The area inside the doors looked similar to just about any office building. Along the walls were several workstations equipped with microfilm viewing booths and computer terminals.
“How many people work here?” Reddic asked.
“During the week about sixty fulltime employees work in here scanning and recording microfilm data. Activity is very low on weekends, especially Sundays,” the guard said.
“Well, like I said earlier, this was the only day we could be in town. Your facility has been so generous in allowing us to visit. I just hope we’re able to find what we’re look
ing for.”
“I’m confident you’ll be satisfied,” the guard said. “This facility is the largest genealogical warehouse in the world. It holds over four million rolls of microfilm, all indexed in an Oracle database. I will log you on and then you can start your search. Once you find your microfilm I will have one of the guards retrieve it and bring it here.”
Reddic sat in front of the computer ready to enter his first search query. He typed in the name Moctezuma Xocoyótzin and pressed the search tab. Within seconds the query results popped up on the screen and then, just as quickly, disappeared. Flashing before him on the screen was a short, menacing warning: Restricted Access.
“It looks like you’ll have to do another search,” the guard said. “It says the film you requested was tagged as restricted access last week.”
How could that be, Reddic thought? Had somebody tipped off the records vault? Was it Faulkner? It was possible, but not probable. It was more likely that he tried to acquire the microfilm himself and ran into the same restriction. Now he was using Reddic to do his sinister work. But who would have known to do it? Was it simply a happenstance? He would have to remember to look into it later.
“Sir, could you log on my friend so that we can do multiple searches?” Reddic asked. “Since this film was restricted, we’re going to have to do several additional searches.”
“No problem,” he said, bending over the keyboard to type in some commands.
With a pen in hand Reddic leaned forward in front of the computer monitor. He wanted to shield his face from the security cameras that were conspicuously mounted in each of the four corners of the room. He pushed the pen up his right nostril and flicked it against the soft skin. His eyes started to water as he felt a warm liquid swell within his nose. He kept his head slanted downward and allowed a few droplets to fall into his cupped hand just below his jaw.