Degrees of Wrong
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magic. Didn’t it begin with a B or something? I hoped someone would say it
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beforehand, instead of just calling him the secretary-general all the time. I was too embarrassed by my ignorance—my stupidity—to ask anyone outright.
I bit my lip with the dilemma as Admiral Rudd helped me from the pod.
When my black heels met with the dock, I smoothed out the wrinkles in my gray
skirt and adjusted my white button-down blouse. I thought when I dressed this
morning that the outfit was appropriate—it just wouldn’t do to betray them in
their own uniform. So, in my businesslike attire, I followed the small convoy of
pedestrians to the beach, toward the large mansion overlooking the sea.
The closer we got, the more my nerves misbehaved. I took in the majesty of
the home, designed exquisitely in old-world architecture with its wrought-iron
balconies and arched windows.
I also tried to stifle what was becoming a terrible bout of hiccups.
We followed a concrete path to the west entrance of the house and were
ushered in by a well-dressed, middle-aged manservant, who was actually
wearing white gloves with his ensemble. I’d thought that sort of thing only
existed in old books, and I tried not to stare at his hands. I also tried not to giggle at his pompous demeanor—that would only incite more hiccups.
We walked through a sitting room bigger than my entire house on the island,
and more luxuriously appointed. It became clear that the architecture of the
home hadn’t been designed to look old, but that the house had actually been built at least a century ago. The décor was lavish and meticulously fitted to match the relic feeling of the home, and—despite the fact that I knew it cost more than
some smaller countries—it exuded a distinct feeling of coziness.
The silly manservant ushered us into what couldn’t have been used for
anything other than a ballroom at one time. My heels clicked on the marble floor, and I gasped in appreciation at the detailed murals painted on the high ceilings.
Sunlight shone in from the wall-size arched windows on the right, casting a
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dancing spectrum of color from the enormous crystal chandelier in the center of
the ceiling. To our left, a long, beautifully polished wood table spanned the entire side of the room, and the fifty or so high-backed chairs sat regally in place,
waiting for their next patron.
The manservant addressed a smartly dressed man standing in front of the
table. “Your guests have arrived, sir.” He bowed his way out of the room after
the man acknowledged him with a nod.
I knew by his powerful carriage, by his striking white military regalia, by his
upturned chin and statuesque stance, that this was the Secretary General of the
United Nations. He had passed the prime of his youth, with well-earned
wrinkles pulling at his eyes and mouth, and an air of marked wisdom that could
only be gotten with the attaining of years. Still, his black hair showed no gray.
Beside him stood the very embodiment of womanhood, her delicate arm
gently entwined with his. She had almost white-blonde hair, creamy skin
unmarred by the defects of age, and stunning blue, intuitive eyes, accentuated
tenfold by the pale blue of her simple dress.
Those eyes held me now as she stared at me with open curiosity.
“Admiral Rudd, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” the statue said, walking
toward us. The blue-eyed goddess beside him followed, never taking her gaze off
me. “And, Dr. Folsom, how long has it been? Too long, I think.”
The admiral shook hands with him, and so did Dr. Folsom. She smiled at
him warmly, and he returned in kind. “It has been too long indeed, General
Marek.”
What did she just say? Surely, I didn’t hear that correctly.
“And this must be the one and only Dr. Morgan.” He extended his hand to
me. His large hand encompassed mine, and he shook it with a surprising
gentleness. I recognized those eyes.
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Deep within, I began to panic.
He nodded to the blue-eyed woman. “May I introduce you to my wife,
Lillian?”
She surprised me when she left the security of his arm, and ignoring my
extended hand, embraced me instead. I tried to pull away from her without
appearing rude—I couldn’t risk close physical contact with her. She didn’t seem
to notice my hesitation.
Smiling, she said, “It really is a pleasure to meet you, my dear.” And then I
realized that I had seen her eyes before as well.
“Ah. There you are.” The general motioned behind us, and I gasped as
Nicoli, dressed in the same white regalia as the general, made his long strides
across the room to where we stood. His penetrating gaze never left mine as he
came to stand in front of me.
He didn’t wait for the general’s introductions. He grabbed my hand and
kissed it gently, still not wavering in his stare.
“And, of course,” the general said, “you’ve already met Captain Nicoli
Marek, my eldest son.”
“What?” I snatched my hand from Nicoli’s.
His eyes softened, and he looked pained from my action. He whispered, “I
knew it. I knew that, all along, you didn’t know.”
I rubbed my hand where he’d kissed it, as if it had been burned. I couldn’t
speak. Couldn’t think. Could only feel. My gut twisted and coiled with new
spasms as poorly healed wounds tore open again.
I had made plans to never see Nicoli again. I had already accepted it as
finished, had already convinced myself of the absolute certainty of it.
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And yet here he was, standing in front of me, handsome as ever. Only now,
he was the son of the most powerful man in the world, a fact which wedged us
even further apart.
For a stunning moment, the universe aligned in just the exact way for me to
see everything I had missed these past months.
The way Ebony gasped that first day upon seeing him.
The way everyone in general seemed to know about the details of his
personal life all the time, and how they were shocked that I didn’t.
The way that redheaded snippet always tried to pump anyone and everyone
for information about him, and the way Nicoli had suspected her of being an
undercover reporter.
The way Lt. Sheldon had thrown herself at him.
The way Dr. Folsom had looked at me dumbfounded when I had asked if his
fiancée was beautiful.
The way he looked at me in astonishment that night in the transport pod
when he realized I knew nothing about him.
Even the way he had made reservations for us under a false name in
Manzanillo.
And especially the way his hands were tied in an irreversible, politically
motivated engagement.
The details, large and small, began to reveal themselves to me, and the
culmination of the sum left me shaking.
“Elyse, calm down,” he pleaded quietly. I could tell he was thinking about
physically comforting me now.
I took a step back.
My breathing was audible. This was not the impression I had wanted to
make on the secretary-general, especially in light of what I had to do.
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“Wh-what are you doing here?” I asked weakly, trying to rein in my reeling
senses.
“I live here. This is my home.” He appeared relieved that I was capable of
speech again.
“Well, you need to leave, please. At least while I’m here.” I couldn’t have
him here distracting me from my purpose. And, the longer he stayed, the more
pain I would feel when I had to part from him again.
“No.”
“Yes,” I hissed.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“You have exactly three seconds before I—”
“Stomp your foot? Please try not to scuff the marble.”
I growled and heard the echo of it resound off the wall behind him. Because
this indeed used to be a ballroom, it had been flawlessly designed to carry sound to the farthest edges of the room. Ideally that sound would be some sort of
music. Not my guttural, animalistic moan that rode the sound wave to our
spectators.
I felt the curious stares as they beheld the spectacle of me arguing with the
son of the Secretary-General of the United Nations. Dr. Folsom and Admiral
Rudd were used to it, but the good general and his stunning wife seemed rather
scandalized.
“Er, why don’t we have a seat, so we can address the business at hand?”
Lillian Marek called to us with the soothing voice of an expert hostess.
“Yes, Dr. Morgan, let’s do sit down,” Nicoli told me loudly, when he could
see the ingredients of a tantrum brewing in my expression. I took a step toward
him.
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To his apparent relief, Dr. Folsom took my hand and ushered me to a chair
the admiral had already pulled out for me.
We sat at the end of the expansive table. Nicoli took the seat at the head of it.
The general sat directly across from me with his wife on his right. Dr. Folsom
and Admiral Rudd had chosen seats on either side of me—probably easier to
restrain me in such close proximity.
I rubbed my throbbing temple. This had not gone as expected.
“Dr. Morgan, are you well?” the general asked.
I looked at the man whose sudden presence now complicated the execution
of my plan and played havoc with my insides. Better get this over with. I nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Of course, this is an informal meeting, Dr. Morgan. I
wanted to meet with you privately before you make your presentation to the
council.”
Presentation? To the council?
“I have to admit, I am intrigued, Dr. Morgan—”
I didn’t have the patience or the time for a social visit. My window of
coherent opportunity was limited to a few hours at best. The turn of events had
already increased my blood pressure—I could feel the beginnings of a fever.
I held up my hand to the general. “I appreciate your flattery, General Marek.
But I wasn’t aware that I would be required to give a presentation to any
council.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that you were required to do it, Dr. Morgan. I just thought you would want to take credit for your findings.”
I took in a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that the man I loved
would probably hate me by the end of this conversation. But it had to be done.
So, here we go.
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“It’s not that I don’t want to take credit for my findings, General. It’s that I
haven’t decided yet if I am going to be turning them over to you.”
“I’m sorry?” he said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nicoli stiffen in his seat. I wouldn’t look at him.
“Before I give you the cure,” I clarified, “I would like to discuss the UN’s
plans for the disbursement of it to other countries. And, of course, for the method of testing it on humans.” Again, I was aware of Nicoli pinching the bridge of his nose. The tension radiating off Dr. Folsom and the admiral almost stifled me.
General Marek regarded me for a long time. Finally he said, “Very well, Dr.
Morgan. I’ll concede. What exactly do you want to discuss? Clearly, your agenda
for this meeting differs from mine.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I wouldn’t exactly say that it is open for discussion,
though.”
The general did not like this. “I’m still listening.”
I inhaled again, trying to calm my blood pressure, as I could see that Nicoli
had inherited his tense jaw from his father. Still, I had to press on. Lives were at stake. Even if I had to step on a few toes—or a lot of toes—I had an obligation to keep.
“First and foremost, I will have it in writing that the preliminary human
trials will be conducted on a volunteer basis.” I thought back to the journal entry of the hostage scientist who’d been forced to experiment with living, breathing
people. A spasm of nausea ripped through me. The United Nations could do the
same thing, on a much larger scale.
General Marek folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I don’t think
we’ll be in short supply of infected volunteers, Dr. Morgan. I’m sure you’ll agree that given the choice between death and hope—”
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“Don’t pretend to misunderstand me, General,” I clipped. “You of course
realize I’m referring to the circumstances under which the subjects become
infected. There will be no intentional exposure to the virus for the sake of
testing.”
“Of course, Dr. Morgan. Such unethical practices—”
“I want it in writing.”
To his good credit, the general made no further attempts to play innocent.
“Done.”
“I also must insist that you make the cure available to all countries of the
world, regardless of their standing with the United Nations.”
It took all I had not to squirm under his scrutiny. The essence of calm, he
said, “You are asking us to make the cure available to our enemies.”
“I am asking you to make the cure available to sick people who would
otherwise die, regardless of their nationality.”
“I’m afraid that is not our policy, Dr. Morgan.”
“Then I am asking you to renegotiate the terms of this particular policy,
General.”
“I do not see a need to negotiate the terms of any of our policies, Dr.
Morgan.”
I could tell he thought he had won. Unfortunately, General Marek lacked the
experience to know better. “Then I’m afraid we’ve already reached an impasse,
General. I can see myself out.” I stood. I felt five pairs of eyes boring into me as I rose. I wouldn’t dare look at the ones that mattered the most.
“Sit down.” General Marek slapped his hand on the table. Dr. Folsom
startled, and Nicoli’s mother gasped.
Still, I did not sit down. I raised a brow at him, waiting.
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I hoped nobody noticed that my knees had given out, that I was holding
/> myself up with the table. The room had taken to spinning a bit, and I fervently
wished we could reach an agreement soon.
“Dr. Morgan, it is imperative for you to realize that you are not in a position
to negotiate anything. All I have to do is request your research files from the
Bellator. Every single piece of work you did with the virus is documented in its main computer.”
“That’s the thing about viruses, General Marek. Computers can get them
too.” This was a complete lie. Not only did I not plant a virus in the Bellator’s computer, but I simply wouldn’t know how to do it in the first place.
By the expression on his face though, I could see that he believed that I did. I
sat down. It looked like negotiations would resume, after all.
His face turned red and I could see he fought for control. “You are aware, of
course, Dr. Morgan, that there are ways of extracting what we need from you
that will be very unpleasant if—”
“No,” Nicoli interjected. The room gasped in unison.
I stared open-mouthed at Nicoli as he eased out of his chair and glared at his
bewildered father. Every muscle in his body was rigid. He was furious. Beyond
furious.
I just knew he was going to complicate things.
“What?” his father whispered. His mother covered her gaping mouth with
her tiny hand.
“Let me be clear,” he told his father through clenched teeth. “She will be
harmed only after you have buried my…bloodied. Lifeless. Body.”
“Nicoli!” Lillian Marek screeched.
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The thought of his bloodied, lifeless body sickened me almost beyond my
ability to keep down the contents of my stomach. This had gone too far, too fast.
It was time to intervene.
“His threat will not be necessary, Nicoli,” I told him. His head whipped in
my direction, but father still regarded son in a state of disbelief.
“By the time he gets me ready to torture, I’ll already be dead,” I explained
calmly.
All heads snapped in my direction now.
I drew in the breath I needed to say it. “I infected myself with the Black
Death three hours ago, before we arrived. If he doesn’t agree to my terms, I will die, and he will never get the antivirus. Oh, don’t look so worried, General
Marek. I’ve stripped it of its airborne qualities. I would never bring that kind of danger to you or your family. It is only communicable through direct contact