Degrees of Wrong (2 page)

The room seemed to hold its breath, bloated with unease, gravid with suspense, waiting for the delivery of the first word, the first movement, the birthing of the consequences of sitting in this chair. I supposed anticipation could be torturous—maybe this was the first level. I inhaled deeply to slow my traitorous heart rate—which had tripled since I woke up—and stiffened my spine, sat straighter.
I will pass this level
.

Only two soldiers stood guard with my tight-lipped captor. Guess they didn’t expect me to put up much of a fight. How embarrassing.

“How do you feel?” the leader asked. His question reverberated like percussion off the walls, startling me almost out of the chair. I suspected he did it on purpose.

“Furious.”

He raised a brow. “Are you in pain? He used the lowest setting on you. You’ve only been out for an hour.”

“Where are we?” Hot damn, I sounded livid.

“I asked if you were in pain.”

“Thank you for your
concern
, but I’m not in any pain. You people really need to reconsider the use of tasers. The neurological damage you can cause far outweighs the temporary advantage you have over your victims.” I doubted he cared a snit about the neurological damage of his victims—he was probably the Superintendent of the Information Extraction Room.

He chuckled. “I am sorry about that. We didn’t think you’d come willingly. Would you like something to eat? To drink?”

“Is this a tea party, then?”

Another chuckle. “No.”

“Have I been arrested?”

“No.”

I strained against my bindings. He motioned to one of the clone-like guards, who freed me. I placed my hands in my lap in a show of poise—for now. These people excelled at the anticipation part of torture.

I huffed. “Do I have to guess why I’m here? There are rules though, okay? If I’m close, you have to say ‘hot’, and if I’m not close—”

“You’re very irritable, Dr. Morgan.” He uncrossed his arms and dragged the only other chair across the room to sit in front of me. The noise of it scraping across the concrete floor nearly gave me an eye twitch—another form of torture, no doubt. “Our mission was search and rescue. We came close to failing that mission.”

I rubbed my neck and winced at the new pain. “Rescue? Are you sure? Felt more like a kidnapping to me.” Besides, I wasn’t in any danger when he found me. The fight was moving away from us, toward the village.
Dear God, the village.
“What about the others? Were you able to save—?”

“It was a specific mission.”

I shot forward, creaking the chair. “You—you came to the island looking for
me
?”

“Not just us. Who do you think we were protecting you from?”

“They came for
me
? I can’t believe that. All the killing, the brutality—an extermination. You’re saying I could have prevented it all by turning myself over?”

The straight line of his mouth dipped into a frown. “It wouldn’t have prevented the killing. They would have done it anyway. You just would have been first.”

I closed my eyes, remembering the arrival of the first soldiers to the island. They’d flown in on their choppers, jumping out when scarcely close enough to do so. The height should have broken their legs. These warriors were monstrosities though, almost twice the size of an average man, with long, muscled legs possessing a thickness envied by most tree trunks. Adorned in desert-hued livery and also masked, they carried enormous guns yielding shells big enough to separate a man’s upper body from his lower—firing as soon as their feet met with earth.

The killings were indiscriminate and widespread. I couldn’t believe they had a purpose to their slaughter. I couldn’t believe their purpose was
me
. “Why?” I whispered. “Why me?”

He sat back. “You have something they want. You have something we
both
want,” he amended. Even as he said it, I shook my head. “Yes. Your research on the Black Death has stirred quite an interest in the political arena.”

Clarity struck. The Black Death. They thought I’d found the cure to the HTN4 virus—the biological warfare waged by terrorists these past months. The disease engineered to wipe out entire cities, to debilitate continents, to weaken the unity of mankind in general, forcing them to ferret out hiding places for their children, to turn their backs on their neighbors in order to stay alive.

They thought wrong. And a lot of people died today because of it.

“I haven’t found the cure,” I snapped. “You’ve wasted your time.”
And your bullets, blood and men.

“But you’re close.”

I scoffed. “Says who? You might have noticed, I’m not exactly leaping and bounding in resources here.” That was the truth. I bartered medical services for food and supplies to supplement the modest inheritance my parents left behind—hardly enough to properly fund the kind of research endeavor we discussed now. Still, my parents had died from the HTN4. What I lacked in resources I made up for in determination. My progress wasn’t the stuff of headlines, but more a private exertion fueled by the need for closure for my parents—and for the human race. His intimate knowledge of this left me feeling vulnerable, exposed. I wrapped my arms around myself in a protective hug.

“We can remedy that.”

“I don’t follow. And who is ‘we’?”

“The United Nations.”

I shot erect in my chair, mouth agape. “The
UN
sent troops looking for me?” I yelled, but couldn’t help it.

The superintendent stood and paced the room. He seemed relieved we’d gotten to this part. “The UN has been informed of your works in this field and would like to offer its assistance.”

At my raised brow he continued, “We’ve heard you’ve made progress in understanding the disease. We would like to offer you a deal, of sorts.” He seemed comfortable referring to the United Nations as “we”. I wondered what his rank was.

“We will guarantee your protection, and all the supplies you require for your research. You’ll have access to the best equipment available. Unlimited time for your work. In addition, we’ll pay you—well—for your contribution.”

Perform my research in a professional lab, with limitless resources—a scientist’s rapture.
I doubted it immediately. “What if I don’t make a ‘contribution’? If I can’t do what you’re asking?”

He stopped pacing and stood in front of me. “We’re confident in your abilities. We’ve researched your background. Very impressive, Dr. Morgan. You were the youngest individual to ever graduate from The World University of Medicine, at the age of twenty-one. The only child of two doctors, you displayed a gift in science and math at an early age…”

Of course, they’d done their homework. This man spouting off my statistics knew everything about me before he even laid eyes on me. No doubt he knew the color and size of my moles, and what I dreamed about last night. I, on the other hand, had no idea where we were, or even his name.

“What’s your name?” I blurted.

This seemed to catch him off guard. He thought for a moment. I wanted to tell him the questions got much harder after this.

“Ralph,” he said finally.

I rolled my eyes.

“You don’t like that name?”

“It’s slang for regurgitation.” Besides, Blue Eyes had called him something else—what was it?—
Geoffrey
.

He chuckled. “Never thought of it that way.”

“Never thought of it at all, did you, Geoffrey?”

“You are very observant, Doctor. Do we have a deal?” The man probably taught attention-deficit classes. His ability to focus annoyed me.

“What’s the catch?” I tried to sound businesslike too. After all, that was how he presented it, like an everyday business transaction.
Just sign here
, I expected him to say. In reality, my life was changing. My stomach formed a knot that couldn’t be soothed by food or drink or drug—a knot of the unknown.

He didn’t try to deny there was a catch. He sat down, leaned forward in the chair, hesitant. Either he was trying to build the anticipation, or he just wasn’t sure how to tell me. “You will be aboard a UOC vessel.”

I believe that stands for United Oceanic…

“Corps,” he finished for me. I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud, let alone struggled with the acronym. The UOC represented the oceanic front for the United Nations. When the Middle East bled their last veins of oil a few decades ago, the UN unveiled the earth’s first united ocean exploration team. The initial fleet of scientists evolved into an underwater military presence, a standing guard of natural resources, presumably. Beyond that, I knew little about it. I was certain the vessel to which he referred went in the water though.

“I can’t swim,” I admitted. No doubt he was aware of this already.

His laughter resounded off the walls and startled the twins, which I appreciated. “You don’t have to swim. The vessels stay submerged, and when you do port, you’ll be conveyed back and forth from the ship in transport pods. Your feet will never get wet.”

“I can’t work in a lab on a submarine.” Of that I was positive.

“For someone as intelligent as yourself, Doctor, one would think you’d be a little more in line with the times. The ships are massive. They house over one thousand individuals, and can stay submerged for more than six months at a time. Think of it as an underwater city.”

Not just a city below sea level. No, it was an entire other world. The knot in my stomach expanded the tiniest of fractions. “Why on a submarine?”

He rolled his eyes at the word
submarine
—I made a mental note to always use that word in his presence.

“It’s for your protection. Aside from the obvious gun power, you’ll also be mobile, making it more difficult for you to be located.”

Unfortunately, it made perfect sense.

“When?” But I knew when.

He stood. “We’ve made arrangements for you to board tomorrow morning. We sent a team out to recover what’s left of your belongings. I’ll require a list of your immediate needs within an hour. You can stock your laboratory once you board.” He walked toward the door, paused and turned back to me. “There is one more thing. So as not to expose your whereabouts, you’ll be posing as a crew member. You will, of course, be part of the medical staff.”

He’d saved the best for last. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “I know absolutely nothing about military protocol,” I said through gritted teeth.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ll have a guide. As it
happens
, an old friend of yours is on board to assist you with your research and help you adjust to your surroundings. Dr. Lois Folsom is the directing officer of medical personnel aboard the vessel.”

I doubted this had
happened
so much as it had been
arranged
. I was beginning to suspect that if they had desired me to eat oatmeal for breakfast this morning, they would have arranged my pantry in such a way as to promote it over the bran flakes.

Dr. Folsom was not an old friend of mine, but a friend of my mother’s, which I supposed made her one and the same. I last saw her at my graduation from medical school. So I would know one person in this underwater city of his.

“Ralph?” I intentionally used his false name. “I haven’t accepted your terms.”

The two strides it took him to get to me made the room seem smaller. I stood, making the guards uneasy. Geoffrey wasn’t as short as I thought. I stared at his neck.

“Your acceptance is not required.”

“I see,” I whispered. Definitely a kidnapping, then.

His expression softened. “This is a beneficial arrangement for you, Dr. Morgan. I can’t think why you’d possibly refuse. It seems more of an opportunity than anything else.”

Granted. Still, I didn’t like being forced to do anything. But then, what did I have to go back to? The island was destroyed and my home couldn’t have fared any better, especially considering I’d been the objective. And I couldn’t overlook the possible contribution to medicine, the suffering I could prevent. It felt irresponsible
not
to do it. Sacrifice the one for the many. I couldn’t do it earlier today because I lacked pertinent information. But I could now, in a different way and on a larger scale. Besides, it wasn’t like I had a choice—I didn’t know if these men had been ordered to kill me if I refused, and as he had mentioned earlier, others would be coming for me. The UN appeared to be the least of my worries at this point.

I nodded. “I’ll give you a list.”

“Excellent.”

The Superintendent of the Information Extraction Room departed, leaving me with pen, paper and an ulcer.

Chapter Two

I finished my list and handed it to one of the clones. He exited the room, leaving me with one protector. As he left, I saw him glance at the list and then do a double take. I knew which item had caught his attention and was determined not to be ashamed. I suffered from an addiction to chocolate and would discuss the matter with anyone who dared to ask. To his good credit he didn’t dare, although he grinned as the door closed behind him.

That’s right, keep walking.

I trudged back to my chair and plopped down. Time to deal with the inevitable. My body ached in places I didn’t remember studying in medical school—and the physical strain of the day wasn’t the culprit. The pent-up tension screamed for a release, but I hesitated, knowing I couldn’t accept what had happened.