by J. M. LeDuc
“He . . . he needs you.” He waited for a response, but all he got was dead air. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, but . . .” The words were soft and muffled. It sounded like she was choking down tears as she spoke. “Me? I tried to call him after everything happened. I felt somehow responsible since my husband was part of the Brotherhood.”
There was an awkward pause and the bishop shifted his weight in trepidation.
“He didn’t return any of my calls or text messages. I would think I would be the last person he would want to see.”
Not knowing what to say, the bishop blurted, “He missed you at the funeral.”
“He told you that?”
“Not exactly, but . . .”
“But what? What exactly did he say?”
“Well, he didn’t actually say anything. After the funeral, he scanned the crowd, I got the impression he was looking for you.”
“So this is all a hunch? A wild hunch.”
“Let’s call it intuition,” the bishop said.
“Male intuition, that’s comforting.”
“Please. This may not make sense, but I know Brent. Come to Palm Cove. Your presence will help.”
Again, silence engulfed the conversation.
“I’ll think about it. I can’t handle the rejection right now.”
The bishop stopped pacing. “This isn’t about you. It’s about our friend who needs our help—your help.”
She sighed heavily and said, “I’ll think about it and call you back.”
“Do more than think about it. Pray about it and listen to what God tells you.”
The line went dead.
Halfway around the world, Alana hung up the phone. Her hand was trembling. She didn’t know if she could bear to see Brent without falling apart. They had grown close during the quest to find the Ark of the Covenant. She had fallen in love. She placed a shawl over her head covering her long, dark hair, gathered her prayer book and headed to the local synagogue.
CHAPTER 6
Since Brent had anticipated the outcome of this morning’s meeting, he had already cleared out his office. He had spent the past few nights copying all pertinent materials, including the software on his computer. With Joan’s help, all of his security software was loaded on a new laptop and on an untraceable smart phone. He had moved everything to his Endowment office in the secret room behind the wall in the library.
The Palm Cove Public Library was originally owned by the Venturi family and when built, a false wall was designed adjacent to the head librarian’s office. The secret room was also attached to the Endowment tunnel system which ran beneath the city.
He, too, had been busy changing codes. No one other than Joan and himself would be able to gain access to the room, either by way of the door behind the bookcase or the tunnel entrance. Two could play at this game.
He sat behind his desk at HQ, looking at his wedding picture when he heard someone knock on the door. “It’s open.”
The door slowly opened and a teary eyed Joan stood at the threshold. “May I come in?”
A grin creased his face. It felt foreign. “You know better than to even ask that question. You are always welcome.”
Joan stepped, as if on broken glass, into the bare room. Brent met her halfway and she threw her arms around him and wept like a baby.
Brent squeezed, holding her tight. His thoughts drifted back to the details that had brought Joan into his life.
She had been like a daughter to him ever since the day he and Seven went to Washington D.C. and rescued her from what seemed to be an FBI lynch mob. Joan’s mom, Monica, was the Pentagon liaison between the government and the Phantom Squad. She was one of the heroes that perished in the Pentagon bombing on September 11, 2001.
Two days later, Joan stabbed and killed the bastard that was her stepfather. He had been sexually abusing her since the age of nine. That night, too drunk to follow through with his desires, he beat her unconscious. She woke and found the strength to end the horror once and for all. She was sixteen.
The FBI had her locked up in a room and were drilling her as if she was a criminal, not treating her like a victim. Brent and Seven changed all that. Strings were pulled, charges were dropped and Joan was on a flight with Brent to her new home in Palm Cove within the hour. Seven was on a flight with the FBI agents to a backwater outpost, a post they still occupy.
Brent gave Joan the space she needed, but always kept a careful eye on her. He let her mourn in her own time and only spoke of what happened when she brought it up. A deep respect between them developed into a parental love.
Still crying, Joan began talking, choking back tears. “I couldn’t raise my hand, you don’t deserve to be treated like this. There was not one person in that room whose life you have not saved more than once. I . . .”
Brent held her at arm’s length and wiped the green and pink bangs away from her beautiful face. “I would have done the same thing if the shoe were on the other foot. I would have lost respect for Maddie if she came to any other conclusion.”
Questions flooded her mind. “Where will you go? What will you do now?”
“I will do what God wants me to do.”
Joan was surprised to hear him use God’s name. Since Chloe’s death, Brent made it clear that he had lost his faith. “God?”
“Yeah, God.”
Prying for information, Joan didn’t let up. “And what does He want you to do?”
Brent shook his head. “I’m not sure. I only know what He has revealed to me. I know I have to go back to the beginning to make this right, to try to make sense of what has happened.”
Joan wiped the snot from under her nose with her shirt sleeve. “The beginning? Where’s that? What does that mean?”
He handed her a tissue and waited for her to blow her nose. She tried to hand it back to him.
Reaching for it, he had second thoughts. “Nice,” he said. “Thanks, but no thanks.” His eyes moved towards the waste basket.
She tossed it away while laughing in a congested, wheezy kind of way. “Seriously, Brent, what do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I’m really not sure. I’ll step blindly.”
There was no response of any consequence, so Joan changed the subject. “Everything you have asked for has been completed.”
“Thank you.”
“Will I see you again?”
Brent smiled as he lovingly placed his wedding picture in his backpack. “Every day.”
The answer seemed to appease Joan, at least for the time being.
“Will you be at the house tonight?” he said.
“It’s the baby’s one month birthday,” she smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“In that case,” Brent kissed her on the top of her head, “I’ll see you at eighteen hundred hours at mom and dad’s.”
CHAPTER 7
Brent spent the rest of the day in the Endowment office going over ancient maps of Turkey, Armenia and the Khor Virap Monastery. He hadn’t told Joan, but he did know where he was going, at least where he would begin his journey. He was going to leave before dawn of the following day for the monastery that sat at the base of Mount Ararat: the biblical resting place of Noah’s Ark.
It was the beginning, the beginning of a covenant between God and Noah. A secret covenant known as The Endowment. It had been kept by one man of every generation. One who was of the highest moral and ethical fortitude. One who was known as The Ambassador. Brent was this generation’s chosen.
He was going over what little information he had on the monastery when his squad phone rang. “Colon . . . Brent speaking,” he corrected.
“It’s Maddie,” she said in a tentative voice. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I checked your office shortly after the meeting, but you were gone. In fact, ev
erything is gone.”
“It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was coming. I knew what conclusion you and the directorate would come to. I left you little choice.”
“So, you’re not mad?”
“No, I’m not mad,” Brent laughed, “I would be if you came to any other decision. You did the right thing. I would have done the same, I just would have pulled the plug earlier.”
“I have some papers I need you to sign. Tell me where you are and I’ll bring them to you.”
Smooth, he thought. “I’m out running around, but I’ll be at the house later. Will you and Seven be there tonight? Lucille insists on throwing a one month party for the baby.”
“We’ll be there. Eighteen hundred hours on the nose.”
“Good, I’ll sign them then.” Neither spoke for a couple of seconds until Brent said, “By the way, tell Seven to spit quieter when listening in on our conversation.”
Brent could hear Seven’s laughter.
“I’ll work on that,” Seven said. “And by the way, you’re still a Colonel. Your rank hasn’t changed.”
Brent thought about his upcoming trip. Not yet anyway. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said. “Hey, do me a favor and tell everyone to be there on time. Then again, I’m sure they already know.”
The speakerphone in the conference room went dead. Everyone that had been at the morning meeting was seated around the table. “I swear,” Maddie said, “he has the entire world bugged. How could he know where we were? Or who was here?”
Maddie’s expression was wrought with frustration. It had been a tough day. Hearing Maddie voice her feelings was somehow cleansing to everyone.
Seven stood up. There was a look of concern in his expression.
“What is it, Sev?” Scarlet asked. Scarlet was the newest member of the Phantom Squad and the president’s daughter.
He sucked hard on his lower lip as if the answers might be hidden somewhere in the tobacco. “Something ain’t right,” he drawled. “Brent’s been on edge ever since Chloe died. Today, we give him the worst news possible, and all of a sudden he sounds better?” He spit his juice and his worries into his cup. “He’s up to something.”
Everyone nodded, yet no one voiced an opinion. They were a collective black hole.
Maddie stood beside her husband. “The way this day has gone, I don’t even want to imagine what Brent is thinking.” She looked around the table. “But you heard him. Be there on time.” She glanced around one more time. Her heart was heavy. The table seemed empty without Brent and Chloe. “You’re all dismissed.”
Seven saw Joan typing at demonic speed. “Did you get a trace on the line?”
“No, sir.” She slammed her laptop closed. “Brent bounced his phone signal off of so many satellites, the point of origin still hasn’t reached us.”
Seven spit. “Thank god, he’s still thinking like the colonel.”
CHAPTER 8
Brent wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror and looked at his reflection. He could see the scars through a month’s worth of beard growth. Still wrapped in a towel from his shower, he pushed his long, dark hair away from his face. He gave thought to shaving, but didn’t think for long. “The beard stays for now,” he mumbled. He looked again at the scars. There was a time, especially after he left the squad following his encounter with the Butcher when he hated what they represented. Now, it was different. Each one reminded him of a different slice in his life.
He grabbed an elastic band and secured his hair in a ponytail. He never liked the idea of one, but his little girl changed all that. When he held her, she would grab hold of his hair in a death grip. It was either the ponytail or cut it off. Tail won.
At the top of his hairline, the faintest of scars was barely visible. A run in with a coral reef at the age of twelve while surfing. Touching it, he thought back to that fateful day.
He had worn a ball cap and feigned being ill when it was time for dinner. He knew his grandfather didn’t allow hats at the table. He wasn’t afraid his grandfather would be angry, he just didn’t like disappointing him.
The surfboard was new. Only a week old. A birthday present. Now it was in two pieces. Not cool.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” his grandfather asked.
“Nothing bad, just a little stomach ache,” Brent answered.
“Come into the kitchen, I’ll give you something to make it feel better.”
Dejected and guilty, Brent opened the pantry door and squealed with elation. Leaning up against the wall was a brand new board. He reached out and ran his hand down the fiberglass.
Brent turned to his grandfather. “How did you know?”
“You should know by now, nothing goes on in this town I don’t hear about.”
Brent’s parents had supposedly died when he was just two. His grandfather was the only parent he remembered and he didn’t like letting him down.
His grandfather put his fingers under Brent’s chin and raised his head. “You never have to feel shame with the people who love you. No matter what happens, you can always count on me being in your corner. Got that, buddy?”
Brent’s eyes welled up as he threw his arms around his grandfather’s waist. “I’m sorry, Gramps. It’s just that I know how much you paid for that surfboard and I was afraid you would be mad.”
“Did you break it on purpose?”
Brent shook his head with vigor. “No, I would never do that.”
“It was an accident?” his grandfather asked.
Brent nodded.
“So why then would I be mad?”
Brent knew he had to come clean. He looked away from the man he admired most. He didn’t want to see his expression when he told the truth.
“I was with Sam and Chris out at the Pointe.”
Fisherman’s Pointe was a rock and coral filled jetty where the waves had a tendency to dump instead of roll. Brent knew it was off limits.
Jake knew Sam and Chris were actually Samantha and Christine, two girls a grade or two older than his grandson. Now the picture was clear. “Leave the board and come with me,” he said.
Brent followed his grandfather into his office.
“Have a seat.” Gramps lifted his pipe out of the onyx ashtray and packed it with a vanilla smelling tobacco. “I’m going to tell you a secret that I have never told anyone before.”
Brent sat a bit taller in the chair when he heard his grandfather’s words.
His grandfather stalled long enough to flick his brass lighter open and light his pipe in one smooth motion. Exhaling, he put the pipe down. “When I was fifteen,” he smiled, “I got my first vehicle. Your great grandfather gave me his old pickup truck. I was so excited to get that truck. I had just learned to drive and knew I wasn’t allowed unless my daddy was with me.” Inhaling again, he leaned back in his chair, lifted his head and slowly let out the smoke.
Brent watched the smoke leave his mouth in a single line. When it reached the ceiling, it spread out in an ever increasing pattern until it disappeared.
“Like that smoke,” his grandfather said, “we know we’re supposed to walk a straight path, but sometimes life puts things in our way that change what happens.” He slapped the back of his pipe with the palm of his hand, emptying the ash in the onyx tray. “For me, it was a pretty little blond named Mary.” His face lit up as he remembered her. “I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I took her for a ride in the truck.”
Brent leaned forward in his chair. Gramps never spoke of his past, so he didn’t want to miss a word.
“We were almost back home when my dad drove right past me. I got nervous and hit the mailbox turning into the drive.”
Anticipation was painted in Brent’s expression. “What happened?” he asked.
“My dad calmly stood the mailbox back up, got in the truck with us, and tol
d me to drive Mary home.” Gramps shook his head, yet his eyes smiled at his grandson. “I was never so nervous in my life. When we got back home, my dad looked over at me and grinned. He said that women will make you do stupid things all your life. We just need to pick and choose when to be stupid.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“The guilt I felt for disobeying him was punishment enough.” He leaned forward. “Do you get what I’m telling you, boy?”
A young Brent nodded. “Yes, sir, I do.”
“Good, then this matter is closed.”
Brent looked at the scar intently. His first lesson on the opposite sex. It certainly wouldn’t be his last.
He packed his duffle bag with essentials and left his room to go be with his daughter.
Lucille, his mother, was feeding her and talking gibberish to the porcelain skinned beauty. She saw her son walk in and said, “Would you like to finish? I still have some final arrangements to make before our guests arrive.”
Brent nodded and held out his hands. He looked at his daughter with unconditional love. She looked back up with big brown eyes and opened her mouth around the nipple in a drool-filled smile. She stopped sucking and reached up for his hair. When she couldn’t grab it, a quizzical look shone in her eyes. Brent held her and the bottle with one hand and untied the ponytail.
“Is this what you’re reaching for?”
She grabbed hold, her lips turned upward and her eyes closed as she began to again suck hungrily on the bottle.
CHAPTER 9
Everyone arrived promptly at seven p.m. They all ate and drank as if famished. It was something to do, so they wouldn’t have to talk to Brent. The guests, the soldiers under the his command and the members of the SIA directorial board, tried to act as if nothing had changed, but nobody could get Chloe or this morning’s proceedings out of their minds.