Messiahs, Matt Rogers [best 7 inch ereader TXT] 📗

about than a lowly intelligence analyst. But he’d given them so much, helped protect them, crushed any news of their growing presence in the mainstream media…

The least they could do—

A thought hit him like an electric shock.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it, but devotion had blinded him to the very real possibility that Mother Libertas had been compromised. He’d read King and Slater’s rap sheets, and they were something to behold, but was there a chance…?

He pulled up a customised newsfeed on his phone of articles relating to a specific section of Wyoming he’d bookended in case of disaster.

Empty.

He waited in a trance, a dark premonition stewing in his mind.

He could have been sitting there for hours.

A light knock came at the door.

He lifted his eyes off the phone screen and jolted. Devin Nelson, the President’s right-hand-man on all discreet matters, hovered in the open doorway. He was Connor’s direct superior and one of the most powerful men in the country.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Nelson said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing, sir,’ Connor said. ‘Just … you know … think I’m stressed. I’ll get over it.’

Nelson’s beady eyes bored into him. They’d already said more to each other than they had in the last week. They knew their roles, and their system was as efficient as it was sparse.

Nelson said, ‘Let’s go for a beer tonight.’

Connor couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘What?’

‘Watch your tone, kid.’

‘Sorry, sir. It’s just—’

‘I know,’ Nelson interrupted. ‘You didn’t think I existed outside of work. You need to decompress. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll have you out of here if you don’t comply. Goat Rapids Tavern across the street in two hours. I know a kid who needs a beer when I see it.’

He left abruptly, probably to take care of tasks that were critical to the interests of the nation.

Connor knew he must have looked near-suicidal if Mr. Nelson had reacted like that.

Shaken up, he lowered his eyes back to his phone.

An article hovered there.

He only had to read its headline.

MASSACRE IN THUNDER BASIN AFTER CULT IMPLOSION: SIX DEAD, OVER A DOZEN WOUNDED.

If Nelson’s proposition had shaken him, this broke him to the core.

He didn’t open the article; he didn’t have to.

They were dead. The Riordans were gone. Mother Libertas was crippled, perhaps forever. Despair washed over Connor, rounding his shoulders, putting a thousand-pound weight on his windpipe, threatening to spiral him into a total meltdown. He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. The walls of the office closed in, and icy detachment gave him a dizzying out-of-body experience.

Then his inner architect took over.

Crafting grandiose plans, hardening his resolve, deepening his devotion.

You are responsible for the cause, a voice boomed.

He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself, or if Gaia was speaking through him.

You are tasked with taking this to the next level.

Not Dane, not Maeve.

You.

He got up, went to the bathroom, and splashed his face with water.

When he met his reflection’s gaze in the mirror, he noticed his eyes were alive with determination.

Connor stepped into Goat Rapids Tavern at precisely nine p.m.

Nelson was already in a corner booth, draped in shadow, like a physical representation of his role in this country. Earlier that day Connor might have been intensely uncomfortable with the prospect of social interaction with his employer, but now he knew every word that came out of his mouth had a purpose. However, if he came in with unusual confidence Nelson would suspect something, so he reverted to the façade of shy introspection.

He walked up to the booth and sat down across from the man.

Nelson pushed a cold pint across the table. ‘Drink, boy.’

Connor sipped at the frothy head. ‘This is odd, sir.’

‘I know,’ Nelson said. ‘But for once in my life I have a free evening, and you need to get your head out of the cave you’ve been swimming around in.’

‘Sir?’

‘What we do,’ Nelson said, ‘breaks people. Not physically, but there’s an invisible toll to all the secrecy. You can’t talk to anyone about what you really do. So tonight we’re going to do our best to pretend we’re normal people. We’re going to drink, and you’re going to talk to me about your life. You don’t have to mean any of it, but it’ll be cathartic. Trust me. I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive.’

Connor shrugged. ‘I think you might be right.’

‘I know I’m right, boy. Now drink.’

They drank.

One pint led to two, which led to three, and before they knew it they were mentally lubricated enough to disperse with their reluctance to open up. More beers followed and Connor found himself sharing a list of insecurities he’d never written down, let alone vocalised. It made sense that he’d never discussed them with anyone, because he had no one in his life to talk to besides Dane and Maeve. He started to realise the deep flaws in his soul might have been the reason he turned to Mother Libertas in the first place, but another pint washed away those thoughts. If he went there, he might shatter the only belief system he had left.

So he did what most people do when they’re faced with opposing beliefs.

He doubled down.

‘—and that’s why you need nights like these,’ Nelson was saying, more talkative than Connor had ever seen him. ‘To cut through the bullshit. We’re humans, man. We’re social creatures. Gotta listen to your animal impulses every now and then. You want some action? I know a place. Top-shelf product.’

Connor smiled a sinister smile. ‘I had a different vice in mind.’

Nelson raised an eyebrow, tantalised. ‘Oh?’

‘I ordered something off the dark web,’ Connor said. ‘I’d never tell you that, but I’m feeling good tonight. I was going to go home and take it on my own, but, damn, it’d be fun with a friend. You want to partake?’

Nelson only needed a moment’s consideration, and Connor now understood his serious façade in the workplace was only masking a degenerate at heart.

‘Hell yeah,’ his