| |
Later on in the hotel, Markis came out of the sauna shaking. He dressed slowly, in a mental funk that kept him from recognizing the strangeness of his own condition. Bettina immediately noticed something wrong.
“Sir, you seem sick. Are you feeling well?”
“I do feel a little...” With these words he collapsed in a dead faint.
“Shit. All net all net, Chippendale is down, I say again, Chippendale is down.” She grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him toward the private elevator. “Bringing him up now.”
Karl’s voice snapped over the secure link, “What do you mean, down? Report.”
“I mean he looked sick and just collapsed. We’re in the elevator, coming up. Meet you there.”
The doors to the Chairman’s floor opened to two of the team with weapons drawn. “Holster those; it’s some kind of sickness.”
The two did, helping Loosher carry Markis to his room. Karl came pounding up as they laid him on his bed, and the four stared down at him.
“What do we do now?” asked Robert Calhoun, one of the team members.
“No idea. We never planned for a medical emergency. Hell, we’re Edens. Combat trauma treatment should be enough. Bettina, get the kit and put an NS IV in him stat.”
In moments she had nutrient solution dripping into a vein. They all watched Markis helplessly for a few moments, until Karl made a decision.
“Dammit, we have to call the Swiss. We need their doctors. Maybe they can keep him alive for long enough to fight it off, whatever it is.” He switched his radio frequency and called for Hartmann, the Swiss Foreign Ministry supervisor providing the outer layer of security in the hotel.
As they waited, Calhoun asked, “What the hell could it be, Chief?”
“I don’t know, but damn me for not saying something sooner, when he was sniffling. I think the UG slipped him something, either in the handshake or in the air.”
“But none of us are sick.”
“Then it had to be the handshake. I suspected something. I got the Prime Minister’s water glass in a plastic bag in my room...oh man, I screwed up big time.” Karl’s voice was bitter.
“Come on, Chief, none of us was even suspicious. Don’t blame yourself.”
“Don’t tell me what not to do, Calhoun. If he dies, I’ll...”
“Don’t give up yet, Chief,” said Bettina. “Here’s Hartmann.”
The short Swiss man with the sharp eyes walked quickly into the room, taking in the scene. “He is a Plague carrier, no? How can he be ill?”
“We don’t know. We have to take him to a hospital.”
“I can have him taken to a bio-containment facility, not a hospital. I cannot expose anyone else to this. Half the populace Suisse is of Carriers. Perhaps the virus has finally mutated.”
“What do you mean, finally?” Karl looked at Hartmann suspiciously.
“It must happen sometime. Viruses mutate always. Just like the influenza pandemique. Mon Dieu, have you not read the literature?”
“No, and I feel like a complete fool, but for the moment can you try to save his life?”
“He does not seem to be in any particular danger.” Hartmann peeled back an eyelid, looking down his nose past his thin moustache. “It looks like the flu to me. His Plague will fight it off.”
“The Canadians gave it to him!”
“There is no proof of that. So I will tell you once again – I can take him to a facility, or we can wait and see what is happening here.”
“Hey...” Karl reached across abruptly, grasping the smaller man by his uniform tunic. “Why are you speaking French words with your English? Switzerland speaks German.”
“Gott in Himmel, Die Schweiz has four official languages and I speak all of them plus English, do you know nothing? Now unhand me, you buffoon.”
“Yes, let him go, Karl,” came a weak voice from the bed.
Karl released the handful of uniform and dropped to his knees next to Markis. “Sir, how do you feel?”
“Weak, but not that bad. Like the man said, the Plague should beat it, whatever it is. I could use some water. I’m burning up.”
Karl put his hand on Markis’ forehead, feeling the furnace-like heat. “Well, you sure got something duking it out inside you, sir. Loosie, get some ice water. Hartmann, sorry about that, and thanks for your help.”
Hartmann brushed himself off, sniffed contemptuously and stalked out.
Three glasses of ice water and another IV bag of NS later, Markis was sitting up in bed. His eyes were puffy and red, bloodshot, his skin blotchy. There was a widening bruise around the IV site and his breathing came shallow. He called for a wastebasket and vomited up lunch.
“I’m all right, really. Whatever it is, I’m beating it.”
“Sure. Sir,” began Karl, “I was thinking that all went a little too smooth for the first high-level meeting of two enemy nations. If I may say so, you are so used to everyone around you being polite, and reasonable, and agreeable that your hackles don’t rise when the enemy suddenly gets polite, and reasonable, and agreeable.”
Markis nodded. “You think Portmanteaux was playing me somehow. I got that feeling too, Karl.”
Rogett looked pained. “No, sir, that’s not it at all. That’s what he wants you to think – that it’s all politics and to keep you wondering and focused on whatever he’s trying to pull on you in the negotiations.”
“So you’re not trying to tell me how to do my job?” Markis said archly. He sneezed. “Crap.”
“No, sir, I’m trying to do mine. I think the only reason he was there at all was to shake your hand.”
