Uncle poured more green tea for himself and Victor Petrov, then he placed a third in front of the chair where Inspector Grey had just recently vacated. Uncle watched the surveillance footage of Inspector Grey. “The inspector’s ambition seems boundless. If guided carefully, his efforts could be useful to our interests.”
A bemused smile tugged at Petrov’s lips. “He is nothing but a pawn, blind to the game. The inspector thinks of himself as being so clever.”
“Even so, the work of small hands often paves greater roads. We must guide him delicately.”
“Uncle. He does not see the whole board.”
One screen rendered an audio spectrograph, the colorful waveforms undulating in real-time with hushed whispers emanating from the tiny microphone in the back of the Sedan. Uncle listened to the audible voices of Grey and Detective Turner discussing their next moves, oblivious to the eyes watching them.
“Lo Chen ensured a tracker was placed on Inspector Grey’s person.”
“A most prudent measure, Uncle, just in case the Englishman decides to go his own way.”
The Asian operatives monitored the various surveillance feeds streaming across several large monitors from their workstations. Then one of the men sitting at a console stood up and moved to occupy Grey’s vacated chair. Slowly, he peeled off a mask of latex prosthetics, layer by membranous layer; each segment was discarded like the peeling of an orange peel. As the last shred of latex fell away, the rotten core of Magister Gulag’s face appeared in full view.
“The Englishman proved far easier to manipulate than I’d hoped for. Now the real game begins.”
“We welcome your independent contribution to our common goals. The Chinese Federation values your expertise and ingenuity, Gulag.”
Petrov gave Gulag an approving nod. “The Kremlin appreciates your forward-thinking tactics. Your strategy achieved our goals with maximum effect.”
“Victor, you know my loyalty always lies with the highest bidder. There is no need for such posturing between allies… for now.”
“Let’s discuss how we can proceed in a way that benefits both our countries,” Uncle said measuredly.
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Gulag reclined in his chair, sipping the hot tea. “Now we come to the part that benefits me.”
“Patience will lead to success in the end between wise heads,” Uncle said.
Petrov placed a leather folder on the table before Gulag, disclosing legal documents and contracts printed on thick parchment paper. Gulag picked up the papers, perusing them silently. “What precisely do these entail?”
“These documents will form the basis of our new partnership.”
“They establish your pharmaceutical corporation. With full funding and support from both China and Russia, your company will own the patented rights for Ferox 13’s antidote,” Uncle replied.
Petrov nodded. “These documents are decreed by President Wang and President Pushkin, Gulag.”
“So these contracts are ironclad?”
“You will have the whole pharmaceutical industry grabbed by the balls, just like you asked!”
“Exactly,” Uncle said. “This kind of influence requires powerful backers, which is where we both come in. In return, we all reap the benefits from your company’s success.”
A satisfied smile spread across Gulag’s face. “His Royal Highness can go and get fucked—officially!”
“Going forward, China and Russia will supply antidotes under your company’s patents and proprietary formulas. We will also ensure that no other companies produce competing antidotes to challenge your monopoly. In this way, we cannot lose,” Uncle said.
Gulag plucked the contracts from the table, pen extended. “An arrangement that caters to my self-interest and satisfies us all. Shall we make this official?”
Uncle and Petrov shared subtle looks, acknowledging the fragile nature of their new alliance. Power and profit lay within their grasp if they could trust one another enough to seize it. Three separate paths converged upon a single document. Once signed, it would set in motion events that would reshape the global order. Gulag signed his name and title beneath the president’s signatures, sealing their Faustian pact. Petrov walked to the oak cabinet against the wall, withdrawing a frosted bottle of vodka, cradling it like it was a priceless relic. He twisted the cap and poured the clear liquid into the crystal glasses, filling each to precisely the same level.
Petrov lifted his glass. “To our new alliance!”
Uncle and Gulag lifted their glasses in return. “To our new alliance!”
Their attention was drawn to the surveillance footage. Lo Chen was leaving Buckingham Palace, with Detective Turner and Inspector Grey walking up the palace steps.
“What shall we do with Inspector Grey and Detective Turner once they have served their purpose for us?” Uncle asked.
Gulag swirled the vodka in his glass, taking a slow sip before replying in a calculated tone. “Do not worry, Uncle. I have plans for both of them.”
