Cursed Days (Trilogy of the Chosen Book 3)

by J. M. LeDuc

  They left the house and walked out into an early morning sunrise. The Bishop asked, “Where are we going, and what happened to the food?”

  “We’re going to Cairo, Egypt, and we’ll eat when we get to Jerusalem. Abe, can you provide us with transportation to the American Embassy?”

  “After what you did for me,” Abe said, looking at his left arm, “I would drive you into Palestine if you asked.”

  “Lucky for all of us,” Brent smiled, “we have no need to go to Palestine.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The same night the Covenant team was in Kiryat Yearim, the Brotherhood of Gaza was outside the gates of Medinat al-mawta.

  “Remember what we have found out,” Red said. “The one who calls himself the messenger always leaves the cemetery around midnight to take a walk. I want all three gates of the ‘city of the dead’ covered. If anyone comes out, and I mean anyone, radio me and follow them.”

  His followers nodded their understanding and then dispersed to cover the gates. Red stayed at the south gate, while his men encircled the graveyard. Looking up at the starlit sky, Red smirked, realizing that he was about to be one step closer to his destiny.

  Just after midnight, Red heard from the east gate. “A man just left the cemetery and is headed toward the inner city.”

  “Stay with him, but don’t let him see you,” Red said. “Everybody else stay put until I say otherwise.”

  Monasis, the man at the east gate, kept reporting back to Red, every time the man changed direction. “He bought a cup of coffee and is heading back toward Medinat.”

  “Good. Everyone move toward the east gate,” Red ordered.

  Ten minutes later the man was walking through an alley near the east gate when a beggar stepped in front of him. He just stood there, with his arm extended, palm up.

  “I have nothing for you. May the peace of Allah be with you,” the messenger said.

  “But you do have something for me. That is, if you are the messenger?” Red could tell by the man’s hesitation, he was indeed the one.

  “I don’t know what or who you are talking about, so get out of my way.” Abdul was able to elbow his way past Red, only to find himself surrounded by the others.

  “I’m only going to ask this one time before you will regret your actions,” Red said in a heavy brogue. “So, if I were you, I’d answer my questions like a good lad. I know you are the one and I know you have the name and location of the next messenger. Make this easy. Give me the information and then you can go back to your sorry little life.”

  “Before I turn over this vital information, may I ask you one question?” Abdul asked.

  “Sure, why not, I’m in a generous mood,” Red snarled.

  “Are you part of the inner circle?”

  “I am my father’s son,” Red answered.

  “And who is your father?” Abdul asked.

  “He is just a man, but as soon as we reunite the Arks, he will have enough power to make the world cower at his feet.”

  Abdul could see the excitement building inside of Red and he now knew that this was certainly not the emissary from the Ambassador.

  Red stepped forward so the men were practically nose to nose. As he spoke, Abdul could feel his spittle on his face. “And I,” Red continued, “will sit at the right hand of the father and rule along with him. Now,” he said through clenched teeth, “question and answer time is over. Give me what I came for.”

  Abdul answered by throwing his scolding hot coffee in Red’s face. He covered his face, screaming from the pain. Red’s men quickly grabbed Abdul and stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth so he couldn’t call for help, and waited for their leader’s command. With his hands still covering his face, Red said in a muffled voice, “Drag him over to the Eucalyptus tree.”

  It took all of his men to drag Abdul over to the tree. He was a big man and stronger than he was big. Using the butt of his XM8 sharpshooter assault rifle, Red cracked Abdul in the back of the head. He split his skull wide open and knocked him unconscious.

  “Throw a rope around the strongest branch of the tree and put a noose around his neck.”

  “Do you want him up in the tree, so we can hang him?” one of his soldiers asked.

  ‘No, not yet, wake him up and start to skin him alive. By the time we reach the third layer of skin, he’ll spill all the information we need.”

  Forty minutes later, Abdul’s back looked like ground meat and Red had in his possession what he came for. As he lay on the ground beaten and bleeding, Red gave final instructions.

  “Hang him, for all to see.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Sitting in the back of an old pick-up truck, one that felt as if it had no springs or shocks, the Covenant Team was getting jostled around pretty good. Holding on for dear life, the Bishop said, “How are we to gain access to the Embassy? Are you going to use your ‘secret spy’ government clearance?”

  “No,” Brent said, matching his sarcasm, “you are going to go into the Embassy and get us what we need.”

  “Me,” the Bishop yelled. “How am I supposed to do that? Show them my special decoder ring!”

  Brent laughed at the friend’s continual sarcasm. “Not your decoder ring, but you are going to use your ring.”

  “What? Would you care to elaborate, or are we going to continue to play twenty questions?”

  “I’m going to have Abe drop us off a couple of blocks away from the Embassy, where you are going to change into your vestments. When you approach the guard gate, you are to tell the sentry that it is imperative that you speak to the Consulate General immediately. When asked what business you have with the Consulate, you are to tell them that you are here on urgent Vatican business. When you speak, show the guard your Bishop’s ring. That will be enough for you to gain access into the Embassy.”

  Looking up, Brent could see the Embassy not too far ahead. Tapping on the back window, he signaled Abe to stop the truck.

  “The Embassy is not much further,” Abe said. “I will drive you up to the front.”

  “That won’t be necessary, we’ll be getting out here,” Brent replied. “We want to thank you for everything that you have done.”

  Rubbing his shoulder with his good hand, Abe said, “It is I who am thankful. God be with you on your travels, my friends.”

  “And with you,” Brent said. As they watched Abe drive away, he looked at the Bishop. “Let’s find you somewhere you can change.”

  When Bishop Jessup exited the restroom of the coffee shop, it seemed as if all the eyes of Israel were on him. Sitting in the booth with Brent and Seven, he questioned how this plan was supposed to work.

  “It’s actually pretty straightforward,” Brent said. “Once you are inside the Embassy, you are to demand to meet with the Consulate General. If he is not there then work your way down the chain of command. Once you meet with whoever is in charge, you are to tell him that you are here on a personal mission from the Pope.”

  “But. . . ”

  Brent put his hand up to silence his objections. “If they want further information, you are to tell him that it is a matter that only concerns the Vatican and that you are not at liberty to discuss it.”

  “If I’m supposed to be here on Vatican business, why wouldn’t I go to the Vatican Embassy?”

  “Let the Consulate know that you are an American citizen, therefore you thought it only proper to go through the appropriate channels. When they ask what you require, tell them you need transportation to Cairo. This is when they will probably laugh at you and ask you to find another way.”

  “That would be my response.”

  “Bishop,” Brent said, leaning in, “I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that you stand your ground and in no way show any self-doubt or fear. When they ask you to leave, you are to demand to make a phone call to the Pope. He kno
ws why we’re here and will go along with anything you tell him.”

  Showing concern, Bishop Jessup began to sweat. “How am I supposed to contact the Pope? It’s not like I have his personal phone number.”

  Sliding a card across the table, Brent said, “Now you do. Put the Pontiff on the phone with the American Ambassador. He’ll take care of the rest.”

  The Bishop stared at the piece of paper in front of him and traced the raise seal of the Pope. “I still don’t understand why I have to do this. With your government clearance, wouldn’t be even easier for you to walk into the Embassy and request whatever it is that we need?”

  “The only problem with that plan is that as members of The Phantom Squad, Seven and I have had our identities erased. If fingerprinted, and we would be, we will not show up on any database and we will be arrested as spies or terrorists.” Shaking his head, Brent said, “This is the only way. Knowing diplomats the way I do, they are not going to be happy to oblige your request and will probably make you travel by way of military convoy. The truck will have to pass right through the intersection outside this café. When it does, Seven and I will find a way to join you. Do you understand everything I’ve told you?”

  Reluctantly, he nodded. “Bishop,” Brent said with authority, “I cannot over emphasize the need for you to be confident in your movements and in your words. Even one glimpse of fear or self-doubt will cause them to put you in the brig.”

  Once again, the Bishop nodded while looking down at the table. Brent clasped his wrist, “I don’t want a nod, soldier, I want you to look me in the eye and say ‘yes, Sir’ when you are addressing your commanding officer.”

  Bishop Jessup raised his head, and with confidence, replied, “Yes, Colonel, I understand.”

  “Good, now finish your breakfast and get moving. You will be out of contact with us until we join you in the convoy.”

  The Bishop was so deep in thought as he ran the plan through his head that he didn’t even taste his food as he ate it. As soon as the last bite passed his lips, Brent said, “Move out.”

  Standing up, he looked at Brent and said, “I’m really starting to hate it when you say that.”

  Both Seven and Brent smiled and then as if the Bishop had already left, continued to eat their breakfast.

  The plan went exactly as Brent said it would. After a slight delay at the guard gate, Bishop Jessup was escorted inside the Embassy and brought to the Consulate General’s private office. Keeping his cool, he didn’t even flinch when the Consulate General started pitching a fit at the Bishop’s demands. The next thing the American Ambassador knew, he was on the phone speaking directly with the Pope.

  An hour or so later, Bishop Jessup was escorted from the building and told that the only method of transportation they had available was a supply convoy headed toward Cairo. The Bishop shook his head in disbelief in the accuracy of Brent’s prediction.

  Opening the door to the cab of the truck, the MP stopped him. “Sorry Bishop, but I’m afraid it’s too dangerous for you to travel up front. You’re going to have to travel in the back with the supplies.”

  After ten minutes of being jostled around, he opened the military green tarp that kept the back of the truck closed. He noticed they were about to leave the city limits, and was beginning to panic. He hadn’t heard from Brent or Seven since leaving the cafe. He took his squad sat phone out of his backpack to try to contact them. Suddenly a hand grabbed the phone from him.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Brent said, as he climbed into the back of the truck.

  “I wish you would stop dropping in out of nowhere,” the Bishop protested.

  As if on cue, the sound of a knife cutting through the top of the tarp could be heard. Looking up, they saw Seven drop in from above. “This is cozy,” Seven said as he squeezed in beside Brent. “I thought the whole Bishop thing would have gotten us first class accommodations.”

  “You’re lucky we’re not all in jail,” Bishop Jessup shot back.

  “What’s this we thing,” Seven smirked. “I’m pretty sure that you’re the only one that lied to the American Embassy.”

  “Put the claws back in, girls. We’ve got a long bumpy ride ahead of us,” Brent said. “This supply truck is going to have to stop and refuel in about two hours. I’m sure that they aren’t going to take any chances. The driver will either stop at an American or an Israeli military base to do so. When we get close, Seven and I will make ourselves scarce. The only thing you have to do now Bishop is to pretend you’re miserable when they come to check on you.”

  “That won’t be hard. I’ve never been more miserable in my entire life.”

  Brent lay back against a large supply box, and said, “Get use to it, padre. It’s going a lot smoother than I expected. I can only imagine that the days to come are going to get harder than the last two.”

  “What do you think we’re going to find at Medinat al-mawta, Colonel?” Seven asked.

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid. Medinat al-mawta is an ancient cemetery in Cairo known as ‘The City of the Dead’. It has given shelter to both the living and the dead for over a thousand years.”

  “What kind of living?” the Bishop asked.

  “Thieves, outlaws, pilgrims, professional reciters of the Quran, and guardians of graves make their homes there. They live in tombs inside the ‘city’. Even the authorities stay out of ‘The City of the Dead’. They just let its inhabitants settle any disputes that may arise. It’s not like they have shortage of places to put those who lose the argument.”

  Arriving in Cairo, Bishop Jessup felt the truck jerk to a halt. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping, but he knew it couldn’t have been in a good position, because his neck was stiff and ‘cracked’ when he moved it. Sitting up, he looked around, but there was no one else in the truck. He was still half asleep when the sergeant came around and opened the back tarp. The brightness of the sun practically blinded the Bishop when he first looked out the back of the truck.

  “End of the line, Bishop,” the sergeant said. “We are at the American Embassy in Cairo. I don’t know where you need to go, but this is the only place where I feel safe letting you off.”

  “I’m just thankful for the lift. I’ll be able to make contact with St. Augustana’s Monastery and they will pick me up.”

  “Fair enough. Is there anything else we can do for you before we leave?”

  “No, you have been more than accommodating,” Bishop Jessup pointed across the street, “I’ll just use the public phone outside the cafe across the plaza and wait there. Thank you for everything.”

  The two shook hands and the sergeant watched the Bishop walk inside the coffee house, before driving through the gates of the Embassy.

  Inside, the aroma of the Arabian coffee was strong. He inhaled deep, hoping to catch a caffeine buzz. Not knowing where to even start looking for his friends, he ordered a cup of coffee and sat down at a corner table. Contemplating his next move, he felt his sat phone vibrate in his pants pocket. “Where did you go, and where are you?”

  “What, no hello, how are you? That’s kind of rude, especially for a man of the cloth, don’t ya think?” Seven said.

  The Bishop was about to say something in retaliation when he was cut off. “If you look to your right, you’ll see two men sitting at a table enjoying their lunch. They would love to have the pleasure of your company.”

  Bishop Jessup looked up and saw them. Earlier, he walked right past them. In their change of clothing, he didn’t even recognize them.

  “Where did you get the clothes?” he asked, sitting down.

  “About a half mile back there is a small development. These were hanging on the line drying, so we helped ourselves,” Brent answered.

  “How Christian of you,” the Bishop sarcastically replied.

  “We left enough money to more than make up for the clo
thing. Now let’s discuss our next move.”

  “Before we do, can I please get something to eat? I’m starving.”

  Brent smiled, sliding his full plate in front of him. “This one is yours. I already ate while we waited for you to get here.”

  “How did you know I’d come in here?”

  “It was an educated guess. Besides, I knew the sergeant was going to let you out before entering the Embassy. If he had entered with you, it would mean a lot of paperwork and if there is one thing soldiers hate it’s paperwork. If you didn’t come in here, we had the vantage point to see which direction you would go in.”

  They watched as Bishop Jessup shoveled food. It looked as if he was swallowing without chewing.

  “Slow down, padre,” that’s not yer last meal,” Seven joked.

  “Can’t help it,” the Bishop said between bites, “I get hungry when I’m nervous.”

  “Then you’re probably gonna gain about twenty pounds before we get back home,” Seven laughed, slapping him on the back.

  Bishop Jessup waved his fork at him and was about to fire back at him when Brent interrupted them. “I’d like to know what the Pope said when you spoke to him?” Brent asked.

  The Bishop shook his head. “That was a fiasco in itself,” he said. “I could not get through the maze of bureaucracy, so I called Cardinal Bullini’s office, figuring he could patch me through. It seems his assistant, Father Reilly has taken a leave of absence. Some sort of family emergency. His replacement wouldn’t let me speak to the cardinal. I finally had to threaten him in Italian before he gave up and let me speak to Amadeus. With his help, I was able to get the Pope to speak directly to the Consulate General.”

  “That was a long answer to a short question,” Seven said.

  “Shut up, wise ass,” the Bishop retorted.

  Laughing, Seven punched him in the shoulder, “Nice language, Bishop. I knew I could break down that pious wall of bull.”