Nevertheless, Whitman’s work at the Well was so successful Monroe had no choice but to use him more and more. Then came the day when Whitman overheard St. Vincent and Monroe talking over the intel Whitman had extracted from an Iraqi member of ISIS regarding the terrorist organization’s plans to take over Iraq, Syria, Jordan, and Palestine and resurrect the ancient area known as al-Sham. It was blockbuster intel that played right into the Alchemists’ plans to aid the Kurds in northern Iraq. And so on that day Whitman learned how his rendition had played a key role in the Alchemists’ furthering the ISIS cause for their own ends. At first, when he confronted them, he threatened to expose them, but St. Vincent rightly pointed out that exposure would only destroy Whitman’s career, reputation, and, most likely, his life. Even then, Whitman remained adamant. He was outraged at what he termed “their hideous plan.” The idiot said his life was nothing compared to the death and suffering ISIS was going to unleash with the Alchemists’ help.

That was when Preach showed up as he always did, without warning but, uncannily, at a crucial moment. He took Whitman aside. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t. If you open your mouth about this you can be sure no one will believe you. You’ll be branded a madman; you’ll become an object of derision. Your credibility will be shattered. Your life in this country—anywhere, for that matter—will be over.”

Whitman abandoned the Alchemists, kept his mouth shut, but from that moment on, despite Preach’s assurances concerning the coming newer, better world, St. Vincent felt compelled to keep an eye on Whitman, lest he do something really stupid. “You betrayed me,” Whitman, the weak fucker, had said. “You used our friendship. That’s something I’ll never forgive or forget.” Monroe had been right about him after all—Whitman was altruistic, a contemptible trait that would not be tolerated by any true Alchemist.

To keep an eye on Whitman, he had contacted King Cutler, advised him to make Whitman an offer he couldn’t refuse, and ordered him to keep Whitman busy out of the country, and in line.

And, fuck me, St. Vincent thought now, the sonuvabitch found a way to insinuate himself back into my business.