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Chairman Markis saw the UG delegation enter the opposite antechamber and the Swiss Foreign Minister nodded from inside the main room. That worthy had already made his greetings, and to avoid any indication of favoritism he now presided at the end of the long table. The two opposing – negotiating – parties would sit across the long axis from each other, bringing them face to face.
Markis strode in confidently, timing his pace to get him to his chair at precisely the same moment as the Canadian Prime Minister. Millicent took her place to his right; Security Chief Rogett, though disarmed of all his deadly tools, filled the space to his left like a knight’s shieldbearer of old.
Prime Minister Portmanteaux was a florid man of about forty, short and red-faced with sandy brown hair, a cheerful smile and beady eyes. He combined the nonthreatening, easygoing manner of the British-descended Canadians with the smooth elegance of the Quebecois nobility. He held out a gloved hand for Markis to shake.
Even this was a concession for the Plague-phobic UGNA, a measure of trust and confidence. Markis shook hands with the man, exerting a carefully measured pressure, then dropping it casually. He had no intention of covertly infecting Portmanteaux even if he could; such an action would destroy any chance of the trust this meeting was meant to build. Besides, the man's glove was certainly loaded with antivirals, as was the man’s bloodstream.
“Mister Prime Minister, I thank you for meeting me on such short notice and with such evident good will. I hope that we can improve relations among all of our nations.”
“Well said, M’sieur Chairman. Shall we sit?”
Both parties took their seats. Millicent and the Canadian’s two staffers all took out computers and prepared to take notes.
“Now, since you requested this meeting, and it is informal, perhaps you can explain why, and what it is you hope to accomplish.” The man’s accent was nasal but cultured, his English precise. Markis could smell his cologne, expensive and French, and suppressed an urge to sneeze.
“Generally, I would like to improve relations and reduce the still-continuing bloodshed on both sides. More specifically, with incidents like the latest strike on Kinshasa we will never be able to create a climate of peace and allow the world to recover from the chaos of the last decade.”
“Chaos that you caused.”
“Granted, I initiated it.” Markis rubbed his nose to dispel the itch. “And I could list the offenses of the Unionist Party as well. Let’s put aside history and recriminations, shall we? It’s time to move forward, rather than backward, for the good of everyone.”
“We are prepared to discuss any proposals you should make.” Portmanteaux smiled reasonably, taking a carafe and a glass from a tray. He poured himself a half a glass of water.
Markis idly wondered whether the man saw the glass half full or half empty. “Excellent. May I say I am glad they sent you, sir? I always considered you a sensible man.”
Portmanteaux put on a smooth, pleasant expression. “And I for my part never believed the unfortunate demonization some of our more enthusiastic press agencies have made of you. So, now that we have greeted and mutually praised each other, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me just what you want.”
Markis smiled more genuinely. “I would be honored. First you have millions of infected citizens languishing in concentration camps. You and we both view these people as political detainees. Releasing them to the Free Communities for resettlement would be an act of kindness and a public relations victory for your nation. It would also remove our incentive to make any more commando raids to free them. In short, these people and the facilities that hold them are nothing but a distraction and an embarrassment for your government.”
“I agree. I am authorized to grant this in principle, subject to a signed agreement.” The Prime Minister folded his hands in front of him, picking idly at a loose thread in his left glove.
“So easily? I’m shocked, but I do thank you.”
“Oui, de rien. But I have something I want in return. I need the ongoing cyber attack on our command and control systems to stop.”
“What makes you think we are responsible for that?”
“Oh, come now, Mister Chairman, do not poison the atmosphere of détente that has only just sprung up between us. You either initiated the attacks or you can use your influence to stop them.”
“All right, then. Granted, I will do my utmost to return the cyber-conflict to status quo ante at a minimum. I can’t promise more. I don’t have the authority of your Triumvirate.”
“I realize that, but you are a powerful symbol. Your power rises and falls with the intensity of our conflict. In all frankness, my position has always been to make peace and watch your politics fall apart from your own anarchist tendencies, but I have been overruled thus far. I will continue to try to speak reason to my colleagues.”
“Which I much appreciate. I would be happy to give up my influence, such as it is, and live a quiet life with my wife and children. I live in fear that one day one of your strategic strikes will fall on them.” Markis’ voice hardened to steel. “I am not your enemy, but on that day, should it come, I will become implacable. Some in the United Governments believe we are weak because we find it very difficult to kill, but I assure you, my conscience will not stop me from bringing everyone responsible to justice. Contemplate what would happen if – when – the entire world is finally infected. Contemplate those responsible for wholesale murders of innocent civilians rotting for centuries in solitary confinement, until they finally see the error of their ways. They might beg for death.”
Portmanteaux leaned away from the sheer force of Markis’ declaration, finding himself convinced that at the very least the man was completely and utterly sincere. A true believer...this is why they follow him. He’s a fanatic, their own personal Joan d’Arc, and thus a dangerous, dangerous man.
The Canadian took a moment to compose himself, allowing his opponent’s words to hang, to grow stale and to let those watching and listening to think them through again. It was a technique he had used successfully many times in the past, to just wait on his adversaries, to give them rope and, if not hang themselves, then at least lose the momentum of their arguments. When he finally spoke, his tone was mild, verbal aikido, providing no force for Markis’ argument to push against.
“I believe ending the strikes is reasonable. But the others may not so believe. This is a large concession, for it means that you will be able to perform your weapons research unimpeded. What can you give me as an incentive to bring back to my government?”
Markis nodded. “First, we will pledge to end our research to make the Plague airborne. If you genuinely believe, as your propaganda – pardon me, your public information campaigns – claim, that you only object to the Plague because it might be foisted upon someone against their will, this will go a long way toward ending that concern.”
“But how could we verify this?” He drummed his gloved hands on the tabletop in thought, the sound deadened by the soft cotton.
“We can set up a regime of inspections, by a combined team of your own scientists and those of the Neutral States.”
“This is a good idea, but it would still be too easy to conceal a biological laboratory. Unlike nuclear materials, there is no signature one can detect at a distance, no radioactive traces that cannot be hidden. Yes, this is good, but it is not enough.”
“What more would you suggest?”
“That you give up your research programs for missiles of greater than a certain range. The experts can wrangle over that, but those of what you call the “Big Three” – coincidentally those who have true worldwide strategic strike capability – are most concerned about you dropping missiles armed with Plague upon their cities. It is enormously expensive to maintain defensive readiness against biological warfare. I believe I could convince my government to cease its strikes in exchange for a research control regime in these two areas – missiles and germ warfare.”
Markis sighed and sniffed. That cologne was really starting to annoy his nose. He looked around the room. It didn’t seem to be bothering anyone else, but he’d always been sensitive to chemical scents and the Plague hadn’t completely done away with it. “You make that all sound so good, but it would also keep us out of space. If there is to ever be a true strategic balance and trust between our nations, we must be able to launch satellites for overhead observation, so we can look at your facilities in turn, just like the Open Skies program during and after the first Cold War.”
“So it worked for the East and West before, eh, and now you want to settle into Cold War II? You are more of a pragmatist than I gave you credit for.” Portmanteaux seemed slightly smug, as if he had already gained a victory of some sort and was merely being agreeable.
The serpent in Daniel’s head stirred for the first time in a while, rustling around in the back of his subconscious. Markis’ mind woke up to the fact that there was some deeper game that the Prime Minister was playing – or thought he was playing – and he had better be careful or he’d end up selling the store on the cheap.
I’ve been slipping, feeling like this guy is on our side, when I should know he’s not. I’m sure that’s what he hoped. He may not be as cold and bloody-minded as the Mexican or American presidents, but he is still a politician and he’s as slick as they come.
“Thank you for your kind words. If we cannot give up the space program – yes, I realize it is difficult to distinguish it from a missile program – perhaps a similar inspection regime could be devised for the research and launches, to show you we are not designing weapons, but rather only space vehicles for peaceful purposes.”
Portmanteaux nodded. “There will have to be guarantees you will not militarize your observation satellites.”
“Naturally.”
“Then let me bring these proposals back to the Triumvirate and the Cabinet. We will see how much they will agree to and whatever adjustments they wish made.”
Markis stood, then sneezed. “Pardon me. I am sensitive to someone’s cologne.”
The Prime Minister and all the staffers stood up immediately. Portmaneaux bowed this time. “Forgive me; it was a gift from my wife. Ah...I would have thought the Plague would solve this problem?”
“Contrary to popular myth, Mister Prime Minister, there are some things even the Plague cannot do. Shall we say tomorrow, at a similar time?”
“Parfait. I look forward to it, Mister Chairman.”
The two parties turned to leave at the same time. Karl spoke with one of the Swiss security guards, lagging behind as the principals and their staffs cleared the room. He asked a few innocuous questions about the arrangements until they were the only two in the chamber. Blocking the man’s view with his body, Karl casually slipped two thick fingers into the inside of the Prime Minister’s drinking glass and slid it into his pocket, politely taking his leave right away.
He caught up with the rest at the limousine. “I’ll ride with the Chairman this time,” he said. Bettina moved out of the way, her eyes questioning. He shook his head.
On the ride back to the hotel he interrupted Markis’ contemplation. “Sir, are you still feeling a reaction to that cologne?”
Daniel looked at him sharply, and then sniffed. “No, not really. It seems to be dying down.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“Nothing, sir. Just the paranoid mind of your security chief.”
Daniel laughed. “Good, that frees me to be Pollyannaish. Oh yeah, I know what they say behind my back. The boss is too trusting, too good-natured.”
“Maybe that’s your role, sir. What you’re good at. I may be just a dumb old Marine but I’m smart enough to know that you should do what you’re good at and ignore the rest.”
Markis clapped Karl on the shoulder. “Sounds pretty smart to me. I’m for the sauna, how about you?”
“Yeah, the Europeans have some coed naked ones.”
“You’ll have to have fun with that one on your own,” Markis said. They laughed together.
“Just kidding, sir.”
A minute went by, then Daniel spoke. “Long way from trying to kill me on Watts Island, huh?”
“Yes sir. Long way.” Karl stared out the window at the Swiss streets. “Sorry about that.”
“Apology accepted.”
