Shadow Game Page 27

  Reddic weakly jabbed with his left hand trying to lure Mahan into countering. He took the bait. He threw a wild roundhouse right and, as a result, left himself completely open. Reddic sidestepped the punch and stunned him with a left cross, followed by a shot with his right hand square to the throat.

  Mahan stumbled backward, clutching his damaged larynx, struggling to breathe. Reddic closed the distance in a hurry. He rose high, faking with his left, drawing the assassin’s hands up to block. With the abdomen unprotected, Reddic dug his right fist deep into his sternum, causing Mahan to bend at the waist and dry heave. Reddic grabbed him by the collar and beltline and launched him headfirst into the glass panel. Mahan made no effort to cushion the impact as his face collided hard, cracking the glass.

  Reddic saw an opening to finish him as he slumped to the floor. He pivoted and sprinted to the end of the corridor to retrieve his gun. He deftly reached down and scooped it up, but as he turned around, he was shocked to see Mahan back on his feet and heading for the opposite door. Reddic took off after him, taking a shot on the run, but erred too high. A second shot splintered the doorframe just as Mahan jumped through.

  He was at the door in a flash, almost on the assassin’s heels, but he wasn’t about to underestimate him again. He stopped short of recklessly tailing, knowing that Mahan could be lying in wait just out of sight. He wheeled into the hallway with his senses at high capacity. He gripped his gun tighter, fully expecting Mahan to jump him. He was surprised that all was clear.

  A faint sound of footsteps from around the corner pressed him forward. He followed the audible trail to the top of the stairs. He swung the Glock into the landing just as the door slammed shut at the bottom. He bounded down the steps, but again resisted the urge to burst into the open. He cracked the door a hair to listen, when the sound of an engine cranking changed everything.

  With no more time for caution, he shoved the door open and leaped into the cavernous main level. The garage door to this right was up and Mahan was sitting atop the Kawasaki motorcycle. Reddic started after him just as Mahan pulled on the accelerator and shot out into the peninsula grounds. Reddic sprinted out of the building to get a clean shot, but reluctantly lowered his weapon in defeat. Mahan was well out of range, a black dot on the horizon.

  He peered over his shoulder at the suburban. He reached for the keys and briefly considered giving chase. Even though the SUV was a powerful vehicle, it ultimately would prove to be a lost cause. The Kawasaki Ninja was one of the fasted bikes in the world. In a congested urban area, it would be the equivalent of him trying to catch a rat with bare hands in a sewer system.

  A horn blaring in the distance spooked Reddic, pulling his attention away from the garage. He reflexively lifted his gun and pointed it in the direction of the dissonance. His tension subsided as he realized it was only Jaxon speeding toward him. As he skidded to a stop, Reddic counted four bullet holes in the car’s body. The rental company won’t like that, he thought.

  “What happened in there?” Jaxon asked after rolling down the passenger window. “Who was that on the motorcycle? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay now,” Reddic responded. He lightly massaged his neck. It was sore to the touch.

  “Thank God you’re okay,” Jaxon broke in. “One of these days you might not be so fortunate.” Reddic smarted inwardly. This had been a non-stop discussion between the two of them ever since Jaxon learned about the true nature of his private life. He just couldn’t understand why Reddic would risk everything for this job. Yet that was the difference between them; he didn’t look at it as a job, he viewed it as a privilege to serve and sacrifice for his country; that and his relationship with Madison Jenkins. As much as he too at times wanted to just walk away from it all, she made it hard for him to leave.

  “Brooke is upstairs, but she’s in pretty bad shape,” Reddic said, changing the subject. “We need to get her out of there.”

  “Is it safe to go inside?”

  “It’s safe now. That was the assassin on the bike. The only other person in the building besides Brooke is some coward that is probably still wetting himself under a lab table. But he’s not a threat.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go get her.” Reddic jumped in the passenger seat and Jaxon drove into the garage. Reddic fished his phone from his backpack and saw that he had ten missed calls, all from the same number. There was also a text that read 911.

  “Right through that door up the stairs,” he said. “I’ll be right up after I make a quick call.” Reddic waited for Jaxon to disappear into the stairwell before dialing. The call was answered on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” a woman on the other end asked. A wave of relief swept over Reddic.

  “Madison, where have you been?” he replied.

  “Long story. Update me first.”

  Reddic filled her in on his trip to Paris, what he found in her office and how he located Brooke in Maryland. He gave enough information to satisfy her inquiry but kept to himself many sensitive details that would be flushed out when he was formally debriefed.

  “Well done,” Jenkins said when he finished. “Can you keep her safe for a while longer?”

  “Yes. I still have big brother with me. He can handle it.”

  “Good. Listen, what I’m about to tell you is a game changer. I know who the Priest is.”

  “What? Who is it?”

  “Not now. I need to get some privacy first. Let’s just say he’s the reason I’ve been incommunicado lately.”

  “Get me the information and I will take him out,” Reddic said.

  “It’s not that simple,” Jenkins warned. “Trust on my end has not been fully restored. The boss needs proof. We need to catch him with a smoking gun to end this.”

  Reddic suddenly had an idea. “Is this guy aware that you know he’s the Priest?”

  “Absolutely. He told me himself.”

  “Unbelievable,” Reddic said. “I know exactly where we’ll be able to get your proof. Listen carefully. This is what you need to do.”

  51

  The taxi stopped at the curb just outside of Café Poupon on Charles Street. Reddic paid the driver and entered the trendy business. The café was bustling with energy and activity, every table and stool occupied with both millennials, whose heads were buried in their electronic devices to drive conversation, as well as the socialites, who were busy unwinding and making plans. It was the sweet spot of the evening when the workday was over, and Baltimore’s downtown night life was just starting to rev up.

  Reddic bought an almond croissant and began casually walking up the sidewalk. He wore a fresh shirt and pants that he picked up outside the city before taking three different cabs to get to the café. The restaurant itself was of no significance, other than it was far enough away from his target destination for him to finalize preparations. Despite his calm appearance, however, it took great effort to resist the urge to break out into a sprint. For the first time in what seemed like several endless days, he had a clear picture of who the enemy was. The urge to force a resolution was eating away at him, but ultimately logic overruled his emotions. Patience and execution, he knew, were the keys to success.

  After speaking with Jenkins on the phone while still on Sparrows Point, Reddic joined Jaxon on the second floor of the abandoned building to tend to Brooke. By the time he arrived she was groggily coming to, but alert, nonetheless. He met Professor Michael Beckman of Georgetown University, who explained how he was lured into assisting Brooke because of his financial troubles. He was desperate for the money and blindly agreed to assist in researching within his field of expertise. Brooke confirmed that he had been helpful, but Reddic still had some lingering doubts. When the four of them left the building together, he made sure the professor caught his own ride back to DC and messaged Jenkins to look into his story.

  The biggest challenge was properly protecting Brooke. Until the Priest was exposed it would not be safe to keep her in one spot. If se
curity was an issue in Madison Jenkins’ care, then there was no telling how vulnerable she would be in lesser hands. Jenkins had brought him up to speed on where she had been, locked away without writ of habeas corpus, and he had already had run-ins with rogue secret service agents. Trusting the government right now to protect Brooke was not an option. For the time being, they were on their own.

  Reddic dialed a number on his phone and brought it to his ear. “Hello,” Jaxon said on the other end.

  “What’s your status?” Reddic asked.

  “Nice to hear from you too,” Jaxon replied acerbically.

  “Now’s not the time, Jaxon.”

  “All I’m looking for is a cordial, how are you?”

  Reddic audibly sighed. “All right,” Jaxon said. “Sorry for annoying you. We’re on the belt loop circling the city like you instructed.”

  “Good. Any problems or suspicious cars?”

  “Nope. Just crawling along in rush hour.”

  “Okay, I’ll call in another hour. Until then, keep driving and stay alert.”

  Reddic ended the call as Jaxon was in mid-sentence. He made sure the ringer on his phone was silenced before crossing the street. Without warning he stepped inside a recessed entrance to a vacant shop and studied the foot traffic. Although he was confident that nobody was on to him, he knew he could never be too certain. Once he was sure that his tail was clear, he continued moving up the sidewalk and placed another call.

  “Allô,” Gabriel Fournier answered.

  “Gabriel, I’m in position. Is everything set on your end?” Reddic asked.

  “Oui, monsieur Reddic. I have made the connection as you requested. Father Wilson will greet you and will have the items you asked for.”

  “Very nice, Gabriel. I owe you.”

  “You owe me nothing other than a visit in the near future to finish our previous business.”

  “You can count on that,” Reddic promised.

  He cleared the screen on his phone and prepared to make his last call. He thought of Gabriel Fournier as he punched in the numbers. What an unexpected asset he had become. Reddic had called him an hour earlier on the phone he left with him in Paris. He had needed a huge favor, and so far, Fournier had delivered.

  “Did you make the call?” Reddic asked when the phone connected.

  “Yes,” Jenkins replied. “He was quite shocked to hear from me.”

  That was exactly what Reddic was hoping to hear. When he learned that Kim Cushman, the president’s chief of staff, had revealed to Jenkins that he was the Priest while she was in military custody, he knew they could use that moment against him. The president was requesting proof that his right-hand man was betraying him. But having him meet in the Oval Office and demanding that he confess was out of the question. In fact, it would be an awful idea. He would undoubtedly deny any accusation, probably conjure up false alibis, and instead try to turn the spotlight back on Jenkins.

  No, there was a better way to reveal the truth. Reddic knew that if Jenkins put in a call to Cushman and pronounced that she had been released and was coming after him, he would go into complete panic mode. The only way that he could save himself would be to kill her before she could say anything. And since Mahan did all his dirty work, they would most assuredly have to meet in order to conspire a way out of the mess. Thanks to Peter Ellis, Reddic knew exactly where they would meet.

  “He doesn’t have any clue that you’ve met with the president?” Reddic asked.

  “None. He thinks I’m on the run. Rutherford told me that he already reached out to him and asked if he had heard from me.”

  “Predictable. I’m on site now. What are my rules of engagement?”

  “Recon only. You’re in a holding pattern until we are given the go ahead.” Reddic didn’t like the sound of that at all. “But,” she continued, “if you find yourself in a compromised situation you have my permission to act as you see fit.”

  Finishing the call, he stuffed the phone in his backpack and gazed up at his destination. The rectory was an 11,500 square foot annex to the Baltimore Basilica. It was built of the same silver-gray stone but was much more modest in outward appearance. There were three connected sections; a center structure, which was the largest, architecturally designed to resemble a three-story colonial home, and two smaller wings to each side. The rectory was built on the opposite end of the block away from the main entrance into the cathedral and served as the living quarters for the archbishop, the priest-secretary, and the building keeper, commonly referred to as the basilica rector.

  Reddic ascended a few steps and knocked on the large glass double doors of the center building. An average sized man wearing a Catholic black collarino answered the door. He had light brown hair parted to the side and wore wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Good evening,” he said. Reddic immediately noticed how soft and kind his eyes looked. It was quite the change from the men he had been dealing with.

  “Father Wilson?” Reddic asked, extending his hand in greeting.

  “Yes,” he replied, taking Reddic’s hand. “I am he.”

  “Nice to meet you. I am Gabriel Fournier’s friend.”

  “Of course,” Wilson said exuberantly. “He told me you were coming to pay us a visit. Gabriel is a good man, as you know. He is also very close to the Holy Father. It is my pleasure to help in any way that I can.”

  “Thank you, father. I can’t tell you how important this is to me.”

  “You’re very welcome. I must admit, however, that what Gabriel requested was highly unusual. Between you and me, if this had come from anybody else it would be most inappropriate. But in this case, I am confident that it is for a holy purpose. Please, come in.”

  Reddic thanked Wilson again and closed the door behind him. The main entryway was beautiful and elegant. High ceilings, polished wood flooring and trim, oil paintings, lavish furnishings and expensive rugs were the norm.

  “The first bishop in the United States, John Carroll lived here,” Wilson commented, noticing Reddic’s appreciation. “It is an honor to walk the same halls as he.”

  Reddic nodded politely. He wasn’t so much admiring the residence as he was logging the details in his memory. He was making mental notes of all exits and potential weapons. Jaxon would have appreciated this moment much more than him and would have been outright astonished that Reddic was disinterested at best, but that was his reality. He felt quite fortunate that his brother wasn’t here with him. He needed to move things along and get on with his preparations.

  “There’s no mass tonight, correct?” he asked.

  “Not tonight. The archbishop is out of town. There will only be worshippers seeking personal spiritual rewards here this evening.”

  Reddic couldn’t help but grimace inwardly. If only Father Wilson knew the magnitude of what was going to go down in his cathedral tonight.

  52

  The garment closet inside the rectory was massive, to the extent of an apartment bedroom. An assortment or white, black, and red robes of various sizes, labeled and separated, hung from ornate, custom racks on all four walls. There was an island in the middle, again customized and categorized, with multiple drawers and compartments filled with socks, gloves, undergarments, footwear, and headwear. The entire space looked more like a clergyman warehouse than a closet.

  Reddic circumnavigated the room examining the selection. He wore a golden key around his neck that was given to him by Father Wilson. Per Gabriel Fournier’s request, he now had access to nearly every section of the basilica grounds. Even better, the priest-secretary had yet to inquire regarding the purpose of his visit or the need for the key and vestments. Fournier’s recommendation was enough to curtail any curiosity.

  The inventory was much greater than he had imagined. All he had wanted was a robe and hat of some fashion to pose as an innocuous cleric roaming the property. He never thought he would have to sort through a collection of cassocks, albs, cappas, and chasubles. Not to mention the headwear—zu
cchettos, birettas, camauros, and mitre caps—it was all too much. He briefly considered calling Jaxon. He would have been able to at least explain the meaning of the robes, hats and colors. As it was, Reddic had no clue, so he opted for a simple black cassock and black silk skull cap from the zucchetto drawer.

  After slipping the vestment over his clothes, he inspected his reflection in a mirror mounted to the door. He put on a pair of prescription-less glasses and approved of the transformation. Unless he was scrutinized closely, it would be highly unlikely that he would be recognized. The disguise was extremely effective. He almost fooled himself.

  He slung his backpack over his shoulder and was about to leave the closet when he caught sight of his image in the mirror and thought better of it. It would be unorthodox for a man of the cloth to be lugging a backpack around the cathedral. He couldn’t afford to have his cover blown, so he extracted the items he needed—the Glock, a cross pendant, his phone, and a miniature earpiece—and stored the pack in the island. After he stuffed the gun and phone inside the cassock, he put the pendant around his neck and inserted the earpiece. He then made his way to the first floor of the rectory and exited on the west end, following a covered pathway that led to the basilica.

  Once inside he was greeted by a large corridor with four doors. He pulled open one of the middle doors and entered the cathedral. The sheer enormity and opulence stopped him in his tracks. The massive, towering rotunda overhead was as awe-inspiring as it was mesmerizing. And unlike most cathedrals that were dark and gothic, the Baltimore Basilica was bright and artistic, devoid of stained-glass windows and an overabundance of artwork. Only a few vibrant iconographic murals decorated the ceilings and walls. It truly embodied the axiom, less is more.

  Per the architectural drawings found in Jenkins’ office, Reddic worked his way behind the high altar on the easternmost end of the dais and descended the stairs to the undercroft. A thick wooden door at the bottom was closed and locked. Removing the key from around his neck, he unlocked the entry and quietly closed it behind him. That was easy, he thought. Somehow, he knew the Priest would also have a key. There was no way he would meet here if he couldn’t control every variable. Reddic pulled the Glock from his waistline and cautiously treaded into the crypt.