Cursed Blessing (Trilogy of the Chosen Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  Brent chipped away at it, using the small pickaxe he’d brought, in an effort to get a better look at the seal between the grate and the frame. The entire circumference of the grate was completely welded to the frame. The only way to get into the tunnel was to blow the opening.

  He reattached the pickaxe to his belt, and removed the pouch containing the underwater explosive. It was like putty. Brent tore off a piece and stuck it between the bars of the grate, which were adjacent to the frame. He repeated this process on the opposite side, then he stuck what looked like a needle into the explosive. The exposed end of the needle was attached to detonation wire, which itself was attached to a small detonation box.

  Brent rechecked to make sure the needle and explosive were firmly in place. He unrolled the wire from a small spool while he surfaced. Brent’s plan was to get back to his seat on the rocks and detonate from there. Unfortunately, as he broke the surface, he ran out of wire. He hadn’t expected the grate to be so deep. He also hadn’t taken into consideration that the tide would be so high. There were no options left but to detonate from where he was and hope the explosion didn’t throw him against the rocks.

  Bracing himself and holding onto his mask and mouthpiece, he pushed the button on the small box built into the spool. Even with his head out of the water, the sound was intense. He felt the explosion more than heard it, but it still hurt his eardrums. Brent felt the water rise up below him, like a geyser on steroids. The pressure of the water kept increasing and his entire body rose out of the ocean like a rocket launched into space. Then the worst happened just as he was about to break free of the surface.

  As the ocean upwardly exploded, it left in its wake a vacuum that sucked everything back into the water even faster than it exploded. It was like an underwater tornado, but instead of spiraling, it sucked everything straight down. This suction, this intense implosive force, grabbed hold of Brent and pulled him into the water with such power that he thought the top of his head would blow open. It was all he could do to hold onto his mask, as he was dragged toward the ocean floor. The pressure in his ears was so severe that he expected his eardrums to burst. To combat this pressure, he bit down on the mouthpiece of the air cylinder hard and fast in a rhythmical fashion, hoping to equalize his ears as he descended.

  Afraid to let go of his mask to help right himself, Brent tumbled through the water for what seemed like an eternity—in reality, it was less than a minute. Brent finally stopped sinking. He was disoriented and not sure which way was up. Thankfully, he’d had enough sense to wait and watch for his air bubbles before he made his next move. The bad news was that he’d bitten down on the mouthpiece so hard that he’d bitten through the valve that stopped air from freely flowing out of the mouthpiece. At the rate the air was leaking, he would be out of air in a matter of minutes.

  Regaining his composure, Brent slowly ascended to the surface. He’d plummeted downward so fast that he knew he needed to use extra caution going back up or he would get the bends. Rising at a rate of ten feet per minute would take six minutes to get to the tunnel opening. His air cylinder was sucked dry by the end of the first minute. Brent reached for his belt, found the second air cylinder, and pulled it from the belt. He peeled the safety off the mouthpiece, placed it in his mouth, and he took a deep drag of air.

  Reaching the tunnel opening, Brent saw that the explosives had blown the grate clear off. He saw jagged edges of metal around the opening as he shined his light on what was left of the grate. That was about all he could see. The explosion had disturbed the sand to the point of causing visibility of just one or two feet. Carefully, Brent made his way past the jagged metal and into the opening of the tunnel. He had to make his way more by feel than by sight because of the limited visibility.

  He’d swum about thirty feet when he was faced with what seemed to be the end of the tunnel. The water was now clearer and he could see a steel plate blocking his forward movement. Okay, don’t panic, he told himself. He shined the light to the right, then to the left. He saw nothing but steel. He looked around. The tunnel opened below him. Since the only choice was to turn around or go down, he started to descend into the hole. He dropped to a depth of fifty feet when the tunnel opened into an underwater cave. Panic crept through him for the first time, as his thoughts went straight to his nightmare and the cave that he repeatedly died in, night after night. Great, that’s just what I need now, some histrionics about a stupid dream.

  Brent closed his eyes and cleared his mind. When he opened them, he shined the light in all directions. The colors were so bright and vivid that he was in complete awe of God’s majesty. He swam slowly in the direction of the shoreline, praying he would soon find himself on land. The cave grew narrower until he had only an arm’s length of space on either side. It was funnel-shaped and as he looked ahead, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Unfortunately, they weren’t. Come on, Lord, give me a break, he prayed.

  Brent crept forward until he came to a spot where the tunnel split into three directions. He looked at the air cylinder gauge—a quarter full. He would soon have to use his last one. There was no time for mistakes now. The more he looked at his options, the more nervous he became. He felt his breathing get shallower and quicker. That would use up his air even faster. This is no good, he thought. If I don’t get my act together right away and figure out which way to go, I’m dead. Worse than that, so are Chloe and Maddie. He allowed his body to go limp until he was kneeling on the bottom of the cave. He closed his eyes and drifted into a prayerful meditative state. The deeper he went, the more thoughts rushed into his mind.

  First, his nightmare came back; he shoved it out of the way easily enough. Then images of Chloe—the way he felt when he first met her—flooded his mind, then the look of heartbreak in her eyes the night she walked out of his bedroom and out of his life. He could feel her back in his arms and he knew he never wanted to be without her again. Emotion will kill you, he thought and reluctantly pushed thoughts of Chloe from his mind.

  Then images of his childhood and his grandfather flooded into focus. He realized, maybe for the first time, that everything he was taught as a child was a building block for the time he would take over as Ambassador of the Endowment. He listened again to everything his grandfather had said to him, but nothing seemed to help his present situation.

  Brent’s thoughts drifted even further back to when he was very young. He even thought he saw his parents. Their images were blurry, but he could feel them and their love. Again, his emotions stirred. He wanted to stay right where he was, but he didn’t have that luxury. With a heavy heart, he pushed them from his mind just as he began to hear his mother’s voice. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but this wasn’t the time to figure it out.

  His mind rushed forward. Scenes of high school, college, military induction, Delta training, Seven and the Phantom Squad rushed through and out of his mind. Every mission he’d been part of, and the peace he thought he’d found when he came home to Palm Cove, came into the light. His thoughts slowed when he remembered everything that had happened in the past week. Suddenly, he and Chloe were walking through the tunnels. He could see amazement in her eyes as she surveyed their environment. He could hear her voice as she read out loud the sayings and Bible verses etched into the stone walls.

  “When this world clouds your mind with too many choices, remember to walk the straight and narrow path,” he could hear her read, “for this will be the path of righteousness; the path of Christ.”

  Brent snapped out of his meditative state, partly because of what he heard Chloe say, but mostly, because the second cylinder just ran out of air. Feverishly, Brent reached for his last air cylinder but he felt nothing on his belt. He dropped his light momentarily and felt all around the belt with both hands. Nothing! He must have lost it during his tumble. Oh, no, you don’t, Satan, he thought. I’m not dying this way, I refuse. Brent picked up the light and swam as fast as he
could into the middle hole. Help me, Jesus. Please get me out of here alive. The faster he swam, the more his lungs burned. The more his lungs burned, the more the muscles in his chest and diaphragm went into spasms. But he wouldn’t give up.

  As he swam, he saw black spots in front of him. He knew that if he passed out now, he was finished. Brent started getting tunnel vision and his mind felt like it was shutting down from lack of oxygen. Everything got hazy. The cloudiness of his vision started peripherally, then made its way to the center of his vision field.

  The walls of the tunnel system got further and further away. This change gave him a renewed strength. As if on cue from God, Brent pushed off the bottom and shot straight up to the surface. Within seconds, he ascended forty feet and burst through the surface of the water. Only a miracle could have stopped his lungs from exploding from such a fast ascent. As soon as his face hit the early morning air, Brent took a deep breath and swam for the shore where he passed out cold.

  Seven checked and rechecked his watch: 3:45, 3:48, 3:53. Something wasn’t right. He could sense it. He heard the captain say, “Nobody moves until you get my signal.”

  At 4:02 a.m., Seven broke the silence and tried to contact Brent. “Two calling one, do you read? One, are you out there?”

  Fitz’s voice came over the radio. He asked what they should do. “On my go, you and Jefferson abort and retrace your steps,” Seven ordered.

  It was 4:05 and he knew something bad had happened to Brent. He had no choice. He again tried to reach Brent. “Two calling one, come in. One, what’s your status?” Getting no response, Seven gave the order. “Abort mission, go home, you two.”

  He could see that neither Jefferson nor Fitz had moved. “Abort, that’s an order!”

  “Not without the captain,” Jefferson said.

  “Yep,” was all Fitz said.

  As loud as he was able and without being heard by the guards, Seven yelled into his headset, “Damn it, professor, do you read?”

  The tone in Seven’s voice startled Brent, causing him to come to. He quickly recovered his bearings, reached inside his wetsuit and felt for his communications device and headset. “One calling two through four, this is a go, repeat, it’s a go.”

  Seven breathed a sigh of relief and gave the signal. Jefferson and Fitzpatrick climbed up and over the wall and took out the guards in a matter of seconds. They bound and gagged their respective prey and made their way to the next point. Meanwhile, Brent reached the emergency generator and cut the backup power. He located the power to the front gate, then gave Seven the word to be seen trying to gain access through the front gate.

  “Two to one, I’ve been spotted.”

  Brent cut the wires to the front gate and gave the order. “Open and go.”

  Upon hearing the orders, Seven pushed open the front gate and rolled onto the grass for about thirty feet to the left of the entrance. It was still pitch black outside. He couldn’t be seen lying there on the grass, yet he had a totally unobstructed view of anyone coming at him. Seven first heard, then saw, three guards armed with automatic weapons coming from his right. Quickly, he put his gun sight on them and shot a dart into each one of them. They dropped before they knew what hit them. Seven heard fast-approaching footsteps to his left. He rolled to his right to give himself a few more seconds. Then, instinctively, he fired two more darts.

  “Five more pigeons put to sleep.”

  “We’re missing one,” Brent responded. “Take precaution as you make your way to the front. Thirty-four, move!”

  Fitzpatrick was positioned to act as soon as he got the signal. Hearing the captain, he threw the grappling hook and secured it on the second story balcony. He and Jefferson silently climbed the side of the house, pulling themselves up by the rope until they were on the second floor balcony. Using a glasscutter, Jefferson made a hole in the sliding glass doors big enough to get his hand through. Then he unlocked the door from the inside, which enabled them to gain entrance without the noise of shattering glass.

  “Thirty-four on target,” Fitz signaled.

  “Make your way to the door and wait for my cue,” Brent said as he slipped out of his wetsuit. He checked his weapons, then made his way to the bulkhead. With the electricity and generator back up disabled, he knew the alarm wouldn’t sound when he opened the bulkhead. Brent picked the lock and slipped into the basement unnoticed. Once there, he gave the next order.

  “Thirty-four, blow and go. Two, hold five minutes and then make your way to the third floor.” As he picked his way through the basement to the back staircase, he tripped over Sebastian who’d been rolled up in a sheet. He checked the body for a pulse, then reported to Seven, “Two, I’ve found missing pigeon. Not a threat.”

  Pulling his weapon, Brent climbed the back stairs to the first floor. He made sure the coast was clear, then entered the hallway. Remembering what Maddie had told him about her first visit to this house earlier in the week, he went to the first door on his left. It was unlocked. Brent entered it. Ferric’s office. Brent was pretty sure everyone was now on the upper floors, so he turned on the lights so he could find what he was looking for. He found the digital fax machine next to Ferric’s desk, with all the ugly facts about Maddie, ready to be sent. He removed the papers and stuffed them inside his shirt. Brent heard the explosive charges go off on the third floor and that told him Jefferson and Fitz were clearing the rooms. He heard strange voices, but that didn’t last more than a few seconds as thirty-four sedated them efficiently. Brent left the room the same way he’d entered it by shutting off the lights before he opened the door. He went back to the stairwell and ascended the stairs until he reached the third floor. He waited just inside the stairwell, out of sight, until the squad checked in. “Thirty-four to one, rooms secure.”

  “Two to one, hall secure,” Seven whispered. He was standing just outside the room where Ferric held Chloe and Maddie captive.

  “Thirty-four, bag and gag your prey and meet us in the basement.” Brent stepped out of the stairwell and joined Seven outside the door. Seven signaled for Brent to put his ear to the door and listen to what was going on inside. When he did so, he heard Ferric yelling as best he could at Maddie.

  “I want it now, Miss Smith, or she dies.”

  “I need more time. There are three steps left. If I do it too fast, I’ll blow this house and everyone in it sky high.”

  “Thomas, when I count to three, cut her throat.” Brent heard Chloe scream through some sort of gag and he lunged for the door. Seven stopped him just before his shoulder slammed into the door. Seven saw the emotion seep back into Brent’s eyes and motioned to Brent. He signaled that Brent had to think with his head and not his emotions and then he hoped his signals could penetrate Brent’s heart.

  Brent looked at Seven and saw nothingness in his eyes. He slumped down into a squat position in front of the door and prayed for composure. As he prayed, he heard Ferric yell, “One.” Rising back up he was once again the soldier he needed to be. Seven pointed to the door as if to say, “let’s move,” but Brent pointed to the where he could see the shadow of someone just inside the door who waited to ambush them. Come on, Maddie, he thought, be the agent I think you are.

  “I need more time,” Brent heard Maddie yell.

  “Two…”

  “Please, sir, just a few more minutes.”

  “…and…”

  “Wait,” Maddie screamed. “There’s a vial of it already formulated in my purse.”

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “On the table by the armoire.”

  “James, get the purse.”

  “What about the door?”

  “I think he would have made himself known by this time if he thought his girlfriend was going to die. The guards must have killed him while he was trying to find her.”

  “But, sir…”

  “No buts, bring me t
he purse now!”

  “What do you want me to do with her? Should I slice her?” Thomas said.

  Ferric looked at Chloe and, with an evil grin, said to Thomas, “No, I have a better idea. Once I drink the formula, we’ll both have our way with her, and then we’ll kill her, slowly.”

  As soon as the shadow was no longer visible, Brent counted down on his fingers, three, two, one. As he made a fist to signal go, they both broke through the door and rolled to different sides. Seven put a dart in James’ neck while in mid-roll. Brent saw that Thomas had Chloe in a compromising position, so he didn’t shoot. They both stood up and kept their weapons trained on Thomas who just smiled at them. His arm was firmly wrapped around Chloe’s neck in such a way that, even if they could shoot him, he would cut her throat as he fell backward.

  “I suggest you drop your guns, chaps, or I’ll slice her throat.”

  “He’s English?” Seven asked mockingly, “you didn’t tell me he was English. I hate that accent. Let me put one right between his lips, Captain.”

  “Hold your position, Seven. Chloe, are you okay?”

  She nodded as well as she could without cutting herself on Thomas’ knife.