by J. M. LeDuc
With each exhalation he tried to relax his muscles. He knew the shivers and spasms were his body’s way of physiologically trying to stay warm. He needed to figure out a way to fight nature. To fight against self-preservation.
One sense at a time, he thought. Hearing should be easiest. Using everything he had been taught, he concentrated on suppressing all his senses, after hearing came sight. Prying open his eyes, he saw . . . nothing.
Now the hard part. Feeling. Bottom up, just like I was trained. He immersed himself to the task at hand. Soon, he was able to uncurl his toes as they began to relax. Working his way up, he did the same with his feet, legs, torso, fingers, hands, arms and finally his face.
His body fell forward as all feeling left him and he found himself face-down in the ice and snow. No sound, sight or feeling. A different type of darkness engulfed him. The darkness that came with death. With great concentration, he was able to control and slow his breathing and heart rate. It was then that he heard the voice of the Lord.
“Why have you come?”
“I needed to return to where it all began. The beginning.”
“Why?”
“Knowledge. Understanding.”
“Of?”
“My life,” Brent said.
“That is only for God to know. Again I ask,” said the Lord, “why have you come?”
Frustration and sorrow filled Brent’s words. “Because I have nowhere else to turn. I can’t do this by myself. I need your help.”
“And you are willing to forget everything you know and start anew?”
“Yes.”
“Is that the only reason you came?”
Brent lay prostrate at the feet of the Almighty. “No, I have come to ask for forgiveness.”
“What is your confession?”
“I blamed you for Chloe’s death, but I know that I’m the only one who was at fault.”
“Look at me,” the Lord said.
Brent lifted his head from the ice. He stared into a bright light and turned away from it.
“Look into the Light, my brother.”
It took all the inner strength he had, but Brent looked into the Light; into the face of his Lord. He tried to block out the feeling, but it burned. It burned deeper than anything he had ever felt before. He again tried to look away, but the hands of Jesus stopped him.
“You are not at fault,” He said. “The world you live in is as much Satan’s as it is mine. He, and he alone, is at fault for Chloe’s death. Do you understand?”
Brent clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’m trying.”
“Go back and learn from those you have sought. Use what they have been given. Only then will you be able to begin to understand. Only then will you be able to help those closest to you.”
Brent began to hear the voices of Brother Gregory and Tag. The Light began to dim. “Wait, don’t leave, I . . .”
“All will be revealed in time. You are forgiven.”
Brent felt himself regain consciousness. He took a couple of deep breaths and opened his eyes. He saw . . . nothing. My eyes must still be closed, he thought. He once again tried to open them and realized that they were already open—wide open.
“Oh my God,” Tag said. His voice barely audible, hoarse with fear.
Brent brought his hands to his eyes. He was able to touch his fingers to his eyeballs. The pressure caused tears to run down his cheeks. He heard the voices of Tag and Brother Gregory, but couldn’t see them. He saw nothing.
In a hushed tone, the old monk said, “He has seen the eyes of God.”
Tag was now more confused. “What are you talking about?”
“His eyes, they are white where there once was color, it is a sign from God.”
Gregory grazed his fingers across Brent’s eyelids, closing them in the process.
Brent dropped his head in anguish. “It’s a sign.”
Tag’s voice rose in pitch and volume, reflecting his anger. “A what?” His voice grew louder. “Stop talking in riddles. What the hell are you saying?”
Brent spoke with a voice resolute of knowledge. “My eyes. My loss of vision is a sign from God, for both of us to put our faith in Him.”
Brother Gregory placed his hand on Brent’s arm and helped him to his feet. “This changes nothing. You have come here for answers and those answers begin with the learning of the staff as a method of defense.”
Brent nodded his understanding.
“I have chosen two of our finest men to assist you in your training.” Brent heard two brothers step forward. “For today and until I feel you are ready, you will listen to and follow your instructors as they go through the rudimentary use of the staff. Once I see that you have learned what is necessary, you will be instructed in how to form a staff from a tree. A tree that you will choose from the sacred mount.”
Tag’s anger escalated. “How is the colonel supposed to learn how to use the staff if he can’t see what the monks are showing him? Answer me that one, O wise one.”
His sarcasm was not lost on those around him. He went to push the brother.
“Don’t,” Brent said.
All eyes shifted to Brent. “Don’t what?” Tag said.
“Shove him. Don’t shove him.”
Tag’s voice quieted to a whisper. A smile broke through his confusion and frustration. “You can see?”
Brent’s expression now showed the same confusion as his companion’s. “No, I . . . I felt it.”
“You what? You felt it?” Tag’s voice was now barely audible. “What does that mean?”
Brent felt for a chair. Sitting, he placed his head in his hands. “I don’t know what it means, I just did.” He then began to tell the others of his vision. “When I was meditating, I found myself on Ararat. A place I had been before . . .”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tag fumed. “Are talking about that vision you had?”
Brent nodded.
“But it was just a dream.” Tag’s voice rose in frustration. “How can you physically be impaired from a damn dream?”
Brent ignored Tag’s outburst and directed his words towards Gregory. “When I was there, this time, I was told to have patience. To forget all I had been taught before and to learn from you and the brothers of Khor Virap.” He lifted his head toward Tag. “That message was for both of us. We need to block out, to forget, our military training and learn what the brothers have to teach us. It is the only way.”
Tag slapped the wall with the palm of his hand. “Stop with the freaking riddles! Only way to what?”
Brent began to match Tag’s emotion with his own. “To help those who need us,” he yelled. “To stay alive!”
CHAPTER 36
Joan woke to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and Alana and Scarlet sitting at the kitchen table talking.
“How long have you two been up?” Joan asked, wiping the sleepers from her eyes.
“We’re working on our second pot if that gives you any idea,” Scarlet said.
“That long? It was a late night, what woke you up so early?”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t know. Sit down and join us. You have some splainin’ to do, Lucy.”
Joan swallowed hard. She poured herself a cup and took a seat. “What would you like to know?”
“You can start by telling us where Brent is?” Alana said.
Joan cupped her hands around her mug. “I don’t know.”
“But last night you received a message from him.”
Joan looked up at Alana and then at Scarlet. “Before Brent left, he asked me for my help. He told me he would be leaving and that he would send a video each day for Faith to watch. He was afraid she would forget who he was.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He wouldn’t tell me where he was going.”
“He didn’t give you any clue?” Alana asked.
Joan shook her head. “That’s all he would tell me.”
“The squad knows none of this? Not even Seven?”
Joan looked over at Scarlet. “He made me promise not to tell anyone. Brent knew Seven would follow him.”
“And now?” Scarlet asked.
Joan stared into the eyes of her friends. “And now, the two of you will keep this conversation and the videos secret.” Scarlet opened her mouth, but Joan cut her off and pointed to each of them. “If you tell a soul, I will rain misery into your lives.”
Alana threw her hair back and pointed her finger at Joan when Scarlet interrupted. “Trust me, Alana,” she said, “she may be little, but she is capable of backing up her words.”
Alana took the cue and kept her mouth shut.
The conversation continued for the next half hour. They moved on from the topic of Brent’s secrets to what had occurred the previous night on the beach. Alana seemed at peace as she reiterated what had happened. Joan hated to admit it, but Seven was right. The emotional purging had done wonders. Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Joan’s cell phone.
“It’s Maddie,” she mouthed. Her expression became more solemn, the more she listened. The other two were glued to her half of the discussion which consisted of ‘yeses’ and ‘I understands.’
“What was that all about?” Scarlet said.
“The president wants to move up his departure date. He plans on leaving for the Mid-East in four weeks. We need to get to headquarters on the double.”
CHAPTER 37
Falcon stood in the catacombs of al-Qal. He was involved in a phone conversation with his Pentagon contact. A dark smile twisted his features as he listened. When his contact finished speaking, Falcon said, “I owe you a steak dinner when I return.” He looked at Omar who was waiting anxiously for the call to end and said, “Or maybe my new friend will give you forty-four virgins as payment.” A phlegm filled laugh filled the cavernous ruins as he listened to his reply.
Omar glared at the American’s disrespect.
Falcon hung up the phone and eyed the old man. “I’m gunna enjoy spending your money.”
Omar drummed his fingers on the table. “Don’t spend what you have not earned. What were you told?”
“It seems President Dupree wants to move up his trip. He leaves in four weeks.”
The drumming intensified. “That doesn’t give us much time.”
“That’s the point.” Falcon cleared his throat and spit on the ground. “It doesn’t give his security team much time either. They can’t secure all the locations in that period of time. The fool just dealt us the hand we’ve been waiting for.”
“We still don’t know where the president will visit,” Omar said.
“That’s where you’re wrong, old man.”
Omar’s brow furrowed.
“We don’t know all of his plans, but we know the most important part. He’s making Alpha Camp his last stop. The same place where your boys infiltrated and killed those soldiers last year.”
Omar smiled. “This is good news. How do you suggest we act?”
“My source tells me there are fifty-six men stationed at Alpha. We need double that amount to mount an appropriate attack.”
Omar seemed reticent. “That’s a lot of men.”
“We need ‘em,” Falcon said. “Alpha has been on high alert since the attack. Once we take control of the camp, our men will have to impersonate the soldiers.” He thought for a moment. “We will need members of the Brotherhood that look American. We can’t have anyone who even slightly looks Mid-Eastern to take their place.”
Omar nodded in agreement. “The Brotherhood is vast and our members are from all nationalities. I will assemble the men needed.”
“I need them to meet me in the Afghani hills. Some place that resembles the terrain of Alpha Camp in order to train them on the attack and to teach them how to act like U.S. soldiers.”
“Done. What else is needed?” Omar asked.
The American didn’t even hesitate before speaking. “The rest of the Brotherhood needs to rendezvous at the same point in the mountains as your last conclave.”
Omar shook his head. “You are asking for a lot. You expect me to place the entire Brotherhood at risk? To gather them all in one place? What for?”
Falcon stood nose-to-nose with Omar. “You think your little group is so strong. Next to al-Qaeda your numbers are weak.”
Omar pulled at his own beard, his complexion grew crimson.
Falcon smirked at the old man’s gesture. “You want to show the world how strong the Brotherhood of Gaza is? That’s gonna take some shock value. If we show the world a thousand unified, armed rag-heads,” he poked Omar in the chest, “then you will have the world at your mercy. The more fear you instill in the free world, the faster the American government will send the best to try to rescue Dupree. They will send the Phantom Squad.” The American smirked. “Then we can both get some satisfaction.”
“Our satisfaction?” Omar asked.
Falcon jerked his head from side to side eliciting a ‘cracking’ noise. “You can find out the location of your beloved arks and kill Venturi on worldwide television and I can put a bullet in the little punk who ruined my military carrier.”
Omar paced as he absorbed his ally’s words. He stopped in front of him. Close enough to smell his sweat. “I’ll get word out to the Brotherhood.”
Falcon nodded.
“And you will get us as much information as possible.”
Falcon stood to leave. The sheik gripped his arm and pulled him back down. “If you ever poke me again or speak to me with disrespect, I will personally cut off your manhood and shove it down your throat.” He released the man’s arm. “We meet again in two days to finalize our plans.”
Falcon began to walk away.
“This show of strength you demand of the Brotherhood; you had better be right, or it will mean your life,” Omar said.
“If I’m wrong,” Falcon said, “it will mean all of our lives.” He turned and walked out of the ruins.
CHAPTER 38
A video conference with the president was underway as Seven paced back and forth in the front of the conference room. He reached for his tobacco tin, but it wasn’t in his back pocket. He chewed on his lower lip like a smoker would chew Nicorette gum. “This changes everything,” he said. “Explain to me again why you have to move up your trip.”
“Do I need to remind you which one of us is the president?”
Seven was pacing like a caged lion. He hated being the one who had to try to talk sense into President Dupree. “I haven’t forgotten, sir. It’s just that I’ve always known you to be a rational man. And while we’re reminding each other what our jobs are, do I have to remind you who is in charge of making sure you stay alive during this little photo excursion?”
The president slammed his open palm on the Eisenhower desk. “That’s enough! I won’t be disrespected by you or anyone else under my command.”
Seven stopped and faced the video monitor. “I mean no disrespect, but I wasn’t hired for my diplomacy skills.”
“You should be thankful,” President Dupree replied. “You’d be lucky to make minimum wage based on that skill set.” The antique chair John Dupree sat in, creaked as he leaned away from his desk and stood. “To answer your question, while I was going over my itinerary, I realized I would be out of the country on a date of personal importance. I moved up the trip in order to be back on time.”
Seven looked away and discretely glanced at Scarlet.
She mouthed, “Don’t ask,” in his direction.
He stepped to the side of the room where there was a video blind spot and motioned to Maddie to have Scarlet write down what she was talking about. While he waited for the info
rmation, he continued the conversation.
“John,” he said, trying a more personal approach, “nothing can be more important than the safety of the Commander and Chief of the free world. This change in schedule only makes you more vulnerable.” The next words poured from his lips before he could stop them. “No date is that important.”
The president’s face turned as red as the stripes in the flag behind his desk. “Don’t tell me what is important in my life and what isn’t.” His voice rose in tone along with his frustration. “Where the hell is Venturi when I need him?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Seven mumbled.
Maddie handed him Scarlet’s note.
The date he is talking about is the anniversary of my mother’s death. My father has never missed going to her grave on that date. Trying to talk him out of it will only make him angrier.
Seven fisted the paper, crumpling it in his grip. “Although I don’t understand your reasoning, I will abide by your wishes,” he said. “Maddie and I will speak to Tim Matthews,” Seven said referring to the head of the head of the Secret Service’s advanced detail, “and work out the arrangements. The one change I insist on is that the squad and I will personally accompany you to Alpha Camp.”
The president sat back down behind his desk with a resigned look on his face. “If you think that’s necessary, I will agree.”
“One more thing, Mr. President,” Seven said.
“And that is?”
“I need you to keep that bit of information secret. No one is to know that the Phantom Squad will be with you.”
The president leaned forward in his chair. “Why?”
“Because,” Seven said, “we don’t exist. I don’t care how good the Secret Service is or how highly trained the SIA agents are that will accompany you to your other destinations. If any of them catch wind that the squad is real, tongues will wag.”