Messiahs by Matt Rogers (bookstand for reading txt) 📕

Slater said, ‘We’re sure. But no matter what the test shows, don’t underestimate it.’

Pressfield zoned in on the truth. ‘Did you see someone else take it?’

‘Yes.’

‘What happened?’

Slater could only shake his head. An explanation wasn’t possible.

Pressfield grimaced and glanced at the vials in a new light. ‘Might give them a miss, then. I’ll call you when I know.’

King walked out, and Slater followed.

14

When they got back to the estate, they went to the kitchen and found Violetta hunched over the laptop, her eyes wide with strain.

King said, ‘Where’s Alexis?’

Violetta looked up. ‘Where do you think?’

The thwack of a boxing glove smacking a heavy bag echoed down from the second floor. Their upstairs training room was at the very end of the house, separated from the kitchen by a labyrinth of rooms, a grand staircase, and ample insulation. But the impact of Alexis’ punches still sounded sharp, like they were in the room overhead.

Slater said, ‘That’s my girl.’

Violetta said, ‘You’ve created something you can’t control.’

‘You calling her Frankenstein’s monster?’

‘She’s too pretty for that,’ Violetta said, then looked Slater up and down. ‘But you as Frankenstein, sure.’

King rounded the kitchen island, draped his arms over Violetta’s shoulders, and kissed her on the cheek. There was more affection there now. A child was something that transcended the simple physical and emotional bond that most relationships consist of.

Slater didn’t know the feeling personally, but he hoped some day he would.

He said, ‘You look pale, Violetta. What have you found?’

She nodded, relieved someone had noticed the fact she’d blinked probably five times in the last thirty minutes. Now she turned away from the screen, her eyes nearly watering from the strain. ‘Nothing.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘That’s the problem.’

King stepped away from her, ran a glass of water under the sink tap, and drank half of it. He frowned as he looked out the window. ‘The web is completely dark?’

‘Completely,’ Violetta reiterated. ‘There’s always something. I mean, look how much I found on Dylan Walcott before we even touched down in The Bahamas, and he had everything to hide. “Mother Libertas” is a dead keyword. There isn’t a single mention on forums, message boards … nothing. “Maeve Riordan” is the same deal. Remember when Keith Ray tried to expunge his record from online databases so it looked like he never served as Clark County Sheriff? This is like that, but an actual blanket instead of the janky attempt Keith made. There was still so much I could dig up on the sheriff. Here there’s … not a whisper.’

‘So it’s a tiny movement?’ Slater said. ‘It hasn’t taken off yet?’

Violetta chewed her lower lip without realising. Her eyes were back on the screen, flicking over search results. King and Slater didn’t need to pry. They knew she wasn’t operating on the level of a simple Google search. She had methods of retrieving any scrap of data that had ever been placed on a cloud server. She was thorough, methodical, and she knew exactly how to dig in the right places. They didn’t underestimate her, so they didn’t doubt her confusion.

They shared it.

Violetta said, ‘They have a drug they’ve seemingly bioengineered from scratch. They got funding from Walcott, which must have been some time ago. They have a kid they convinced to fly to Nassau on a kamikaze suicide mission just to send a message to anyone looking to fuck over their finances in future. So Jace was a throwaway. They must have plenty of fanatics. And they don’t exist. Not even a morsel of information. That’s not luck … that’s careful planning. If I had to guess, I’d wager they have access to someone important. They’ve got a guy or a girl who’s wiped every trace of them from view, but actually done a respectable job of it. Like their own internal KGB.’

Slater’s phone rang.

He fished it out.

It was Pressfield.

He held up a finger, motioning for Violetta to hold her next thought, and answered. ‘That was quick.’

‘What can I say?’ Pressfield said. ‘I’m good at my job.’

Slater flashed back to every delivery they’d taken from the doctor, the comprehensive chemical breakdowns of the steroid microdoses that he didn’t need to provide but included anyway, the professionalism with which he conducted his duties, no matter if they were legal or not. He had to concede that Pressfield was indeed talented, and a hard worker.

Slater said, ‘What did you find?’

Pressfield said, ‘It’s a speedball — uppers and downers — but I’m confident in saying I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s engineered so precisely. There’s Dextroamphetamine for intense focus and energy, pure MDMA — that’s ecstasy, molly — for an added surge of euphoria, and Benzodiazepine to suppress pain and anxiety. The Benzos level the rush out and make it tolerable. You take this and you’re on a one-way flight to cloud nine. And the dosage is massive. Whoever designed this … if they got the amounts wrong, the consumer would be overwhelmed, barely lucid, lost in wonderland. But if I’m analysing it correctly, at these doses you’d keep your motor reflexes intact and still feel the biggest high of your life. You’d be superhuman for a short stretch. I can’t imagine how addictive it’d be.’

Slater soaked in the words.

They perfectly mirrored what he’d seen happen to Jace.

He said, ‘Is that all?’

‘Seems to be,’ Pressfield said. ‘Like I said, you’d need a genius pharmaceutical scientist to concoct this. I don’t know where you got it from, but if I were you I’d warn them not to produce too much. The authorities get their hands on one of these vials and there’ll be a full-blown investigation. Warrants, searches, you name it. You hear me?’

‘I’ll be sure to give them a stern talking to,’ Slater said. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘You sure you don’t want these back?’ Pressfield said.

‘Destroy them,’ Slater said without hesitation. ‘Or have yourself a wild Saturday night. It’s none of our concern.’

‘I appreciate your discretion.’

Slater hung up,