Messiahs by Matt Rogers (bookstand for reading txt) 📕

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 meditated, 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,