Hunters - Matt Rogers (good novels to read TXT) 📗

on the other side of the Resolute desk. He placed the vial on the wooden surface and rolled it gently between his two index fingers. Like a nervous tic, only there was nothing automatic or habitual about it. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The President’s pale blue eyes were fixated on the amber liquid.

He said, ‘What is it?’

Nelson said, ‘Do you have matters to attend to this evening?’

‘Only the regular inconveniences. But I could give those orders in my sleep. Why?’

You know why, Nelson thought. Otherwise you never would have asked.

‘What is it?’ the President said again.

‘It’s called Bodhi.’

The President went to speak, then cut himself off. A wry smile played at his lips. ‘I know what you’re doing.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Put me on the back foot and make me ask the questions. Make me desperate. Make me eager to inquire.’

Nelson said, ‘I’m offering you a gift, that’s all.’

For the third time: ‘What is it?’

‘I took it last night. I can’t explain how good it is. There aren’t words to describe it.’

‘How’d you get it?’

‘One of my colleagues,’ Nelson explained. ‘He has a limitless supply. And he’s trustworthy.’

The President was a brilliant man. He digested everything Nelson had told him, cross-analysed it with what was currently making the rounds of the twenty-four hour news cycle, and said, ‘This doesn’t have anything to do with that shit that went down in Wyoming, does it?’

Inwardly, Nelson jolted, but he didn’t let an iota of it show. He said, ‘No. You think we’d buy into that amateur business?’

‘I don’t know,’ the President said. ‘From what I heard, whatever that husband and wife cooked up out there was brilliant. I’m sad I never got to try it.’

‘This is better. Trust me.’

‘What’s it going to do to me?’

‘Zone you in like nothing else. Like Adderall cranked up to eleven without any of the jitters. Not to mention the euphoria. Christ…’

The President’s eyes burned with desire.

He settled back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and surveyed the Oval Office. ‘This place, Devin. It gets to you. Out there, I play it up for the cameras. My public image is bulletproof. You seen my approval ratings? It’s because I embody that perfect personification of resilience and level-headedness … but in here, man. Sometimes I want to yank my hair out. Sometimes I want to resign. On the spot. No explanation. No half-hearted farewell speech like Nixon. Just drop everything and go into seclusion. Buy a cabin in the woods with Laurie, live out the rest of my days there.’

‘But you can’t,’ Nelson said, ‘so stop daydreaming about what’s never going to happen and get your releases where you can find them.’

He looked at the vial.

So did the President.

‘What if it’s too much?’ the man said. ‘What if I can’t hide that I’m high as shit?’

Nelson said, ‘It takes just over an hour to kick in. I’ll attend to other matters in the interim, and I suggest you do the same. Delegate what’s left for the evening, then tell the Secret Service you’re reconvening with me here at seven. Tell them it concerns clandestine wet work — black ops of the highest priority. Tell them, beyond a global catastrophe, you aren’t to be disturbed.’

‘And what if that happens?’

Nelson raised an eyebrow.

The President got a glint in his eye, like he was pumped with adrenaline at the very thought. ‘What if there’s a global catastrophe in the midst of … whatever this is going to be?’

Nelson calmly said, ‘Did you get to this office without taking any risk?’

The President tapped a finger against the surface of the Resolute desk.

Then he smirked, like he knew it was inevitable all along. ‘Seven, then. Why are you coming back, anyway?’

‘To ride it out with you,’ Nelson said.

He withdrew a second vial of Bodhi from the jacket pocket of his suit, worked the stopper off the top, and drank the liquid down.

The President looked at him like, So that’s how it is.

The man snatched the first vial off the Resolute desk, worked it open, and downed the contents in one quick gulp. Then he handed it back to Nelson. He took a deep breath and let it out with a subdued smile. ‘Sometimes I forget I’m not a robot.’

Nelson nodded.

The President said, ‘Here’s to living. And making the most of it.’

Nelson couldn’t mask a scoff.

The President said, ‘What?’

‘I thought I’d need to spend the whole evening persuading you. Your title makes me forget the degenerate you used to be.’

‘“Used to,”’ the President said, and winked. ‘Got to feel like you’re back in college every once in a while. Besides, you said this is like Adderall? I’ll just get more work done.’

Nelson got up. ‘See you soon.’

The President snatched the phone off the desk and started speed-dialling like there was electricity in his fingertips.

And the Bodhi hadn’t even hit him yet.

2

Connor’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking all morning.

Despite the incessant anxiety that came from his introversion, he’d never before lost physical control of his body, so it thrilled him to have a private office to ride out the discomfort. A while back, he’d read something when he was scouring the web for ways to come out of his shell, to be friendlier and more open to his colleagues so he could maybe, just maybe, make friends. He’d read: Fear and excitement are the same sensation. It’s all a matter of perspective.

So he told himself he was excited.

Mr. Nelson was across the city, deep in the White House, meeting with the President.

Would he do what Connor told him to do?

Yes.

Absolutely, yes.

No question.

Devin Nelson had decades more worldly experience than Connor, who was a lowly amateur in the intelligence world in comparison, but that’s the beauty of certain chemicals. They strip away all inhibitions, all preconceptions and biases, and Connor had spent the previous night brainwashing Nelson at the peak of a Bodhi trip. That sort of neurological conditioning breaks through to the subconscious level. It influenced Nelson’s actions even when the man