to focus on that walked stupidly and thoughtlessly directly into their line of fire. And there were killers he had studied who had achieved multiple murders in short order. But again, these were genuinely random acts—shoot this person, walk across town, shoot another person. The D.C. Sniper. Son of Sam. The Zodiac.
42
RED 1–2–3
There were others. But none had done anything as special as what he planned. What he was attempting was truly something that no one had ever tried. Guinness World Records -worthy. He could barely contain his excitement. Proximity , he told himself. Get closer. That was what the Big Bad Wolf did in the children’s story. That was what he was busy planning.
43
5
At the top of the key, Jordan heard the play called, the point guard’s voice just overcoming the crowd noise filling the gymnasium. She hesitated, unsure why the coach would signal for a play that had never once worked in practice. Then she spun to her right and set a pick for the weak-side forward. The play was designed for an easy layup right down the lane.
Jordan loved the architecture of the game, how every small detail became an element in an equation that resulted in success. But every time they’d run this play in training, it had broken down, because the girl who was supposed to drive her defender into Jordan slowed, allowing the opposing player to slide into the small space that indecision created and not be picked off, but to maintain steady defensive pressure. There were variations that they’d attempted, but these, too, would fall apart if the other girl didn’t commit to initially forcing her defender into Jordan’s chest.
Things happen quickly on a basketball court. Motion is defined not only by speed, but also by placement. Angles are critical. Body position is crucial. Everything depends on that first thrust and motion.
44
RED 1–2–3
Jordan hated all these plays, because the failure to pick off the defender was always seen as her fault. She was the only one on the floor aware of the poor angle her teammate invariably took. It was like her teammate was afraid to cause anyone to get hurt—but the result was that the other girls all thought it was Jordan who was being weak and timid, when in reality she liked nothing more than the sensation of bodies clashing.
Small moments of danger and threat of injury—that was what Jordan lived for.
She lowered her arms close to her body so that she was like a pillar on the court. She knew that the point guard was dribbling behind her, perhaps ten feet away. There was a steady cacophony of noise that seemed to hover just above the court, so that the squeak and squeal of basketball shoes against the polished wooden floor rose up and mingled with cheers and exhortations from the people jammed into the bleachers.
Jordan saw her teammate faking along the baseline, and then turning and digging hard for the elbow—the spot where the foul line ends, and where Jordan waited. She could see the defender moving fast to keep pace, and instantly Jordan saw that, as she expected, her teammate hadn’t taken the right angle. She was close but not close enough .
Jordan despised the lack of passion she felt from some of her teammates, when she felt every minute on the court as one of total devotion and release. The game would start and she could forget everything. Or so she thought. She imagined if she were religious, the ecstasy of prayer would be exactly the same as the feeling that overcame her in the game she played.
She imagined: I am a nun on the court .
She bent forward at the waist and tensed her muscles.
But not so innocent.
She knew that was she was about to do was illegal, but she also knew that a great journalist had once written that basketball is a game of subtle felonies, and so, in a split second, she decided this was a good moment to risk one.
45
JOHN KATZENBACH
Jordan saw that the defender was moving fast into the gap between her teammate and herself—a
42
RED 1–2–3
There were others. But none had done anything as special as what he planned. What he was attempting was truly something that no one had ever tried. Guinness World Records -worthy. He could barely contain his excitement. Proximity , he told himself. Get closer. That was what the Big Bad Wolf did in the children’s story. That was what he was busy planning.
43
5
At the top of the key, Jordan heard the play called, the point guard’s voice just overcoming the crowd noise filling the gymnasium. She hesitated, unsure why the coach would signal for a play that had never once worked in practice. Then she spun to her right and set a pick for the weak-side forward. The play was designed for an easy layup right down the lane.
Jordan loved the architecture of the game, how every small detail became an element in an equation that resulted in success. But every time they’d run this play in training, it had broken down, because the girl who was supposed to drive her defender into Jordan slowed, allowing the opposing player to slide into the small space that indecision created and not be picked off, but to maintain steady defensive pressure. There were variations that they’d attempted, but these, too, would fall apart if the other girl didn’t commit to initially forcing her defender into Jordan’s chest.
Things happen quickly on a basketball court. Motion is defined not only by speed, but also by placement. Angles are critical. Body position is crucial. Everything depends on that first thrust and motion.
44
RED 1–2–3
Jordan hated all these plays, because the failure to pick off the defender was always seen as her fault. She was the only one on the floor aware of the poor angle her teammate invariably took. It was like her teammate was afraid to cause anyone to get hurt—but the result was that the other girls all thought it was Jordan who was being weak and timid, when in reality she liked nothing more than the sensation of bodies clashing.
Small moments of danger and threat of injury—that was what Jordan lived for.
She lowered her arms close to her body so that she was like a pillar on the court. She knew that the point guard was dribbling behind her, perhaps ten feet away. There was a steady cacophony of noise that seemed to hover just above the court, so that the squeak and squeal of basketball shoes against the polished wooden floor rose up and mingled with cheers and exhortations from the people jammed into the bleachers.
Jordan saw her teammate faking along the baseline, and then turning and digging hard for the elbow—the spot where the foul line ends, and where Jordan waited. She could see the defender moving fast to keep pace, and instantly Jordan saw that, as she expected, her teammate hadn’t taken the right angle. She was close but not close enough .
Jordan despised the lack of passion she felt from some of her teammates, when she felt every minute on the court as one of total devotion and release. The game would start and she could forget everything. Or so she thought. She imagined if she were religious, the ecstasy of prayer would be exactly the same as the feeling that overcame her in the game she played.
She imagined: I am a nun on the court .
She bent forward at the waist and tensed her muscles.
But not so innocent.
She knew that was she was about to do was illegal, but she also knew that a great journalist had once written that basketball is a game of subtle felonies, and so, in a split second, she decided this was a good moment to risk one.
45
JOHN KATZENBACH
Jordan saw that the defender was moving fast into the gap between her teammate and herself—a
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