Cornerstone (Phantom Squad Series Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  “On a mission, huh,” Joan said. “So, you don’t know where he is, do you. He left you just like he left us.”

  “No and yes,” Tag answered. “I do know where he is, sort of and, yes, he left without warning.”

  “Where is he?” Alana asked.

  The side of Tag’s mouth slid up in a crooked smile. “He didn’t include that in his note, so I can only assume he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  Joan smiled. She liked his sarcasm. “What does he want us to know?”

  “He left detailed instructions for the weapons development team. I will send them to you if you give me an email.”

  “No,” Joan said. “We can’t chance a trace. Read them to me.”

  “They are rather technical.”

  Joan rolled her eyes. “Read them.”

  Tag did as he was told expecting Joan to ask him to repeat them. She did not.

  “He said to get the weapons as quickly as possible to Q and that he would deliver them.”

  “Fine,” Joan said. “What else is on the note?”

  “Just a name. He said to run it through the Pentagon security software and see if it pops up. If it does, you are to tell Seven, you found the mole.”

  “Give it,” Joan said.

  As soon as she finished typing, she said, “What’s going on with Brent’s eyes?”

  Tag smiled. “You are exactly like Brent described you.”

  “Oh, how’s that?”

  “Direct, sly, intelligent, and . . . beautiful.”

  Joan’s eyes opened wide and before she could respond, the transmission went black.

  Scarlet and Alana looked at each other and winked. Scarlet then looked down at Joan’s laptop monitor. “What are those directions for?”

  Alana peered over her shoulder. “They are for some sort of a

  . . . hell, even I don’t know what they are for.”

  Scarlet pointed to the screen. “The name, have you seen it before?”

  Joan bit her lip. “No, but I think I know who it is.”

  “Who?” both girls asked.

  “Phoenix.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Brent woke to a biting wind. His fingers were cold and numb. Shivering, he ate some of the dried fruit and drank some water before continuing his climb. He had no idea where he was headed, but when he was on the right path, the light grew brighter. When he strayed, the light faded.

  The vegetation grew thinner the higher he climbed. Every couple of hours, he found he needed to add another layer of clothing to keep from freezing.

  Brent knew from his research on Mount Ararat that the glacier and ice fields began at approximately thirteen thousand feet. His visions took place in a frozen environment, so he assumed he needed to reach that altitude. If his calculations were correct, he had another full day of climbing ahead of him.

  Brent continued to climb until he was so tired and cold that his dexterity began to falter. Shuffling his feet, he tripped over rocks or his own footing as he tried to press onward. When he came to an overhang where he could hide from the wind, he once again stopped to sleep. Sleep would not come without a cost. Nightmares infiltrated the darkness. Old nightmares. Nightmares he thought he left behind years ago.

  In his nightmare, he was crawling through a duct-like system when he heard the cry of a woman, the cry of Charlotte Dupree. He stopped to radio the rest of the Phantom Squad. They had split up to cover as much ground as possible in order to discover where the Omega Butcher had taken the president’s daughter. Her pleading became louder as he drew close to the opening that led to the Butcher’s lair.

  He watched Jonas McFarland aka The Omega Butcher and waited for the rest of the Phantom Squad to arrive. It was there that Brent heard Jonas speak for the first time. His voice went from effeminate and sing-songy to one that was deep and guttural. A voice that you felt more than heard and it brought fear to your soul. As his voice changed so did his eyes. They went from a piercing, diamond blue to the red, hate-filled eyes of a demon.

  Brent closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear it of the image. He gripped his handgun and prayed for the arrival of his team. Charlotte’s cries tore through him. He watched as the Butcher took a knife and slid the blade over her face and down her neck.

  “I’m going to cut your clothes off, whore,” he growled, “and then,” he stopped speaking as he placed the knife between her breasts and cut the front of her shirt open, taking her bra with it, “I’m going to drip hot oil on your milky white skin.” White, frothy sputum dripped from his mouth as he slid the blade over her nipple. The Butcher placed his lips up to Charlotte’s ear. “The flame will cleanse you of your sins. If you don’t scream like a little slut, I will let you live.”

  Fear caused a puddle to form between Charlotte’s legs.

  Brent took in a deep breath and tried to slow his heart rate. He knew his emotions would work against him. He could hear Seven tell him, “Emotion will get you killed.”

  As the first drop of oil seared Charlotte’s flesh, her scream pierced his psyche and all his training became meaningless. He burst from the air duct and fired two bullets into the butcher; one in his thigh and one on his shoulder. He walked toward Charlotte and reached for her shirt to cover her up. That’s when he saw two things in her eyes, the escalation of her fear and the reflection of the Butcher. He turned as the killer reached for the pot of boiling oil.

  The Butcher screamed from the pain of his own burning flesh as his hands grasped the pot. In one last, dire attempt for pleasure he went to throw the oil on Charlotte. Instinctively, Brent threw himself in front of her and took the brunt of the boiling oil, passing out from the pain.

  Still trapped in his nightmarish hell, he was gasping for air and surrounded by smoke. He smelled it but felt disconnected from it. His gasping soon became coughing. Out of oxygen, he opened his mouth wide and attempted to inhale. All he got for his effort was a chest full of smoke. He reached for his tee-shirt to pull it up over his mouth and nose, but he wasn’t wearing one. It was then that he felt the first flicker of the flames.

  Damn! Where the hell am I? he thought.

  “Exactly.”

  Brent’s head snapped all around trying to find where the voice was coming from.

  Did I say that out loud?

  “It doesn’t matter. I hear your thoughts as well as your words.”

  Brent turned his head left and right, trying to see through the smoke. He looked down at himself and realized that his flesh was burnt and hanging from his body like wax dripping from a candle.

  Laughter rose all around him with the flames. He knew the sound and it brought him to his knees. It was the laughter of the Dark One: Satan.

  “Why am I here?”

  “This is where you would have ended up if I had defeated you in battle.”

  Brent looked into the flame. “But you didn’t.”

  The smoke became a shadow, a shadow of evil. Grey in color and acrid in smell, the odor of burnt flesh, it stopped in front of Brent and spoke. Its breath was putrid and made Brent gag. “Your God is not the only one who can perform miracles. I’m here to offer you one of my own.”

  Brent rose from his knees and opened his mouth to speak in defiance when a vision of Chloe emerged before him. Chloe and Faith smiling and giggling. The sound of a mother’s love.

  Satan pointed. “Your soul for that of the woman you love.”

  Tears streamed down Brent’s face. He reached out to touch them, but his hand passed through them.

  “If I defeated you,” Satan whispered, “you never would have gone on the search for the Ark of the Covenant. Your wife would be alive and she would be with your daughter.”

  Brent fell on his knees in despair. The salt from his tears stung his seared flesh. “It’s all my fault!” he cried.

  The shadow g
rew and surrounded Brent. When Satan spoke, his breath now smelt like Chloe’s perfume. “You can make it right. Just say the word and the woman you love will be with your daughter.”

  Brent looked into Satan’s eyes. He saw hate and evil, but he didn’t care. He then heard the sound of metal as Satan moved around him. Brent looked down and saw chains attached to the Dark One. He remembered that in defeating him during The Enlightenment, he sent Satan back to hell.

  “And you?” Brent asked.

  “And I will be free.”

  Brent knew he could not adhere to Satan’s deal. As he was about to say no, he heard Faith’s laughter. He looked up and saw the two people he would die for embrace as only a mother and daughter could.

  He looked up towards heaven and snarled. No loving God would ever take a mother from her child. He looked into the eyes of hell and began to speak, but the smoke was so thick he choked on his words.

  He woke from his horror and clutched his throat. He was still on the mountain. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t. In desperation, he reached for his knife and was about to cut a hole just below his Adam’s apple when suddenly his airway opened. He fell back and sucked in the cold air. It burned his throat and lungs as he continued to take deep breaths.

  It was only a dream, he thought. Then he smelled Chloe’s perfume. Or, was it?

  Hate and scorn filled his heart as he mustered up the strength to continue his climb. He knew the answers would only come from one place. The beginning.

  CHAPTER 50

  President Dupree arrived on schedule in Palm Cove. He had expected to depart as soon as the Phantom Squad had boarded, but Maddie wanted one more meeting. One more chance to convince him to call off the trip.

  It was fruitless, but while everyone was occupied, Joan was able to get a special package into Q’s hands.

  The squad and the president were soon in the air.

  “We will land at Bagram Air Base, north of Kabal,” Seven said. “From there we will have a two hour drive to Delta Camp, your first stop. Three days from now, we enter Alpha territory at zero-nine hundred hours and if everything goes as planned, we are airborne again twelve hours later.”

  President Dupree looked at the map spread out on the table in front of them. “Have you notified the Department of Homeland Security?”

  Seven sucked in his bottom lip. “Negative. We notify nobody.”

  “But. . .”

  “But, nothin’,” Seven said. “You may be the leader of the free world, but from this point on until we land back in D.C., I’m in charge.”

  The president’s hands began to ball up in fists.

  Scarlet placed her hand on top of her father’s. “We had Joan put word out through the Pentagon that you would be landing on the aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise in the gulf, and then chopper in to Delta from there.”

  “She thinks she can flush out the mole with the fake intel,” Seven said. “She has a trace on every line leaving the Pentagon and she should now be able to follow their transmission, no matter how many satellites the bastard bounces his signal off of.”

  President Dupree stood up. “Let’s hope to God you’re right.” He nodded to the five people who sat at the table, the only five people he knew he could trust, the five people who had sworn to keep him safe. “I’ve had a long day and this is the last chance I’ll get to sleep in a bed for a while, so if you will excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.”

  Everyone stood as he turned to walk away.

  As the president exited the room, he mumbled, “Where the hell is Venturi?”

  CHAPTER 51

  Just before dawn of the next day, Falcon gathered his men for the last time before the onset of their mission.

  He hand-rolled an Afghani cigarette, lit it and eyeballed them. “If one person as much as blinks the wrong way, I will blow your brains out.” He heard someone mumble something about jihad. He grabbed the soldier by the hair, yanked him to his feet and blew smoke in his face. “If I kill you, there won’t be a bunch of under aged virgins waiting for you, you pervert. You will be stuck in eternity fondling your grandmother. Do you understand?” He didn’t give him time to respond. He just tossed him down onto the sand.

  “I’ve sent word to Alpha that we are approaching with prisoners. When we crest the next sand dune, they will pick us up and send out a patrol. Everything goes exactly as planned. If we work together, we will control Alpha thirty minutes after entering, if we screw up, I will be the only one to leave alive.

  “Move out.”

  As expected, Alpha Camp’s security forces began tracking the Americans and their prisoners as soon as they passed the next dune and dispatched several troops. The dust cloud coming from the three Humvee’s could be seen almost as soon as they left Alpha.

  The soldiers from Alpha were leery of oncoming troops and stopped their Humvee’s a distance from the men and took a defensive stance. Only after receiving confirmation from command, that the men they saw were from a U.S. outpost did they radio the camp that they were coming back with prisoners.

  Falcon’s orders to his men had been explicit. Once ‘the prisoners’ were locked up, his men were to blend in to Alpha Camp. He wanted them paired up with the real troops of Alpha. On his go, they were to shoot the soldiers stationed at the camp. All headshots and all fatal. The only one who would be allowed to live was the camp commander. His death would have to wait.

  Everything went as planned.

  Falcon looked at the carnage at his feet. He didn’t see Americans or patriots, he only saw dollar signs. “I want the dead buried behind the camp and I don’t want any sign of digging,” he ordered.

  As he supervised his men, he saw two of the Brotherhood kicking and spitting on a dead soldier. He walked up to them, pulled his gun and shot them dead before they had a chance to react.

  He turned to the stunned expression of the rest of the Brotherhood. “You call that honor?” he yelled, waving his pistol. “Is that what your leader teaches you?” He walked between the men, looking each in the eye. “If I see any more of that shit,” he spit, “I will cut off your manhood,” he said mocking Omar, “and feed it to you before I kill you, is that understood?”

  A rumble of dissent began to grow in the members of the Brotherhood. Falcon shouldered his automatic weapon and sprayed bullets at their feet.

  “If you don’t like my ways,” Falcon yelled, “take it up with your leader. Until then, you do as I say or you will end up like those two.”

  The men glared at him with venomous hatred, but no one made a sound.

  “Good, now bury the Americans as if they were your own family.”

  The commander, beaten and cuffed, looked up through a shattered eye socket and spoke through a busted lip. “That’s a lot of compassion for someone who just murdered his own people.”

  The American swung and backhanded the colonel. “I don’t give a shit about you, your men, or the United States,” he seethed. “That little demonstration was all about keeping order. I needed to let these morons know who was boss before they started acting like fools just like your men did when we entered the camp.” He grabbed the colonel’s head and forced him to look at the men who had been under his command. “If you had any control over your soldiers, maybe some of them would still be alive, or maybe some of mine would be dead.”

  He dropped the colonel at his feet and turned to leave. “Take this piece of crap to his quarters and stand guard over him until I get there. Colonel Matthews and I are going to have a little discussion as soon as I get some grub.”

  The colonel was battle tested and put up more of a resistance than Falcon thought he would.

  Falcon stood over the beaten, bloody, dead body of the U.S. officer. He looked down at the man and admired him in a way. “The bastard really did believe in God and country,” he muttered. He reached over and grabbed the end of the Amer
ican flag that stood beside the colonel’s desk and used it to wipe the blood off of his hands.

  He took one more look at the man lying at his feet. “In the end, they all talk,” he said to himself. He spit on the floor next to Colonel Matthew’s body. “Why do they make it so hard on themselves?”

  Falcon gathered his troops in the mess tent. “My sources tell me that President Dupree will arriving the day after tomorrow. He will be accompanied by five soldiers.”

  He could hear snickering from some of the men.

  The American leaned back and punched the one closest to him with such force that blood, teeth, and spittle landed on the four men next to him. The man dropped, unconscious before his head struck the ground.

  The corner of the American’s upper lip curled in anger as he clenched his bloodied fist. “These are not ordinary soldiers,” he yelled. “These are the Black Militia! If I wasn’t here, the whole lot of you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  A man in the back stood and asked, “What makes having you here any different? You are only one man.”

  Falcon smirked. “You have balls, I like that. What makes me different is that I have personal knowledge on how they think and how they act. I also know that their leader will not be with them. They will also be preoccupied with President Dupree’s safety. These factors will make them vulnerable.”

  He paced in front of his men. “What we don’t know or have any way of knowing is who may or may not come by the camp in the next thirty-six hours, so we have to look, act and breathe the part of American soldiers. Those of you who were brought in here as prisoners will remain in the brig.”

  He heard grumbling from the Brotherhood.

  “Shut up!” he yelled. “It won’t be locked and you will be armed.” He turned his back to his men. “Everyone knows what they have to do. Go do it. We meet here again tomorrow morning for final prep.”