Infected

36: ☣Tying Loose Ends☣

THE World Health Organization maintained its popularity streak, following a statement that was delivered by Darius Shakir, revealing the truth behind the assassination of Dr. Akshay Minajri.

This had been his first point of action after he had been cleared of all charges and resumed to his position as director.

The world came to learn about Hector Marconi and what he had done, save for how he had died. The latter would go on to remain a mystery as the media tried to fabricate different kinds of theories of how that had happened. One popular theory was that the CIA had secretly come after him, especially after further details presented by the Swiss Police revealed that the assistant director had hired a German-born assassin by the name of Ingrid Vogel-a high profile criminal classified under Red Notice by the CIA-who had been killed by the police while conspiring at the WHO headquarters. Seven days had passed since then and it was up to anyone's guess on what had really happened that day.

The people who of course knew what had gone down had clearly established to keep it all a secret, given the current situation that the planet was in.

One of those people was Alex Brenton. He was at the airport in Geneva, in the middle of a coffee as he awaited his flight and to his opposite was Detective Laflamme.

"So, I'm guessing by the looks of it, you're not getting back to your vacation in France?" the detective asked, sipping her latte.

Brenton sighed, looking down at his black suit. "Apparently not. The agency just got a trace on Dr. Eisenhower and my boss, once again, was quick to put me at the front line and go check it out."

"You did?" asked Laflamme, "where is he?"

"I can't disclose that," said Brenton with a smirk on his face, "classified information."

Laflamme shook her head. "Oh, I get it. So now that we're no longer working together you've gone back to that secret intelligence nonsense eh!"

Brenton grinned. "I weren't supposed to be working with you in the first place, remember?"

"Oh, that's right," Laflamme sneered, "because I exposed your covert operation and figured out who you really were but still went on to work with you at the risk of getting fired by my captain. Of course I remember."

"Fine. You've made your point," Brenton rose up from his seat. "I'll give you a call once I find that scientist."

Laflamme got up too, her expression distant. "Do you think he did something with the Pandora extract? I mean, he's had a full week to himself since his disappearance."

"Well," Brenton sighed, "I wouldn't be that worried. The world is already in so much shit as it is right now."

"Yes," Laflamme muttered, turning to look at a TV screen set at one end of the café where a news anchor from CNN was giving a report on how fast the variant was spreading since its emergence. "We can only hope that they have started working on this."

Brenton nodded, recalling the unlikely encounter that he and the detective had had a week earlier back at the WHO, aside from a man turned into a literal monster by a virus, an assassin that took them down in combat without breaking a sweat and a horde of armed men.

"Anyways," Laflamme turned to look at Brenton, her short red hair dancing above her shoulders. "This is where we part ways. . ."

She extended an arm to Brenton.

"Until we meet again, Detective. . ."

"I hope not."

Smiling, Brenton regarded Laflamme, "you're a great detective."