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

was no sound, then Connor jolted in shock as the noise of howling babies and screaming women filled his ears. It came at max volume, and his head started to throb. He clenched his teeth to ride out the discomfort, but a sinister anxiety began to build in his chest.

He desperately wanted out.

The screaming in his ears stopped and started at random intervals. One moment his world would plunge into silence, and he’d drop his guard, relieved for a chance to gather himself, then a couple of seconds later the wailing would begin again, frying his already-exhausted nerves as it startled him all over again.

Twenty minutes after the headphones went on, he made another mistake. Lactic acid burned in his shoulders and he hunched forward in the posture, losing the straight-backed rigidity. At once the baby screams in his ears amplified in volume, and he realised what he’d thought was max volume was only about fifty percent of the way there. The headphones were clearly modified. A splitting headache throbbed to life as the volume skyrocketed, and Connor grimaced.

Then it all went quiet.

He held his breath, uncomfortable in more ways than he ever thought possible.

His world exploded.

He felt his heart hammer, and it took him a beat to realise what was happening. Someone was tapping a stick against the plastic visor of the ski goggles at the speed of a jackhammer. The sound filled his head, all-encompassing, overwhelming…

He was on a one-way trip to his breaking point.

Then someone slapped him in the chest.

If he had his vision and sanity intact, it would have been nothing. A light smack on the sternum with an open hand. Hard enough to rattle him, maybe make him slightly uncomfortable, but nothing more than that.

In his current state, it broke him.

More often than not, it’s what you can’t see that gets you. The anticipation of the torture, not the torture itself. The mind erects imagined cathedrals that have no grounding in reality.

Connor sunk to his knees, crying. ‘Opal! Opal! Opal!’

9

Out in the corridor, Opal heard Connor screaming his name.

Topaz grinned with those ridiculous veneers and checked his watch. ‘Pay up. Didn’t even make it halfway.’

Opal shook his head in disappointment. He’d had faith in the kid. He fished in his pocket for a crumpled fifty-dollar bill, passed it to Topaz, and went into the interrogation room.

10

Connor sobbed with his head bowed until firm hands ripped the headphones and goggles and bag off his head.

He sucked in fresh air, spluttering, salivating on himself.

Opal was on one knee beside his hunched-over form, a look of annoyance on his face. ‘Pull yourself together, kid. I mean, seriously. I had you lasting over two hours. What the fuck is this?’

Between deep rattling inhales, Connor said, ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Where’d you get the stuff?’

‘Maeve and Dane Riordan sent it to me. They posted it from Gillette, a s-small town in Wyoming. They were in charge of a movement out in the grasslands called—’

‘Mother Libertas,’ Opal said. ‘I know. It’s all the news is talking about. So … let me get this straight. You believed the shit they were feeding you? You: a respectable, level-headed, intelligence-gathering patriot. You joined a cult?’

‘It’s not a—’

‘The bag’s going back on your head, Connor.’

Which overrode all his defence mechanisms.

He gulped. ‘Okay, it’s a cult. And yes, I’m an idiot.’

‘Don’t be too harsh on yourself,’ Opal said. ‘You got a dose down the throat of the goddamn President. If he had any real influence in our world, you’d be well on your way to power. It’s a shame that isn’t how things work. Which puts you here, in a shitty building, crying your eyes out and spilling your guts to someone like me, someone who has actual influence.’

Connor said, ‘What else do you want?’

‘That’s all we needed,’ Opal said. ‘Confirmation you were trying to carry on that loony bin’s brainwashing tactics. Now, if that’s all, we can wrap this up with a neat little bow.’

He extracted a Beretta M9 from an appendix holster.

Connor wasn’t ready to die.

His self-preservation mechanisms went into overdrive.

‘I know things,’ he spluttered. ‘I know who Maeve got her hooks into in the intelligence community.’

Opal gripped the pistol tight, inching the barrel toward Connor’s face.

After a moment’s silence, he raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Devin Nelson,’ Connor said. ‘He’s my direct superior and—’

‘And you fed him Bodhi and brainwashed him,’ Opal said. ‘Yes, Connor, I know. You’re not thinking straight, kid. Get a grip. He dosed the President, remember? He’s no longer alive.’

Connor couldn’t think straight. Devin was dead? It didn’t matter. He had to focus on what he could control.

Then he froze.

And smiled to himself.

Opal shrugged. ‘Well, if that means you’ve officially lost it, I guess you won’t mind if I—’

He put the barrel against Connor’s temple and slipped a finger inside the trigger guard.

With the cold steel pressing into his skin, practically scraping his skull, Connor held it together as he said, ‘A few months ago, Jason King and Will Slater disappeared from New York. They took their handler, Violetta LaFleur, and a civilian, Alexis Diaz, with them. Then they vanished off the face of the earth.’

‘That’s the talk of our community, kid,’ Opal said. ‘You’re not earning anything by re-telling it.’

‘They were at the commune in Wyoming,’ Connor said. ‘They infiltrated Mother Libertas, and they killed those six people.’

‘You’re full of shit.’

‘I have an audio recording of Dane Riordan calling me with a request to investigate them. He said their names were Jason and Will, and he described them accurately. By the morning, he was dead. But that’s not all I have. I know about their movements in Gillette. They got on a flight back to Vegas. I have the details of the false passports they used to fly back. I’m sure you could use those IDs to cross-check purchases made in Vegas under those aliases. I’m sure you could find where they are. Isn’t that important?’

Opal didn’t speak for a moment, but his eyes said, Yes.