Day 50 (The DMT Series Book 2) (11 page)

“How do you know? That’s one of his election promises. He has told the American public that he will put an end to government secrecy.”

“It will never happen, Senator. He can’t expose matters concerning national security. And if you give me the increased funding I will make sure that the President remains in the white house for another four years.”

“And how exactly are you going to be able to do that?”

“Just trust me, Senator. We have the same goal, you and I. I don’t want a new President either.”

“Amen to that.”

“By the way, how did the polls go after the Washington Memorial explosion?”

The senator turned to face Carter, and with a curious smile he said: “They spiked. We had our best poll in six months, but it was only temporary.”

“Maybe you’re the one who will benefit most from these Codyists going extreme?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Senator. I’m just laying out the facts. If there is an escalation of violence from these Codyists, then your boss, the President, may actually end up winning the election.”

“That is preposterous. To insinuate that the President has his own motivations for not increasing the funding.”

“I’m just saying that for an outsider, that’s how it may look. If you fight back though, you will have a win-win situation. The terrorists attacks will probably increase in the short term, and the President’s stance will give him some credibility. The reality is that if he doesn’t enter into a war of some sort within the next couple of weeks, he will lose the election. At the moment he is being viewed as a career politician, a politically correct person that won’t step on anyone’s toes, except for his own citizens’. You need to convince the people that the new drug-laws are a necessity; that we are fed up being pushed around by religious cowards. If people are given a strong enough reason, they’ll always accept losing some privileges in the process. What they will never accept is a pussy of a president.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the senator replied, before picking up the paper and preparing to leave.

“Remember, it’s not a war of religions. It’s a war of ideologies,” James Carter said.

30

“How much is he worth to you?”

“Who?” Adam asked.

“The DEA guy,” Hugo, the hotel receptionist, answered.

“I don’t understand. I thought we had a deal. I gave you fifty bucks to find out where he went every day. You don’t renege on a deal.”

“Something happened...”

“Something happened?” Adam leant over the reception desk. The kid was obviously attempting to take him for a ride.

“The guy had an accident.”

“An accident?”

Hugo stared at the floor as he started sobbing. “I fucked up, OK? I fucked up big time.”

“What happened?” Adam asked.

Hugo wiped his runny nose against his shirtsleeve, before meeting Adam’s stare. “You need to help me, you need to help me.”

“Tell me what happened,” Adam instructed with a calm voice. He was anything but calm though. He was getting increasingly worried.

“I followed him this morning as we agreed. After he left the hotel he jumped on bus eleven, and rode it for five blocks. Then he started the diversions. I’ve followed a few people throughout the years, and I know how to stay undetected. But the guy was good. He almost managed to lose me a few times.”

Adam nodded, to get Hugo to speed up his recollection of events.

“Eventually he got into a parked car and headed up towards the mountains. I left plenty of space between us. I don’t understand how he managed to spot me. After thirty minutes or so he stopped outside a small cabin and went inside. I parked my bike a good four hundred meters away, and was about to turn around when he suddenly appeared behind me with a gun in his hand.”

“What happened?” Adam asked.

“I don’t really know. I should be dead. He made me walk in front of him towards the cabin. He was so close I could feel the gun resting at the back of my neck. And then I heard a scream. I turned around to see a snake slither away into the high grass. It was obvious the guy had been bitten, just above his left ankle. Initially he didn’t seem to care much. Once he got me inside the cabin he started to ask me all these questions about the snake though. It was obvious he was starting to feel the venom going through his body. I knew exactly what it was, it was a twenty-minute, but I told him it was a harmless scarlet.”

“Twenty-minute?”

“That’s what we call it. It was a coral snake. We call it the twenty-minute snake, because that’s how long it takes before you die once you’ve been bitten.”

“Is he dead?”

Hugo shook his head. “He wasn’t dead when I left him, but he’ll be dead soon. He started to complain about difficulties breathing, and then he just passed out. I didn’t know what to do. If he’s a DEA agent, I’m in real trouble. I could go to jail.”

“Take me to him,” Adam said. “Take me there right now.

On the way to the cabin Adam looked up Mexican coral snakes on Wikipedia. Hugo was correct in that most locals called it the twenty-minute snake, but it was actually quite rare for it to attack humans. And the twenty minutes was a bit of a myth; you were likely to live for up to twenty-four hours after having been bitten, unless you of course had a reduced immune system. Adam had no idea what the agent’s medical history looked like.

When they arrived at the cabin Adam was the first one through the door. Luckily Hugo had been clear-headed enough to remove the agent’s gun before departing. He had also removed his phone and car keys. That was part of the reason he was now so scared. He claimed he had done it in panic; because he was afraid the agent would regain consciousness and follow him. But by removing the phone and car keys he had also eliminated any chance for the agent to survive the incident. A jury would most likely view that as equal to murder.

“Get me some water,” Adam said, when he saw the agent lying face down on the wooden floor.

Hugo soon returned with a plastic bottle from the car.

Adam poured half the bottle over Agent Fowler’s head. Then he pulled out the antihistamine they had picked up from the pharmacy on the way, and injected it just above the snake bite on Agent Fowler’s leg.

Adam pulled Agent Fowler up in an upright position. It was probably too late, as the venom had been circulating in his body for a good two hours already, but it could at least buy them some time.

He slapped Agent Fowler across the cheek to wake him up. When that didn’t work he gave him a good shake.

With a gasp, Agent Fowler came to life. He stared at Adam with bloodshot eyes, not sure whether he was dead or alive, whether what he saw was real or not. The fever was already ravaging his body.

“Where am I?” he asked, blinking frantically with his dry eyes.

“You’re in your little hiding place in Mexico,” Adam replied.

Agent Fowler closed his eyes and his chin dipped forward until it hit his breastbone. Adam pulled his head up by the hair. “No, no, no. No sleeping time. You’ve got things to explain.”

Agent Fowler attempted to spit at Adam, but his mouth was so dry that only drops of moisture came out.

“You blew up the Royal Albert, killing thirty-seven innocent people. You blew up the Washington Memorial, killing more than eighty US citizens. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just shoot you in the head right now.”

“Collateral damage,” Agent Fowler slurred.

“What did you just say? Collateral damage? You just signed your own death warrant, you piece of shit,” Adam said, and let go of Agent Fowler’s hair. His head slumped forward again.

Adam cocked the gun, the gun Hugo had taken from Agent Fowler.

“Don’t shoot me.” Agent Fowler had managed to raise his head, and was now staring straight at Adam.

“Why not? Why should I let a creep like you live?” Adam asked.

“Don’t shoot him. I took you out here to help him, not kill him,” Hugo said with a shivering voice.

“Didn’t you just hear him confess? He’s killed almost a hundred and fifty innocent people. He doesn’t deserve to live.”

“Maybe. But that’s not your call. You don’t have the right to end his life.” Hugo steadied his voice. He knew that if Adam killed the agent, then that would be a certain death warrant for him as well. He would be the only potential witness to the execution of an American government official.

Adam looked back at the frail face of the MKULTRA agent. It was so tempting to press the trigger. More tempting than it had ever been before. The guy didn’t deserve to breathe for another second. It was as simple as that. He was a waste of space and oxygen.

“Give me something. You need to give me something, if you want to live.”

The MKULTRA agent struggled to keep his eyes open. Slobber was hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“We changed the drug laws,” he replied.

Adam shook his head. “I already knew that. You need to give me something more, something new,” he said, dangling the needle with antihistamine in front of the MKULTRA agent’s pale face. “I’ve got the antivenom right here.”

The MKULTRA agent made a last effort to open his eyes. “Drecker is still alive,” he whispered.

“What did you just say?” Adam asked, grabbing Agent Fowler’s collar.

“Still alive,” Agent Fowler repeated.

“Where, where is he?” Adam asked.

Agent Fowler smiled. “You would never guess.”

Adam removed the cap from the antihistamine needle, and pressured the point of the needle lightly against Agent Fowler’s right arm. “Tell me, and I’ll give you the antivenom.”

“Hiding in plain sight, always hiding in plain sight,” Agent Fowler mumbled as he closed his eyes. Adam pushed the head of the needle into Agent Fowler’s arm and injected the fluid into his muscle. It would have no other effect than perhaps to slightly reduce the fever.

“Why did you do that?” Hugo asked. “He didn’t tell you what you wanted, and that’s not antivenom.”

“I’m sorry, Hugo, but this man can’t be allowed to live. We’ll stay here until he’s passed. Then we’ll bury him. Nobody will ever miss him, and you won’t have to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life. That job is for me and my daughter,” Adam said as he elevated Agent Fowler’s legs to make the venom work faster.

31

Alejandro picked uninterestedly at the meal in front of him. He was eating in solitude. It was now almost six months since Cody had made his last public appearance. He hadn’t really attended that many before that either, but there had always been the occasional healing, the occasional miracle that kept the flame burning among his followers. The official explanation was that Cody had gone into hiding. Powerful men of the traditional religions wanted him dead because of who he was and what he represented.

That explanation was actually not that far from the truth. Cody was a hunted man. But Codyism was a religion built on evidence, not faith. The followers had chosen Codyism because they could relate to the Holy Book by using psychedelics, and because they believed the many tales of miracles that had slipped out of South America. Now it was almost impossible to get hold of psychedelics and Cody had gone into hiding. The followers needed to be fed something new.

Something fresh.

Alejandro cradled his aching head in his palms. He had deliberately weakened Cody to make him more controllable. It was hard to plan a mutiny or an escape when one was paralysed from the waist down. But now Alejandro realised that he had taken it a step too far. Alejandro had denied Cody basic medical treatment, treatment that could have seen his condition dramatically improve. Over the last few months Cody had been reduced to a shell of a human being, sleeping for twelve hours a day, spending all his waking hours listening to the radio.

The problem Alejandro was facing was that he couldn’t reveal Cody in his current condition. A Prophet should be someone people looked up to - not someone they pitied. The converted Buddhists believed that Cody had reached the highest level of enlightenment, Nirvana, a state free of suffering and selfhood. One needed only to take one quick glance at Cody to realise that the man wasn’t free from suffering.

The man was a massive mess of self-pity.

Religions like Christianity and Islam had throughout history worshipped strong prophets. Men of action - warlords and charismatic leaders. It was the same reason Alejandro would be such a good fit when he eventually stepped out of the shadows. But that time hadn’t arrived yet.

Alejandro sighed. Although he didn’t want to, he realised he had to restore Cody to some of his former glory. Make him somewhat strong and appealing again. But with a stronger Cody came risks. Alejandro had caught a glimpse of this when Cody accused him of being responsible for the bombing of the Washington Memorial Hospital. After that incident Alejandro had even considered weakening Cody further, maybe making him lose his ability to speak. It would have been a lot safer. The more dependent Cody was on Alejandro, the less threat he posed to Alejandro and his position.

Frustrated, Alejandro threw the fork at the plate, before rising from his office chair. He knew there was only one way to solve the problem. He had to make Cody strong again. There was no way around it. But if he did, he had to make sure that Cody would never turn on him. And the only way to ensure that was to fuel Cody’s hatred for the girl who had caused the death of his father. The anger Cody still harboured towards Cameron was probably the only thing that kept him going, that kept him breathing. Alejandro would have to play on that hate to fuel Cody’s passion for Codyism.

Only then would he succeed.

32

“Cameron, there is someone I want you to meet.”

Cameron exited the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around her dripping wet body. She hurriedly covered up when she saw her dad had brought a stranger back to their hotel room.

“Dad, what the hell? Couldn’t you at least give me a heads up?”

“This is Hugo. He’s going to help us across the border.”