by J. M. LeDuc
Everyone was quiet. No one knew what to say. They stared at the table, each imagining what Brent had gone through. Brent didn’t pick up on how uncomfortable they felt. His gaze remained focused on the screen.
President Dupree broke the silence. In a fragile voice, he said, “Brent, after the rescue, weeks after, when Charlotte was finally able to speak, she said there were two men present in the room, two, not including you. She would lie in bed and repeat over and over, ‘Two men and one, two men and one.’ Like some sort of mantra. Her doctors dismissed it as post-traumatic stress disorder. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“John, why didn’t you ever mention this before now?”
“I—I just believed what the doctors told me. Why? Do you know what she meant?”
“She wasn’t saying two men and one, she was saying two men in one. She saw Jonas transform from a soft-spoken, juvenile young man into a demon.”
“Oh, my God.” The President’s voice cracked. “She was right—and I didn’t believe her. After that incident with the doctors, she became angry and refused to speak to any of us.” He sniffled, then cleared his throat, audible signs that he was becoming emotional. “Even today, she doesn’t talk to me often. Our relationship has never been the same.” Everyone in the room could hear the president pacing the floor of the Oval Office.
“Now what do I do? I can’t let her relive that nightmare. I just can’t.”
Before the President could say another word, Brent interjected, “She won’t. I won’t let that happen.” Changing his tone to a softer, more empathetic one, he added, “John, please, listen to me. Get in touch with your daughter and tell her about the escape before she hears about it in the news. Tell her in person. Have the Secret Service bring her to you, under false pretenses, if necessary. Just make sure you tell her in person.”
“Of course. But why are you so adamant about it?”
“Because she’ll run if she finds out any other way. I know all too well what kind of effect this news will have on her. Believe me, if she is not in your custody, she’ll try to run and hide from him.” Brent hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “But she won’t be able to. He’ll find her if she tries to hide from him.”
The tension in the room grew thicker with Brent’s words.
“Please do exactly as I say,” he continued. “Once she’s with you and you’ve explained the situation, put her on a plane and send her to us.”
“Why down there? That doesn’t make sense. The Butcher is looking for you, too!”
Brent paid no attention to the President’s remarks. Keeping his demeanor calm, he said, “Because it’s the only place she’ll be safe.”
“I want her here with me,” President Dupree said. “I’ll triple her Secret Service protection.”
“With all due respect, sir, she won’t be any safer. Listen to me. I know you want to protect her. This is the only way. It’s what you must do.”
“Give me one good reason why and I’ll agree. Tell me why she’d be safer there with you than here with the best protective force in the world.”
Brent almost told him about the tunnel system, but that would divulge the secret of the Endowment and in turn put the President in harm’s way. That was something he wasn’t prepared to do.
“Well?”
“I can’t. As a friend, I’m asking you to trust me. I would never put Charlotte in harm’s way. If I wasn’t sure this was the best plan of action, I wouldn’t have brought it up. John, I’m asking you…no, pleading with you to trust me. The only place Charlotte will be safe from that maniac is here, with us.”
The President’s voice was a quivering mess. “As God as your witness, Brent, do you swear this is the only way? I couldn’t live with myself if that animal got hold of her again.”
“As God as my witness, I swear.”
The President was silent for a moment. “What do you need me to do? I can put her on Air Force One this afternoon, and she’ll be there tonight.”
“Whoa, slow down,” Brent said. “First, have the Secret Service pick her up at work. Send someone she trusts. Tell her whatever it takes for her to go with them to the White House. Then you tell her what happened. Keep her in D.C. until tomorrow evening.”
“Why so long?”
Brent hesitated, he knew what he was about to say wouldn’t go over well. “I need to give the Butcher enough time to make his way from Nevada to D.C.”
“Are you insane?” the President yelled. “I’m not jeopardizing my daughter’s life so that we can wait until that madman is close by.”
“John, please listen to the entire plan. I would never ask you to put Charlotte at risk. Okay?”
“Go ahead,” President Dupree said, “but so far, I’m not on board with this one bit.”
“Replace her with an agent disguised as Charlotte. Have her follow Charlotte’s schedule to a tee. No deviation whatsoever. She’ll live in her condo until stage two of the plan. Move Charlotte today, to a safe house located at 721 Piedmont Drive in Arlington.”
“Who lives at that address?”
“The less you know, the safer you are. But you can be confident she will be safe. At 8:00 tomorrow evening, Charlotte will be transported from the safe house to a hidden airstrip. At 9:00, she will board a non-descript Lear jet and fly directly to another hidden airstrip in Palm Cove. I’ll be waiting for her.”
Joan typed as Brent talked. They had worked together for so long, she knew when to record his conversations.
“Got that, sir?”
“Got it.”
“At the same time your daughter is being moved, the decoy and her Secret Service escort will leave her house and be driven to Air Force One at Langley, where the plane will depart at 9:00. Its destination will be your vacation compound in San Diego. Is everything understood?”
“How can you be sure Charlotte won’t be followed to this safe house, or be seen leaving it?”
“Because you will have her and the agents transported from the White House in one of the laundry trucks which will be parked at the entrance to the underground bunker.”
Shock shown on the president’s face. “How do you know of the bunker and its location, Colonel?”
“Trust, sir. This will only work if you have total trust.”
“All right. Forget the question—for now.”
“Once she’s at the safe house, she’ll be taken to the plane by way of tunnel. The house is built on top of a vein of the underground railroad.”
“How do you know about this place?” As soon as the words left his mouth, the President knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer.
“You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“I do.”
“So we’re clear on the plan?”
“Clear.”
“One more thing. All communication is now Level Four. Do you still have that satellite phone I gave you?”
“The one you said I’d probably never need? Yes, it’s in my safe.”
“Have it with you at all times. If you need to contact us, use channel thirteen. From this point forward, all communication goes through that channel only.”
“How do I know our conversations won’t be monitored?”
“It’s a Phantom Squad-issued phone. No other satellite phones exist with that bandwidth. There is no safer form of communication. For extra security both parties, will always answer with the code phrase, ‘John 3:16’.”
“Got it. And Brent?”
“Yes, sir?”
“God be with you. All of you.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” They all heard the dial tone, signaling the President hung up. The video connection went black.
CHAPTER 5
Brent looked at his team. “We have a lot of work to do. Before we split up, I want to hear the audio portion of the security v
ideo again.”
“I don’t think those were just noises coming out of the Butcher’s mouth,” Chloe said.
Maddie looked at her best friend. “I didn’t think so either.”
“He sounds like a nut job to me.”
Brent squeezed Seven’s shoulder. “We all have our strengths, my friend. Language was never one of yours.”
“Very funny.”
Everyone chuckled, momentarily breaking the tension. They all knew Seven was a man of action, someone who rarely spoke, even among his closest friends. But if ever there was trouble, he was the one they wanted by their side. Brent was one of the only people he ever opened up to. And now, of course, Maddie, his fiancé, the woman he loved.
“Joan, can you isolate the audio? No pictures. They’re too distracting.”
“Sure, just give me a sec.” Her fingers danced across her keyboard and within seconds, she isolated the audio. “That should do it. Ready?”
“Almost,” Chloe interjected. “Let’s turn off the lights.”
“Why?” Maddie asked.
“Because of something I learned while studying linguistics. By limiting the number of senses we use, others will be heightened. It should make it easier to decipher what’s being said.”
When the room was pitch black, Joan played the audio.
The first sound they heard might have belonged to a young boy or girl. The intonation was shy, unsure, high-pitched and a little scratchy. The words or sounds weren’t recognizable as any used in modern language. They did recognize however that the words were said in a sing-song, repetitive manner.
Two or three sentences or verses were repeated over and over. As the mantra continued, the tone of voice changed. The voice transformed into a guttural rasp. Deep, venomous, no longer human. It felt more like a bass-like vibration than a sound. It entered their bodies through their auditory canals and seeped into their skin, causing an alteration in their emotions and permeated their very core. They heard it, felt it and tasted it. What they sensed, they feared.
Each of them longed to shut off the sound, to say something to stop it, but some power would not allow it. Instead it took control and over-rode their decision-making. As the unwelcomed sounds continued, the only unchangeable dimension was the constant cadence and the rhythm of the words.
As the voice grew darker and more vile in nature, the words were no longer rhythmic. They’d become blunt and coarse. Each word ended sharply before the next began, and with it, an edge that had the power to cut into those who heard them. The cuts were not of the flesh, but to the soul.
Just as they all felt they would be engulfed by the power of the voice, the audio mercifully ended.
The room had grown disturbingly quiet. Unlike earlier when everyone shifted in their seats, no one moved. Too afraid to open their eyes, fearful of what they might see. Under the cloak of darkness, they heard one another breathe. Shallow, labored breathing.
Brent had felt these exact emotions many times before. Each time he awoke from one of his nightmares.
For years after the capture of the Omega Butcher, Brent had nightmares. So bad, that he became an insomniac. Nothing worked: sleeping pills, psychiatry, psychotherapy, biofeedback, even hypnotherapy, none of it. Once he awoke from one of these gruesome episodes, he’d leave his house and wander the streets in the dead of night. It was the only remedy that helped him relax. That’s how he discovered The Loft, an all-night coffee shop and bookstore frequented by college students pulling all-nighters.
The nightmares began to fade after Brent stumbled into the old Catholic Church. The doors of the small, stone cathedral were always open. He’d go in and pray, or just sit in a pew. There he’d nod off, able to sleep until morning.
Although Brent always had a strong faith, his encounter with the Butcher cracked that foundation. Sitting in God’s house late at night restored that foundation and was a large part of his recovery.
Brent opened his eyes and glanced around the table. The glow of the room’s emergency lighting cast an eerie glow. Everyone’s eyes were still closed and they were slumped against the backs of their chairs. They appeared spent; exhausted.
“Everyone all right?”
His voice snapped them back to reality. They emerged from their stupor and one by one, opened their eyes.
Chloe spoke in a voice barely audible, “I think so.”
The others responded in much the same way.
Seeing the fear in the eyes of the girls, Seven rose from his chair and said, “I’ll get the lights.”
“Wait. Not yet,” Brent said. “Before we turn the lights back on, there’s something I want to—need to know. It might be easier to talk about it in the dark. I need to know what everyone just experienced and if everyone is alright talking about it.”
He heard a faint, almost uncertain “ah ha” from everyone except Maddie.
Brent reached across the table and squeezed her fingers. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not up to it. That goes for all of you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, taking a sip of water. “Just need a minute to comprehend what just happened.”
Seven put his arm around her and planted a reassuring peck on her head. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he whispered, and kissed her again.
Brent cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, “I’ll start,” he said. “When the audio began, I felt a deep sadness for whomever was speaking. In my mind, I saw a child. At first, a boy, then a little girl. As the voice changed, so did my emotions, from sadness to anger, because this little girl began to lose her innocence. I visualized a depressed, angry, yet vulnerable, teenager.”“Did your vision stay a girl?” Maddie interrupted.
“No, as the voice deepened, I imagined a male. Until this point, I hadn’t put a face with the image. When it turned into a man, it was definitely McFarland. Every time the phrase, or whatever it was, repeated, a jolt of painful electricity ran through me. Weird as it may sound, I felt an involuntary muscle twitch like the ones we saw on the video.”
Brent cracked his knuckles, buying him some time to get his thoughts together. “Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. I saw myself seated in a room, no doors or windows. Through the blackness, I could see a shadow in front of me. As soon as it appeared, my mind began to play tricks on me. I had flashbacks of my life, not everything, just the stuff I regret. I saw the face of every person I’ve killed, the face of every person I’ve left behind. The worst part wasn’t seeing them, the worst part…”
Brent stopped to compose himself.
“The worst part was feeling their emotions. Their pain became my pain, their despair, my despair. When I thought I was about to go insane, the shadow disappeared and the flashbacks ended. When the darkness cleared, I was released from the pain.”
The room was dead quiet. Seconds felt like hours.
Seven spoke, “I, ah, I kinda had the same experience. I saw a faceless little kid and I found myself in a dark room, but I, um…” He dropped his head and shook it from side to side, not knowing if he could go on.
Brent, now pacing the room, stood behind Seven and said, “You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”
Seven nodded, “I know, but you know as much as I do how much it helps to talk about what we experienced after a mission. This feels exactly like that.”
“What was it?” Maddie asked, so choked with emotion, she could barely form the words. “What did you see?”
Seven took his dip can out of his back pocket, pinched off some tobacco and placed it behind his bottom lip. Chewing tobacco had a way of calming him down. “When I was in the room, and the shadow emerged, a gun, my service pistol, materialized in my hand. The pain and despair was so bad, I thought about killing myself so I could make it stop. I went so far as putting it in my mouth and cocking the trigger. I
didn’t want to do it, but I’d lost control over my actions. Just as I was about to squeeze the trigger, the shadow vanished. My mind cleared and the gun and despair were gone. I sat there weeping like a baby. Then I heard him speak.”
“Heard who speak?” Maddie asked.
“I’m not sure. It was the same guttural voice that came from the Butcher’s mouth. But it wasn’t him. Wasn’t human.”
By now, Maddie was visibly scared. With fear in her voice, she asked, “What did it say?’
“The voice said, ‘This world and all that is in it belongs to me. When I command you to, you will pull that trigger.’”
Maddie dissolved into tears. She was scared, mostly because she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She was a woman who needed control in her life. This, she couldn’t control.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she sobbed. She leaned over to Seven, wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. For the first time in a long time, since the day she’d met Joseph Conklin, the day he took her from her old life, she felt vulnerable.
Sensing the degree of fear in the room, Brent turned the lights on. Looking about the room he saw that all three women had tears in their eyes. When they looked at one another, their tears flowed freely. Drawn to each other, they rose from their chairs and fell into a group hug.
“I know how hard this is,” Brent said, “but if we don’t discuss it now, while it’s still fresh, it’ll fester and eat away at us. Eat our very souls.” His sincere tone spoke from experience. “So, please, for your own sakes and for the sake of the Alliance, talk about what you saw.”
Each story was similar to the one before it. A shadow had emerged for all of them.
Maddie verbalized only part of what she visualized. She saw her childhood pass before her eyes, the pain and humiliation of the emotional and physical abuse she’d received at the hands of her father. She then saw herself as a young woman. A call girl living in Atlanta, and she felt the emotional pain of every wife of every man who had paid for her services. She imagined the pain of families lost because of her.
