Free Day 50 (The DMT Series Book 2) by Erik Hamre Page A

prefer casualties. One needed casualties if one’s goal was to strike fear in the population.
    Agent Fowler dragged the dead farmer closer to the septic tank where two of his adult sons already lay dead on the bottom. The local police would probably assume an accident had occurred when the oldest of the sons had cleaned out the tank. And then his brother and father had died trying to help. Farming was a dangerous occupation. Accidents happened all the time.
    Agent Fowler smiled. Two tons of ammonium nitrate, and another two tons of calcium ammonium nitrate, was sufficient to provide him with a bomb close to a thousand kilos. Enough to pulverize most of the Washington Memorial Hospital.
    That much was for sure.
     
     
     

21
    Alejandro approached the bed where Cody lay, almost feeling sorry for him. Cody looked like a tiny child in the king size bed. Cody barely seemed to notice Alejandro’s presence. As usual he was listening to the radio, or resting with the radio in the background was probably a more appropriate description. Cody claimed he needed constant background noise to be able to relax. If it was too quiet, his mind would race through a million thoughts a minute. He claimed it was threatening to drive him insane. Alejandro knew it was all bullshit of course. Cody just didn’t possess any will power. He couldn’t force himself to relax like Alejandro did. It was actually quite ironic that the head of a religion that encouraged the use of psychedelics and meditation techniques for relaxation, wasn’t able to shut out the world himself. It was yet another reason the change of prophet had to occur soon. Cody couldn’t conduct any public appearances the way he looked these days. The religion survived on his reputation, on all the miracles people had witnessed him perform in the past.
    If his followers had seen him now they would have wondered what the hell they were worshipping. Cody’s appearance reminded Alejandro more of Stephen Hawking than of the powerful prophets throughout time.
    Gently Alejandro lifted one of Cody’s arms, perusing the skin under his elbow. Alejandro concluded they needed to move Cody’s body more often. He was beginning to develop bed sores.
    “Master Cody. Unfortunately I will have to go away for business for a few days. I will however be back before the weekend.”
    Cody tilted his head slightly to the side. “Where are you going?” he asked.
    “On a business trip. I need to attend to some formalities.”
    “Have you located Cameron?”
    Alejandro shook his head. “Not yet. It is only a matter of time before we do though. I have dispatched a new team, this time with orders to be more cautious.”
    “Good,” Cody replied.
    Alejandro couldn’t help smiling. The stupid pile of skin and bones believed so much in the story Alejandro had sold him and his followers, that he still believed he was calling the shots. He believed he was the chosen one, a holy prophet. Once Alejandro was one hundred percent certain that the DMT had worked its magic, he would take personal pleasure in strangling the last ounce of life out of the useless person in front of him.
    “Very well, Master Cody. I will see you in a few days then. Do you want me to change the station before I leave? Perhaps one of the music stations, for variation?”
    Cody barely moved his head, but it was enough for Alejandro to understand the gesture. Cody didn’t want to listen to any music. “I’ll leave the news on then.”
    As Alejandro left the room he could barely hide his contempt for the man in the bed. Cody was not even thirty years old, but he had already acquired that old-man smell that consumed aged care facilities. Alejandro had to cover Cody’s room in flowers and incense just to be able to make his daily visits. He hated that sweet smell of death and medicines. Several weeks ago a couple of doctors had checked Cody out from top to toe without finding out the reasons for the smell. Alejandro knew what it was