45. Vaccine

Lying in the hospital bed, Kieren was in no mood to see anyone, especially not Mustafa Agca, whose sole purpose here was to put out a performance for the media pygmies outside.

"How're you feeling, my friend?" The man helped himself to a chair and sat by the bed. 

"Not bad," Kieren replied, barely managed with a smile. "Just a broken arm, and some bruises. Guess I won't be posing with you in front of the cameras today.

Mustafa guffawed, tilting back his head. "I'm glad you've kept your sense of humor." The warmth he gathered in his voice didn't thaw the ice in those hazel-green eyes.

"And I'm glad you haven't lost your laugh," Kieren riposted. "How does it feel being the main suspect in an attempted murder? Are you here to tell me you're dropping out from the race?"

"That would be a plea of guilty to a crime I did not commit," countered the other while he leaned back in the chair as if to pull a distance. He crossed his legs, his hands clasping upon his lap. "I held a media conference shortly after your accident, condemning whoever is behind this, and I might have implied that the DEA should be held accountable for their negligence. They blocked the airport highway to inspect outbound vehicles, and yet they let in an assassin. Dear god, no wonder they can't catch the Phantom Lord!" A trace of amusement tugged at his thin lips, his cleft chin moving sideways. 

Kieren strained his face to hold his diplomatic bearing. Let alone the suspicion of Lord Qusbecq that made him queasy before the car crashed, Mustafa did make a valid point about the DEA. But as he deliberated on the thought, projecting it for further inspection, the wonted, off feeling returned, lurking on the brink of devouring him with its gaping mouth. 

"If you'll excuse me, Mustafa," he said at length. "I'd like to rest now. The painkiller is making me a little woozy." 

"Of course," Mustafa got to his feet. "Rest well, my friend. And I'll see you on the election day."

Kieren nodded. Closing his eyes, he let himself sink into a stack of pillows. The second he heard the click from the door, his eyes popped open. 

Had the DEA not blocked the highway, with all the vehicles streaking past like comets, the crash would have been far more catastrophic. Either the DEA wanted to help him, or… He gulped, his breath hitched in his throat. Waiting on the overbridge, the assassin baited the DEA with false information on the Phantom Lord. But why went the extra mile just to give him a broken arm? What was the real message?

For the life of him, Kieren couldn't fathom, a long sigh hissing through his nose. He rubbed his brow. His racing mind suddenly went blank, as if it too had smashed into a railing. 

A voice came behind the door. Someone was chatting to the security. Three quiet knocks followed. Kieren lifted himself on the elbow that wasn't in the sling. "Yes?"

With his permission, security let Dr. Murong Kai in. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Zaman," said the doctor, his head bowing slightly, his smile apologetic. 

"Not at all," Kieren felt a bit at ease. "Thank you for treating me, doctor."

The doctor darted a wary glance at the door now closed behind him before he edged toward the bed, his hand clutching a syringe and a vial labeled tetanus toxoid. He put them on the bedside table, right next to the fruit basket Mustafa brought. "The tetanus vaccine," he said, a palpable quaver in his voice. "The nurse forgot. Since I need to check on you and see how you're doing, I figure I'll give you the shot myself." 

Kieren nodded and sat up, his legs hanging from the bed. Bracing the free hand on the edge of the bed, he positioned himself for his shot. A sidelong glance caught the other's shaky hand. He turned his head to the man. "What's wrong, doctor?"

Dr. Murong dropped the vial. 

The glass cracked, sending up cold liquid that splattered the floor. The ease Kieren felt only moments ago evaporated. "Who are you?"

Small and bloodshot, the doctor's eyes widened with panic. He put up his hands, his head shaking. "Please, Mr. Zaman, I just," he stumbled through his words. "I really need your help!"

A scoff rattled in his throat. Kieren narrowed his gaze. "And what kind of help are you after?" 

"The vaccine," he paused, his eyes turning to the shattered vial on the floor, his voice as shaky as were his hands still raising at his head. "It's doctored. Someone asked me to."

Kieren stiffened, his hand coiling into a fist. "Who?"

"I don't know! I swear!" Murong bleated, his sallow face drawn. "But I couldn't do it. I couldn't because…" his voice trailed off. 

"Because of what?" Kieren lifted his chin, his eyes a squint. "And why do you have to do their bidding? What do they have on you?"

The doctor shuddered, his forehead bristling with cold sweat needle-thin. 

A ringing sound splintered the silence, giving both men a shudder. Shaken out of the trance he seemed to be in, Murong delved a hand into the pocket of his white cloak and handed a burner phone to Kieren. 

"What is this?" he asked, raising a brow. 

"I got it from a postal box by instruction," the doctor clipped. "The man, or I think it's a man, who put me on the task, he asked me to text him thirty minutes before I come to see you and bring the phone with me." 

Kieren snickered. More injured than his broken arm was his pride that he had been played from the very outset. 

"Hello," he answered the phone. 

"Mr. Zaman, I hope you haven't bullied my friend there too much. He'd very much appreciate your assistance," said an unhuman, uninflected, and mechanical voice. 

"Who is this?"

The same voice took a pause. "You didn't really expect me to answer that, did you?" 

It seemed that whoever on the other end had typed the answer that was converted into a voice. Kieren snorted, "How can I offer my assistance if I don't even know who it is for?"

"For Dr. Murong, of course."

"Why is he of interest to you?"

"Aren't you curious what this is about? Maybe after you've learned the matter, you'll tumble to the answer to your question." 

Kieren clenched his jaw. While he was scouring his mind for a reply, the voice went on, "You see, Mr. Zaman, my friend here, Dr. Murong, has been under tremendous stress of late for exposing the vaccine scandal in the Commonwealth. Would you be so kind and remind the public of it? Keep the people angry, that is. It'll improve your chance of winning the final election. A quid-quo-pro, if you will." 

The clenched jaw loosened as Kieren parted his lips at a loss. Turning his head to the doctor. "And what about the tetanus vaccine?"

"Ah, yes, I asked him to bring the vial spiked with your worst nightmare, Mr. Zaman. Fentanyl, lest you want to know. And it will only be the dawn of the end. Better watch out for the pills you take from now."

"Is that so?" Kieren sneered, his hand sweaty, coiling around the burner phone. "Then, why sabotage your plan by telling me?"

"Who said anything about the plan being mine?"

A reply Kieren didn't expect. 

The voice continued, "You see, I'm just a middle-man here, Mr. Zaman, one with another agenda, so to speak. And being a good friend, I reminded Dr. Murong that he needed you more than he needed the one who calls the shots behind me. He will be sure that no harm comes to you, your prescription, that is, and you will return the favor by doing what you must to win the final election." 

"Can I presume that you have your interest across the Huron Sea, that you want proof of the scandal?" Kiren asked, glowering at the broken vial. 

"I'm a businessman, Mr. Zaman, and for the sake of business, I'd like to make friends, not enemies. Sticking my nose in the nuisance of foreign affairs would do the opposite." 

"What is your angle, then?"

"Haven't I just told you? I want us to be friends. Keep the phone, Mr. Zaman. I'll be in touch." 

As the voice fell, the line went dead, leaving only the flat, monotonous tone that droned in Kieren's ear. He glanced at the doctor who was fidgeting by the window. Outside, the sun had just crested the meridian. Kieren realized that it had only been hours since he was brought to the hospital. For so many incidents to happen in so short a time, the crash could only be a piece in the domino that had long been planned. 

"Dr. Murong," he spoke at length, his voice hoarser than he could recognize. "I thank you for your last-minute decision to spare me. However, if you want my help, you have to tell me everything you know." 

The man took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut. "I got blackmailed, Mr. Zaman. The one you're on the phone with, he asked me to drug you and confess that I was going to drug you," he said, his voice exhausted. "Believe me, I'm just as confused as you. Who does that?"

Still clutching the phone, Kieren chewed on his thumbnail, a nasty habit that helped him think. He set his priorities straight. "What did the man blackmail you with, Doctor?" If he was to play this game, he needed to know who was put on his team. A gambling problem? Alcohol? Drugs? Call girls? Who was Murong Kai? 

The doctor hesitated. "It's… he has…." His voice splintered. "It's my daughter."

"You didn't call the police?"

Murong shook his head. "He said if I went to the police, he'd know."

"He could be bluffing."

"He could, but I couldn't risk it." The doctor squeezed out a bitter smile, his head bobbing involuntarily. "While he may or may not have friends in the police, I certainly don't."

"I'm sorry for what he put you through," Kieren said quietly. "Did he agree to return your daughter once you did what he asked?"

The man nodded. 

"Good, please let me know as soon as your daughter comes home."

"Thank you, sir, for your concern." He gingerly looked Kieren in the eye. 

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, doctor," Kieren continued. "Since he seeks my alliance, going back on his words to you would only be an act of bad faith." 

Another nod. "Do you think he's someone who'd benefit from the vaccine scandal? Or perhaps a victim? Or the family of a victim?"

Kieren didn't reply but pursed his lips. Suppose the man on the phone told the truth, that getting to the bottom of the scandal wouldn't serve his interest – Kieren thought – why insist for him to harp on it? Or maybe he should look at it differently. Kieren pushed himself off the bed and paced the room barefoot. The cold tile floor prickled his soles and cleared his groggy head. 

Other than what the man on the phone could possibly want, Kieren pondered the likely outcome for him to keep accusing the Commonwealth of taking the life of their citizens so lightly. 

Nothing. 

Nothing but to keep the discontent alive that would fuel a pandemonium. It would not leave a scratch on the ones behind it, who must have discarded all the evidence already, and the less chance of finding the evidence, the more distrust it would arouse in the voters, should Kieren keep reminding them of it. A gasp fled his throat. 

Whirling back to the bed, he halted with one foot just an inch away by the broken vial, and a small pool of its content yet dry, glistening under the roof fixtures. 

My worst nightmare. 

He narrowed his gaze. Who else knew about his darkest secret? Either it's Arslan Qusbecq, or someone had dug up the dirt. Desperately, he hoped it was the latter, and he needed some time to prove it. 

"Dr. Murong," he said at length, tossing back his head. "I need you to discharge me now. But don't tell anyone. Let the world believe I'm still resting. And don't worry about the security. I'll take them with me." 

The doctor nodded. "I'll be back."

It didn't take long, forty minutes or less, before Kieren was discharged. Pretending to amble around, he left his ward and sent the security to wait for him in the car. Closest to the highway airport, the Woodland Hospital of Konsibul, where Murong Kai worked, was reasonably the first choice for the ambulance. Kieren snorted. Despite himself, he admired the details of how the scheme was laid. 

He turned around in the corner. His feet brought him to a halt while his face blanched. Retreating behind the wall, he flattened himself on his back against the wall and peeked over his shoulder. 

Flanked by his security, Mustafa came out of a treatment room. 

Kieren glanced at his watch. It had been over two hours since the man left his ward. What kind of treatment that lasted this long? Was he sick and kept it a secret? Even so, this was not where he usually did his check-up. The Woodland Hospital of Konstinbul was also known as the facility for felons who needed medical attention. So, what was Mustafa doing here? 

While he deliberated the risk of taking a closer look at the treatment room, he heard the door open again. With his mouth and some difficulty, he detached the screen of his watch from the wristband and used it as a mirror. Squinting, he caught the reflection of a felon in iron fetters being escorted out by two armed police officers.

Fuck. 

Without another second of delay, he pelted for the car waiting for him, cussing in silence on the way, his eyes glaring. Like he hadn't got enough loose ends tugging at him from every angle already, now there was the meeting! Who was the felon, and what could Mustafa possibly have met him at the hospital for? He rapped a fist against his chin as he sagged in the backseat, his breath heavy. 

One step at a time. 

He reminded himself, biting his thumbnail, and willed his focus on the request from earlier that threw him for a loop. A businessman who'd like to make friends, or so he called himself, Kieren brooded. What's his business? Clearly, he cared little about the Commonwealth government, so who, or what, are the friends he was referring to or trying to make? 

Kieren leaned back and sagged, his temporal arteries throbbing as if they were to burst. Too many missing pieces for him to put together the puzzles. He let out a deflated sigh and shut his eyes.