by J. M. LeDuc
CORNERSTONE
PHANTOM SQUAD SERIES
J.M. LeDuc
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2013 by J.M. LeDuc
Previously published by Suspense Magazine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle
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eISBN: 9781503929371
This title was previously published by Suspense Magazine; this version has been reproduced from Suspense Magazine archive files.
ALSO BY J.M. LEDUC
Trilogy of the Chosen:
Cursed Blessing
Cursed Presence
Cursed Days
Novella:
Phantom Squad
Phantom Squad Series:
Cornerstone
Coming Winter 2013:
Sinclair O’Malley Series
Sin: Book One
DEDICATION
First and foremost, “Cornerstone” is dedicated to God, the cornerstone of my life, for never giving up on me even when I give up on Him.
I would like to further dedicate “Cornerstone” to the people who may not be in the epicenter of my life, but without them, my life would be empty. To my father, Arthur, whose life is the example I live by and the standard I strive to achieve. My mother-in-law, Birdie Tomlin, your love and acceptance means the world to me—I love you, Mom. My lifelong friends, Tom Woodford and John Shea, who were the foundation of my youth and are still the cornerstone on which I base all friendships.
And finally, to the two women who ground my life. My wife, Sherri, you are my inspiration. You give my life meaning—I love you more every day. To my daughter, Chelsea, you have taught me to ‘fly with my own wings.’ I love you, Bella.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
None of this would not be possible without the amazing team at Suspense Publishing.
John Raab, thank you for your expertise, your leadership, and your loyalty. I couldn’t ask for a better publisher. Shannon Raab, thank you for . . . everything: your time, commitment, knowledge, skill, humor, and friendship. Starr Reina, my editor extraordinaire, thank you for your skill and for not killing me—figuratively or physically. Terri Ann Armstrong, you were and continue to be a light shining bright in all whom you touched. Thank you for sharing a tiny bit of your life with the Suspense family.
John D. Moore, thank you for your help in researching some rather obscure topics and for your and Mary Theresa’s friendship.
PRAISE FOR J.M. LEDUC
“Stunning suspense. J.M. LeDuc’s “Cornerstone” is the kind of book that will make you forget life’s obligations and have you riveted to your chair flipping pages and making you believe you’re actually an integral part of the Phantom Squad, the inner circle, protecting the President and loyal to the Ambassador to the power punched end.”
—Sandra Brannan, author of the acclaimed Liv Bergen Mystery Series
“Perfect research as always; the in-depth facts regarding history and locations are right on the money. But the descriptions, the flow of this writer’s work, allows readers to feel as if they are standing in the most revered locations on this planet. Not surprising, considering this is one of the most revered authors of our generation.
“What’s the conclusion? “Cornerstone” is a TOP PICK for 2013 when it comes to action, emotion and pure entertainment!”
—Amy Lignor, author of the Tallent & Lowery Series & The Angel Chronicles
“ “Cornerstone” is a tour-de-force political thriller and religious action-adventure steamroller, wrapped in all the fun of a TV espionage show like 24, and all the mystique of pulp adventures like ‘The Shadow.’ On top of that, LeDuc has crafted a grippingly honest and raw emotional catharsis for several characters throughout, making this one a perfect addition to the Brent Venturi series, and an excellent jumping on point for new readers.”
—Kane Gilmour, Bestselling author of “Ragnarok” and “Resurrect”
“ “Cornerstone” by J.M. LeDuc brings us back to that ragtag group that you cannot help but affectionately consider family. Here we see the Phantom Squad after the Trilogy of the Chosen and watch Brent struggle with some of the worst pain he has had to deal with yet and thus go through another painful but necessary transformation.
“Just when Brent is ready to give up, he receives a message from the divine that gives him the push he needs to finish his mission. Although there is a religious base to this book (as with the previous trilogy) it is not so overpowering as to overtake it and definitely worth reading.
“Be prepared for tears with this heart wrenching story and an ending that leaves you wondering where this tale will go next.”
—Carol “Pixie” Brearley author of The Dark Angel Trilogy
CORNERSTONE
PHANTOM SQUAD SERIES
J.M. LEDUC
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
EPILOGUE
PREVIEW: SIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
One month ago
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In one combustible moment, Brent’s life became a tumultuous cascade of happiness and horror. He had witnessed the birth of his daughter and the death of his wife.
Two weeks ago
Eight years ago, after his first encounter with the Omega Butcher, a sadistic serial killer, Brent Venturi lost his identity. Emotional and physical scars forced a sabbatical from the team he led: The Phantom Squad. It was only through the peace he had found in God and in his hometown of Palm Cove that he was able to recover from his physical and psychological injuries.
He was once again sliding back down that slippery slope of despair into a deep, depressive abyss. The place he once ran to for tranquility no longer provided comfort. He spent his days alone and his nights wandering the streets.
The nightmares that once plagued his life, the nightmares he thought were in his past, once again tore a path through his subconscious mind. It was terrifying enough when his dreams brought visions of his own torture, but now, the visions and images were different. More vivid, more personal, more terrifying. The tortured was now Chloe. His nightmares were made worse by the images of blood: so much blood, pools of blood, on her, on him
. . . everywhere.
When he did manage to fall asleep, Brent woke up in a pool of sweat and vomit, fearful that the wetness he felt was blood. Chloe’s blood.
Agony was making him less of a man and more of a weapon of mass destruction.
CHAPTER 1
Present
Seven walked with a purposeful stride down the halls of SIA headquarters which made all other three-letter intelligence agencies seem like child’s play. The sound of his footfalls as his heavy boots struck the tile floors reverberated in his ears like the base of a stereo. He heard it echo off the solid steel walls. As he walked deeper into the labyrinth, he looked up at the writing over the door that led to the inner sanctum.
We are called upon when others fail
He placed his hand on the black glass panel next to the steel door. Like all others in HQ, it worked by palmer recognition. A faint red line slid under his hand. The door’s air lock disengaged. He repeated this maneuver multiple times as he descended further into the maze, finally arriving at his destination, the security office. Joan’s lair.
Joan, an eclectic blend of bohemian and punk was Maddie Smith’s personal assistant and a self-taught computer genius. Her office was nestled in the midst of SIA’s security hub. A sea of computers and flat screen monitors filled every bit of desk and wall space. As he entered, she sat transfixed and stared at a video feed. The monitor she was glued to took up one entire wall and was embedded in three feet of concrete and steel.
“How long has he been there?” Seven asked.
Joan turned just long enough to acknowledge his arrival. “I arrived at o-eight hundred hours. The security clock shows he’s been there since…”
“O-five hundred.” Seven finished her sentence.
It had been the same pattern for the past ten days.
He stood behind her and watched Brent in the armory. Seven, like all of those close to Brent, was showing the signs of stress. In the past weeks, wrinkles from age crept into his face, like dried fissures on barren land.
He blinked the sleeplessness from his eyes. “Can you roll the tape back to when he arrived?”
“I can, but nothing has changed. Brent is still anal—a man of pattern.”
Seven reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out his tobacco tin. Watching the screen, he tapped the lid, shook loose the tobacco, and placed it between his lower lip and gums.
Joan looked at him, rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Much like yourself.”
Seven smirked and spit in his empty coffee cup. “Oblige an old man,” he drawled, “and run the tape.”
“Yes, sir.” Joan reached over with her left hand, nimbly fingered the keyboard, and brought up the tape.
“Finally, a woman who will listen to me.”
“I hope that wasn’t meant for me.”
They both turned and saw Maddie standing in the doorway. Maddie Smith was the director of the SIA and Seven’s wife. As always, everyone’s eyes were glued to her—she was stunning. A voluptuous redhead who knew how to draw attention from both sexes. She embodied a 1950’s movie starlet.
“Good morning, Darlin,” Seven smiled.
“Good morning, Madam Director,” Joan said.
Her piecing emerald green eyes focused on Joan. “Why so formal this morning?”
Joan shrugged. “Everything seems so formal since . . .” her eyes moistened, “you know.”
Maddie’s voice took on a saddened tone. She stood behind Joan, lightly rubbed her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, I know, but I would feel better if you went back to calling me Maddie, or Mom, or the ‘B’ word that you mumble under your breath from time to time.”
Joan wiped her tears and sniffed. “And what word would that be?”
“Beautiful,” Maddie joked.
A partial smile surfaced on Joan’s lips. “Oh, that ‘B’ word. Right.”
“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in weeks. It feels good.” She looked at Seven expecting a sarcastic comeback, but he was glued to the screen. The look in her husband’s eyes made her shiver. “What is it?”
“It’s Brent’s eyes. They’re blank. Emotionless. It’s as if he were on a squad mission.”
“Is that so bad?” Joan said. “Isn’t that the way you all look when you’re engaged in training?”
Pointing to the monitor, Seven said, “This is different. Look at his jugular veins. His eyes may be expressionless, but the rest of him is about to snap.”
Maddie drew in a deep breath as she watched the monitor. Blowing it out, she knew what she had to do. “We can’t put the inevitable off any longer. Call the directorate and the Phantom Squad to a meeting at thirteen hundred hours and Seven,” she waited for him to acknowledge her. “Get him there.”
CHAPTER 2
Seven continued to stand next to Joan and watch what was happening on the screen. Brent Venturi was not only his best friend but also his superior. He was the leader of the Phantom Squad, a group made up of the five best soldiers regardless of which branch of the armed forces they were assigned or whether they were even in the U.S. military.
Seven sucked hard on his lower lip. He pulled as much nicotine as possible from the tobacco as he thought back over the past four weeks.
Brent had been through hell over the past twenty-eight days.
Seven squinted and pulled in his lower lip with more force, tasted the mint-flavored tobacco and spit in the empty cup. With a deep cleansing breath, he turned and exited the room. He couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer.
Brent heard the footsteps in the hall outside the armory as he reloaded his Spring Armory 1911-A1 handgun. He knew it was Seven by the sound of his footfalls, just like he knew every other SIA employee by the sound of their steps. He also knew them by their breathing pattern, the sounds they made when they chewed, and any of their other ‘tells.’
Brent’s eyes, hollow from a lack of sleep, made the slightest glance towards the door. “Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there and watch?”
Seven walked forward and held a cup of black coffee at arm’s length. Brent hesitated to take it.
After a few seconds, he put his gun and ammo clip down and reached for the cup, making eye contact for the first time. “You didn’t brew this, did you? I don’t think I could make it to the closest bathroom.”
Seven’s laugh was phlegm filled. He didn’t answer, just maintained his position. Brent’s body language didn’t change. His words may have been light and sarcastic, but the rest of him said, ‘go time.’
“Are you sure you didn’t spit in this one?”
Seven smiled a tobacco-filled smile. “Tha
t’s what makes it fun. You want to believe, but you never know.” He spit in his ever-present cup. “It’s like second hand smoke, only a little different.”
A smile tried to make its way to Brent’s face. It crept up like a slow rolling wave about to crest dry sand, but then it was gone. It was as if a smile or a momentary second of happiness would blaspheme the mourning he felt for his wife.
Seven released the clip from his own gun, checked the ammo, replaced it and pulled back the slide chambering a bullet. “Game on?” he asked.
Brent nodded. “Head or heart?”
Seven spit. “Let’s make it interesting. I’ll take the left shoulder, you take the right.”
Brent put on his safety glasses and ear protection. Seven did the same.
Brent flashed back to his squad training.
Seven, the squad’s training officer was a man of few words, so when he spoke you had better be listening. He wasn’t one to repeat himself and he didn’t take kindly to his men screwing up. The trainees had just been whittled down from four to three. Private Jensen, a muscle-bound, anger-filled ‘roid’ head had just been dismissed from training for not keeping his emotions in check.
Seven paced the lone airplane hangar at the base of the Teton Mountains. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, emotions will get you killed on the battlefield.” His words were garbled due to a mouth full of tobacco juice. His spit cup was missing from his left hand. “Soldier,” he said, staring at Lieutenant Venturi, “pass me the cup by the wall.”
Brent looked around and saw an old metal, military issued coffee mug about twenty feet away. “Yes, sir,” he answered. He was about to take a step when Seven stopped him.