"Who's this?" Erdem scowled, throwing back a glance from the driver's seat. "Since when do you pick up strays?"
"Just drive," Warshon heaved, raising his head as he leaned back. A piercing pain returned while the anesthesia slowly wore off. "The plexus block, you bring any?"
The shotgun seat opened in the back. A rack extended, lifting a platform that held the vial in a groove with a syringe. Warshon tugged the collar and gave himself another shot. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the girl looking his way.
"You ok?" he asked.
"Mind yourself," she grumbled under her wheezing breath.
In the rearview mirror, Erdem cocked a brow as he pulled up by the curb. "Watch your tone, you little runt. Do you know who you're speaking to?"
"I –" Her voice lost to a fit of cough.
Warshon flicked his eyes to the front.
Erdem took the cue and grunted as he saw himself out.
With a thud on the door, silence ensued, amplifying her wheezing. He frowned, putting the back of his hand on her brow. "You're burning."
"Am I?" she hummed, curling herself up under his trench coat, her body shivered with chill.
"Hey," rubbing her arms as he leaned close, he crooned by her ear. "I'll be back soon."
"Aren't you concerned I may run off and tell on you?" the girl mumbled, tilting to the window away from him.
He chuckled. "If that's a threat, it's pathetic. I admonish you to revise your condition and trust that you'll make the right call."
She met his gaze. The morning sun slanting through the window glanced off her emerald eyes looking aggrieved. Her lips pouted, making his heart ache.
Warshon huffed a sigh, remembering the mosquito bites on her neck. A conjecture began to form in his mind. Turning to the front, he reached for the dashboard. All he had was ibuprofen for the fever, but it couldn't be used with asthma, which she also seemed to have. "You're safe here," he said, his voice softened. "I promise."
She didn't reply. Hiding half her face behind his coat, she glanced down, long lashes casting gossamer shadows on her plump cheeks – a lovely image he didn't think he would get tired of looking upon. Ineffable worry gnawed him as he closed the door to the backseat. He motioned Erdem to follow with his eyes.
"So, what's up?" Hyped for the tea, the young man bobbed his head in tow. "Who's the boy? You swing both ways now?"
"And I thought you were worried about me when you called," Washond intoned. "Quite touchy I almost agreed to give you a raise."
Erdem gaped behind glasses. "Hold on! Let's talk about this! Hand on heart I was worried as shit! But now I see you're fine! Better than fine, you had a hell of a night! I'm heartbroken! You know I –"
"First off," Warshon cut him short, his feet brought him to a halt. "It's a girl. Open your damn eyes, Erdem. As my apprentice, your observation skills disappoint me gravely. And two, we haven't been out of the woods yet."
The young man backed down a step, his lips compressed. "Sorry, boss," he grumbled at length.
"Now, are you ready to work?"
"Yes, sir."
Spinning on his heel, Warshon strode ahead into the brooding shadows of mammoth vessels, whose hulls gleamed wet from salt sprays. Shrouded by a thin morning mist, the towering cranes stood sentry along the docks like gaunt skeletons stirring awake with metallic groans. Across the concrete expanse, forklifts and trucks clattered, rumbling in directions by the command of workers clad in reflective vests, their voices lost in the distance to the horns of cargo ships near and far. Warshon darted a glance across the gleaming water. Silhouetted by the morning glow, the first container ship of the day had drifted away into the horizon garlanded with thin threads of clouds. A quiet sigh fled his lips. Many times he had looked upon such a ship, he imagined their destinations and wondered the what if. What if he could get out of here? Away from everything and everyone. Away from his duties and his guilt. He turned his eyes to the rippling Republican flags festooning the overhead space between lampposts. A few feet beyond, the large logo of Harvey Gray's Sealion Cargo peered into sight. Taylan Dinc clambered out from the backseat of a polished, black sedan parked in front of the pier cordoned off.
"Dr. Qusbecq!" Scuttling toward them, he reached out a hand. "Thank you for coming so soon! I'm in a rolling debt of gratitude!"
Warshon reciprocated the handshake that sent a numbing pain to his shoulder. He stifled a wince, "Lead the way, Minister."
But the man swiveled back and waggled an arm, motioning a small team of medical staff to come forth. Garbed in white coveralls with protective goggles, they were held on standby in a makeshift kiosk.
"You see, Dr. Qusbecq," Dinc said, smiling almost apologetically, his hands wringing each other, "I'm old and weak, much more prone to infections. I also have kids at home –"
"It's alright, Minister." Warshon cut him short with his diplomatic mien and then turned to the medical staff, "Let's go."
With Erdem in tow, he followed the team aboard the ship.
"Vomits, itchy eyes, rashes, shortness of breath, and low fevers accompanied dizziness," the doctor in charge introduced the symptoms upon request. His deep, husky voice didn't seem to get his small stature. Severity varies," he added, his Tamen accent confusing the consonants and vowels, sounding both foreign and familiar. We have put them on antibiotics. But they showed no sign of recovering."
"None?"
The man shook his head.
"How long has it been since the first case?"
"The first case was reported an hour before the ship docked. But at the time, more than half of the crew members were fine. It was only pro forma by the Customs to hold them on standby. Then, one by one, they fell ill, and until now, about five days, give or take."
That's a bit too long for an allergy. Warshon frowned behind the goggles. Without continuous exposure to allergic agents, mild symptoms should have subsided.
Could he be wrong that it really was a virus outbreak?
Their feet clacked the wooden deck and into the dining hall where the sailors were corralled for inspection, each groaning on a cushioned table six feet apart from the other separated by shower curtains.
Lowering his head to the captain on a ventilator, Warshon flashed a light at his bloodshot eyes.
"What have they been eating and drinking in the last four days?" He straightened, swiveling to the man in charge.
"Nothing fancy but safe, that's guaranteed."
Favoring him with a nod, Warshon spun on his heels while his eyes roamed over each table. He stopped at a brawny sailor. "What's your name?"
"Matty." The man sat up, auburn curls straggling before his puffy eyes. "O'Matty, they call me."
"O'Matty, have you been smoking these?" He darted a glance at the pack of cigarettes tucked under the quilt.
"Oh, c'mon!" O'Matty groused, his puffy eyes squinting into a seam. "We are cooped in here while you shitheads feed us slop! What's wrong with a little smoke? It helps me take my shit, man."
"May I take a look at the pack?"
The brawny sniffed his nose with a wary look. "Sure?"
"Where did you get it?" Warshon pressed on, his thumb grazing the crushed ball in the filter.
"From the damn boy," O'Matty grunted. "What's his name? Allen? Aaron? Anyway, the lucky little son of bitch was the only one symptom-free after three days, and the Customs let him off!"
"And you still have his cigarettes?"
A leery look flittered in a blink of those puffy eyes. "He, they were, so I –"
"He stole them!" A coarse voice from the next table cut off his stammer.
Warshon lifted the shower curtain. A scrawny man with hollow cheeks was puffing on a ventilator, his face patched with rashes. "The Customs took the boy away in a hurry, and he left some of his stuff behind." He glanced at a gym bag left on the empty table across the dining hall.
"Shut up, Slim!" O'Matty growled. "It's not like he's ever coming back for these anyway! Ask the captain! The boy is a trespassing illegal!"
Warshon sauntered over to the empty table and opened the bag. A few more packs of cigarettes of the same kind, some change of clothes, and some prank props. He chuckled under his breath. Then, his hand halted. Near the bottom under the clothes scattered at least ten asthma inhalers, all empty save one.
She didn't have the allergy because she was never inoculated, which was also why she got malaria from the mosquito bites. The ship laid over two days before it docked, leaving not enough time to show in her blood test. By the look of it, she's also about to have an asthma attack.
Calculating the many outcomes of the different choices, he tucked the last inhaler up his sleeve before closing the bag. "See to it," he said to Erdem.
As the young man nodded and started treatment, he whirled for the exit, beckoning the doctor in charge to follow.
"Has the result for the NGS of their blood samples come in yet?" he inquired after they were out of earshot.
The man nodded. "Just moments ago before you arrived."
"Anything suspicious?" he baited the question.
"Nothing. That's what's suspicious."
"Does the Minister know about this?"
"Not yet."
Clucking his tongue, Warshon pulled the hood to the coverall from his head and threw off the goggles.
"Sir! What are you doing?" the other backed a step, panic laced in his voice.
"Doctor to doctor, I think we both know what this is, Dr.?" he cocked his head while reaching out a hand.
The other hesitated. "Murong. Murong Kai."
"Dr. Murong," Warshon smiled. "If the sequence hasn't identified viral genomes, it's not a virus."
"Still, can't be too careful!" Murong didn't budge, raising his vinyl-gloved hands halfway. "When their blood reports came in the first time, some of us did suspect an allergy. But there is nothing in their environment they could all be allergic to! It doesn't add up!"
Warshon shrugged, his brows elevating as he gazed upon the undulating sea that spread and folded into the cerulean sky. When his lord father set him to leak the Phantom Lord's client list, he wanted more than just to sabotage his adversaries in the Commonwealth but to sever any ties Warshon might have with them over the years lest he went behind him. Once the list was out, Warshon would bear the brunt of their hatred if not vengeance should they ever find their way back to prominence. In need of an ally to respond to the future threat, Warshon would have no choice but to remain loyal.
Two birds with one stone – such was how Arslan Qusbecq strategized.
Warshon smirked. Bending forward as he braced his hands on the railing, he deliberated on how the same strategy could be applied to his own advantage. Now that the report had come out, it'd only be a matter of time before everyone learned the truth. Even if Murong Kai could be bought – he sized up the small one with a sidelong glance – the same couldn't be said about the other staff onsite. And instead of sweeping the truth under the rug, he should make such a fuzz about the vaccine. Let the scandal hog all the limelight so the press even forget to ask what triggered the allergy in the first place. It would cause quite damage to the Commonwealth on the eve of the election as what his lord father wanted, spare himself of the enemies, and keep the girl safe.
"Excellent deduction, Dr. Murong," he said, wheeling himself around to face the other with a smile he wore as if his skin. "It's impossible for everyone to have the same allergic reaction unless there are conditions they share. But what could they be? What do the buff sailors all have in common that a runt taken by the Customs doesn't?" he paused, his smile wider, patting the man on his shoulder as he angled his head. "Loaded questions, really. But I suppose the answers will help you decide if you'd like to be my friend."
Murong faltered, behind the goggles, his black eyes rolling like beads. "I'm afraid I don't understand the request, Dr. Qusbecq," he replied at length.
"It's no request at all, doctor, only a gesture of friendship in your favor," Warshon went forth. "You're among the first experts Dinc called on site after the suspected outbreak. It means you're a good doctor, and Dinc trusts you. But how come I've never heard of you? How come none of the renowned Doctors were called to duty when there lures a potential danger?" A short chuckle put a lull between his words. He stooped as he locked his gaze with the man. "Any family depends on your performance at work for their legal stay?"
Murong gulped, his eyes widened. "What do you want from me, Dr. Qusbecq?"
"To tell the truth."
A scoff came hissing up Murong's throat, followed by a smile too polite, too obedient, too knowing and cynical.
"You put your life on the line for this country, and what do you get in return?" Warshon went forth, his voice measured yet laced with grievance meaning to provoke. "We can change that, and let the Republicans know you as the hero you are."
"No offense, sir, but what do you get out of it?"
You, as my mouthpiece. Warshon thought, lifting his eyes to a flock of squawking seagulls circling the sky overhead, as if loquacious spectators letting rip with their opinions on a drama yet to unfold. The vaccine scandal would involve too many, and he couldn't be the one exposing it. He needed someone else to put out the words. "I want my Tamen brothers who deserve a fair shake to live well in this country," he replied.
Murong gave him a quiet laugh. "You do look a bit like us."
"I am half Tamen," He shrugged. "So, doctor, what do you think is the condition the sailors have in common that the boy doesn't?"
"The mandatory vaccines?" The man huffed a sigh, his brows knitting. "We have no proof to that!"
"We do."
Murong pulled off his goggles, his black eyes incredulous. "And what exactly is your proof?"
"List of ingredients for their vaccines."
"How?"
"Well, technically, I don't have the list," Warshon replied, his shrug dismissive. "But if you can take their blood sample and raise the question of what's in their vaccines to the press. The media will find it for you."
Murong looked at him agape, and one man's hesitation was the other's opportunity.
"Causing quite a scandal," Warshon pressed on, "it'll cut a swath through the Commonwealth's campaign for the Premier, and being the one who exposed it all, you'll prove yourself useful to both the Conservatives and the Globalists. A bright future awaits you, Dr. Murong." Taking a meaningful pause, he sauntered around the man. "You wouldn't want to be fodder all your life, would you?"
"What about yourself?"
"I'm only here to assist you." He tossed a glance back over his shoulder, his smile earnest. "And I'll be by your side when you hold the press conference."