The Demon Plagues (17 page)

Five down, two to go.

In the missile room the shadow glided up to
the auxiliary control firing station to insert a
specially-configured memory module into the panel. One touch of the
screen and the program inside executed, rewriting the targeting
coordinates and the nuclear detonation parameters through the
pathways prepared by the technicians. The figure paused by the
bound technicians just long enough to drive a thin carbon fiber
blade up under each one’s chin and into his brain. A quick wiggle
and twist of the knife made certain they were completely,
irrecoverably dead.

Alkina was far forward in the boat up on the
first deck, heading for the control room when a burst of gunfire
cut her down. She jerked as the Needleshock rounds caused her
muscles to lock, then turned and fired back spasmodically as she
fell. Needles spattered down the passageway in both directions; the
ones aimed at the Australian struck her again and again until she
lay still, hammered into unconsciousness by electric shocks.

Jill Repeth, still drenched, soapy and
wearing nothing but her uniform trousers, stepped out of the cabin
where she had waited in ambush, staggering over to stare down at
Alkina. Her PW10 wavered over the fallen woman.
Damn, it took a
lot to put her down. Never shot a Plague carrier with these before.
Never thought I’d have to. Not very effective.

“Nice look, lass. Never thought I’d see such
a lovely sight.” Bitzer leered from the door to the control room
down the passageway.

She snarled at him, swaying on her feet with
the aftereffects of the drug. “Get a trank for her. She drugged me
in the shower.”

“Oh, aye, now there’s a vision, you two in
the shower…all right, I’m going.”

“And find the Colonel!”

“The Colonel is here, Gunny. What happened?
She assaulted you?” He stepped up quietly from behind her.

“She tranked me in the shower. What the hell
is going on, sir?”

Spooky’s lips compressed. “Why don’t you get
into uniform. Your nudity is pleasant but distracting. We will find
out.” He pulled out a trank of his own and injected Alkina in the
neck.

“Right. Meet you in the control room in two,
sir.” She bolted off to get on her uniform and gear. Two minutes
later she arrived in full combat rig at the command center.

Markis swallowed painfully. “You think he
passed something to me? Some kind of infection that can get past
the Plague. We have to quarantine everyone…”

“I don’t know, sir, I’m just a jumped-up
grunt, but I don’t think so. None of us are sick. I think you got a
big dose from the handshake, whatever was on the glove, but none of
us did. It’s just like an invasion, you got a bunch of troops
landed on your beach and you’re fighting to contain it, but all any
of us got, if anything, is a few stragglers. The Plague is too
strong for it.”

“Not really the Plague, Karl. The Plague
supercharges our bodies’ natural immune and healing systems. It’s
just a common misconception that that Plague is running around
inside of us like a security force. It's more like the power behind
the security force.”

“Whatever you say, sir, you’re the medical
man. But in any case…none of us are sick.”

“If I get better…we can’t prove anything. And
if I die…we still couldn’t prove anything.” He groaned as a
shuddering chill went through him.

“Maybe I can. I got his water glass sealed in
a bag. He touched it with his gloves.”

Markis’ sweating face smiled weakly. “Dumb
grunt, huh? That was a move worthy of one of Cassie’s people.”

“Thank you, sir. You know what, though, sir?
If they really hoped to kill you, this is just Plan A. There will
be a Plan B.”

“Well, plan A seemed clumsy; let’s hope they
are equally inept with Plan B.” Markis grabbed for the wastebasket
and vomited into it again, bringing up nothing but some thin bile
as cramps wracked his guts.

Karl nodded, waiting until the fit passed.
“Plan A did seem half-assed. Even if we couldn’t prove it we would
know, and it would poison any chance at relations for a while. Or
will. It didn’t even have to kill you to do that. It just doesn’t
make sense."

"Maybe someone wanted to poison relations. So
I think it does, Chief. I think it does. Let me rest.” Markis said
no more right then, despite his security chief’s obvious interest.
Speculating on motives wouldn’t help Karl do his job any better; in
fact it might distract him. He lay back in bed and mulled the whole
thing over.

Markis had always told himself he wasn’t a
thinker, but he gradually accepted that it was his role to be one
anyway. He sometimes wondered if he hadn’t been copping out as a
young man. Not thinking, just following orders, was an easier way
to live. Looking for something or someone to make his decisions for
him, to simplify his life, to reduce his hard choices down to just
a few easy ones. He was sure God was rolling with laughter right
now at where his life had ended up. He drifted off to sleep with
that gnawing thought.

He woke up to the feel of a cool swab on his
inner arm; not strictly needed on an Eden, but old sanitary habits
died hard. He watched the application and felt the sting of a
hypodermic needle.

Bettina smiled as she drew a blood sample,
then swapped tubes and took three more. “If you approve I want to
give two of these to the Swiss and keep two for ourselves. I should
have thought of it sooner. Whatever is in your bloodstream, we want
to have samples before it’s all cleaned out. That means you need to
pee in the cup too, and get a stool sample if possible.”

“Oh, joy. All right, give me the kits.” He
got up, shaky but able, to perform those ablutions in the sparkling
hotel lavatory. This was a case where the bidet turned out to be a
welcome fixture.

He ate a little bit and went back to sleep;
he would have to be as rested as possible for the morning. He woke
up early, and sent the duty PSD for Rogett.

Karl arrived a moment later, looking fresh
and mean. “Sir, the Swiss have redoubled their security
arrangements, and they have disarmed and scrutinized the other
side, to include full body scans for everyone but the PM. They are
also going to provide sterile gloves for Portmanteaux and for you
as well. Short of using biohazard suits, they are making every
effort to eliminate whatever contagion it was while allowing the
meeting to go forward. But sir, I urge you not to shake his hand.
What if he has some other trick? An implanted spring-loaded needle
or something? What if he’s a double with implanted explosives?”

“Thanks, Karl, but you’re getting paranoid.
That is, a little too paranoid even for this job. They took a shot
and failed; they won’t do anything at the meeting. Whatever else
they have planned, it will be afterward. What about the plane?”

“We’ve had two people plus the pilots on it
at all times. They aren’t happy that they didn’t get to see Geneva.
I promised them they could come back on their own. I told them to
do a full inspection every two hours, regardless. The Swiss are
securing the hangar.

“Departure?”

“Hartmann assures me they have it
covered.”

“Well, that’s all we can do. Someone bring me
the tablet, I need to review the notes.”

Two hours later they were walking into the
Swiss Foreign Ministry’s secure conference room again. The only
difference was that this time each of the principals was handed a
set of gloves before entering.

Markis put his on, shook hands sharply with
Portmanteaux, then peeled them off immediately and tossed them to
the waiting Swiss technologist, to be put straight into a sample
bag. He sat down disdainfully, without waiting for the others,
slouching disrespectfully back in his seat, his eyes deliberately
aflame.

Portmanteaux took his off more slowly,
handing them to the staffer on his right, then sat as well. He kept
his eyes off Markis.

“I’m sorry, I must insist that those be given
back.” Hartmann held out the sample bag for the gloves.

Portmanteaux’s security man, big to match
Rogett across from him, looked as if he was going to object until
the Canadian Prime Minister made a preemptory gesture. He gave up
the gloves.

“What was that all about?” asked the PM.

Markis’ expression was cold fire, his voice
hard as iron. “I had hoped we were not playing games, Mister Prime
Minister. I refuse to do so. So on the naive assumption that you
are sincere, I will tell you. Immediately after I left the meeting
yesterday, I became gravely ill. The nature of the disease was not
clear, though we have taken samples and we – or our hosts – will
soon know. But I find it extremely suspicious that as a Plague
carrier I have not been ill in ten years, yet I suddenly contract
something and almost die from it immediately after shaking hands
with you?”

Portmanteaux’s color had been slowly draining
from his face as the Chairman spoke. Now he bowed his head and
spoke quietly. “I apologize on behalf of my government and I assure
you I had nothing to do with it. If any of my people know anything,
I also assure you I will hold them responsible and I will deal with
them, and I will inform you of the results of the investigation.
Peter, you will handle this, yes?”

The man to his right nodded, his brow
furrowed and angry.

Markis caught his emphasis - 'my government'
- and sighed. “I am going to take a leap of faith – again – and
assume you are sincere. But it is incidents just such as this that
are blocking the way to peace. Some people, some power blocs, do
not want settlement. They only want victory at any cost, Pyrrhic
victory. Have you heard from your government regarding my
proposals?”

Portmanteaux folded his naked hands on the
table, then unfolded them, pouring himself a glass of water, which
he sipped slowly.

He’s stalling. Why? Just regaining his
composure? Or is it some kind of act?
Markis compared this
demeanor with the man’s masterful performance yesterday, and made a
decision. He stood up, startling everyone.

“These talks are now suspended. You obviously
do not have an answer, which makes me suspect you are a catspaw
whose only purpose was to try to kill or otherwise incapacitate me.
Despite my doubts I believe you might be an honorable man. Feel
free to contact me through the usual channels and perhaps in a
month or two we may make some kind of progress.”

“Mister Chairman, I assure you –"

“Don’t bother. If you want to implement some
of the terms of our proposals and rebuild a modicum of good faith,
release the Eden carriers in your concentration camps. They are
meaningless except as hostages, and you have no need of human
shields with us. As soon as that is done I will order our cyber
attacks suspended. Perhaps we can proceed from there.”

Portmanteaux seemed deflated, the stuffing
knocked out of him, but he stood up and straightened manfully,
holding out his hand.

Markis stared at it with neither movement nor
change of expression, his own hands clasped firmly behind his back.
He felt like spitting on it but he thought that might be going too
far.

After a moment, the Prime Minister withdrew
his gesture and turned to go. “Very well. I bid you good day,
Mister Chairman.”

They all left the room in silence.

Markis stared out the window of the limousine
as they drove back to the hotel, his hopes dashed and his thoughts
darkening. “Well, Millie, that could have gone better. But to look
on the bright side, if we can get some kind of trace from the
samples we might be able to figure out just what they were trying
to do.”

“Do you think he was really ignorant?”

“What did you think?”

Her brow furrowed. “I tend to think so. I
think he hoped to drive a hard bargain, that maybe he was going to
come back today with the usual conditions and ‘oh I’m sorry my
government needs concessions’ but basically he was sincere. It
seemed to me he was genuinely embarrassed.”

“That’s my impression, too, but neither of us
are as good at this game as he is. That’s why I broke it off – I
want to talk to Cassie and some others, try to ferret out what the
hell might really be going on.”

She nodded, making notes on her tablet as
they drove into the underground hotel garage. “When are we leaving,
sir?”

“Just as soon as we can. Maybe we can upset
someone’s timetable if we move fast. Karl, you approve?”

“Now you’re thinking like your old self, sir.
Always do the unexpected.”

They got out of the limo and walked briskly
toward the elevators. As soon as they were out of earshot of the
Swiss guards, Markis said in a lowered voice, “Good. Now go charter
a plane.”

The smile on Skull’s face froze as he heard
the rattle of the nearby gate. Swearing silently, he scuttled back
and peered through the cracks in the back wall. There was a Swiss
security truck parked outside it, and two officers were just
closing the gate. Obviously they intended to check his shed.

He shoved the hatchet into his belt and
descended the outside of the building from his window before they
could get too close, hanging from the sill by his fingertips to
drop quietly to the ground. The bulk of the shed shielded him from
view, and he crept clockwise to his left as far as the front
corner. He looked through the double crack there, nothing but a few
flimsy angled boards between him and the two paramilitary
police.

He cursed the Swiss efficiency that prompted
them to inspect buildings this far out, and he cursed himself for
not risking buying a silenced handgun back in Sicily. He wasn’t a
close-in killer, wasn’t more than usually adept with blades, and
these two men with firearms could wreck his whole situation. Not to
mention kill him.