Stone of Truth

by Adam Hiatt

  “Not this again,” he vocalized in an angry tone.

  The guard immediately saw the blood in his hand. “What happened?” he asked.

  “The dryness of this state causes my nose to bleed.” Reddic explained. “This is the third one I’ve had today. I got to temper the bleeding. Can you show me to the men’s room?”

  “Yes, of course. Follow me.” Reddic kept his head tilted up, demonstrating to anybody that could be watching that he was incapable of guiding himself. The killer, using John Baker as an alias, jumped out of his chair to follow.

  “It’s okay, John,” said Reddic, noticing his advance. “You should stay here and keep working. We don’t have much time. I’ll take care of this and come right back.” Reluctantly, John returned to the computer.

  Reaching the restroom, the guard held the door open for Reddic. He walked through the opening slowly, giving himself time to locate any cameras. Assessing that the room was free of surveillance, Reddic abruptly dropped to his knees and brought his hand to his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the concerned guard.

  “My eyes are burning. I can’t see a thing. Can you turn on the facet for me?” Reddic agonized.

  The guard stepped into the bathroom and approached the sink. He stood by Reddic’s side and reached down to turn on the water facet. Suddenly, Reddic reared back with his left elbow and struck the guard’s sternum with a violent blow. Balmy breath and sticky saliva ejected from his mouth. Reddic grasped the man’s neck with his left hand and thrust him against the wall. With his right hand he seized the 9mm from his holster and backed away, keeping his aim steadied on the shocked guard’s chest.

  “Turn around. Face to the wall. Put your hands over your head.”

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Keep your mouth shut and you won’t get hurt.” Reddic pressed him up against the wall and pushed the gun into the base of his neck. “I’m sorry I have to do this, but I have no choice,” he whispered. He cracked the butt of the gun against the back of the guard’s head.

  Reddic hugged the body and gently eased it to the floor. Placing the gun on the sink, he removed the guard’s keycard and put it away in his pocket. He washed the blood off his hands and dragged the unconscious man into one of the bathroom stalls and propped him up on the toilet. He locked the door from the inside and slid out underneath the divider. Shoving the 9mm in his belt, he headed for the door.

  According to the blueprints that Faulkner provided, the Granite Mountain Records Vault consisted of six chambers, each spanning almost two hundred feet in length and twenty-five feet in width and height. Genealogical microfilms were stored in four of the six tunnels, while the remaining two housed ancient, precious materials and artifacts not stable enough to be seen by the public. The Vault was accessed through a fourteen ton Mosler door, so thick it supposedly could withstand a nuclear blast. If the vault door was sealed there was absolutely no way to bypass it without state-of-the-art equipment. Reddic’s only chance at success was if the door was open.

  But there was another variable in play as well. Before the Restricted Access notice flashed on the computer monitor, Reddic caught sight of a series of numbers, which he assumed represented the microfilm’s call number. However, it was possible that the film had already been removed and stored in another location in the facility. If that was the case then…Reddic erased the thought from his mind.

  It would be there. His brother’s life depended on it.

  He poked his head outside of the bathroom and looked in both directions. Seeing no other guards he silently exited and swiftly walked toward the vault door. He felt a sense of relief when he saw that it was open. He dutifully walked through with his head down, hopeful that he didn’t look suspicious. As he entered the tunnel he immediately felt the contrast in temperature. It was cooler and much drier; a suitable climate to preserve priceless documents and other antique holdings.

  The dimly lit tunnel extended far into the relative darkness, giving the impression that it was endless. The silence produced a sense of foreboding as Reddic became aware that he was standing inside of a mountain. He noticed that lateral tunnels connected to the main corridor. Walking past the first he turned down the next. Rows of steel drawers, towering over ten feet in height, lined the tunnel on both sides. Each drawer had a set of numbers engraved upon it, numbers that were similar to the series that he saw on the computer screen.

  Judging by the information on the drawers in front of him, he realized that he would have to go much deeper into the chamber. Breaking out into a light jog, he traveled at least a hundred feet before decelerating. Slowing to a walk, he scanned the call numbers on both sides until he found a match. He inhaled deeply and pulled the drawer open.

  Nudged into the drawer were small white boxes labeled with letters and numbers. Reddic ran his finger over each box, searching for the last set of digits in the call number he memorized. He grabbed a box and removed the film. He had to be sure that it was the right box. He held it up to the light, quickly scrolling through each section until he saw the name of the Aztec leader. Closing the drawer, he stuffed the film in one pocket and placed the box in the other.

  As he neared the intersecting corridor a sound made him stop. There were footsteps coming in his direction. Reddic pressed his back against the drawers and held his breath. He hoped the person would pass right by, but he knew he had to be prepared for anything. He pulled out the gun and turned off the safety. He didn’t want to use it, but he would if he was compromised. He gripped the weapon more firmly, massaging the trigger with his finger.

  “Let’s go. Time is short,” said the terse Arab, rounding the corner. “You have the film?”

  “Of course,” said Reddic hesitantly. “How did you know I was in here?”

  “I found the guard in the washroom. It was obvious. Come.”

  Cautiously, Reddic moved to follow the man calling himself John into the main tunnel. But he barely had time to take one step before a wailing siren erupted throughout the chamber. It reverberated off the igneous rock, pulsing throughout his body and piercing his eardrums.

  The cacophony startled him. For a split second he didn’t know what to do. He was frozen. Then, a single, simple thought broke through the confusion, clearing his uncharacteristically murky mind. He realized that to be trapped inside the facility would endanger his brother’s life, and his assignment. He had to get out. There was no more time for indecision. He leaped out into the main tunnel ready to move, but what he saw brought an onslaught of suffocating panic.

  The vault door was closing.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  One of Reddic’s coaches once told him that few things in life went according to plan. Inevitably, at some point a complication would come about that demanded improvisation and adjustment. He learned through experience that if he handled it correctly opportunity could come from it. So he trained his mind to become remarkably comfortable with misadventure. In fact, his recruiter, Madison Jenkins, once allowed him to read a line in an evaluation report that stated that his instinctive response to complex and adverse environments was rated in the ninety-ninth percentile. To Reddic it was obvious where he had developed that innate faculty: athletics.

  He glanced at his phone, noting the time. A wave of guards would arrive at the vault shortly, but they wouldn’t enter. Standard protocol would require quarantine. It was likely that no one would be allowed to enter or exit the vault until the severity of the threat was determined. Reddic grinned. He loved challenges.

  He would find a way out.

  The fourteen-ton, steel vault door was only halfway closed, but it was quickly gathering momentum. At the rate it was moving he estimated that it would be sealed in less than twenty seconds. That meant if he made a break for it now he would pass through rather comfortably.

  “Give me the film,” the imposter John Baker shouted over the alarm. Reddic’s head turned to the source of the vocal demand. “Now!” he ordered. He steadily
held a 9mm in his right hand. Reddic felt for the small of his back. There was nothing there. The killer had taken the gun when he turned to watch the vault door.

  “Take it easy,” said Reddic, removing the box from his pant pocket.

  “Put it on the floor and kick it over.” Reddic dropped the empty box on the hard concrete floor and nudged his foot up against it. He took one last look at John and then kicked the box. But instead of sliding it along the floor he lifted it with the toe of his shoe, projecting it into the air. The small box bounced off John’s chest, momentarily deflecting his focus. Simultaneously, Reddic dove for his arm, grabbing it at the wrist. He pushed it forward and swept the man’s legs, plunging him off his feet.

  As both men hit the rigid floor a shot rang out, narrowly missing Reddic’s face. The proximity of the discharge temporarily deafened him, but he knew he couldn’t let it be a distraction. He was on top; he had the advantage.

  He brutally struck the Arabic man in the face until the gun clanked on the floor. Jumping to his feet, he kicked the weapon away and snagged the visitor pass off John’s shirt. Reddic peered over his shoulder at the vault door and saw that it was nearly shut. He was out of time. He grabbed the microfilm box and bolted off in a sprint down the tunnel.

  Heart pounding and chest heaving he was almost in front of the vault entrance. If he timed it right he could squeeze through the small opening on the right hand side before it closed completely. He leapt forward, twisting his body in an effort to make himself as slender as possible. The vault door seemed to be folding down on him as he slithered through the small space.

  Suddenly, an object seared Reddic’s left arm just as he fell through the door. At first the pain was a nuisance, but it quickly turned acute. His arm began to throb. Blood rolled down it and spilled off his fingertips.

  The killer had shot him and it stung wildly.

  The vault door slammed shut behind him, silencing the alarm. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Reddic was trapped. There was nowhere to hide. Then he realized something. This could be his exoneration, his way out of the facility.

  “Somebody help me!” he screamed. “He’s trying to kill me!” Two guards rounded the corner and approached Reddic cautiously. They had their weapons drawn, careful not to get too close. Face contorted, Reddic turned on his side, allowing the bullet wound to be visible.

  “He’s been shot,” one of the guards exclaimed. “Go get a first aid kit.” Kneeling by Reddic’s side, he asked, “What happened, son?”

  “There’s a man inside,” said Reddic, pointing at the vault. “He forced me to come with him. He was trying to steal something in there.” Holding out the microfilm box he said, “I took this from him and he shot me. Oh man, I think I might lose my arm.” Reddic grimaced and grunted wildly as the guard inspected the damage.

  “Today’s your lucky day,” the guard said, taking the box. “It’s just a flesh wound. Listen, you need medical attention. I want you to wait in the lab while we apprehend whoever is in there, all right? Medical personnel will tend to you shortly.”

  “Okay.” The other guard returned and squatted down with the first aid kit.

  “Good. Here, hold still.” The guard wrapped Reddic’s arm firmly with bandaging and cleaned away the blood. “That should hold. Now go and sit tight. I’ll be right back. We’ll need a full debriefing of what happened.”

  Reddic nodded compliantly and lumbered into the doorway of the research lab. He gazed back down the hallway and was pleased with what he saw—nothing. Not one guard was there. They were all intently focused on the vault. Reddic wheeled around and hurried to the double white doors at the opposite end of the research lab. He removed the swipe card that he took from the guard in the bathroom and ran it through, typing in the numeric code that he memorized.

  The doors swung open to the corridor leading to the iron gates at the facility’s entrance point. He could see daylight. He was almost there. He swiped the card through the next keypad and again typed in the code. The gates clicked and swung open slowly. Taking one last look at the records vault, Reddic dashed out of the complex.

  The dark Lincoln entered the I-215 belt route along the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains. Reddic checked the time on his phone again. Only twenty-five minutes remained before the deadline. Time was short. He furrowed his brow as he analyzed his options. He could return to the airport and deliver the microfilm, but then he would be handing over his only bargaining chip inside of the lion’s den. He and Jaxon would no longer be useful and would surely be eliminated. That option was definitely out.

  He could board the jet and try to take out Faulkner to acquire a weapon and then subdue his ruthless minions. It was doable, but not knowing for sure how many people were onboard would be asking too much. He discarded that option too. There had to be another way. He peered at the distant downtown district through the windshield until the idea hit him. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Jaxon’s number.

  “Hello, Reddic.” It was Faulkner. Reddic had guessed right. Somehow he knew Faulkner would have the phone. “I trust you have what I requested?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. When shall we be expecting you then?”

  “That depends on you. You see, you won’t have the pleasure of seeing me again unless you follow my instructions.”

  “Oh? I believe your companion sitting in the back seat would disagree.”

  “I’m afraid your man didn’t make the trip. He got a little tied up back at the vault.”

  “Need I remind you, Reddic that your brother’s life hangs on your level of cooperation,” Faulkner boomed. “I think you should follow through as our original arrangement outlined.”

  “I’m changing the arrangement. I never liked it anyway. I want to propose a partnership.”

  There was no response. Finally, Faulkner spoke. “Intriguing. What are the terms of this, partnership?”

  “You have the cipher and I have the code key. We meet and decipher it together.”

  There was another pause. “And where would this meeting take place?”

  “Temple Square. Enter from the south and meet me in the balcony of the Tabernacle. Bring Jaxon and the codex and come alone.”

  “What assurances do I have that this is not a setup?”

  “None. I can only assure you that I’m in possession of the sole copy of the microfilm and I won’t hesitate to destroy it if Jaxon is harmed. Temple Square. One hour. Be alone.” Reddic ended the call and pressed down on the accelerator.

  He had work to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Thousands of people, both tourists and local residents alike, visited Temple Square throughout the course of a year. Sundays were especially popular days to visit. Young couples and families strolled along the pathways admiring the serene, reverential environment. Amongst the crowds of people, unnoticed by anybody, a tall man in a gray suit ambled casually as if he were taking in the sights. He had wavy blond hair and rectangular eyeglasses. His movements were slow and deliberate as he snapped pictures with a small digital camera. He looked at his shiny new watch for a moment and then, as if disinterested, moved on.

  Even a trained observer would fail to identify Reddic in this disguise. He looked like another man entirely. The transformation, though effective, wasn’t difficult to assemble. At the Gateway Mall, only a mile away, he purchased the essential pieces of his costume with cash. Leaving the Lincoln in the parking structure, he walked to the designated meeting location, arriving thirty minutes early. He wanted to do some reconnaissance before his brother arrived.

  He wandered through the square with a small group led by two youthful brunettes wearing ankle length black skirts and white blouses. They enthusiastically described Temple Square as the heart of Salt Lake City.

  “The history, culture, and tourism of the entire state are founded upon its rich symbolism,” one explained. “It serves as a visual representation of our religion.”

  An older gentlema
n in the group raised his hand and said; “I’ve heard theologians profess it to be every bit as religiously relevant as the Vatican.”

  “You may be right,” the other replied, smiling widely. “It’s certainly relevant to me.”

  The group migrated further into the square. Colorful deciduous trees and beautifully landscaped flowerbeds, hedges, and lawns abounded throughout, beautifying the grounds. They stopped for a moment outside a short fence enclosing a massive edifice. Some of the children tried sticking their heads between the metallic bars as the guide continued to speak.

  “As you can see, Temple Square is composed of thirty five acres in the center of downtown Salt Lake City. Walls reaching ten feet in height surround it, with gated entrances being offered at each point of the compass.” She pointed like a flight attendant. “The highlight of all the structures inside the walls is the magnificent Salt Lake Temple complex here inside this fence. A neo-gothic granite marvel, the temple covers nearly one-third of the entire acreage and its soaring six spires rise over two hundred feet into the air. It reverently looms over the historic square.”

  After a short photographic session, the group turned its attention to the building adjacent to the temple on the west. The young brunette introduced it as the famous Tabernacle. The oval-shaped edifice was most recognizable because of its beaming, copper domed roof. Once used primarily as a meeting hall, it currently functioned chiefly as a place for weekly musical performances.

  “To the south of the Tabernacle you’ll find the colorful and ornate Assembly Hall. With twenty-four spires, stained-glass windows, and a crucifix floor plan, the Victorian structure has the appearance of a gothic cathedral.”

  Reddic checked his watch again. Only four minutes remained before the rendezvous. Suffering through three tours already, he slipped away from the group and moved to an area with a clear shot of the south entrance. Faulkner would be arriving soon and so far none of his men were in the square.