by Adam Hiatt
Through the tears Reddic said a silent prayer.
Then his eyes sprang open. There was a cough, a muscle spasm: two indications of life. Was he only imagining it? He couldn’t tell. He examined his brother from head to toe.
There!
His head moved!
“Jaxon,” he called calmly. “Can you hear me?”
Jaxon stirred for a moment and then opened his eyes, focusing. Reddic tore open his brother’s robe to assess the wound. Since Jaxon was alive the bullet must have missed the heart. He pulled his shirt up, exposing his chest. What he saw sent chills throughout his body.
There was no bullet hole, no wound, only a dark blue bruise in the middle of his chest. Reddic didn’t understand. There was a hole in his shirt with fresh blood, but the body was virtually unscathed. His world suddenly began to spin.
Jaxon sat up and reached for his chest. He looked like a horse just kicked him. “Where am I?” he asked.
“We’re still in The Dome of the Rock,” Reddic replied, shaking the vertigo out of his head. “Can you move?”
“I think so.”
“Good because we have to get out of here. The police will be here any second.”
“Reddic, hold on,” Jaxon said, catching sight of Faulkner. With his fingers he gently massaged his chest. “What happened to me?”
Reddic looked at him blankly, unsure how to respond. How could he explain something that he didn’t understand? It was then that he noticed Jaxon’s right hand. He had forgotten that Jaxon took the stone from around Faulkner’s neck, clutching it tightly even when he fell to the floor. Only now did he loosen his grip.
Staring at it, a kaleidoscope of thoughts turned in Reddic’s head. He wondered if it was the stone that saved him. But how? It didn’t make sense. The suggestion itself was entirely mind-boggling. Yet there was no other explanation. Not knowing why, Reddic laughed under his breath and shook his head. He looked up at Jaxon and shrugged.
“A miracle,” he said.
Epilogue
Two men breezed through the doorway into an enclosed parking garage as the metal doors swung open. A wave of intense, suffocating arid heat hit them head-on, penetrating their skin, obstructing their breathing. Both men fought through it, attempting to acclimate to the sudden temperature change as they walked. After all, it was a typical June day in Phoenix’s Valley of the Sun, the burgeoning retirement haven for countless snowbirds. The heat was to be expected, and accepted.
Although they walked side by side, obviously together, everything about the two men differed. One was much younger and taller, and sauntered with a bit of a swagger. Long athletic shorts and a white t-shirt covered his trimmed athletic body, and he carried a green backpack around his shoulder. The other was a short, paunchy man with a thick head of brown hair. He was older, perhaps closing in on forty years of age. He dressed business-like, sporting a long-sleeve orange shirt, complimented by a black tie, and dark slacks, and he had a newspaper pinned under his arm. He squawked shamelessly into a wireless earpiece transmitting through his cell phone, unconcerned with who may be listening.
Terminating the phone call, he made the shape of a gun with his hand and pretended to shoot the ground. “Boom! Got another one!” he thundered dramatically. “That makes ten commitments, Reddic. I told you I would get this done before the draft.”
“That’s big time work,” said Reddic, smiling inwardly. Despite knowing Kirk Westhead for over a year, Reddic still marveled at the man’s audacity. He was relentless, borderline importunate; a bulldog that refused to take no for an answer. And that was precisely why Reddic hired him as his agent.
“What did these guys have to say?” Reddic asked, referring to the Phoenix Suns. He had just completed a rigorous ninety-minute individual workout in the team’s practice facility inside the US Airways Center.
“They liked you, a lot,” the agent replied. “They have the twenty-third pick in the draft this year, but they’re considering trading up to have a chance to take you.”
“That’s good to hear. I like the organization and certainly wouldn’t mind spending my winters in Arizona.”
“I hear you there. I’ll do what I can to make it happen.” Kirk’s phone buzzed on his belt buckle. He lifted it, checking the number. “I got to take this call. It could be your next employer.” He pressed a button on his earpiece and spoke. “This is Kirk Westhead.” He listened intently for a few seconds. “Let me call you right back, okay? Bye.” He grinned at Reddic. “Our flight leaves in two hours, right? I’ll meet you at the airport. I want to give these guys plenty of time to beg.”
“All right, that sounds fine. Hey, are you done with that paper?”
The agent glanced at his arm. “I can be,” he said, looking up again.
Reddic snatched it away. “I appreciate it,” he said. “See you at the airport.” He spun around and marched up a concrete ramp toward his rental car. Unlocking the driver’s side door, he tossed the backpack in the passenger’s seat and jumped in. He rested the paper against the steering wheel and scanned headlines. On the second page he found it.
Holy Shrine Reopens Doors
Jerusalem (AP) — The Dome of the Rock, arguably the most recognized religious monument in the Middle East, opened its doors today after a bizarre string of events forced the Muslim shrine to close for a week.
As part of an on-going investigation, Israeli police issued a statement identifying the four slain victims found inside the building. Three men, Bashaar Ghalib, Jabir Mihran, and Amjad Muhktaar are known to be affiliated with the notorious Khalid Hasaan, a high-priority terrorist cell leader wanted by several governments, including the United States. Sources say that Muhktaar was a senior leader, rumored to be the cell’s No. 2 man. Hasaan is currently still at large.
The fourth victim has been identified as American billionaire Joseph Faulkner. Founder and president of JPF Oil & Gas, Faulkner reportedly had a net worth exceeding twenty billion USD. Authorities have yet to establish a connection between Faulkner and the three terrorists.
Staring at the newspaper, Reddic contemplated the story. If all the facts were known it would have been a front-page headline, he knew. But like any matters relating to the intelligence community, the media had access to less than five percent of the facts. As it was, a story of this caliber turned into a second page blurb, written off by the media as another case of Middle East violence. Sadly, had Faulkner not been involved it may not have even been printed.
“What’s in the paper today?” a voice called out.
Reddic’s heart jumped.
There was somebody in the backseat of the car!
He reached for his backpack. “Stay calm Reddic. It’s just me,” the voice said coolly. It was a woman’s voice.
Reddic peeked in the rearview mirror. He recognized the deep blue eyes and sharp facial features immediately. It was Madison Jenkins.
“You caught me off guard,” he said.
“I know. You’re not getting sloppy now are you?” Jenkins countered.
“What do you think?”
“Judging by the fact that you avoided all surveillance cameras since exiting those doors would lead me to believe otherwise. You were only distracted. However, one man’s distraction is another man’s advantage. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” Reddic replied evenly. He shifted positions in his seat.
“You’re a hard man to track down,” she said. “I’ve tried to contact you each of the past three days.”
“I’ve been busy. You know, with my day job.”
“I can see that.” Madison ducked low in the backseat as somebody walked by. “How’s your brother doing?” she asked.
“Recovering and readjusting. He needs to find another mentor, but with the dissertation he’s about to write, I don’t think that it will be a problem.”
“That’s good. Where are you going next?”
“Dallas today and Atlanta after that. Then I’m off until the draft.”
>
“Perfect. I have another assignment for you in the meantime. The details are in the glove box.” Reddic’s eyes moved in that direction. “Standard protocol,” she said. “Destroy them after you decode the message.”
She opened the rear door and placed one foot on the garage’s parking surface. “By the way,” she said, leaning back into the vehicle. “I’m still waiting for the stone.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? There was no stone,” Reddic lied. “It never existed. What we gave Faulkner was a fake.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, pushing the door closed.
Reddic laughed. He rolled down the window and winked. “Someday you might believe me,” he said, shifting the car into gear. He pressed the accelerator and shot out of the garage.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Time to separate fact from fiction. This book has many historical references, as it is the author's intent to bring history to life. The vast majority of these histories, both oral and sourced, are real. The author, however, took liberty in interpreting and, in some cases, connecting many of these historical legends and facts.
The legend of Tolpitzin-Quetzalcoatl is true, as far as oral histories can be trusted. Like many religious, political, and cultural icons, he was worshipped as a deity after he was disgraced and banished from Tula. The story of Quetzalcoatl returning some day in the year Ce Acatl is true. Returning to retrieve his stolen stone, however, is a product of the author's imagination.
Moses and the fiery flying serpent is one of the more famous and intriguing stories of the Old Testament. Very little detail as to the description of the seraphim serpents is given in the Bible, but there are many similarities found in the author's research that lends credibility to the theory that there is a symbolic connection between the fiery flying serpents and Quetzalcoatl. Notwithstanding the research, it is the author that connects the two stories.
It is true that Egyptian artifacts have been found throughout Central America, in particular inside Monte Alban. How these artifacts arrived in the western hemisphere is open for debate.
The Stone of Truth is real. It is true that Alexander the Great allegedly possessed a light-giving stone, known as the pyrophilus that provided him protection. Once his stone was lost, Alexander's success began to decline. Albert Magnus purportedly possessed one of these stones as well. Stones with mythical powers are also found in the Bible. The Urim and Thummim, for example, as mentioned in the manuscript, is cited in various places throughout the Bible. It is the author's imagination, however, that connects the Urim and Thummim with the Stone of Truth.
The Eben Shetiyyah, Hebrew for Foundation Stone, is real. It is believed to be located in the exact spot that Isaac laid on the altar as his father Abraham was about to sacrifice him. The stones that were used to build the altar were fused into one, making the foundation stone for what later became Solomon and Herod's temple in Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock in present day Jerusalem is built in the same location as the ancient Jewish temples. It is the author that created a group of fanatical followers of the Eben Shetiyyah. To the author's knowledge, there is no such group.
Granite Mountain Records Vault is real and is located in Little Cottonwood canyon just outside of Salt Lake City, Utah. Owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, it is primarily used as a storage facility for genealogical microfilms. There are also historical documents and items relevant to the Church's history stored inside. Access is limited to authorized personnel only.
Teotihuacan is an amazing complex. There are numerous papers written on the mathematical extrapolations of the three pyramids, along with the secondary structures and the Avenue of the Dead. There is a geometrical relationship that can be explained with numbers. The inference is that there was a divine purpose to its construction. Arizona State University has performed archeological digs beneath the Pyramid of the Moon, which many scholars believe is the central structure of the complex. Pottery, bones, and eclectic artifacts were found throughout a tunnel system inside. It is the author that designated the Pyramid of the Moon at Teotihuacan as the resting place of the Stone of Truth.
The final fact that the author would like the reader to know is this: Reddic Smith will be back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adam Hiatt is the head men’s basketball coach at Montana Tech University in Butte, MT. He is also the author of suspense thriller, SHADOW GAME. His travels as a coach have afforded him opportunities to not only build his basketball program into a national contender, but also develop key plot ideas and locales. He is currently working on his next novel. He, his wife and five children reside in Montana.