“It’sGeekOut,” I remind him. Seeing his blank face, I roll my eyes. “I’ve been sending you these videos for weeks. I’m doing a TikTok workout series for geeks. ‘Swordfight Like Jack Sparrow,’ ‘Shoot a Crossbow Like Daryl Dixon,’ ‘Fire a Rifle Like Mal Reynolds.’” Yeah, I dabble in some sci-fi, too.
Morrie stares at me, aghast. “You’ve been posting your face online?”
“Of course not.” I let him see how affronted I am at the suggestion. Scrolling through a few of the older videos, I show him the final product. “I use a filter.” My go-to is the one that gives me a black mask like Zorro (sick, right?), but I admit I’ve sometimes caved to peer pressure and gone with whatever was trendy, like the puppy face or Batman. Hey, sometimes you gotta give the people what they want.
As irritated as I am at Morrie’s implied suggestion that I’m not doing my due diligence, I begrudgingly understand the concern. In my line of work, it’s best for my face not to be too visible. I’ve gone undercover in all kinds of disguises and in all kinds of situations. No, I’m no Sydney Bristow in bright-colored wigs. Most stuff is pretty dull, truth be told—it’s just blending in and listening. But when I have had to infiltrate a group, you’d be surprised how much even slightly altering your appearance can change the way people perceive you. Yes, all you “how can no one tell Clark Kent isn’t Superman?”haters—you’d honestly be amazed byhow much changing the way you comb your hair and adding something like a pair of glasses can change the way people perceive you. The fake accents and color contacts can help, too.
But since I’m about to go undercover yet again, I can’t risk my dumb mug being plastered all over the Internet, even if I am using a burner account with no trace of my actual identity on it.
This case will be the most high-profile one I’ve ever worked on; it might even be the last because of how highly visible it’s going to be. I’m about to go on a reality show competition as one of the contestants. The show is calledMountain Man, and it’s being filmed in some Podunk town in the middle of Tennessee.
If our target hadn’t been otherwise so reclusive and avoidant about bringing people into his inner circle, I doubt the bureau would have agreed to let one of their agents go undercover in such a spectacularly public way. The fact that I’ve been given this assignment just shows how important it is that Aaron Miller is stopped. And if it means making myself a spectacularly public figure in the process, well, I’m willing to do so for my country. For the victims who have already suffered so much.
Do I want to go on a dating show? As Wes—hell no. That’s the last thing I’d ever willingly put myself through. I could barely even watch the episodes of the comp shows I was sent as part of my training. And before you get your hackles up, it’s not because the shows focus on love. I’m a big fan of love.Truelove. “As you wish” kind of love, where you would fight pirates and brave the fire swamp to be with your ladylove. The cheesy, wooden nonsense that you see on these reality dating TV shows? No, thanks. I want a real connection or nothing. If I’m not burning with passion, I’d rather be alone.
Luckily, it isn’t Wes going on this show. I mean, it’s my body, sure, but I’ll be playing a part. Nate R.He’sthe one who’ll be going onMountain Man, not me. Everything I say or do will be what Nate R. would say or do, and Wes will just keep quiet for a while. I know it might be confusing if you haven’t been through it, but I have to compartmentalize, just like I do every time I go undercover. There’s the character I’m playing, and then there’s the real me, and the twain shall never meet.
Tonight, Morrie will spend the night here, then we’ll drive from my place down to Green Valley over the next day and a half. By the time we get there, I’ll no longer be Wesley “Wes” Ackerman from Michigan; I’ll be Nathan “Nate”Russell from Small Town, Tennessee. I’ve been working on my “yes, ma’ams” and Southern drawl to try to get into the spirit of things.
I’ve also been working on my Nate R. persona. As Morrie has hammered into me many, many times, Nate R. is not into anything “humiliatingly infantile,” like shooting crossbows or learning whip tricks. Nate R. is a former frat brother, a good Christian boy, and a passionate fan of college football.
Nate R. sounds a little boring, honestly. You can see why I had to spend the day trying to escape into a Viking fantasy world.
“You need to put all of your extracurriculars on hold for now,” Morrie reminds me yet again, then needlessly tacks on, “maybe forever. Nate R. doesn’t waste his time with emasculating fantasy fandoms and”—he shudders—“role-playing games.”
I have to bite my tongue. This is an old fight between us. To be fair, Morrie isn’t bad people overall—he just has some very antiquated views on what masculinity means. He’s confided in me that he grew up in a family of athletes, and there was a lot of pressure put on him and his siblings to excel at sports so they could qualify for college scholarships.
I didn’t grow up in that environment, though. I have sisters. My oldest sister played volleyball, my middle sister swam competitively, and I dabbled in T-ball and soccer, mostly to be social; but that was just what we did on the weekends—the athletic culture didn’t rule our lives. We spent a lot of time playing make-believe, fighting goblins, building forts, climbing trees. And I have no idea why any of that is considered less “tough” or “manly” than wearing a costume to look like your favorite athlete and chasing a ball around a field.
But I’ve hashed this out too many times—with Morrie and with other “macho” men I’ve encountered throughout my life—for me to think I have any real chance of changing anyone’s mind. So I just roll my eyes and treat this like playful banter, hoping he won’t see that even though it’s an old wound, it can still sting. “Emasculating? Sure. Find me a manlier man than Gareth of Orkney. Madmartigan. Geralt of Rivia.”
Morrie just blinks back at me. “I obviously don’t know who any of those people are, but that’s exactly the kind of nonsense I’m talking about. I don’t want to hear any of that fantasy shit while you’re undercover, Wes. I mean it!”
He might be coming from a place of sad, sheltered, toxic masculinity, but he isn’t entirely wrong. I do need to compartmentalize. Letting Wes leak through whenI’m undercover puts the entire mission in jeopardy. With a sigh, I relent. “Fine. Fine. I’ll be Nate Russell for the next two months. Watcher of football and drinker of beer.”
“That’s right.” Morrie nods, looking more reassured. “Have you been practicing any of those challenges I sent you?”
To ensure that I can stay on the show long enough to achieve my mission, the FBI has had to inform the executive producers of who I really am. After some reluctant back-and-forth on their end, they sent ahead a list of some of the challenges the Mountain Men will be completing on the show to make sure I can do them competently enough that it makes sense for me to stick around.
Winning the weekly competitions is important, but not as important as ingratiating myself with the women contestants, the Mountainettes. They’re the ones who will ultimately decide which Mountain Men move through to the next week. So really, all that alpha-male nonsense I was supposed to practice—like tackle football, weight lifting, etcetera—is ultimately unimportant if the ladies decide they like me. And, well ... come on. Sandy blond hair. Green eyes. Chiseled jaw.
I smirk at Morrie. “It’s gonna be fine.”
He frowns, clearly not loving that answer. “What does that mean, ‘it’s gonna be fine’? It’s gonna be fine, as in you practiced all of the challenges so you’ll definitely make it through—thank you, Morrie, for all your careful preparation? Or some other kind of ‘it’s gonna be fine’?”
He’s really going to make me say it, isn’t he? Sighing, I shrug. “Look, what can I say? It’s not gonna be a problem, man. The Mountainettes will put me through, whether I can split a log or win a lip-sync battle or not.”
Morrie folds his arms skeptically. “And, why is that, exactly?”
Wasn’t he the one saying it just a few minutes ago? I got the face, the bod. No problem. I gesture to myself. “Come on, man. This show is being filmed in the middle-of-nowhere Tennessee. I’m gonna be competing against a bunch of Appalachian bumpkins. I got this in the bag ...”
Reader, I do not have this in the bag.Thishas escaped from the bag. It’s loose on the city, attacking the townsfolk.
What the hell is in the water in Green Valley, Tennessee? I’ve never seen so many incredibly good-looking people in such a small area before. The whole town has, like, three restaurants, but on every street corner is some huge, ripped dude with a beard. I gawk out my window as we drive down Main Street. “What the hell?” I stammer when I’m able to finally find my voice.
Morrie is eating all of this up, by the way. He’s been pointing out every Greek god in flannel he can see. “Wow, look at that guy over there. Is that a classic car he’s driving? Oh, wait, look at that guy who’s coming out of the library. Is that Adonis a librarian ... ? No, no, wait, did you just see that guy in the park ranger uniform?Damn,if I do say so myself!”
“Shut up,” I grumble, slouching down low into my seat.
