Day 50 (The DMT Series Book 2) (6 page)

He would have pressed that button with a light heart.

You were either a patriot, or not.

And James Carter was a patriot. One of the biggest ones.

He picked up his square glasses from the table and put them back on the tip of his nose. He had one more stop to make in New York. He wanted to check in on Dr Drecker, Cody’s father. He was still in a coma, but he had supposedly moved his left eyelid a week ago. Two months ago he had moved some fingers. Five months ago a toe. It was unlikely that he would ever regain consciousness, and if he did he would probably still be a vegetable. But one never knew; even a vegetable could become an asset in the war they were fighting.

12

“What are we going to do?” Cameron asked. They had just anchored up the boat, and were about to settle in for the night.

“I’m not sure, Cam,” Adam answered, before he continued securing the ropes.

Twenty-four hours earlier they had been as close to getting caught as they had ever been. Adam moved swiftly around on the deck. He knew exactly what to do; he had performed every task at least a thousand times before. The difference was that none of what he was doing was necessary this evening. Adam was just keeping busy to keep his mind occupied, to avoid Cameron asking him difficult questions. Questions he didn’t have any answers to.

“They didn’t seem like CIA agents,” Cameron said.

“But they were,” Adam snapped. “They were agents.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they are the ones chasing us.”

“The CIA wouldn’t have tried to assassinate us. They would have tried to capture us, to use us to catch the even bigger fish - Cody. He is the one they’re afraid of, not me.”

“We don’t know that for sure, Cameron. We haven’t been in contact with other people for months. We have no way of knowing what the Agency’s priorities are.”

“But corrupt Mexican cops? The CIA wouldn’t engage with someone like that, would they?”

Adam knew his daughter was most likely correct. The CIA wouldn’t send hitmen after Cameron. That wasn’t how they operated, MKULTRA or not. The scary conclusion was that someone else had sent the hitmen.

“What’s going to happen now? We killed two people, dad, two cops.”

“They weren’t cops, Cameron.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me, I just know.” And Adam knew they hadn’t been real cops. They had arrived by speedboat, and they had been wearing police uniforms. That much was true. Adam had understood something was off the second they stepped on board
Mimi
though. Yes, they were off the coast of Mexico, but even the Mexican police didn’t behave like these two guys, not even the corrupt ones on the drug cartels’ pay-roll. When one of the pretend-cops had reached for his gun Adam had been expecting it. Within seconds both the would-be assassins were down. One had a kitchen knife sticking out of his chest, the other a broken neck.

Thinking on his feet, Adam had told Cameron to get rid of the speedboat. As he watched his daughter disappear in the horizon he had managed to get a few words out of the guy with the knife still lodged in his chest. It had been a short interrogation though. Adam hadn’t dared asking too many questions. He had been afraid of himself. Afraid he had gotten too soft since leaving the army, afraid he would change his mind and take the guy to a hospital if he managed to reveal too many personal details about himself. But the guy had been professional about it. He had known the game was over. He had taken one quick look at the knife in his chest and proceeded to give Adam an understanding nod. He hadn’t bothered begging for his life, hadn’t cried or whimpered. He had simply asked Adam for a cigarette.

So for a few minutes they had been sitting there in the silence of the ocean, two professional soldiers, sharing a cigarette. Adam had of course asked the guy who had hired him, but as expected he got no answer. He hadn’t needed one either, because Adam already knew. He had in fact been waiting for it. Just before the guy took his last breath, Adam had casually mentioned his name. It was enough to spur a reaction. For a moment the fake cop’s pupils had expanded slightly. It wasn’t a foolproof system, but in the absence of a lie detector it was the best Adam had. Adam had been trained extensively in interrogation techniques and the guy had just revealed everything Adam needed to know. Cody had finally decided to follow in his dad’s footsteps, to become a murderer to protect his secret. To murder the only living person who knew what he really was - because she was the same. Adam had understood it could happen any day after he had heard the first news reports about a new religion that was converting thousands of people in developing countries. Codyism, the followers called it. A new prophet had arrived, a new Messiah; a blind and paralysed man who possessed the power to heal the weak and cure the sick.

Adam knew Cody was no new Messiah. He was just a young angry man, a frustrated man who unfortunately had been robbed of his freedom and family.

A man who had lost everything.

A man who had nothing to lose.

Such a man could become very dangerous. Especially when he had a bunch of fanatics following him.

And now he was hunting Cameron and Adam.

13

Alejandro poured a cup of tea, and sat down on the couch opposite Cody’s bed. Cody was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hollow eye sockets.

“So they’ve just disappeared?”

“Correct,” Alejandro answered. “They were supposed to report back yesterday, but unfortunately all communication has ceased.”

“And you are certain it was Cameron?”

“They emailed a picture of the boat. It was Adam and Cameron.”

“So what now? Should we assume they are dead?”
Alejandro nodded. “We would be best off assuming they are dead. And we would be best off assuming that Adam and Cameron are more resourceful than we ever considered. These men came highly recommended. They were supposed to be among the best in the industry.”

“They were obviously not good enough,” Cody snapped back.

Alejandro nodded. “And that’s my fault, Master Cody. I underestimated Adam and Cameron. I should have sent more people.”

“No, Alejandro. It was wise to send a small team. We just have to be more careful next time. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a face-to-face hit. They can do it remotely. Use a bomb. It’s not like we don’t have the resources.”

“Very well, Master Cody. I will issue the orders. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” Cody answered.

Alejandro picked up the teapot from Cody’s nightstand and left the villa. He marched across a small field and entered a large concrete construction. It was covered in moss and vegetation. He knocked on the door and a skinny man in a green robe opened. Alejandro went inside and continued until he reached his office, which was located nearly five metres underground. The concrete construction was a remnant from some German war criminals who had hidden out in Argentina in the aftermath of the Second World War. They were all dead now, of course, but they had left behind an impressive set of buildings and underground facilities. One could say what one wanted about the Germans, but no one could deny they were brilliant engineers. Where else would a seventy-year-old construction seem like it was only built yesterday?

Alejandro sat down at his office desk, and rubbed his eyes. The attempted hit had been a terrible mistake. Adam and Cameron weren’t amateurs; they had managed to remain hidden from MKULTRA and the CIA for almost three years now. It had only been pure luck that Alejandro’s hitmen had located them in the first place. The men had been searching for months without results. And then an old fisherman had mentioned he had seen an American teenager spearfishing off one of the more secluded reefs. The fisherman had been impressed because none of the locals dared diving there, as the reef was riddled with sharks. The young teenage girl had seemed to be totally fearless however, and she had left in a tiny dinghy with an impressive catch of fish. The rumour about the fearless teenager had eventually reached Alejandro’s hitmen, and they had been able to track down
Mimi
, Adam’s sailboat. That was two days ago. The hitmen were now most likely dead. Alejandro studied the picture they had emailed him. It had been taken with a tele lens, and was a bit grainy, but he could clearly read the name,
Mimi
, on the side of the boat.
What boldness!
Adam and Cameron had teams of CIA agents hunting for them, yet they continued to move around in their boat. They hadn’t even bothered to change the name. Alejandro and Cody lived under a different regimen. They moved quite frequently. Cody seldom spent a month in the same place. Argentina was a poor country, and loyalty was easily bought and sold.

Alejandro had known, the very same day Martin Drecker and Cody had been taken into Marconi’s camp, that Cody would be his ticket out of Mexico. Normally Alejandro was the one responsible for interrogating prisoners, but he had chosen to remain in the background when they brought in Cody and his father. Alejandro had known they were special the second the computer told him they were officially dead.

He just hadn’t known how special they were.

In fact, they hadn’t even known themselves. It was Alejandro who had convinced Martin Drecker to start writing the Holy Book, to record Cody’s dreams and visions during deep sleep. Dr Drecker was an academic, he was intelligent, but he didn’t have the vocabulary to give Cody’s thoughts justice, so Alejandro had taken it upon himself to edit the book. To turn Cody’s nightly ramblings into something meaningful. The solution had been to rewrite the text in verse form, to connect seemingly unrelated sentences into beautiful poetry. Dr Drecker had understood what Alejandro was attempting to achieve and had immediately given his blessing. Alejandro was going to elevate Cody to a prophet. He was going to create a persona that would live on in eternity.

The hardest thing had been to convince Cody that he was special, that he in fact was a prophet. Alejandro had had to stage numerous events to fit with his writings. When they had found Cody lying unconscious below a steep cliff, after the CIA had massacred most of Marconi’s men, he had been pretty beaten up. But he hadn’t been paralysed. Unfortunately one of the verses stated that the prophet would never dance again after the day his father was killed. The choice had been easy for Alejandro. He had paid a local veterinarian handsomely to paralyse Cody from the waist down, and then he had taken the vet out the back and shot him twice in the head.

Alejandro was building a new religion, and Cody was his private little puppet. Alejandro had always envisioned himself becoming something important, but he had never envisioned himself becoming what he was about to become; one of the most powerful people in the world. The eventual unquestionable leader of what many believed would be the leading world religion over the next few decades.

Alejandro had quickly gained Dr Drecker’s absolute trust, so much so that Dr Drecker had told him the entire story. Told him how Cody wasn’t really a prophet with supernatural abilities, how he was just the result of Dr Drecker’s science experiment, how he was a product of something called DMT.

Alejandro had immediately understood why the CIA was so insistent on hunting down and destroying Cody. He was a massive threat to world stability. Although the Americans and most other nations had made it almost impossible to acquire psychedelics, there were still ways. And Alejandro had managed to get a chemist to synthesize sufficient amounts for him to become immortal when the time was right. But first he had things to do.

He had to play the obedient servant a little bit longer. His time would soon come, however, the time when Cody wouldn’t be needed anymore.

Then Alejandro would be the one in control.

The one everyone would worship.

14

“So there is no further development, apart from one of the eyelids moving last week?” James Carter asked.

The doctor nodded. “That’s correct, Mr Carter.”

“So what’s the prognosis?”
“It’s hard to say, Mr Carter. This is a unique case. By normal measures this patient should have been dead by now. Both the injuries to his head and his upper torso were in themselves lethal. It is a miracle he is still breathing. I can only put it down to an incredible will to live. I’ve treated patients like this before. Patients that should have been dead. Some of them can hang on for decades, but they never wake up, they never regain full consciousness. Maybe he would be better off somewhere else. In a different facility.”

“I asked for his prognosis, not your opinion.” James Carter replied.

“I’m just saying the cost of the current treatment will not give any return. For the amount of money we use on this one patient I could make a big difference in a lot of other patients’ lives, patients who actually have a probability of recovering.”

“The bills are being paid when they are due, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but that’s my concern. The government foots the bill for this patient, this patient without a name. That means it is taxpayers’ money. My money.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Doctor. It is imperative that this man stays alive. It is a matter of national security.”

The doctor nodded reluctantly. “Very well, we will continue his treatment. But as I mentioned: The fact that he moved an eyelid means nothing. This man will never regain consciousness. That’s my professional opinion.”

“Your professional opinion has been noted,” James Carter replied. He didn’t bother shaking the doctor’s hand when he left. The doctor’s career would be over in the morning. He would be transferred to a hospital in Alaska or some other Godforsaken place. An inquisitive doctor was always dangerous. If he was so concerned about how his tax money was being spent he might start looking into who the John Doe patient really was, and that could quickly escalate into a dangerous situation. Dr Martin Drecker had officially been dead for years. If someone started to ask questions why a civilian was receiving this VIP treatment, a civilian who officially was already dead, then things could easily get out of control.