Messiahs

by Matt Rogers

  Slater looked all around. ‘Well, it was good to be home for a few hours…’

  15

  Violetta had red-eye flights booked within the hour.

  From Vegas to Denver International Airport, then a connecting flight to North East Wyoming Regional Airport, which would put them five miles north of Gillette, the closest city to Thunder Basin National Grassland. With a population of twenty-five thousand it was small in contrast to the metropolises of Las Vegas and New York, but big for arid Wyoming.

  From there, it would be like trying to win the lottery off a single ticket.

  Before they left for the airport, King stood in the estate’s kitchen, mulling over their options. The Walcott fiasco had at least given them some breadcrumbs to follow — they had names, financial records, places to go, people to talk to. Here they had thousands upon thousands of square miles of arid plains, and not a single breadcrumb in sight. Jace had fed them a location, but he’d been right when he told them it wasn’t enough. Thunder Basin National Grassland was impossibly vast and impossibly empty. If there was a cult out there, hiding in the steppe, all they had to do was bury their heads in the dirt when they picked up the scent of outsiders.

  No, King thought. We need a way in.

  Everyone else was packing — Violetta, Slater, Alexis, all upstairs. King snatched up his phone and called Pressfield.

  Pressfield said, ‘What?’

  ‘Tell me you didn’t destroy that stuff.’

  Pressfield sighed for dramatic effect. ‘Make up your damn mind. What — you got nothing to do this weekend?’

  King said, ‘Did you destroy it?’

  ‘It’s here,’ Pressfield said. ‘I was about to.’

  ‘Sure you were,’ King said. ‘We need it back. It’s crucial evidence. We’ll swing by on our way past.’

  ‘Your “way past”?’ Pressfield said. ‘Where you headed?’

  ‘Not your concern, Noah. Get back to your clinic with the vials and we’ll be past in the next hour.’

  ‘You ask an awful lot of me, you know.’

  King hung up. Best to give the doc something to worry about, make him believe his unofficial clients were pissed. It’d add urgency to his actions.

  Slater came down the staircase, lugging a duffel bag in tow, a strange look on his face. He’d caught the last snippet of conversation. ‘We’re taking the Bodhi?’

  King said, ‘We need it.’

  Slater raised his free hand in a Stop gesture. ‘Count me out. I’m not ready for that much of a good time.’

  King stared at him. ‘You really think I’d take it?’

  ‘I don’t know what else you’d need it for.’

  ‘Have you thought even twenty-four hours ahead?’ King said. ‘What happens when we land in Gillette? Where do we go from there?’

  ‘One step at a time,’ Slater said. ‘Isn’t that what we always say?’

  ‘We’ll spend the rest of our lives driving through Thunder Basin. That’s not how we play it. What’s the bet they’ve been using Bodhi to gain influence in all the right places? There has to be people in Gillette hooked on the stuff. If Bodhi really is some rare chemical magic like Pressfield says it is, then we follow that to the source.’

  ‘You think it’s manufactured in Gillette?’ Slater said. ‘That’s a reach. They could cart it in from anywhere.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘Bodhi’s their currency,’ King said. ‘Might be the most addictive currency in history. What could we do with two doses? What would people reveal to us?’

  ‘We’ll have to be real careful,’ Slater said. ‘You don’t want to offer it to the wrong people.’

  ‘Then we’ll find the right people. It’s a place to start. You got a better idea?’

  Still hovering at the bottom of the staircase, Slater thought it over for all of three seconds. Then he said, ‘Looks like we’re swinging by the clinic.’

  Violetta and Alexis were downstairs minutes later, having packed only the essentials, and they all took the same car they’d driven back from the airport. It was a second-hand Toyota they’d picked up from a used car lot months ago, one of the most common makes and models in Nevada. They didn’t draw an iota of attention the whole drive, which was the point.

  King went in to get the vial.

  The receptionist said, ‘Back so soon?’

  King said, ‘I’ll only be a minute. He’s got something for me.’

  ‘He’s not with a patient,’ she said. ‘Go right in.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and brushed past the desk.

  She said, ‘Hey.’

  He turned. Waited a beat, then raised an eyebrow.

  She lowered her voice. ‘Want my number?’

  She was early twenties and drop-dead gorgeous. Full lips, curly brown hair, and a curvaceous physique. He held her gaze for a moment too long, then said, ‘Wrong timing. You should have caught me at a different phase of my life.’

  She used a hand against the side of her face to mask the slightest wink. ‘Settled down, huh?’

  ‘You’ll do the same someday.’

  ‘But when that day comes I’ll still be up for a good time,’ she said. ‘You still want my number?’

  He said, ‘If I did, I never would have settled down.’

  He left her sitting there, turning lazily in her swivel chair, a wry smile at her lips at the missed opportunity.

  Pressfield was already hanging halfway out the door to his office, his right fist clenched around something.

  King said, ‘You’re in a hurry?’

  ‘Stop flirting with the receptionist,’ Pressfield said. ‘And I prefer to see you every four weeks, not four hours. Take this and get moving. I’ve got actual patients to see.’

  King accepted the vials. ‘We might miss our next appointment. We could be away for a while.’

  ‘Where you headed?’

  ‘Wyoming.’

  ‘Why?’

  King patted Pressfield on the shoulder. ‘Best we end this conversation here, my friend.’

  He closed his own fist around the vials of Bodhi, turned and walked away.

  Halfway down the corridor, Pressfield said, ‘You want to get a beer sometime?’

  He spoke to King’s back, but King turned to respond.

  He looked the doctor up and down. ‘“My friend” was a figure of speech, Noah.’

  Pressfield nodded glumly. ‘Right.’

  He disappeared back into his office.

  King felt a twinge of empathy, but quickly disregarded it.

  The last snippet of conversation had been within earshot of the receptionist, and as he passed her she said, ‘That was harsh.’

  She didn’t mean it. Sarcasm dripped from her words. King got the sense Pressfield had made more intense advances toward her than the suggestion of a shared beer.

  Still walking, King looked at her. ‘Seems I’m a popular guy today.’

  He walked out and got back in the Toyota.

  Violetta said, ‘How’d that go?’

  King said, ‘The receptionist offered me her number.’

  She paused. ‘What prompted that?’

  King didn’t answer.

  From the front seat, Slater said, ‘The way he looks.’

  Alexis laughed, and it even made Violetta smile.

  They headed for the airport, savouring the stillness and the camaraderie.

  For all they knew, it might be the last morsel of normalcy before Mother Libertas swallowed them whole.

  16

  Domestic flights were more lax on security than their international counterparts, so hiding the vials in their gums was even less of a problem.

  They passed through all the checkpoints without a hitch, using the fake IDs Alonzo had thrown a digital blanket over, which reminded Violetta to call him as soon as they touched down in Denver for their connecting flight. They passed the first flight in a variety of ways — Slater meditate
d, King and Alexis read paperbacks they’d picked up before boarding, and Violetta used her laptop and the outrageously expensive onboard WiFi to keep scouring for any trace of Mother Libertas.

  From her disapproving grunts at regular intervals, King figured she wasn’t making much progress.

  As they came in to land in Denver, he looked over and said, ‘Any luck?’

  Violetta said, ‘I’m going to call Alonzo as soon as we disembark. See if Uncle Sam has anything in the archives.’

  King said, ‘I highly doubt that.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘They had dirt on Walcott, but they don’t care about cheap business tricks, which is probably all they thought he was up to. It’s our country’s way of life, after all. We’re merchants at heart. But an extremist cult? Someone who thinks they’re the second coming of Gaia, who uses drugs to convert civilians into fanatics willing to die for the cause? That’s a real threat. They’d take that very seriously. I assure you they’ll have nothing.’

  Violetta said, ‘Can’t hurt to check. They might not know the extent of it.’

  King let her last sentence hang in the air, highlighting its ludicrousness. ‘You think the people we used to work for haven’t done their due diligence? They either have something substantial or nothing at all. And if eighteen-year-olds are flying to Nassau to kill gangsters and then themselves, I’d say Mother Libertas is still thriving, which means Uncle Sam has nothing at all.’

  Again, Violetta said, ‘Can’t hurt to check.’

  But when they landed and she dialled Alonzo, he confirmed exactly what King had posited.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said in answer to her question on what they had on Mother Libertas. It had taken him thirty seconds to respond. ‘I’ve just run a quick sweep across all the intelligence agency databases. Those that publicly exist, and those that don’t.’

  ‘Is that normal?’ Violetta asked.

  Alonzo said, ‘You sure it exists?’

  ‘Very sure.’

  ‘Then it’s either comprised of less than a dozen members or someone’s done an excellent job of keeping them invisible.’

  ‘I’d guess it’s the latter.’

  ‘Based on what?’

  ‘I shouldn’t say.’

  ‘In case I get waterboarded?’ Alonzo said, mischief in his tone.

  Violetta said, ‘Would that surprise you?’

  ‘It would,’ Alonzo said. ‘Because no one in this building is remotely aware that I’m still in contact with you. So while the waterboarding wouldn’t surprise me, them being competent enough to find out about what I’m doing would.’

  Violetta said, ‘Can you run a name for me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Maeve Riordan.’

  ‘Spell it for me.’

  She did, and hoped there was no alternative spelling she was unaware of. Alonzo tutted for a few moments, then said, ‘There’s two Maeve Riordans in Wyoming. A thirteen-year-old and a thirty-eight-year-old. I assume your enemy isn’t in their early teens.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Thirty-eight it is,’ Alonzo said. ‘She’s … well, she’s a ghost.’

  Violetta tensed up.

  He continued. ‘She was born Maeve Bowen in Dubois, a small town to the west of Wyoming. Current population somewhere around nine hundred. She embraced big city life in her twenties, and by “big city” I mean Gillette; population thirty thousand. She co-signed a lease with her now-husband, Dane Riordan, when she was twenty-eight, back in 2010. They lived in a small walk-up apartment for three years, and then in 2013 she fell off the map. She owns no property, isn’t a tenant on any lease, has no bank accounts under her name. At least, not in the United States. Maybe she’s living off-grid. Whatever she’s doing, it’s the right way to go if you don’t want our noses sniffing about in your business. So Godspeed to her, I say.’

  ‘I don’t think you’d be saying that if you knew what she was up to.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘No. For your own good. Deniability and all that.’

  ‘Then Godspeed to you, too,’ Alonzo said. ‘Take care.’

  He clicked off.

  She stood in the centre of the airport terminal, letting waves of travellers stream past her. King noticed she wasn’t speaking into the phone anymore and approached.

  He said, ‘Anything?’ even though he knew from her face what the answer would be.

  She said, ‘We’re hunting a ghost.’

  He said, ‘So I guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘We try to storm this cult by force and they’ll scurry away like ferrets. You know it, I know it. Slater might protest, but deep down he knows it too.’

  She said, ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘We need to pose as civilians and join the cause,’ King said. ‘It’s the only way.’

  She was aware of that, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. King and Slater were no strangers to deep cover — most of their operations serving the government had banked on the fact they were solo in the field, able to pretend to be anybody at the drop of a hat. But it had been some time since they’d gone this deep.

  Especially with so many unknowns.

  King saw her stewing. He said, ‘Can I tell you something?’

  She said, ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t want you to have any part in this, but I know if I try to force you to bunker down in a motel while Slater and I handle business, you’ll only revolt. And it’s worse if you have to charge in with guns blazing to get us out of a messy situation. Better you’re with us from the jump, even though the last thing I want is to put our kid in harm’s way.’

  She said, ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because I want you to know that all I want is for you to get a one-way ticket back to Vegas and stay there. If you choose to do that, I’d be happier than anything.’

  ‘But then you’d be reckless,’ she said. ‘And you might drop the ball.’

  He said, ‘I know.’

  ‘So I’m staying,’ she said. ‘This is my problem, too. I’m still in the first trimester. Nobody will need to know I’m pregnant, no matter how deep into the cult we go. Let’s infiltrate, sort out who’s in the upper echelon, and take them all out. Then we go back home, and we stay there until this child is here.’

  King smiled. ‘I like the sound of that.’

  They joined Slater and Alexis, who were standing politely off to one side, out of earshot, and the four of them went to board their connecting flight to Gillette.

  But they split up well before they reached the boarding lounge. King and Slater peeled off, leaving Violetta and Alexis on their own.

  All part of the plan they’d formed.

  They had separate tasks to carry out in the town, separate covers to adopt.

  And they didn’t put it past Mother Libertas to monitor incoming flights, ensure potential victims were genuine.

  They boarded in pairs, pretending not to know each other.

  Game time, King thought.

  17

  King and Slater checked into the Arbuckle Lodge to the east of Gillette, beside Camplex Park.

  The three-storey hotel was a rustic amalgamation of logs and wooden planks — vintage Wyoming. They’d landed in the early morning, and now it was just after ten a.m. They’d collected their luggage from the baggage carousel at North East Wyoming Regional Airport and bled out of the terminal without so much as a second look at Violetta and Alexis, who were on the other side of the small building, gossiping like the backpackers they were pretending to be.

  Now, King and Slater secured one of the largest rooms, with two king-sized beds and plenty of space.

  The old woman at the reception desk said, ‘How many nights, sirs?’

  Slater said, ‘Can we pay for three nights now with the option to extend?’

  She smiled. ‘Of course, dear. Unsure how long you’ll be in town?’


  King put his elbows on the desk, keeping his face open and warm. ‘Just finished a tour overseas, ma’am. We’re seeing which way the wind blows. Taking in as much of this beautiful country as we can. We’ve missed it.’

  She instinctively responded with the necessary, ‘Thank you for your service,’ before tapping at her keyboard for a spell. Then she said, ‘I’ve given you a thirty percent discount. It’s not exactly the busy season right now. It’s the least I can do.’

  King said, ‘Thank you kindly.’

  Slater nudged him and said, ‘Fuck’s sakes, come on. Ain’t got all day.’

  The receptionist fought to stop her face hardening, thrown off by the rudeness.

  Good cop, bad cop.

  They couldn’t both be polite. Their cover required them to seem slightly unhinged, after all.

  She passed over a room key and looked over their IDs. ‘Jason Rake. Will Cousins. Pleasure to have you both.’

  ‘Happy to be here,’ King said with a smile.

  Slater grunted and made for the grand staircase. He could feel her eyes burning a hole in his back the whole way across the foyer.

  Upstairs, they found their room and stepped inside. It was warm, lit by yellow desk lamps.

  Cosy.

  Slater cocked his head to one side with a grimace. ‘I hate doing that.’

  ‘I doubt you’re the rudest customer she’s had in the last week.’

  ‘Even still,’ Slater said. ‘She was nice.’

  King dumped his bag on one of the beds. ‘We’ve got time to kill.’

  Slater went over the plan. ‘Stay in here all day like we’re creatures of the night, and then tonight you head out?’

  King nodded. ‘You brought entertainment? It’ll be a long, boring day.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Slater said.

  King half-expected him to pull out a paperback he’d picked up from the airport when King wasn’t watching, but instead Slater dropped to the carpeted floor and started hammering out push-ups on his fists.

  King smiled and went to the bathroom to rinse off the grime from flying all night.