Cursed Blessing (Trilogy of the Chosen Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  Then it was Lucille’s turn to speak and Owens pointed outside the room, saying no. Lucille talked on, but the sergeant shook his head. Lucille pointed to the phone and Sergeant Owens held it in front of her. She dialed and Brent saw her mouthing, “Hi, this is Lucille Conklin.” The conversation seemed to be one-sided, then, finally, she mouthed, “Thank you.” Lucille handed the phone to Sergeant Owens who put it up to his ear. As he tried to talk, Brent and Susan noticed he was cut off by whoever was on the other end. The color drained from his face as he stood there with his mouth open.

  “Wouldn’t you like to be a fly on the wall? I wonder who he’s talking to.” Susan said.

  “Yeah, and about what?” Brent added.

  The sergeant put the phone down and seemed to address Lucille with newfound respect. Soon, he said good-bye. Entering the hall outside her room, he told Brent his aunt wanted to speak to him again. Owens faced the two officers guarding the room. “Two government officials, secret service men, will be here within the hour. When they get here, you are to ask to see proper ID. If everything is kosher, relinquish command to them. Understood?”

  “Yes, sergeant,” they replied. Owens passed by everyone, nodded to Sully and said, “Come on, we’ve got a shi…a lot of paperwork to do.”

  Officer Sullivan quickly fell into step alongside the sergeant. “What was that all about, Sarge?”

  Sergeant Owens replied as they walked, “I don’t know who that woman is, but we’ve been yanked off the case. It’s federal now.”

  “Says who?” asked a confused Sullivan.

  Owens stopped walking and looked at Sully, “Says the president of the United States, that’s who.”

  “Holy crap,” Sully said.

  “You got that right, Sully. You freakin’ got that right.”

  Brent walked back into Lucille’s room and stood next to her bed. “You look pretty tired. Maybe we should talk later.”

  “No,” she said. “This won’t take long, and it’s important. Then I’ll rest.”

  Lucille gathered her thoughts for a moment. “The secret service will be here shortly to guard my room. They’ll be able to keep me safe for as long as I’m in intensive care.” Squeezing Brent’s hand, she looked up at him. “I figure that gives you two days to get me out of here and to somewhere safe.”

  “But I…”

  “No buts. Just listen. Once I’m transferred to a regular room, even they won’t be able to keep me safe. The people who attacked me will be back to finish what they started.” Squeezing Brent’s hand harder, she said, “Please tell me you’ll get me out of here.”

  Brent had no idea how, but he promised her he would.

  Lucille smiled. “I know you’re confused about what’s going on, but it will all become clear shortly.”

  Lucille lifted her head off the pillow and told Brent to remove the cross from around her neck. He gently unclasped the chain. “Do you still have the cross your grandfather gave you before he died?”

  Brent was surprised by her question. He nodded, and opened the top of his shirt to reveal his cross. “Good,” she smiled. “Besides being a symbol of our faith, these crosses are also keys to a safe deposit box at First Federal Bank. The box is in your name.”

  Exhausted, Lucille closed her eyes. Brent heard the door open. Susan walked in.

  “That’s enough for now. She’s weak and needs rest,” Susan said.

  Lucille opened her eyes and said, “I’ll rest in a moment. Brent, there is one more thing. Was there anything in the boxes I gave you besides the books?”

  Reaching into his pocket, Brent pulled out the folded paper. “Just this note. I think it was written by my grandfather.” She smiled and nodded. “Lucille, what does it mean? I don’t understand what he wrote.”

  “The answers to those statements and the contents of the safe deposit box will lead you to the formula. Find it before they do. Please.” She closed her eyes again. Brent placed the note back in his pocket and turned to leave. As he did, he heard Lucille say, “Remember—two days. You need to get me out within two days.”

  Brent left Lucille’s room with more questions than answers. Susan left with him and asked if everything was all right. He nodded yes and gave her a half smile. Before anything else could be said, the doors to the ICU opened. Two men in dark suits walked in. They look just like in the movies, Brent thought.

  “Who are they?” Susan asked.

  “The cavalry,” Brent replied. The men walked up to the officers outside Lucille’s door, displayed their badges and presented their papers. The officers checked their identities and then relinquished control to the secret service. Brent and Susan watched the officers leave and the two men enter Lucille’s room. She looked at them as if she knew them. They leaned over the bed and kissed her hand. They looked like three old friends getting reacquainted. Within a few minutes, the men took their post outside Lucille’s door.

  “Whoa, who’s your aunt?” Susan asked.

  “I don’t know who anybody is any more,” Brent answered. “Listen, Susan, I’m going to need your help tomorrow night. I don’t suppose you’re working?”

  “No, but I can switch shifts if it’s important.”

  Brent looked at her and said, “It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Consider it done, then.”

  Brent leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you. I’ll explain as soon as I can. I’ll be here about nine p.m.”

  Susan pulled a pen and pad of paper from her uniform pocket and wrote her cell phone number down on it. “Call me if you’re running late,” she said.

  Brent took the piece of paper and looked at Lucille once more, then walked out of the ICU and the hospital.

  CHAPTER 16

  Joan watched Brent as he walked into the library around 4:00 p.m. She stomped over in his direction, meeting him halfway between the front door and her desk. Brent saw her coming. He knew from that walk that she was fuming, but he was in no mood for her theatrics. Just as Joan was about to tee off on him, she caught a glimpse of his face.

  “My God, when was the last time you slept?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Why?” she said. “Because you look terrible, that’s why.”

  Brent couldn’t think of a good retort, so he just shook his head and asked if she’d made any coffee.

  “No, but I’ll make some right away. What’s going on, Brent?” she asked. “This place has been like Grand Central Station. The police were here asking all sorts of questions about you.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about them anymore.”

  “And that woman Maddie keeps calling. On top of everything else, some county inspectors were here today.”

  “Inspectors were here? What kind of inspectors?” Brent asked.

  “Electrical, I think. They said they needed to check the outlets in your office.”

  Brent’s voice became a bit more frantic. “Joan, did they show you proper identification?”

  “I don’t remember. I mean, no, I don’t think so. It was crazy in here. They showed up when the police were here asking all those questions, so I just pointed to your office and they went in.”

  Brent ran back to his office, threw open the door and flicked on the lights. He checked out everything, but nothing seemed to be out of place. Joan walked in a few seconds later.

  “Brent, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “The less you know, the better right now, Joan. You’re just going to have to trust me for now. How long were the inspectors in here?”

  “Not long, only a minute or so.”

  “How many of them were there?”

  “There were two of them and one had an English accent. Why?”

  “Just wondering, that’s all,” Brent replied. Probably the same two w
ho were at Lucille’s place, he thought. “Did they say anything before they left?”

  Joan thought a moment and then said, “No, but they didn’t seem too happy when they left.” Joan bit her lower lip and it started to quiver. “Brent, I’m frightened. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  Brent put his hands on her shoulders and said, “As soon as I know for sure myself, I promise to tell you. Until then, you’ll just have to trust me. Okay?”

  Joan hugged him and said, “You’d better not be in any trouble. I don’t want to have to break in another boss. It has taken me years to train you.”

  That broke the tension and they both laughed. “All right, get back to work.”

  Joan kissed his cheek and started to walk back to her desk.

  “Hey, did Maddie leave a number where she could be reached?”

  “No, she said you had it.”

  Brent closed his office door and went to his desk. He checked his inbox and found three phone call memos with Maddie’s name on each one. As he looked at them, he thought of how he’d found Lucille. His blood began to boil. If she had something to do with what happened to Lucille, I swear I’ll… Brent didn’t really know what he would do, but he knew he’d make her pay. There’s no time like the present, he thought and then picked up the phone and dialed Maddie’s number. She sounded cheerful.

  “Hi, there, I was wondering when you were going to call. I was starting to think you weren’t as smart as I thought. What took you so long?” Brent decided that being direct was probably the best way to deal with Maddie.

  “I’ve been busy making sure your deadly little plan didn’t work.”

  “Excuse me, what are you talking about, Brent?”

  “I’m talking about finding Lucille drugged and beaten. I’m talking about finding that sweet woman almost dead, that’s what I’m talking about.”

  There was a second’s hesitation before Maddie spoke. “Please tell me she’s okay.” Brent didn’t answer. He wanted to see if Maddie would incriminate herself. “Come on, Brent! Is she all right? Is she alive?”

  Brent was surprised at the degree of Maddie’s concern, but he knew she was a pro and he didn’t want to walk into a trap, so he continued in the same vein.

  “Why do you want to know? So you can finish the job you started?”

  “Brent, listen to me! I would never hurt Lucille Conklin. She’s like family to me.”

  “That’s funny. When I mentioned your name to her, she told me not to trust or believe anything you say.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a difference between love and trust, now, isn’t there? Please, Brent, tell me if she’s okay.”

  “She’s out of the woods and safe for now. If it wasn’t you, Maddie, do you know who it was that did this?”

  Silence on the other end.

  “I told you what you wanted to know. Now it’s your turn.”

  “I have a pretty good idea, but I’ll handle them myself.”

  Brent thought for a moment and decided to see if he could bait his own trap. “One more thing, Maddie. Whoever did this, they didn’t find the formula. Lucille doesn’t even know where it is.”

  “Formula? What formula?” Maddie yelled. “Darn it, Brent, what are you talking about?”

  Brent knew now that Maddie was as much in the dark about what the formula was as he was, and that’s where he wanted to keep her.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Brent said and hung up.

  “No, wait! Don’t hang up!”

  Click.

  Maddie sat on the edge of her bed, thinking. So that’s why Donavan was so anxious to have me as his accomplice. This formula he wants must be a chemical formula. He knows that I’m a chemist. He knows that I can decipher it and break the compound down. But what kind of formula would be valuable enough to involve Ferric? Is this the reason Joseph was killed? If it’s as dangerous as it seems, I know Joseph would never have gotten Lucille involved. So, at least I’m sure she’s telling the truth. I need to get to Ferric and convince him that Lucille doesn’t know anything about any formula before his goons find her and finish their botched job.

  CHAPTER 17

  Brent hung up and sat back in his chair. He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his fountain pen and a piece of paper. He always thought better when he wrote. On the top left side of the paper, he wrote a number one. Next to it, he wrote: I need to get Lucille out of that hospital by tomorrow night.

  But how, he wondered. And when is the best time and if I…no, when I get her out, where do I take her? My place is no good, they’ll definitely look there. Her place is certainly out of the question. I could just take her to a hotel, but too many people have access to the rooms.

  He tapped the tip of his pen on the paper, making little ink blotches each time he did. He stared at the paper and, for a second, the ink spots looked like raindrops. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and thought back to his training.

  “If you’re caught in a storm while you’re on the mountain,” Seven said, “be careful where you go to seek shelter. The caves, rock overhangs and thick evergreen coverings are homes to those who live there. Animals are just as dangerous and conniving as people, even more so. That’s why we take you into the wild for the advanced training. If there is a bad storm, the animals go back to their homes for protection, and they don’t like uninvited guests. Remember, they see you as either food or as an inconvenience. Either way, you’re dead.”

  Seven pulled a tin of chewing tobacco out of his back pocket, opened it and pinched off a healthy portion.

  “Sometimes,” he said as he spit tobacco juice on the ground in front of him, “the best place to hide is in the open, just covered up.” As he said these last words, he brushed dirt on top of the tobacco spit with his foot. “Still there, just can’t be seen.” He smiled that tobacco-stained smile and laughed to himself as he went back to doing what he been doing before.

  Brent sat, thinking. In the open, where they would think of looking but not find her. He opened his eyes and smiled.

  “Here, the library,” he said aloud.

  More specifically, the rooms behind the wall. That’s it, but how do I get her here without anyone seeing me? A knock at the door snapped his attention away from his reverie. Joan pushed open the door and poked her head in.

  “It’s five ten, boss. Everything’s closed up and I’m going home. Take my advice, you might want to do the same.”

  “Thanks, Joan. I will and soon, I promise. See you tomorrow.”

  “I hope so,” she said as she shut the door behind her. After she’d left, Brent looked down at the paper. Okay, so much for number one. Now, for number two: Formula to what?

  Lucille said that the note from my grandfather was a clue and that everything else I need could be found in the safe deposit box. Well, the bank is closed until nine a.m., but I do have the note.

  He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it.

  Trust no one.

  That’s easy, he thought.

  Wisdom comes with age.

  He wrote the word wisdom on the paper, and then he wrote synonyms.

  Wisdom: experience, smarts, education, knowledge…

  Come on, think! What did Gramps always say? Think, think, think…Brent closed his eyes and thought back to when he’d read late at night and Gramps would come into his room to say goodnight.

  “Reading again, boy?” he’d said. “That’s good, but remember, it’s only half the equation. Reading and studying bring you knowledge, but doing and experiencing life—that’s the other half. As you get older, you gain wisdom.”

  Brent started writing again.

  Wisdom = experience, doing, getting older.

  If that’s true then, he thought as he continued to write, ? = no experience. Not doing and staying young; stupidity? No, Gramps never liked the term st
upid. He always reprimanded me if I said someone or something was stupid. Brent glanced at the note again. Duh, it’s right in front of me.

  Youth is for the foolhardy.

  It can’t be that easy, can it? he wondered. Seven’s words ran through his mind again. “In the open but covered up.” Gramps was definitely covering something up, but what? Brent yawned and stretched. Looking at the wall clock, somehow two hours had passed since Joan left for the evening. Well, whatever it is, it will have to wait. I’m so tired I can’t even think straight. I need to get home and get to bed. He gathered the paper he’d been writing on, along with his grandfather’s note, and put them both in his pants pocket. Putting the cap back on his pen, he placed it in his sports coat pocket and hung it on the stand behind his desk. His mind traveled back to his childhood again.

  Brent’s grandfather had given him that pen for his twelfth birthday, but Brent hadn’t been happy about it. He’d wanted a new surfboard.

  “A pen, Gramps? I have a pen, I have lots of pens. Why would you give me another pen? I don’t want another pen.”

  “Open it, boy,” is all his grandfather said.

  Brent opened it and stared hard. “A fountain pen? Why would I want a fountain pen?” he’d asked.

  His grandfather looked at him with a knowing smile. “A fountain pen is more than a writing instrument. It’s all about experiencing life. When you put that pen to paper, you don’t just write the words, you feel them. Your emotions will be transferred to the paper. Hold onto it, and it will take you places you can’t imagine.”

  Brent was dumbfounded back then. He just looked at the pen and back at his grandfather. It’s just a pen, he’d thought.

  “Never mind that right now,” his grandfather said. “You’ll understand when you get older. Now, put that away and go look in the hall closet.” A big smile had flashed across Brent’s face as he dashed into the hall. He threw open the door, and there it was—a brand new surfboard. Brent turned around and hugged his grandfather.