Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (19 page)

She locked eyes with him.
 
Reginald stared back, his face betraying none of his curiosity.
 
What game are you playing, my dear?

"Yes, I see," said the King with more than a touch of relief in his voice.

The King is reluctant to believe I am a traitor.
 
Excellent.
 
And Lady Brunner is protecting me.
 
Even better.
 
I wonder what she wants?

"What is your recommendation as to how we should proceed, Earl Dunkeith?" asked Murata in a formal, clipped tone.
 
"Should you receive the funds, when will you be able to produce the vaccine in large quantities?
 
My contacts in Beijing believe they will not be able to prevent the virus from reaching Japan."

Despite himself, Reginald felt a twinge of sympathy for Murata-san.
 
Japan, sitting on a tiny strip of islands off the coast of the great teeming masses of China, the Land of the Rising Sun was no less densely populated.
 
The virus would decimate Japan.

"I have prepared contingency plans for this.
 
There are facilities in Germany, here in Scotland, and in southern Spain that will all be able to handle the production loads and discretion we require.
 
I've ensured over the past few years that the people in charge of these facilities are all loyal to the Council."

"Ensured?"
 
Murata laughed.
 
"How can you be so certain of their loyalty now?"
 
Murata turned to the King.
 
"Now is not the time, sire, to be relying completely on other's loyalty…"
 

"If you must know, several of them have had family members turn up…missing recently.
 
I assure you, Lord Murata, the people in question are loyal to the Council.
 
They know the consequences of treachery."

An oil-slick smile spread across the King's face.
 
"You may spare us the details, Earl Dunkeith.
 
I have confidence in your abilities and techniques.
 
If you say you can get us the vaccines, I believe you.
 
The question remains, however: how much will it cost?"

Reginald nodded, his excitement building.
 
"To cover security, loyalty incentives, facilities maintenance, and government bribes to keep our operations under the radar—we'd be looking at several hundred million per facility.
 
In total, I estimate the expenditure at not more than £900,000,000."

"Christ on the Cross!" blurted Lord Stirling.
 
"You're talking about giving you an entire section's annual budget…again!
 
Majesty, we cannot afford—"

"What we cannot afford, Lord Stirling, is to let this monster we've released into the world roam free and unchecked.
 
We must have the vaccines—of that there is no question.
 
We shall pay, and we shall pay whatever it costs.
 
Is that understood?"

The Council fell silent.

"Good.
 
I trust I shall not have to revisit this again?"

"No, Majesty," said Lord Stirling, head bowed.

"Earl Dunkeith, you shall have the money—you shall have whatever it takes to get this vaccine produced.
 
I want it delivered to the Council as soon as possible.
 
I'm also instituting our emergency protocols."
 
The King paused as if unsure he wanted to proceed.
 
"As of this moment, I want everyone into their secure locations.
 
You are to eliminate physical contact with the outside world and consider yourselves in quarantine.
 
Phase 1 is threatening to take us to the limit of our capabilities.
 
We must not allow this opportunity to pass."
 
He clasped his hands, the large signet ring of Charles II glittering in the camera lens.
 

"Despite the grim outlook before us, I remind you all not to succumb to panic.
 
We must maintain order.
 
This is what we have been working toward for hundreds of years.
 
I believe we are ready to begin Phase 2 of the operation."

Reginald blinked.
 
You're mad.

"I've nothing new from our operatives.
 
They contacted his handler a few hours ago," reported Lord Stirling.
 
"I can confirm that he is in fact carrying the payload.
 
It's just…"

A concerned frown crossed the King's face.
 
"It's just
what
, Lord Stirling?"

Reginald knew right away.
 
He could see it in the man's eyes.
 
Lord Stirling was scared.
 
Whatever he was about to say, would not be good.
 

"He was supposed to bring a deployable device containing the virus, Majesty."

"Igor assured me the operative would be adequately prepared for this mission.
 
Was the device not brought to London?" the King asked in a dangerous tone.

Lord Stirling cleared his throat.
 
Color crept up his neck.
 
A thin sheen of sweat glistened off his broad forehead.
 
"Majesty, the operative
is
the device."

Reginald ignored the indignant outbursts from the Council.
 
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, reaching for the glass of water.

Oh Igor, you really torched things this time.
 
Reginald took a moment to think as he sipped the cool water.
 
The fool…all he had to do was slip a canister under the skin of some hapless yokel and ship him to London.
 
A simple timed release would've done it.
 

Reginald dabbed at his lips with a silk napkin.
 
Bloody hell, they could at least have done it like the Koreans and just rigged a device to explode inside the poor bastard.

"How did this happen?" asked the King quietly.
 
When the others realized he'd spoken, conversations and arguments stopped.
 
"How?"
the King whispered.

"I don't have the details Majesty—but the handler is scared.
 
It seems the operative passed out on the street just as he was about to meet him."

"Lord Stirling, do we have any idea how many people the operative may have come in contact with upon becoming contagious?" asked Reginald.

"Not yet—I'm getting the information from my people now.
 
The Crown is naturally quite interested in tracking his movements across Europe.
 
They shut down access to the Chunnel and closed all airports."

"They think it's that bad, then?" asked Reginald.

Lord Stirling nodded.
 
"I'm afraid so.
 
Majesty, the operative has his target and is on his way to deliver the package, however my people are concerned about whether he'll even be able to complete his mission."

"He has been infecting who knows how many British subjects.
 
These are my people—the people I mean to rule.
 
It was never supposed to be like this.
 
Indiscriminate and wanton infection—it was supposed to be controlled."
 
The King slammed both hands down on his table. His image shook on Reginald's monitor.
 

"Will someone not rid me of incompetence?"
 
As fast as the fury exploded across the King's face, he adjusted his suit and regained his composure.
 
"This meeting is adjourned.
 
You all know what to do.
 
Earl Dunkeith, keep me informed.
 
Get those vaccines, do whatever it takes."

The screens winked off as the King and his Council exited the conference before Reginald could even acknowledge his last command.
 
He sat there for a moment, staring at the empty screens and tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of his finger.

"I did it."
 
A smile spread across his face.
 
If Igor had been in the room, Reginald wasn't positive he wouldn't kiss the man.
 
At precisely the moment he needed something to distract the King from his extortion of the Council's money that crazy Russian bastard had delivered in spades.

By tomorrow, no one will care about how much money they've given me.
 
England will be sick and China will teeter on the edge of collapse.
 
Reginald stood abruptly and hit the intercom switch on his desk.
 

"Stefan!"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Break open a bottle of the best brandy we have on hand and inform the cook I want a feast tonight."

"Is there cause for celebration, my lord?"

One of the screens in front of him blinked, indicating an incoming message from Lady Brunner:
I need to talk with you.

Reginald smiled again.
 
He looked at a digital map on the closest wall, depicting the infection rates worldwide.
 
"We have much cause for celebration, Stefan.
 
Much cause."

He switched on the camera system and put on his best face for Lady Brunner.
 
"Anna-Maria, my dear, what can I do for you?"

She smiled at him.
 
"I was hoping you'd say that, Earl Dunkeith."

C
HAPTER
19

Chelmsford, England.

V
ASILY
STOOD
PATIENTLY
IN
line.
 
The new library had been formally christened just a few moments before.
 
He coughed into his sleeve and hoped the medicine Mr. Snyder administered at Onnei's regional office would help hold off the effects of his vaccination just a bit longer.
 
A few days of sickness in exchange for immunity against the disease that had already killed millions was a small price to pay, but he didn't want to feel quite so terrible.

He blinked and casually brushed his forehead with the back of his hand.
 
He'd finally stopped sweating.
 
That had to be a good sign.
 
He glanced at the book in his hands as the line shuffled in front of him.
 
Vasily took a step toward his destiny.
 

He had no idea what the book was about—he'd merely snagged it off a shelf on his way to the queue.
 
He leaned slightly to the right and peered down the line.
 
There was still a dozen people in front of him.
 
Seated at a cloth-covered table at the head of the queue, flanked by a pair of imposing guards, sat the Princess of Wales.
 

Married to the Crown Prince of England, the Prince of Wales, the Princess of Wales was known for sponsoring community outreach programs.
 
Fostering literacy in Great Britain was one of her pet projects, despite the growing threat of the Korean Flu, Snyder had told him.
 
Stiff upper lip and all that.
 

Vasily's task was to get close enough to her to whisper a warning.
 
The trouble was, he didn't understand
why
.
 

According to Snyder, Onnei had discovered certain elements in the British government planned to overthrow the monarchy.
 
Onnei tried the usual channels, but their warnings fell on deaf ears.
 
Onnei's board desperately wanted to help, hence the willingness to depart with such a large amount of cash and bring Vasily from outside the country to spread the word of the impending attack.

Vasily shuffled forward another step and cleared his throat.
 
The message was simple:
Be prepared, your time is limited.
 
The Council will attack soon.
 
Vasily still didn't understand why they couldn't just tell the government outright.
 

He shrugged.
 
If Onnei wanted to give him a suitcase full of money to walk up to the aristocrat at the front of the line and whisper in her ear…who was he to argue?
 

The money he'd been promised for completing his mission would be a godsend.
 
His mother and father would never have to work at the hardscrabble farm back home in Russia ever again.
 

Vasily regarded the thousands of books around him.
 
London had treated him fairly so far.
 
Perhaps when this was over, he'd bring his parents to live in England.

Vasily shuffled forward another spot.
 
He could just make out the low murmuring at the head of the queue and the cultured, soft voice of the Princess.
 
She spoke little, but she smiled a lot, nodded, and listened intently to whoever spoke to her.