Monzaâs plans at all.
The big man barked out a laugh.
âCrap,â Monza said, the word slicing through the silence like a knife. âWeâve come all this way to hear crap. Forgive my crude outburst, doctor,â and he made the title sound like a sneer, an insult, âbut for years men like you have promised such a weapon and for years they have failed.â
The doctorâs eyes narrowed. âYouâve never heard the promise from me.â
Monza laughed again, and felt a tickle in his throat. Some sediment in the wineâsomething stuck there. He coughed, and the slight tickle turned into a burning sensation farther down. Indigestion, acid refluxâhe had them all. Nothing serious, never serious. He cleared his throat, and met Reissâs eyes again. Steel on steelâthe two men eyed each other warily.
âGentlemenâMadame Gillespie,â Reiss said. âYour governments have attacked their enemies. Those enemies fought back. Youâve terrorized their citizensâthose citizens rallied around waving flags.â
Spare us the philosophizing , Monza thought, and opened his mouth to speak again, but instead let loose another cough. Damn .
He had a glass of water next to him, untouched. He picked it up now and drank.
âDeploy my weapon,â Reiss continued, âand those same citizens will tremble at the sight of one another. As they begin to die, theyâll blame their own government. Looting will erupt. Rapes, murdersâyour enemies, however great, will collapse from within like a house of cards. Or likeâ¦â
Reiss stopped, hung over Monza with a strange sickening smile.
âLike Mister Monza here,â he finished.
Monza swallowed, and felt the burning in his throat again. Worse this time.
Looked up at the mocking smile on Reissâs face.
And looked down at the glass of water in his hand, the one heâd just drank from, saw red streaks in it, not wine, no, it wasâ
He gurgled, and set down the glass of water.
No. God, no.
Through the sudden fire in his chest, he was vaguely aware of Duvalier jumping to his feet, backing away from him.
âWhat the hell is going on?â Duvalier shouted.
âWhatâs going on?â Reiss repeated, his voice sounding eerily calm, sounding to Monza as if it was coming from a million miles away. âHe told M-I-Six about our meeting. Thatâs why I changed the location.â
The burning in his chest was unbearable nowâMonza pulled the napkin from under his glass, and coughed into it. Felt something tear in his throat.
The napkin came away stained red, and white.
âBastard,â Monza whispered. âBastard.â
He looked up at Reiss, disbelievingly. The doctor continued to smile.
Monza knew he was dyingâwhatever Reiss had given him was sure to be lethal.
But perhapsâjust perhapsâhe could take the good doctor with him.
There was a gun inside his jacketâhe had to reach for it without seeming to make a threatening move, disguise it somehow, yes, pretend he was reaching for a handkerchief, pretendâ
A sudden spasm of coughing overtook him, and with it, an equally sudden attack of nausea. Monza felt his whole body wrenching upon itself, his insides twisting and turning themselves inside out andâ
He moaned, and the moan turned into a gurgle, and a viscous stream of grayish matter poured out of his throat.
Monza stared, disbelieving, at the napkin, coated with what had just come out of him.
Everyone else in the cabin moved reflexively backward, seeking to put more distance between themselves and Monza. Everyone except Dr. Jonathan Reiss.
The doctor allowed himself a small shiver of pleasure, and then moved closer. He wanted to enjoy every second of Monzaâs death throes.
âHe was going to turn me in, then seek asylum from the West,â Reiss said. He noted sweat breaking out on Monzaâs foreheadâthe disease was