Cornerstone (Phantom Squad Series Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

Brent placed the sword inside, slung the case’s strap over his shoulder and looked up to see Seven walking back up the beach. “Love you, brother,” he yelled.

  Seven kept moving and raised his arm in a wave. “Git, before you see a gap-toothed hick get emotional.”

  As Brent began walking down the beach, he heard Seven yell, “Love you too, brother.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Sitting at the train station, Brent couldn’t help but notice the young man to his left. He appeared on edge. His demeanor was cool on the outside, yet he seemed ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. His eyes and his posture were his tells. His eyes never stopped roaming the platform. His hands were in constant motion, relaxed and then balled up in fists. The pattern was repetitive. He sat Indian style, but looked as if he could spring from his coiled position like a cobra. The young man’s hair was long, black and shiny. The Army tat on his bulging right bicep muscle flexed in a subconscious manner. He wasn’t looking for trouble, but his posture stated that he was expecting it.

  A few minutes later it arrived. Five men, his approximate age, mid-to-late twenties, appeared on the platform and fanned out around him. Their leader approached from the side. In his back pocket was a pair of Chinese nunchucks.

  The young man on the bench surveyed the scene, never changing his position.

  “You going somewhere, Tag?” the leader said. His anger seemed palpable.

  The young man looked straight at him and spoke in a quiet confidence. “I have no beef with you or anyone from the tribe. I’m just looking to leave town.”

  “The problem is—the tribe has a beef with you.” The aggressor whistled a bird sound and the other four closed in, blocking all portals of egress. “You know the tribal rules. We are an independent nation. Your stint in the U.S. Army violated our code. You were warned not to return.”

  “It’s a free country. I just came home to see my family. Now, I’m leaving.”

  The leader of the gang stood directly in front of Tag. He shoved him on the shoulder in an attempt to agitate the young man. “It’s bad enough you went and joined up, but then we discovered you and your family are not even tribal members. You lived on the reservation among our people, taking what is not yours.”

  “My mother is pure Seminole. We had every right to live there.”

  Brent noticed that the young man still spoke with a quiet confidence. This seemed to further infuriate the gang.

  “She married a Cree. That makes you and your sister a half breed.” He spit in Tag’s face. “She will be dealt with later. You on the other hand, will be punished now.”

  Tag wiped the spit from his face and stared at his aggressor with a quiet anger. His eyes grew dark and menacing as he spoke. “Your problem with me has nothing to do with my parents or my sister. You leave them out of this.”

  A laugh of disgust burst from the leader. A laugh filled with hate. He brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled. A sixth man entered the platform pulling a girl, no more than fifteen, along with him. She was gagged and her hands were tied. When Tag saw his younger sister, his demeanor changed.

  He sprung from the bench and pointed to her. “Let her go. Now!”

  The leader smirked. “She won’t be harmed. We just wanted her to witness what happens to those who break our rules.”

  “The elders made it perfectly clear that no tribal laws were broken. I had every right to join the military.”

  “The elders are wrong. Their ways are old. Our ways are now the way of the tribe.”

  Tag’s eyes narrowed and his pupils dilated. His forearms and biceps surged with blood, becoming vascular in appearance. “Let her go and we finish this now.”

  Brent scanned the scene. The others pulled their hands out of their pockets revealing brass knuckles and knives. They closed in on Tag, surrounding him from every angle.

  Damn. I just wanted to leave quietly. He slowly removed his backpack and stood. “Six against one. A coward’s odds,” he said.

  The leader’s head snapped in his direction. “Stay out of this old man. This is tribal business.”

  Brent rolled up his shirt sleeve revealing his identical Army tattoo. “I see it a bit different,” he said. “Your anger seems to stem from this young man’s patriotism. I have a problem with that.”

  The gang leader raised his hand and the others closed rank on Brent. “Our friend’s allegiance was misguided. If he wanted to fight, he should have fought alongside of us, not alongside a nation that abandoned us.”

  Brent’s smile disappeared. His eyes became blank. “You must be the group of punks I’ve read about. Outcasts from your own tribe. Even my friend, your chief, has tried to make you understand, but you refuse to listen.”

  The leader pointed a finger in Brent’s face. “It seems you’re the one who’s misguided. The chief is a fool. This is our tribe now.”

  As they spoke, Brent saw Lieutenant Owens and three other Palm Cove police officers appear on the platform. He nodded in their direction and asked them to stand down.

  Lieutenant Owens nodded and looked at the crowd of people who had gathered. “We’ll make sure no bystanders get hurt.” He smirked. “You need any help, you let me know.”

  The gang leader looked at the police and back at the other braves. “Don’t worry about them,” he said. “They have no jurisdiction over our nation.”

  Brent again addressed the gang’s leader. “It seems you’re the misguided ones. I will ask you one time to leave this train station before you and your friends get hurt.”

  “Someone’s going to get hurt all right, but it won’t be us,” the leader fired back. “Why don’t you just walk off this platform and let us settle this matter our way.”

  Brent shook his head. “Can’t do. You see,” he rubbed his hand over his tattoo, “I made a vow years ago to help a brother in need. You fight him, you fight me.”

  The nunchucks were now in the young man’s hands. He put on a demonstration of his expertise with the ancient oriental weapon. With each forward motion of the sticks, he closed in on Brent until the colonel could hear the weapon pass by his ears with each movement.

  Brent didn’t move one iota, knowing even the slightest motion would mean being hit. “I’ll ask you once again to put those away and crawl back under the rock you came from.”

  The leader’s face turned crimson with anger. He took an offensive stance and attacked. With dexterity and speed, he flipped the nunchucks under his arms, across his body, and went for the strike. Brent’s speed was even more impressive. As the weapon was about to hit its mark on his temple, his arms flew out in unison with the movement of the nunchucks and he caught the wooden dowel in his hand. The sting of impact was deep, but not even a wince of pain showed on his face.

  He grasped and pulled the weapon from his attacker’s hands.

  Lieutenant Owens’ men dropped their hands to their guns, but were given the command to stand down. “Watch and learn,” Lieutenant Owen told his men.

  Brent put on a blazing exhibition on how the nunchucks should be used. Just as he was about to strike, he pulled back and held both chained dowels in one hand. He threw them aside and waited for the attacker to react. A switchblade appeared in his hand.

  “I’m going to enjoy gutting you, old man.”

  He attacked again. Brent crouched low and assumed an offensive position. With catlike dexterity, he spun and landed a roundhouse kick to the outside of the young man’s knee. The sound of ligaments snapping could be heard by all those who watched. The attacker dropped, clutching his leg and screaming in pain. His eyes went to his followers. Through clenched teeth, he yelled, “Finish them.”

  They all attacked at once.

  Brent glanced over at Tag, who was taking care of two of them. That left three. Brent spun, eyeing his prey. He picked out the weak link and drove his hand into the young man’s throat. He
felt the cartilage of his windpipe shatter as he went down, gasping for air. Seconds later, the gang was laid out on the cement slab clutching different body parts and moaning in pain.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Tag.

  Tag nodded, breathing heavily from the ordeal.

  Brent’s respirations hadn’t increased at all.

  Brent could hear the train approaching.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Venturi,” Lieutenant Owens said as he waved his men forward to make the arrests.

  People started to cross in between Owens and Brent as they made their way toward the train.

  Brent yelled above the crowd. “Please take the young lady back home,” Brent said, “and I would appreciate it if you could put a watch on her family.”

  “I would love to,” Owens yelled, trying to keep his eyes on Brent, “but you know tribal law. We are not allowed on their property.”

  “They no longer live on reservation property,” Tag said. “My family’s home is just off my peoples’ land.”

  “In that case, consider it done,” Owens said. He now stood next to the leader and pulled him up by the scruff of his neck, balancing him on his good leg. The young man opened his mouth to speak, but the lieutenant shut him up. “You’ll get it looked at after we book you and your friends here on attempted murder with a deadly weapon.”

  When the police were busy rounding up the gang, Brent took the opportunity to disappear into the crowd.

  CHAPTER 15

  The two took adjacent seats on the train as it prepared to pull out of the station.

  A half hour went by, yet no words were spoken. Brent feigned sleep until he heard Tag’s voice.

  “Thank you for the help, sir…”

  Brent opened his eyes and peered over at the young man.

  Before he could speak, Tag continued. “But I could have handled it myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that you could.” A smile crept onto his face. “I just had a little pent up aggression and the situation seemed like a good way to dispense with it.” He waited for a response, but the soldier just stared back. “So, Tag, is that your full name?”

  “Rowtag, it’s . . .”

  “Algonquin . . . Cree,” Brent said. “I like it. It’s a strong name. It means Christian, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Tag returned the smile. “You speak Cree?”

  Brent shrugged. “In my line of work, I’ve picked up a few words here and there.”

  Tag’s posture became more erect. Curiosity filled his expression. “May I ask what line of work that is, sir?”

  “I’m a librarian, I read a lot.”

  Tag smirked. “Right, a librarian.”

  Brent pushed his hair away from his face. “Do I detect some sarcasm?”

  Tag mimicked Brent’s move. “Well, let’s see.” He held up a finger. “One, you seem to have a lot of pull with the police. You ask them to stand down and they do without as much as a single question.” He held up a second finger and leaned forward. “Two, you fight with the moves of a seasoned Special Forces officer.” Tag sat back in his seat. “That must be quite an interesting library you work in.”

  Brent sat back, mimicking Tag’s movements. “Why would you think I was an officer?”

  “Your confidence and movements gave it away. High ranking I would suspect.”

  Brent laughed. “Retired, full bird, and you?”

  “I was a second Lieu when I opted out.”

  “Hmm,” Brent again closed his eyes. He knew if Tag wanted to talk about it, he would without prodding. The young officer did the same. It seemed the time wasn’t right for soul searching.

  CHAPTER 16

  That morning, the SIA directorate, sans the bishop, convened for its daily meeting. Before they adjourned, Joan told everyone that she had received a note from Brent that he asked her to read.

  Standing in front of the room, she cleared her throat, “Ahem,” and read,

  Take care of each other and my baby until I get back. You know I’m no good to anyone the way I am, especially to her. She is to be christened, Faith Chloe Adler. She will carry her mother’s name. Brent Venturi is dead.

  There was only silence.

  Just about the time the train was leaving the station, a plane was touching down in Palm Cove. A plane piloted by Q. He worked for the Endowment network and was part of the Inner Circle.

  “I hope you enjoyed your flight, miss.”

  The woman picked up her bag and looked out the window.

  Q checked his watch. “Your ride should be pulling up right about now.” As he spoke, a car drove onto the tarmac. “If it means anything, I hope you can help. Brent needs as many friends as possible around him right now.”

  Her full lips edged upward in an awkward smile. She pushed her long, thick, dark hair back from her face. “I appreciate the lift,” she said in an Israeli accent. “It was a bit less dramatic than the last time you picked me up.”

  Q’s expression broke into a full faced grin. “Yeah . . . and no gunfire this time.”

  She threw her bag over her shoulder. “You can’t have everything.”

  Q laughed. “Maybe next time.”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  Outside the plane, Bishop Jessop waited, nervous with anticipation. When the door opened, he saw only Q. For a moment he thought she may have changed her mind. Alana appeared in the doorway, and he smiled. He knew this was the right thing to do, even if the colonel didn’t warm up to it right away.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said.

  She dropped her bags and hugged her old friend. “I just hope I’m not making a fool out of myself.”

  “You’re not, but he’s in a bad place. He might not give you the warmest of receptions. You’ll have to give him time.”

  She opened the passenger door. “Time is all I have.”

  Arriving at HQ, the bishop looked over at Alana. “Everything from this point on doesn’t exist. I’m sure I can count on your keeping a secret.”

  “I’m a woman, am I not?”

  “That’s my point.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Sarcasm? I see Seven has rubbed off on you.”

  The bishop laughed. “His one admirable trait.” He reached up and pushed the remote on the sun visor. The back wall of a concrete building began to open up.

  “This should be interesting,” she said.

  “You have no idea.”

  The bishop had all the privileges and responsibilities that went along with his new position as a member of the SIA directorate, so he was able to gain access to HQ using palmer recognition. He knew it was silly, but he enjoyed someone watching him place his hand on the scanner and seeing the airtight door disengage. Once inside, he was greeted with respect and decorum.

  “There seem to be a lot of check points,” Alana said.

  “This building is top secret. It was thought to be impenetrable. The Brotherhood changed all that. In the past eight months, changes have been made and the director brought the security to code red status.”

  Alana watched as the bishop’s wrist was scanned at each point. “What’s that all about?”

  “One of the changes that I mentioned,” the bishop said. “Since the infiltration and break in by the Brotherhood, we all had to agree to be micro-chipped. Each time I’m scanned, I’m followed by someone from security inside the inner sanctum.”

  “Inner sanctum?”

  Bishop Jessop smiled. “The heart and brain of the Strategic Intelligence Alliance. It’s where Maddie, the Madame Director, and her personal staff are located. It is also the headquarters of the Phantom Squad.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to Alana. “Do they know I’m coming?”

  The bishop hesitated. “No. I didn’t want anyone to accidentally mention it to Brent.” He saw concern
in her eyes and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. They are all great. I couldn’t ask for better friends. They’re like my family.”

  “I hope I’m not the unwanted stepchild.”

  He could hear her apprehension. He stopped midstride and looked her in the eyes. “They’re going to love you and they’ll be happy you’re here, you’ll see.”

  As they entered the sanctum, they were frisked again.

  The guard, heavily armed, flipped through papers on a clipboard. “Sorry Bishop, but I have to have prior knowledge of any visitors. I’ll have to check with Joan before Alana is allowed to go any further.” He looked up and asked for her last name.

  The bishop opened his mouth and realized he didn’t know. “I, it’s . . .”

  “Lavi,” Alana said.

  The guard nodded and told them to wait in the receiving area until he returned. Alana began biting her fingernails while they were detained.

  “Sorry about that,” Bishop Jessop said. “I just realized I never knew your last name. That was rude on my part.”

  “Brent knew. I guess he didn’t tell anyone. Thinking back,” she continued, “I guess there never seemed to be a reason for it to be brought up.” She appeared to think for a moment. “Or, he didn’t care enough to mention it.” Her mood seemed to sully the more she thought about it. She shook her head. “This was a bad idea. I don’t think I should be . . .”

  The door’s airlock hissed and interrupted her thought. The guard walked over and waved them through. “Follow me, please.”

  Bishop Jessop’s heart rate increased with excitement and a little fear. He had never acted on his own when dealing with matters concerning the squad or the SIA. He hoped for a positive reception.

  The guard stopped at the last set of doors. “I need to return to my post. You have been granted full access from this point onward.”

  The bishop’s hand trembled as he placed it on the infrared scanner. His heartbeat increased as he wondered if he had made the right decision.