Shadow Game Read online

  Shadow Game

  ADAM HIATT

  Copyright © 2020 Adam Hiatt

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 979-8-6344-0765-4

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, to Tom and Martha Byers, who are my candid and honest sounding board for all things fiction—your insights and feedback have been invaluable. Next, to my first publisher, Tim Schulte, and his encouragement and belief in my writing. To Shon Hiatt, who took the time to give me a tour of Harvard and offer valuable details, and his wife Elizabeth for hosting. To Montana Tech and all the great people that make it one of the best universities in the country.

  A few extra mentions. Tracy Iverson, who was my English teacher in high school, helped mold my fondness for writing. The entire Hiatt crew; Russ and Sulet and their unwavering support; Drew and Cassie; Troy and Aly; Samantha and Shane Curtis; Erin and Katy. Also, the Salazar bunch; Bobby and Julie for their examples of perseverance; Colton and Vanessa; Jake and Kaylee; Aubri and Yance Bosen.

  Finally, this book is dedicated to my wife Jenica. She has been my rock through everything. She is the ultimate coach’s wife and writer’s wife. She watched this story grow from a very rough idea to the finished product. She shares my adventures with me and offers guidance and encouragement. In addition, she created the cover for the book.

  Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot; but make it hot by striking.

  - William B. Sprague

  1

  The Uber abruptly braked and pulled to the side of the busy downtown street. Several car horns blared as traffic stalled in its wake. The rear door of the vehicle swung open to reveal the passenger. A pair of long, toned legs followed by a head of flowing brunette hair stepped out. The woman’s beauty immediately cut off the cacophony. She anxiously grabbed her bag, thanked the driver, and then disappeared into the mulling crowds of one of Seattle’s most popular spots, Seattle Center.

  In less than a minute she was hurrying passed the famous International Fountain without taking notice of the myriad of mist nozzles and stream shooters. As her heals clicked on the sidewalk she felt grateful the fountain’s crowd was relatively small. During summer months she knew it wouldn’t be the case. The area would swell with a sea of children eager to play in and around the water.

  A quick glance at her watch reminded her that she was two minutes late. She felt like ripping the watch off and tossing it into the water. She had anxiously stared at it since she got off the plane at the airport. She took a deep breath to calm herself and concentrated on quickening her pace.

  To her left the six-hundred-foot architectural marvel known as the Space Needle loomed. The revolving restaurant at its apex nearly touched the dense clouds in the overcast sky. A few limbs swayed nearby from the zephyr coming off the Puget Sound. There was no doubt what was coming.

  Another Seattle downpour was imminent.

  Her pace accelerated further as the towering arches of the Pacific Science Center came into view. A drop of rain struck her cheek as she passed under the archway. She noticed the waters of the reflecting pools began to ripple as more rain descended. She scurried up the steps leading to the main auditorium, slowing only to read the cardboard placard resting atop an aluminum easel at the entrance. Welcome to the National Science & Technology Symposium.

  She walked through the double-doors and found herself looking down numerous rows of stadium seating at a small wooden stage set at the foot of an enormous IMAX screen. A compact podium was placed center-stage where a balding man monotonically spoke into the microphone as images flashed on the screen above.

  The audience looked subdued, only half appeared to be overtly interested in the presentation. The scene was typical for this type of conference, if not comical. The National Science & Technology Symposium was considered the apex of intellectual gatherings. Only once a year did the brightest minds in the world congregate to one location to present groundbreaking research to an audience fastidiously intent on dissecting every word, every statistic, and every theory put forth.

  The theme of this conference was alternative energy sources, a theme that was undoubtedly attractive to much of the non-academic attendees, most notably the investors, eager to secure the rights to the next potential billion-dollar idea.

  She swept the room with her eyes, studying the mannerisms of those in attendance. The investors were usually easy to target. They would be the only ones scribbling notes while texting on their cell phones.

  “I see you decided to finally make an appearance,” a man said, coming to her side.

  She turned toward the man and smiled. “Good to see you Dr. Feldman. Have you waited long?”

  “Not at all Dr. Hansen, my dear. I just walked in myself.”

  He was covering for her and she knew it. And it wasn’t the first time. As far back as she could remember, since the first year of her doctoral program, Dr. William Feldman had always acted as her protector. It wasn’t difficult to understand either. His daughter was killed in a car accident when she was twenty years of age. She had been the jewel of his life. When she died a part of him did too.

  That was until a nervous twenty-three-year-old young woman walked into his office and convinced him to chair her dissertation committee. He had treated her with a paternal kindness ever since.

  “So, when are we on?” Hansen asked.

  “We are scheduled to present in twenty minutes, but as you well know, expect to go on no sooner than thirty.” Feldman was a short man, maybe only five feet and nine inches, barely tall enough to look her squarely in the eye as he spoke. “By the way, you’re looking particularly lovely today.”

  Hansen felt herself blush at the compliment. “Thank you,” was all she could think to say. “You look nice too.”

  “Hah!” Feldman exploded. “I haven’t changed the way I look in years, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

  Hansen considered the statement. He was right, she soon realized. Little had changed about the man since they began working together, at least in appearance. The thin graying beard, full head of nearly white hair, narrow eyes that sparkled when he spoke, bushy eyebrows and small nose remained the same. There was tremendous staying power with his wardrobe too. The man rarely wore anything but corduroy pants and short-sleeved button-up shirts.

  “Should we rehearse our presentation, so we don’t look like fools?” Hansen asked. “I am tired of having my hard work doubted.”

  “I’m confident that the content of our presentation will have too many minds spinning for anybody to consider us fools. Besides, our field of expertise needs no rehearsal. It’s our life.” His warm smile put her tension at ease. “I’ll get their interest piqued and you close the deal with your research.”

  “I hardly believe for one second that it will play out like that. You’re the amazing orator, I’m just a researcher,” she said.

  “That’s nonsense, my dear. Need I remind you of the presentation you gave last year at Oxford? You were simply—” Feldman’s gaze moved to the near wall as his words trailed off.

  Hansen turned and followed her colleague’s line of sight. Leaning against the wall, only twenty feet away, stood a man of average height, but with a compact build wearing a brown sport coat and tan slacks. The man’s facial expression was intense, as if he were preparing for a fight. But the stranger was not looking their way. In fact, he appeared to be taking notes. She failed to understand her colleague’s sudden fascination with the stranger.

  “Do you know that man?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. Wait here a moment, would you?”

  She stepped aside as Feldman rushed by her and approached the man, clasping his hand as he spoke. The conversation was abbreviated. Within a few seconds the stranger motioned for Feldman to follow him throug
h a door at the back of the auditorium.

  Hansen looked on, confused. She couldn’t understand why her mentor was suddenly so cryptic. He had never acted that way before. She couldn’t remember a single instance when Feldman failed to introduce her in any setting. No exceptions.

  Her mind began to spin. Wild fits of paranoia had been afflicting her as of late. She had been on edge because of the tremendous advances in her research. Maybe the pressure was making her look for things that weren’t there. Still, because of the profundity of what she was about to present to the world she couldn't help but feel a little suspicious.

  She shuddered at the thought of her sole ally selling her out. Yet, what else could explain his hasty disappearance with a man he supposedly did not know, with no introduction at all? Whether she was unwilling or incapable, she failed to come up with an explanation. All she could focus on was Feldman’s out of character behavior. It made her believe he was hiding something. She considered that for a moment until a paralyzing thought struck her.

  Maybe he was brokering a side deal with an investor.

  Hansen scoffed at the absurdity of her imagination. They had invested years of their lives to this research. They had sacrificed so much; she had sacrificed so much. She had put off several relationships, countless lucrative job opportunities for this. The thought of Dr. Feldman, her surrogate father, the only person she fully trusted, committing intellectual treason was entirely inconceivable. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her mind settled on a decision. There was a simple way to eliminate all doubt.

  She was going to find out who he was talking to.

  Hansen tried to appear relaxed as she moved toward the door that Feldman and the stranger had passed through only moments earlier. When she reached the rear of the auditorium, she suddenly felt nervous. She had no idea what she would find behind the door; she only hoped that it wouldn’t be her friend in a compromising situation.

  She calmed her breathing and walked through the access. Inside was a sterile, taupe passageway that turned at a right angle after about ten yards. Lighting strips along the floorboards gave it the feel of a tunnel. She could hear unintelligible voices in the distance around the corner. The muffled conversation seemed to pull her forward.

  As she neared the corner the voices became distinguishable. She pressed her back to the wall and listened intently. She could clearly hear Feldman’s voice.

  “I’ve already told you that it’s still in its early stage,” Feldman said. “There is yet much work to do.” She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Feldman’s voice was quivering. He sounded either scared or upset.

  “When will it be ready?” asked the other man.

  “I really cannot predict with any accuracy,” replied Feldman.

  “You’re not very smart, doctor. You’ve made an oath. Don’t get weak when we are so close. Not only is your life on the line, but so is your colleague’s.”

  “You know nothing. I have no colleague.”

  “You are a fool then. You have been followed for weeks and we know exactly who you’ve been working with.”

  “That’s enough!” Feldman bellowed. “This is unacceptable. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Not to worry, professor. Her safety will be assured by you fulfilling your end of the bargain. But so far there is little evidence that you’ve been faithful to the order.”

  “I have had enough of you and the order's threats,” Feldman stated with resolve. “I was going to save this card for later, but you’ve forced my hand. Did you really think I would side with you? You are gravely mistaken if you did. This is nothing but evil that we are playing with. It is not too late for you to get out. I have taken precautions and have found how to expose the order.”

  The other man emitted a throaty laugh. “If you really think you can expose us then you truly are a fool,” he said. “There is no greater power than the order. Your fate is sealed.”

  Hansen stepped back out of reflex. She wondered who her mentor was talking to. Whoever it was, her instincts told her that Feldman was in grave danger. And from the sound of things, she might be as well.

  “Dr. Feldman, are you okay?” Hansen shouted. There was no immediate response. Hansen was about to turn the corner when Feldman finally spoke.

  “Yes, everything is fine. No need to worry. Why don’t you be a dear and wait for me outside. I’ll be right out,” he said.

  “No William, I’m coming to you. I need to speak with you right now.” She was about to move when Feldman’s words froze her in place.

  “Stop it!” he cried. “You will not touch her!”

  There was a brief scuffling, quickly followed by a flight of footsteps, and then silence. Hansen tried to move but her legs suddenly had no strength. She waited for twenty long seconds.

  “William?” she asked weakly. “You’re scaring me. Where are you?” She took four steps to where the hall turned right and cautiously peered around the corner.

  She gasped at the sight.

  Lying on the tile floor nearly fifteen yards away was a man’s body curled up, blood pooling at his midsection and neck. There was no mistaking who it was. The corduroy pants and brown loafers gave him away.

  She jumped to Feldman’s side and felt for a pulse. She repositioned her fingers three times, but she still couldn’t find a beat. Her hands were shaking wildly. She rolled his body over, trying to fight back the tears as she did so. If nothing else she had to stop the bleeding. Her body flinched when she spotted the laceration in his neck and the small stiletto knife protruding from the man’s upper abdominal cavity.

  “Somebody help me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Then, like a bursting dam, the tears streamed down her face. She put her head on Feldman’s chest and sobbed like an infant.

  She soon realized that no one had heard her plea for help. She forced herself to her feet and found her cell phone in her jacket pocket. As she was starting to dial 9-1-1 her focus shifted to Feldman’s arm. He held something in his hand. She wiped her eyes dry to get a better look.

  Feldman’s phone rested in his palm. Blood streaks were on the screen, making it difficult to see. She used her thumb to wipe away some of his blood. Her body suddenly felt cold as chills crawled up her spine. She couldn’t believe what she was looking at.

  “It’s not possible,” she whispered.

  2

  The tapping on the door was dull, almost inaudible, coming in inconsistent intervals. The occupant of the hotel suite stirred for a moment, putting off the urge to get up. He rolled over to block out the distraction, covering his head with a pillow. It was a lost cause he soon realized. The patter not only persisted, it intensified into a firm, irritating rap.

  Fumbling around the nightstand, he found his phone and checked the time. His eyes narrowed as he read the miniscule digits: 12:25 am.

  Who could be here this late, he wondered? It didn’t matter. Whoever it was had better have a good excuse. It was a game night.

  He slid off the king-size bed, threw on a T-shirt and stomped to the door. Not bothering to look through the peephole, he jerked the door open, completely unprepared for what awaited him.

  In the hallway standing before him was an exquisite woman. From his vantage point she could have been a supermodel at any hour of the day. She wore little more than a silky black spaghetti-strap blouse and a pair of virtually skin-tight jeans. The outfit clearly was intended to emphasize her sensual curves. Her long, slender legs were accentuated by the red high heels that she wore.

  “Oh, you’re not Brandon,” she said with a smile that melted his anger. She combed her fingers through her long blonde hair as she spoke. “What’s your name?”

  “Reddic Smith,” he replied.

  “You’re cute, Reddic,” she said seductively. “If I can’t find Brandon maybe you’ll keep me company? It’s cold out here in this big hallway.”

  Reddic eyed her for a moment. Although tempted by the offer, he knew that to let a strang
e woman, no matter how beautiful, into his room would be a mistake. Plus, he suspected she was intoxicated.

  “Not tonight,” he said. The woman’s face registered disappointment. “How about you head home and get some sleep. I’ll call you a cab.”

  “Hey rook!” a deep voice bellowed through the hallway. Reddic’s eyes followed to the source of the sudden sound. Two rooms down, filling nearly the entire doorframe stood a giant of a man with short-cropped hair wearing only athletic shorts. His swollen muscles twitched with every syllable that left his mouth. “What are you doing with my girl, man?” he asked.

  “Oh, no B, I was just asking if she wanted a cab,” Reddic explained. He wanted to avoid this confrontation at all costs. He was just a rookie in the National Basketball Association, more commonly known as the NBA. B, short for Brandon Watson, was not only the best player on his team but also the most volatile. He had a league-wide reputation for unpredictable and unprovoked emotional outbursts, which was the last thing Reddic wanted to deal with tonight.

  “I’m just messing with you, rook,” Watson said, a broad grin spanning his mouth. “Hey, baby, you’re not gonna get nothing from little rookie over there. Come in here and let daddy take care of you.”

  “Bye Reddic,” the woman said with a tender wave. Reddic watched her lithe figure stride down the hallway and disappear into his teammate’s room.

  Reddic closed his door slowly, abashed by the actions of his team’s best player. Brandon Watson was a married man with two children. And it wasn’t just him. Sadly, Watson’s actions paralleled those of many of his associates. It was becoming a modus operandi for the league. He remembered questioning veteran player regarding the lecherous practice. The advice came with resounding simplicity: “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  He pushed the thought away as he stepped into the extravagant bathroom. The shear opulence of the lavatory made him feel a little uncomfortable. Having grown up in a middle-class home, he still had not adjusted to the multi-million-dollar lifestyle that he had been living the past few months.