by J. M. LeDuc
“Don’t get all sappy, I still have one more bit of information.”
Tag straightened up and eyed Brent.
“I had Q contact SIA who contacted the Army. It’s been arranged for you to be re-commissioned as an officer with all your privileges reinstated and if you’d like, to be assigned to SIA.”
Tag laughed a full belly laugh. “Thank you, Colonel, and yes, I would like that. I would like that a great deal.”
As they continued to speak, their conversation was interrupted by Q. “It’s zero two hundred hours, Armenian time. You have a half hour before your flight ends. It’s time you geared up and took your seats.”
“Seats? How are we going to jump if we are in our seats?” Tag asked.
“That reminds me,” Brent said. “Let me tell you about another little tweak I made to the B1-B.”
Brent explained how since the bomber had the façade of a Lear, the only form of egress other than the door was for the bottom to drop out.
A half hour later, the bottom of the Lear opened up and they dropped, seats and all, into the night sky.
CHAPTER 27
Brent, having had experience with this type of landing was first out of his seat and harness. He helped Tag unbuckle his belt and gather his gear. They hid the seats and silks, grabbed their duffle bags and backpacks, and started the fifteen-mile trek to the Khor Virap monastery.
“What’s with the guitar case?” Tag asked.
Brent looked back at Tag and grinned. “Need to know,” was all he said.
Tag rolled his eyes.
Brent changed the subject. “I want to be there in time for the first tour, just after daylight.”
Tag checked his watch. “Judging by the time and your pace, I don’t think that should be an issue,” Tag replied.
“It’s always good to be early.”
They stopped when they reached the outskirts of Artashat, the village closest to the monastery.
“We’ll stop here and use the public restroom,” Brent said. “We need to change out of our fatigues and into civilian clothing.”
Once changed, they kept walking. Brent told Tag that their destination was just a half mile north of where they were, but he didn’t get a response from the lieutenant. He thought Tag was getting tired and was lagging behind. An abrupt stoppage of movement proved him wrong. The young officer plowed into his backside.
“What the—”
Turning around, he saw Tag staring off into the distance.
Brent followed Tag’s line of sight. As the sun rose over Mount Ararat, there appeared to be a light glowing on the upper northeast side of the mountain. Although the rest of the mount’s peak was bathed in the early morning sun, one spot appeared to be illuminated in a brighter glow.
“If I didn’t know better, I would swear that was a sign from heaven,” Tag said.
Brent nodded. “I don’t think you’re mistaken, you can mark down this date and time for your first physical sign of God’s Providence. He is pointing the way to the beginning.”
As they stood admiring God’s majesty, other Christian pilgrims came up from the village. The tour group stopped and took snapshots of the sunrise, yet none of them seemed to see what Brent and Tag were looking at.
“Why aren’t they talking about the glow?” Tag whispered.
“Because they can’t see it,” Brent answered. “It is only meant for those God chooses.”
Before Tag could speak, Brent told him to get in the back of the line and blend in. They walked in unison as the tour guide told the camera happy group about the area’s history.
“When do we climb?” Tag asked. “We don’t want to lose the light.”
Brent smiled. “Like the star that led the Magi, the light will be present until it’s time for us to ascend Mount Ararat. First, we have business at the monastery.”
Reaching the outside of the monastery, Brent motioned Tag over to the side. “When the group enters the building, follow my lead. Shadow my movements.”
Without a sound or movement, he saw the eyes of a sniper stare back at him. That was all the answer he needed.
The group entered the old stone monastery as the tour guide continued to speak.
“Grigor Lusavorich was imprisoned here for thirteen years by Tridates the third, the king of Armenia,” the guide said. “After his imprisonment, Grigor became the religious consul of the king and was later known as Saint Gregory. In the year 301 CE, Armenia became the first Christian country in the known world. A chapel was originally built in 642 in memory of Gregory. A larger church and monastery were built around it and even today regular church services are held.”
The information, although interesting, was not news to Brent. He had researched Khor Virap extensively before departing Palm Cove.
When the group entered the chapel, a red rope blocked an alcove to the left. “What is beyond the rope?” asked someone in the tour.
“There are ruins under the monastery,” the guide answered.
“Will we get to see where Saint Gregory was imprisoned?” said another.
“We will at the end of the tour, but we will make our way there by a different route.”
Brent put his arm out as they approached the rope. “Lag back a bit.”
Tag nodded.
When the group had all entered the chapel, Brent and Tag jumped over the rope and headed down into the ruins.
At the bottom of the broken stone steps, the ruins became more fragile. They stood in what looked like a cave from centuries past. The further they went, the darker it became. When he thought it was safe, Brent turned on his flashlight. The illumination shown on a dust filled room. It was small, but open. Rock and debris lay everywhere.
“Watch your step.” Brent said. “Even the smallest mistake may take this place down.”
“This is like entering the Twilight Zone,” Tag said. “What do you hope to find down here?”
Brent shined the light back and forth around the open vestibule. In front of him were four passageways. He knew from his research that the monks had originally built them as a deterrent for their enemies. One led further into Khor Virap, the others were traps. He went into a deep squat, closed his eyes and dropped his head forward.
Tag watched as Brent’s shoulders and upper body went limp. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the colonel was still breathing. Brent began to sift loose gravel with his hands in a rhythmical motion. His breathing became so shallow that Tag couldn’t see his chest rise and fall.
The deeper Brent went into his subconscious, the clearer his vision became. He saw the four passageways and was able to navigate each one. Three led to death. Only one led to . . . his vision became hazy as he sensed trouble.
Quickly, he brought himself out of the trance and stood up, drawing his weapon. Tag saw him reach under his shirt for his sidearm and did the same.
“What did you see?”
“Nothing good.”
Before the words had fully escaped his mouth, they were surrounded by monks. Men wearing heavy brown robes and sandals. They were short in stature, carried staffs, and were unfazed by the fact that the two men they faced carried guns.
“We mean you no harm,” Brent said. “I have only come looking for answers.”
The monks didn’t seem to understand his words and began to close in on them. Each twirling their staff with a deft ability. Tag repeated Brent’s words in Armenian, but the monks continued to close rank. The colonel heard Tag release the safety on his semi-automatic and point it at the one who was closest. Still speaking in Armenian, he said that he didn’t want to shoot anyone and asked them to put their staffs down.
The monks began to move in synchronized movements. Each spinning their bodies one way or another, all the while twirling their staffs in a faster motion.
“Stand down,” Brent ordered
the lieutenant. “Follow my lead.” He slowly turned his pistol so he was now holding the barrel. He then squatted down and placed the weapon on the dirt floor. Tag followed orders.
From somewhere deep in the room, a question was asked. “Who is it that wanders into our midst with weapons meant to kill?”
“The guns are meant for defense, not offense,” Brent answered. “Your men move in silence. You have trained them well.”
There was no response.
Brent took a step forward. He didn’t look at Tag, but spoke to him. “Don’t move, no matter what happens. That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
He continued to move forward in a cautious manner. He didn’t stop as the staffs whizzed by his head so close he could hear the whir sound of their approach. Brent could feel the wind against his face with each pass. His head remained steady, but his eyes were in constant movement. “Who among you asked the question?”
“You have not earned the right to ask questions. I will do the asking.”
Brent heard a tapping of a staff on the ground and immediately the monks stopped their movement and held their staffs in both hands so that the wooden dowels were perpendicular to their bodies. Each staff touching the one next to it, end to end, completing a circle. Two of the clergy parted so that their leader could come forward. He was a rotund, short man whose hood lay upon his head, blackening out all facial features. He reminded Brent of Friar Tuck from “The Adventures of Robin Hood.”
“We don’t take kindly to intruders,” the monk said. “State your reasons for being here or turn and retrace your steps.”
“I come in search for meaning,” Brent replied. “I seek the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?”
Brent knew his next words would change the complexion of the conversation. He would either cause discontent among the monks or bring peace to the situation. “I am the latest of Noah’s lineage. I wish to discover the truth and find reason for what I do.”
“If you are who you say you are, you are welcome among us. If not, you will find yourself at the bad end of the staff.”
“How can I put you at ease?”
“Tell me the history of Noah’s covenant with God.”
Brent told the story of Noah and the herb of life. He told of the Enlightenment and of his fight with Satan.
Still not satisfied, the monk said, “Words are hollow, prove to me that you are who you say—prove you are The Chosen.”
Brent thought for a moment and then asked if he could open the guitar case.
“You may, but don’t do anything foolish. If you do, your friend will be dead before you can make your next move.”
Brent looked over his right shoulder, back at Tag. “Stay relaxed, Lieutenant. No harm will come to you.”
He slid his bags off his shoulder and gently placed the case on the ground. He opened it and took out the guitar that sat within. With deliberate movements, he removed the false bottom, reached in, and picked up the sheath that lay underneath. With his first touch, he could feel the power of the Sword of Truth. He held the sheath out in front of him and withdrew the sword from its place of rest. He stood in the middle of the circle of monks and held the sword by its handle. Slowly, he started to twist his wrist in slow, tight circles, allowing the sword to rotate in a vertical manner by his side. Brent then widened his stance and at the same time widened the circles made by the sword. Soon he was moving and spinning as if he was but a feather and controlled the sword with unseen dexterity.
Circling the room, he spun so fast that those watching could only see his hair flying and the glint of the steel of the sword. As he continued to move, Tag and the monks heard the sound of snapping wood, but no one dared move. When Brent finally stopped, he stood directly in front of the leader and held the sword out in front of his body in both hands. “Here is the Sword of Truth, given to me by Archangel Michael.”
“What was the sound we heard when you put on that demonstration?” asked the monk.
Brent motioned for the brothers to separate their hands. When they did, their staffs were all cut in two equal halves, all shorn by the brilliance of his moves and the sharpness of the blade.
The hooded monk stepped forward and held out his hands. “May I?”
“You may, but I must warn you, you will not be able to hold it.”
“Please.”
Knowing what would happen, Brent placed it in his hands. When he let go, the sheer weight of the sword dropped the monk to his knees and he screamed out in pain. The sword dropped and struck the ground with the sound of thunder.
The leader looked at the palms of his hands and watched them blister, burned from touching what was not his to hold. Instead of anger, the monk began to laugh even though his hands throbbed with pain.
Brent picked up the sword and with his free hand helped the man to his feet. “It’s not a real burn, just a sign to let you know the truth.”
The redness and inflammation quickly subsided along with the pain.
The brother looked at his hands and smiled. “We’ve been waiting for your arrival, Ambassador, but we thought you would come alone. Seeing you enter our home with another raised questions. Michael’s sword tells me you are who you say you are.” He waved Tag forward. “Why bring another on such a personal pilgrimage?”
“It’s what God deemed. Who am I to argue with the Lord,” Brent said.
The monk discarded his hood, revealing his face for the first time. His eyes were lined with age, but also bright with wisdom. They darted from Brent to Tag and back again. “If anyone could argue with the Lord Almighty, it would be you, my son. I’m glad to know even the Chosen has the humility to know his place.”
Brent smiled at the brother. “To be honest, I tried it once and the outcome wasn’t pretty.”
The rotund monk smiled at his response. Placing a hand on Brent’s shoulder, he asked, “Which way must we travel, Enlightened One?”
“The second opening on the right will not cause death and hopefully lead to answers.”
The brother turned and walked towards the opening. He stopped before entering and said, “Are we to call you Ambassador, or do you have a name”
“You can call me Brent. And you, Brother?”
“You may call me Gregory. Every brother in charge of the true monastery has taken the name of our founder. Come and I will show you our home.”
CHAPTER 28
Back in Palm Cove, things were in full swing. Alana’s training was going as planned. She was in amazing physical shape. She had proven herself at the range with a variety of handguns as well as other handheld weapons, such as knives and swords. Sergeant Jefferson reported that she had great reflexes and was catching on fast to the martial arts used by the squad. What impressed Seven even more were her mental capabilities and her emotional fortitude.
Maddie had administered all the psychological tests that SIA trainees were put through. Alana passed with flying colors.
The final aspect of her training was conducted by Seven, and he pulled no punches. He was there to tear her down mentally, strip away her emotions and build her back up per his needs. A soldier who could act on instinct as well as intelligence, the best of the best who could meet the needs of the Phantom Squad.
The last stage of Alana’s transformation had gone well, too well for Seven’s taste, so he decided to throw a wrench into the training. He set up a scenario where she had to decide between saving the lives of her squad members or saving the life of Faith. He fully expected her to choose Faith.
The virtual scene was set in a bombed out building. It was a timed mission. He and the rest of the squad watched from the confines of Joan’s lair where they could control the environment and the potential outcome. In the scenario, Alana had been given a cryptic message to follow. She was able to decipher the message without much trouble and entered the building with
three minutes to spare.
“She’s good,” Jefferson said.
Seven looked around the room as the others watched with admiration at the calm demeanor of their recruit.
Seven thought back to when Alana got the slip on him back in Jerusalem. He fully planned on leveling the score with this final test.
He spat in a coffee mug. “We’ll see,” was all he said.
Alana moved in complete silence through the smoke-filled warehouse. A close up of her face was on one screen so Seven could look for signs of distress—signs that she would crack under pressure. He saw nothing.
Maddie stood in the background. Arms crossed. Foot tapping. She had argued with Seven the night before over this test. She had said that it wasn’t fair, no member of the squad could make the decision he wanted.
His answer was rote. “God, country and squad before all else. That’s the way it has been since the beginning and that’s the answer I’m looking for.”
“You’re putting her in an impossible position and you know that,” Maddie had answered. “You are setting her up for failure. What good will come of that? You will tear down her confidence and make her vulnerable in future missions . . . real missions.”
Seven just stared back at his wife. “Not if she chooses correctly.”
“You’re an ass,” Maddie replied. “You’re only doing this because she showed you up in Israel.”
When Seven opened his mouth to speak, she told him to shut up and turned off the lights in their bedroom. Those were the last words they had spoken to one another.
The tapping of her foot was getting on his nerves, but Seven was too bullheaded to say anything. He didn’t even look in her direction.
Back in the warehouse, Alana faced off against four armed assassins. Two she disposed of with one headshot to each. Her last two bullets. The third man caught her off guard and jumped her from behind. She used her martial arts training and subdued the threat only to find herself face-to-face with a knife-wielding maniac. She could see from his eyes that he was high on something.