Cursed Days (Trilogy of the Chosen Book 3)

by J. M. LeDuc

  The priest’s words, although few, are all quite profound. Red felt he was truly standing a in the presence of a man of the Lord.

  The small group weaved their way through a maze of tunnels before they came upon a room blocked off by a purple curtain. “Behind here stands the Holy of Holies,” the guardian said. “Be reminded of the words I spoke earlier. If any of you do not belong here, now is your chance to turn and leave. You will be given safe passage off of the land and no one will think any less of you.”

  With an authority that even Caleb didn’t know he possessed, he asked the Guardian to open the curtain so they could look upon the Ark. The Guardian bowed his head and pulled back the curtain so all could enter. There in the middle of the room, in front of an altar, sitting on top of a marble column sat the Ark of the Covenant.

  Although all had heard the description of the Ark and seen drawings of it, time and time again, their eyes were not worthy of what they gazed upon. In front of them sat the true, the one and the only Ark of the Covenant. Dropping to their knees they all prayed to God for allowing them to see such a magnificent sight.

  They gazed upon a gold box with two winged creatures on the top. There were twenty four smaller angelic-type figurines forming a molding around the top. As they gazed upon it they could imagine God sitting atop the Mercy Seat or the kapporet, as it is called in Hebrew.

  “The poles used to carry it are in the corner of the room,” the Guardian said. As he was talking, Ira was drawn to The Ark. Reaching out to touch it, his hand was suddenly struck by the monk’s walking stick. “To open the Ark or to even touch it before it is reunited with the others is a sure death, even if you are who you say you are. Look about the floor which surrounds the Ark. Those are not mounds of dirt, but what is left of all those who came before you. Those foolish enough not to heed my words.”

  “How are we supposed to transport it, if we are not able to touch it?” Ira said, rubbing his wrist which began to swell.

  “I’m sure the Ambassador was going to tell you, but since he hasn’t, I will,” said the Guardian. “Once outside the fenced in area of the Holy grounds, the Ark will lose a bit of its power. If you are foolhardy enough to touch it, you will not die an instantaneous and painless death, but will die in tortuous agony.

  “It can only be carried by the poles you see in the corner and it must never touch the ground. Whenever it is laid to rest it must be placed upon something that will protect its bottom surface, even a towel or a sheet will do, although it is only respectful to keep it up off the ground as you see it now—and one of you must be a priest.”

  “Like you, Guardian, my predecessors and I have been waiting for this moment for many years,” Caleb said. “I appreciate all that you have said, but I, like you, know all the truths as well as the myths that have followed the Ark for centuries. We have taken all the precautions necessary to transport the Ark from Aksum to its new resting place. And, as far as the priest is concerned, that is why I have brought Father Reilly with me this day.”

  When all the talking was finished, Red gathered the poles and slid each one through the gold rings on the front and back of the Ark. A set of gold rings were found on the right side and on the left. As he stood between the poles in front of the Ark and Caleb stood between the poles at the back, the Guardian could see that they were both visibly shaken. A cold sweat began to pour down their faces and the hair on their arms stood in fright. Their hands began to quiver as they wondered what would happen when they actually lifted the Ark from its resting place.

  Red reminded himself that he had been trained for this moment since he was a child. He thought back to all the training, pain and ridicule. With a renewed confidence, he said, “On my count of three, we lift.”

  Hearing no answer from behind him, Red turned to see a visibly distraught Caleb frozen with fear. “Ambassador, are you ready?” Red asked. This time there was a bit more punch behind his wording.

  The authority in which the question was asked, snapped Caleb from his funk. “Yes, yes, of course Father Reilly. On your count of three,” he answered.

  On the count, they both grabbed the poles and lifted the Ark off the pedestal. The sheer weight of it made them grunt as they straightened their backs and began to walk. At that moment, it could have weighed ten times the amount and they would not have cared. The fact that they were alive and not a pile of ash was all they could think about.

  Outside the church, the followers of the Guardian and the protectors of the grounds had gathered to watch the strangers leave with the one thing that meant more to them than life itself. Other than God and his laws, nothing meant more to them than the Ark of the Covenant. As Red led the Ark through the gates where the Guardian had lived since the age of seven, two of the priests stepped forward and placed a silken cloth on top of the Ark.

  “The temptation to touch it will become too strong to resist if you or your men are able to rest your eyes upon it for too long,” one of them said.

  They then bowed in reverence and backed away. As they were stepping backward, a man came rushing forward and threw himself on top of the Ark, hugging it as if it were his long lost child.

  The Guardian quickly pulled the man off of the Ark, but it was already too late. Agony enveloped him as he screamed out in pain. Grabbing the front of his tunic, he ripped it open. Red and everyone else could see large boils and open sores all over the man’s chest. As suddenly as the screaming began, it ended as the man slumped to the ground, writhing and convulsing in death’s tortuous march.

  “I am sorry that you had to witness this,” the Guardian said, “but let it stand as a reminder to the power of the Ark. It is not to be touched until it is reunited with the two that came before it.”

  Once the three had left with the Ark, one of the priests spoke to the Guardian. “Do you think there is any chance that they know that they are carrying a replica and not the true Ark of the Covenant?”

  The Guardian let a rare smile crack the seriousness of his expression. “If you could have seen them down in the Holy of Holies, you would know that there is no chance. And after the performance of Brother Michael, they are more than certain that they possess the rightful Ark.” These words spoken, The Guardian once again took his post inside the gated area in front of the Church of St. Mary of Zion.

  “Guardian, if I may ask,” said the same priest, “why do you still sit your post?”

  “I will pray for the true Ambassador’s safety as he searches for the true Ark of the Covenant, and I will wait here until he brings it home.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Three hours after unfolding their bodies off their cold damp earthen beds, the Covenant Team began to wake from their forced slumber. Although, there was at first a weak protest from Alana about stopping, as soon as the four of them were off their feet and the head lamps were doused, she was asleep in seconds.

  She woke to the sounds of whispering voices and opened her eyes to the eerie yellow glow of a lantern. She stretched her arms above her head and felt her torso give way as if her spine had been tractioned. It was a welcomed feeling of relief as the warmth of blood and nerve floated up through her body. Sitting, she looked over to see Seven and Bishop Jessup whispering between each other while drinking a hot cup of coffee thanks to a portable propane torch lighter.

  “All the comforts of home, I see,” Alana said as she rose to her feet to join the men.

  “Don’t assume until you actually taste it,” Bishop Jessup said.

  She rubbed her arms to try to keep warm. “Anything hot, even the worst coffee seems inviting.”

  “Then you’re in luck, because that’s just what I’m serving,” Seven said.

  Torching another cup, he handed it to Alana who accepted it with a grateful expression. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Seven said, as she brought the hot cup up to her lips.

  Her expression said all that needed
to be said. Her face was half puckered from the bitterness of the coffee and was half in a convulsive state as she desperately tried to keep down what she had swallowed.

  The Bishop smiled as he took a swig from his mug. “Try not to let it stay on top of your teeth for any length of time. I’m not certain, but I think it will peel the enamel off quicker than bleach will remove the color from your clothes.”

  Alana looked at Seven. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think it has already removed the lining of my digestive tract.”

  Seven smiled. “Thinking of it as a high octane dose of caffeine combined with a colon cleanse kind of takes the edge off.”

  Alana was just about to ask him what he meant by the colon cleanse when her intestines started talking to her. A look of complete fear came over her as she reached into her backpack for an excrement bag. Half running, half waddling away to find some bit of privacy, the boys could hear her yelling in Hebrew as she disappeared into the shadows of the cave.

  “Would you care to interpret what the pretty lady just said?” asked Seven.

  “Being a man of the cloth, I cannot give you the exact interpretation, but let’s just say, she plans on putting your head in the same bag as soon as she’s finished.”

  The two friends looked at each other and immediately cracked up laughing. This continued until they saw her walk out from the shadows. As she got a little closer, she seemed a little peaked. When she saw them laughing, she wanted to be angry, but as she thought back over the past few minutes and what it must have looked like from the ‘other’ side, she too couldn’t help but start to laugh. When the humor of the moment subsided, Alana finally took notice of the fact that Brent was missing.

  “Where is Brent?”

  “He left to scout ahead, right after everyone fell asleep,” Seven said.

  “What do you mean, ‘he left’?” she exclaimed. “He could get caught in one of the traps that we were warned about. He’s not infallible!”

  “He’s about as close as you’re going to find in this world.”

  Alana cocked her head to the side, slightly confused in what Seven said. “I keep hearing such talk. Would you care to explain exactly what you mean?”

  “Sit down and we’ll talk,” he said. She wasn’t in the mood to sit, but she knew better than to argue at this point, especially if she wanted the information he was willing to pass on. Sitting cross legged, she accepted another cup of coffee from Bishop Jessup and stared at Seven, silently waiting for him to continue.

  “There really isn’t much to say,” he began. “You just have to understand that Brent is different than other men. . . ”

  “What do you mean, different?” Alana interrupted, her frustration growing.

  Seven thought for a moment, “You’ve heard of a sixth sense? You know a quality that some people have, um. . . ”

  “I know what you mean by sixth sense, but many people have this. How does this make Brent so different?”

  “It’s as if he has another sense beyond that. It’s not that he knows what people are thinking, though it may seem like it at times. It’s that he can sense what the future might hold and then he can figure out every possible scenario and outcome before the future becomes the present. Does that make any sense?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Do you remember when we were in your home and Brent was squatting against the wall?” Alana took a sip of coffee and nodded. Seven continued. “He is able to drop his blood pressure and pulse to a point where he is able to go beyond a level of consciousness. . . ”

  “Like a subconscious level.”

  “Like dead,” Seven blurted out before he even knew what he said.

  “What?”

  “Umm, well kind of, but not really. He goes into his head deeper than just a subconscious level. It’s as if he taps into a black hole that exists in part of the mind that the rest of us can’t tap into.”

  Alana was now extremely frustrated. Seven wasn’t making any sense to her at all. She threw up her hands and started to rant in Hebrew,

  “.”

  “A little help, Bishop.”

  “She said that you’re talking in circles and she wants to know what the hell you’re trying to tell her.”

  Seven took a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly. He held his hands out in front of him as if he were trying to stop traffic. “Let me start over.” He thought for a moment about what he was about to say and how it would forever change Alana’s relationship with the rest of them. “If Brent trusted you enough to let you know that he was The Ambassador, than I guess no subject is taboo. I’m going to tell you something only because Brent let you know that he is The Ambassador.”

  “He didn’t tell me, I figured that out by myself,” Alana said.

  “Trust me, if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t have figured out squat,” Seven replied.

  “I hate to admit it, but I’m with him on that one,” the Bishop said. “He controlled the situation so that you would be able to figure it out. If he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t.”

  “For times’ sake, let’s say you are right, what does this have to do with Brent being different than every other man?”

  “It has everything to do with it, don’t you see, he sensed that you would try to guess and he controlled the outcome.” Seven could practically see Alana’s blood pressure about to boil over and at this point he was almost as exasperated at she was. “Forget all that,” he said in a raised voice. “Just sit there and listen and promise not to interrupt until I’m finished.” In a lowered voice, he added, “Please.”

  Alana could now see Seven’s frustration just as he could see hers, so she quietly agreed and sat back against the cave wall and began to listen.

  “The best way I can explain what I mean about Brent being different, is by giving you an example,” he began. “As part of the Israeli military at one point, I’m sure you had heard the rumors about some elite band of mercenaries, about one hundred strong, who could be hired by anyone for the right price.” Alana nodded her knowledge of such a group. “Part of that myth, a very small part is true,” Seven continued. “The only truth to it is that there is a group of highly trained soldiers and they are the best of the best.”

  “How is it that you know this and what does this have to do with Brent?” she asked.

  “So much for agreeing not to interrupt,” Seven said. “If you will listen, I will tell you.” Before he could be interrupted again, he continued. “Brent is the leader of a squad of four men, well, now four men and one woman, not the hundreds that are rumored. The squad is known as the Phantom Squad. It is only called into a situation when every form of legal military and diplomatic strategy has been employed, but found to be unsuccessful.

  “We are the most covert military entity anywhere in the world. The squad is privately funded and is entirely on its own. If one or all of us should ever be captured, no government, including the United States will ever admit knowing about The Phantom Squad’s existence and they would never send in any type of backup.”

  Sensing Alana’s next question, Seven said, “What makes the Phantom Squad so special and so successful is threefold. One, who they are. When the powers-at-be decided to form a squad of this caliber, they knew it couldn’t be left to any branch of the service to form it. It was decided that the squad would be made up of whoever the best candidates were regardless of military background.

  “One thousand of the best soldiers were chosen to undergo the toughest training imaginable. They were profiled by genetic makeup, personality, emotional stability, intelligence quotient, and street smarts. From there they were continually weeded down until only fifty were left. That’s when the real training began.”

  Alana had been dying to say something and took the first opportunity she had. “If those in charge were afraid of military bias
, then who trained these men?”

  “That leads us the second reason that they are the very best,” Seven said. “A civilian was chosen to do the training and have all the final decisions in choosing the squad.”

  “But I thought Brent was military,” she said.

  “He is. I chose and trained the men.”

  “You’re not military?” Alana was stunned by this knowledge. “And if you’re not, what makes you so special, that you were chosen for this assignment?”

  “Let’s just say that before this assignment, I was one of those people who could be bought to do a government’s dirty work. I was the best and most highly paid mercenary there was, but that’s another story for another time.

  “I had originally envisioned a squad of four men, unfortunately only three made the final cut. That’s how I ended up being the fourth member of The Phantom Squad.”

  “If they were the best and you trained them, why are you not their leader?”

  “That would bring us to the third reason. Because I’m smart enough to know when I’m outclassed by another. Even during training, Brent showed an intrinsic quality that could not be explained or quantified. You just felt it.

  “During the final training mission, a survival mission, there was a landslide on the mountain their course had been laid out on. That was the first time, the first of many that Brent saved my life and the lives of the other two members of the squad.” Seven stopped talking for a moment to put a pinch of tobacco in his mouth. While he did so, he fully expected Alana to start asking questions, but she just sat and stared at the ground. He could tell that she still wasn’t quite sure what all this had to do with Brent being different than all other men.

  “I’ve told you all of this as a backdrop to the next part of the story,” Seven said as he spit tobacco juice on the cave floor. “I’m sure you remember when the Prime Minister of Israel’s daughter and grandson were captured by the extremist group calling themselves, ‘The Lords of Palestine’.”