Cornerstone (Phantom Squad Series Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  President Dupree smiled. “You’re thinking more like Venturi already. Thank you, Seven. Thank all of you. Now, if everyone will excuse us, I would like a few moments in private with my daughter.”

  “John,” Maddie said, “one more thing before we leave.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Have your people had any luck tracing Brent’s or Lieutenant Achak’s whereabouts?”

  The president sighed. “I’m afraid not. Joan had more luck than we did. My people lost his scent in St. Augustine. Somehow, she was able to trace him to Arlington National Cemetery. After that he went totally off the grid.”

  Maddie stared at Joan. She squinted and twisted her lips. “Do you have anything you would like to add?”

  Joan didn’t miss a beat. “No, Madame Director. I have the mainframe and the encryption software running twenty-four seven. Brent will make contact sooner or later and when he does, I’ll trace him. He’s not that good of a techie.”

  “If that’s all, Maddie,” said the president, “I’m crunched for time and need a few minutes with my daughter.”

  The directorate cleared the room and left Scarlet sitting at the conference table. Now it was just father and daughter.

  “I’ve scheduled a memorial service for your mom. It would mean the world to me if you were there.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “Nothing could keep me away. I’ll be there.” There was a moment of awkward silence before she continued. “Dad, why is this trip so important to you? The security issues are a nightmare.”

  Her father once again began to pace the Oval Office. “I know it doesn’t seem to make any sense, but deep in my soul, I have a need to be there. The men and women who serve our great nation are under severe duress. The chain of command over there has been breaking down for months. Soldiers have lost their trust in their leaders and there has been a great deal of turmoil within individual units.”

  “But . . .”

  “I need them to know that the Commander and Chief is in their corner and that I understand their doubts and fears. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

  Scarlet knew her father better than anyone else and she knew there was something he wasn’t saying. She pressed the issue. “It’s me you’re talking to, Dad. What aren’t you telling me?”

  The president walked to the credenza and poured himself a glass of water. He lifted it to his mouth and began to chew on an ice cube. It was another ‘tell’ that he was holding back. “My Chief of Staff and the Secretary of Homeland Security have found a mole somewhere in the Pentagon, but they can’t pin him down. Every effort made to flush him out has failed. It is their opinion and mine that this trip is the only way to find the leak and plug it for good.”

  “Send someone else, someone more . . . expendable.”

  “It has to be me. We know he has been selling intel to Hezbollah and other terrorist organizations. Homeland Security feels this is the only way to flush him out and I agree.”

  The president could see Scarlet biting the inside of her cheek—a sign of her pent up anger. “That’s why I have enlisted the Strategic Intelligence Alliance and the Phantom Squad to front this operation,” he said. “I knew Seven would insist on being with me when I touch ground in Afghanistan.”

  Scarlet glared at her father. She was about to blow when she saw something in her peripheral vision. She looked off to her right, to the corner of the room where the cameras didn’t reach, to the corner of the room where Maddie and Seven were still standing. Maddie motioned for her to take a deep breath and calm down. Seven motioned for her to keep the conversation going. She thought long and hard before saying her next words.

  “Things have been helter skelter here since Chloe died and even worse since Colonel Venturi disappeared. You couldn’t have chosen a worse time for this little jaunt. As your daughter, I’m asking you, no begging you to reconsider.”

  “Believe me, I wish Brent were there too, but it was Seven who trained him and I have complete trust in him and Maddie and their organizations. Everything will be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Scarlet said. “If not, I might be attending a memorial service for two.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” he scolded. “I have enough stress without you adding to it.”

  “She leaned on the table and stared at the screen. You’re not the only one affected by your decision.”

  Her father inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled through pursed lips while sliding his hands through his hair. “I’m not only your father,” he said, “I am your commanding officer and you will abide by my decisions.” The president’s tone of voice softened as he continued, “One more thing,” he said “and I don’t want any back talk, I am insisting that you stay in Palm Cove and not join your unit on the mission.”

  Scarlet’s face turned crimson with anger. She eyed Seven who was frantically running the knife edge of his hand across his neck.

  She blinked her understanding.

  Scarlet eyeballed the screen. “I’ll do as I am ordered,” she said through pursed lips.

  She watched as her father exhaled, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Sweetie. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe.”

  In her peripheral vision, she could see Seven telling her to wrap it up.

  “Dad, Joan just walked in, telling me I’m needed in another meeting. I’ll speak to you in a couple of days.”

  “See you at the memorial.”

  She pasted on a fake smile. “See you there.”

  The video went black.

  “So that’s why this trip is so important,” Maddie said.

  Scarlet’s anger and frustration boiled over. “There is no way in hell,” she screamed, “that I am staying here and not going on that mission.”

  Maddie looked to Seven to speak. “I have never disobeyed a direct order from the president.” He spit in his coffee cup and then the left side of his mouth rose in a grin. “But I never received that direct order. I’ll see to it that the message you just heard never gets to me. The squad needs you with us on our end, so you will be going with us.”

  Maddie shook her head. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she said.

  “Women’s intuition?”

  She glared at her husband. “Years of experience. You better call a squad meeting and bring them up to date on the new intel. I’ll get Joan moving on trying to find the snake in the Pentagon. This mission just became Code Red.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Battered and bruised, Brent sat alone on a wooden bench in the kitchen of the monastery. The frustrations of being blind had been building all day. Although he could sense where people were, his instincts were not sharp enough to block the advancement of his trainer’s staff and his countermoves were too slow.

  He began to bring a mug of hot tea to his mouth, but slammed the cup down on the table. The tea splattered on his hand and robe as his resentment spewed from his pores. His grip tightened, and his hand trembled with anger.

  Like an explosive attached to a trip wire, all of Brent’s anger and self-hatred exploded as the hot tea continued to drip down the side of the table. He first felt it in his gut. A minor tremor that built like an earthquake until it cracked his fragile veneer. A sound so guttural and vile that it erupted from his throat in a heat producing, bile-filled wail.

  At the same instant Brent screamed, he reared back and launched the heavy ceramic mug across the hall. The sound of the plaster shattering was barely audible compared to the vocal blast that finally emanated from his wide-open mouth.

  A cold sweat soaked his robe and drenched his thick hair. The fevered heat of anger became the ice cold of self-hatred.

  He became acutely aware of another presence in the room. He could hear another person breathing in the far corner of the dining hall.

  “Don’t just stand there, Brother,” he s
eethed, “come over and have a seat.”

  Brother Gregory sat across the table from Brent. “How did you know it was me?”

  “I know everyone by their breathing pattern and by their footsteps.” Brent pulled at his beard. “Sometimes it’s maddening.” The veins on his neck and forehead pulsed with each spoken word.

  Brent felt the bench shift as Gregory leaned forward. “The brothers tell me that you didn’t appear for your training this afternoon. Would you like to talk about it?’

  Brent looked up from the table. His sweat soaked hair hung from his head like the snakes of Medusa. “Do I want to talk about it?” he fumed. “Talk about what? Seeking the help of God and being answered with blindness. Talk about having the person you loved more than life being taken from you at what should have been life’s most precious moment. Or maybe you’d like to talk about praying for answers and only receiving more questions.” With each word his volume increased until it reached a crescendo. “Pick one, Brother, because right now, I don’t give a damn what we talk about!”

  Brent pushed off from the table causing the heavy wooden bench to slam against the wall. About to leave the room, he heard the monk speak.

  “God tests those He has chosen in order to strengthen them for the next step in their journey.”

  Brent turned to in the direction of the voice. He still had the staff given him for his training. “If God wants to test me, than damn it, let’s start now. I need to finish this, this . . . hell and move on.” He pointed the staff at Gregory. “Call your best warriors to the training room.”

  “Chosen One, you are not ready for . . .”

  “Now! And don’t ever call me by that name AGAIN.”

  Brent gripped the staff, swung it with as much force as possible, and smashed it off the stone wall. Splinters flew like shattered glass. He dropped the piece he still held and walked out of the room.

  Tag tried to calm and talk sense into Brent for the next twenty minutes, to no avail. Brent wanted to challenge the brothers to a fight and nothing and no one would change his mind.

  “You’re the one who brought me here, Colonel, but I’m the one who seems to be reaping the benefit,” Tag said. “I know things have not gone as planned, but the one thing the military taught both of us is to always be ready to improvise. Situations change and in order to stay alive and accomplish your mission,” Tag poked Brent on the sternum, “you must change with them.”

  Brent’s anger and frustration had only increased since he left the dining hall. “Poke me again, and I’ll make sure you lose the ability to pull the trigger on a sniper rifle.”

  Tag went to respond when he heard Brother Gregory clap his hands together, thus calling the monastery to full assembly.

  “I have done as you have requested, Chosen—Brent,” Brother Gregory said. “How would you like to proceed?”

  Emotion was awash over Brent. He was a man who had lost all control. “First, I need to borrow a staff.”

  “He can use mine,” Tag said.

  Brent squeezed it in a death grip, so hard his knuckles and fingers blanched in color.

  “What do you say, we get this over with,” Brent said. “Put your three best in the ring and let’s see what happens.”

  “I have some rules that must be agreed upon before this exercise begins,” said the monk. “If you lose, you will abide by our methods and stay within these hallowed walls until I say you’re ready to leave.”

  Brent nodded his agreement.

  “And if you win?” Gregory asked.

  “If I’m the last man standing, eyesight or not, I climb Mount Ararat tonight.” He looked to where he knew Tag was standing. “Alone.”

  “So be it,” the Brother answered.

  The three best wielders of the staff stepped forward and tapped the end of their weapons on the stone floor.

  “Don’t patronize me,” Brent said. “I know each of you by your smell and footsteps. It’s a freaking curse.” He pointed his staff at each. “Brother Ezekiel is on my right, Brother Matthew is in the center and my own personal trainer, Brother Peter is on my left.” Brent spun his staff with one hand like a baton and waved them forward.

  He could hear the sound of the individual staffs begin to spin. The ‘whir’ sound was like one hundred hornets in his ears. Under the noise, he could hear and feel their movement. Matthew stepped forward, his staff spun mere inches from Brent’s face. The other two covered the flanks. Brent faked to his left and with his weapon, ducked low avoiding Peter’s staff and plunged his rod like a knight’s javelin into Matthew’s pharynx, temporarily cutting off the monk’s air supply. The brother dropped his weapon and clutched his throat in response.

  Brent spun counterclockwise, the opposite of how he had been trained, and dropped Matthew with a swing of the staff behind the monk’s knees. As he did, he could feel the breeze coming from his flanks. He knew they would go for his ribcage. They are the most exposed of all the bones and a strike there would make it hard for him to breathe. He tucked his arms in tight to his body and spun as fast as he could. At the same time, he brought his staff in tight to his body trying to protect his ribs.

  The first blow came from his right. As he expected, it was aimed directly at his torso. The force of the blow was deflected by his rod, but it was hard enough to force the air from his lungs. He quickly countered, changing the position of his staff so that it was perpendicular to his body and slung low to once again take out the legs of an attacker. Brother Ezekiel easily jumped the oncoming weapon, and jabbed the end of his staff into Brent’s right shoulder.

  The shoulder was his Achilles heel. It had been dislocated so many times that when struck, the nerve supply to his arm temporarily malfunctioned, causing numbness in his hands and fingers. The strike caused him to drop his staff to the floor.

  Brent placed his left arm over his face to deflect any blow that may be coming as he dropped low and twisted his body. He felt the staff with his right hand and went to grab it before the monk could react. The harder he squeezed, the less he felt. What he did feel was a jarring blow to the back of his neck. He slumped in an unconscious heap.

  Brother Gregory spoke in whispered tones. “Please take our guest to his quarters and apply an ice pack to his neck.”

  Two monks stepped forward, but Tag stopped them.

  “I’ll take the colonel to his quarters and watch over him. I need to speak to him when he regains consciousness.”

  Bother Gregory nodded his understanding.

  Two hours later, Brent moaned as he tried to open his eyes. He could ‘feel’ Tag’s presence. “I guess that didn’t go as planned.”

  Tag mumbled an obscenity. “I think that went exactly as planned. You knew you couldn’t win, you just hoped the beating would help you erase some misplaced guilt you can’t seem to get rid of.”

  Brent went to sit up, but the pounding headache dropped him back onto the rock-hard mattress.

  He took the icepack from the back of his neck and placed it over his forehead.

  “And what made you such an astute read of one’s intentions?”

  “I tried to do the same thing,” Tag replied.

  “Oh.”

  “I didn’t return to the reservation to help my family,” Tag said. “I knew the chief would keep them safe. I knew my presence would make the gang want to make an example of me.”

  Brent staggered, sat up and swung his legs off the side of the mattress. “You never planned on leaving the train station, did you?”

  “No, I just wanted the confrontation to occur as far off the reservation as possible.” Tag hesitated and swallowed hard before continuing. “Three times since Sergeant Delbach’s death, I had placed the barrel of my service pistol in my mouth, but I was too much of a coward to pull the trigger.” He looked at Brent for sympathy, but all he got was a blank stare. “So I went to plan B.”r />
  “You knew if you fought back against the braves, they would have no choice but to kill you,” Brent said.

  Tag’s eyes smiled. “But you had to show up and ruin the party.” Brent went to speak, but Tag cut him off. “And I’m thankful. I never expected them to bring my sister, and I never would have had peace knowing that she witnessed my death.”

  Brent dropped his head between his knees. Silence enveloped the small room.

  When Brent looked up, he had a new determination. “It seems we have both been at a long pity party. Maybe it’s time we both stop blaming ourselves for our losses and start trying to find a way to bring the guilty party to justice.”

  “The Brotherhood of Gaza,” Tag said.

  “The Brotherhood,” Brent agreed.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “This is your home,” Brent said, “there is no need to knock.”

  Brother Gregory stepped in. “The monitor on the computer is flashing an emergency signal. It says there is an incoming call from someone named Joan. The brothers can’t override it. Please come.”

  Headache or not, Brent jolted from his bed and stumbled to the war room.

  CHAPTER 40

  Tag punched in the encryption code for Brent and brought Joan’s image onto the screen.

  Her attention first went to Tag, but settled on Brent. He was sitting in a very stiff manner and was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood covering most of his face.

  “Joan, you have broken protocol. This better be worth it,” Brent said.

  “You know me better than that. We have been in contact with President Dupree and we felt it necessary to contact you about it.”

  Brent pushed his hair back. “Who the hell are we? I thought we had an agreement?”

  “We did—do—things have just gotten a little complicated. You seem to have picked up an accomplice and I have inadvertently picked up a couple at my end.”