Plaga Iuventae: A Debt to Pay, Part 1

Author's note: This is the first half of the full story, as it would exceed the maximum word count.

It is a unique and perplexing privilege for a journalist like me to put my life on the line, whether it is interviewing a serial killer in his own cell, a former member of a crime syndicate in his own house, or even a politician that might be marked for death...or marking me for my death, as I do tend to pry. Hey, I'm a journalist; the worst is that I die.

But I prefer to die quickly, as opposed to something like poison or lynching. And even though I am no germaphobe, getting sick and falling to the whims of a bacteria or virus has never been settling. So, why did I volunteer to go to the lab of one of the most hunted virologists on the planet? Well, technically, I didn't know it was his lab.

Sorry, let me start from the top; I am Ian Sung, a journalist from Seoul, South Korea. A damned good one, I might add; I speak six languages including English, I've been to every first world country and a dozen third world countries, I have helped to expose dictators and criminal organizations from drug peddlers and exotic animal trading to child trafficking, and I have escaped several gunfights from paramilitary to police and gangbangers. Overall, I'm one lucky sonofabitch, and I have the money and awards to prove it. But there was one story that stood above the rest.

Fair warning: what you are about to hear is disturbing but true, for I was there to personally interview the infamous "Doctor Plague".

Everyone was practically after this man, from the local police to every single government around the world, dead or alive. Hell, thanks to the large bounty on his head, just about every human being alive was keeping an eye out for him. Every day, a bulletin was made about any information on the subject, and a witness or two would report what they thought was the doctor and where he might be. So far, he remained elusive. Now, how did I find him?

I didn't. He found me.

For legal reasons, and because I want to stay employed, I will not be giving out the name of the outlet from where I work, nor will I divulge any names outside of my own, the doctor's, or any names mentioned by the doctor; with that, I will refer my employer as "Boss", my friend and coworker "KC", all witnesses by number and all officers by letter. I will, however, divulge the names of places and projects, as people have a right to know the locations (except where it is classified by either government or by the wishes of an individual).

One witness, Witness 1, reached our news outlet to let us know that he swore seeing the Doctor Plague himself somewhere near the city hall in our fair Salem, Oregon. Initially, I brought up that such was impossible, as stated in a recording left by the doctor himself - a lengthy tape record becoming the final notice left at his former residence (I made a copy for posterity) - "I will be avoiding cities as much as possible*..."

Still, Boss wasn't about to let a potential sighting go to waste, and needed someone to go interview Witness 1 personally. He would send KC with me, as she would be driving both me and Camera-Man in her personal van (most industry workers that made our vans were dead, amongst the other two billion lives because of the "plaga iuventae", or commonly called Plakkim's Disease (not a conventional disease, but let's not digress). Boss made it clear that I should not return without something solid, and if I could find more witnesses or leads (which I will also refer to with numbers and not names), I was to get the statements, describe all pieces of evidence (giving such to the police, of course), and explore even the Plague Doctor's former residence and place of work. I mentioned that no one could get into the workplace without authorization, to which he responded, "Pitch a tent outside if you have to!"

Maybe I should call him "Hard-Ass" instead?

My team and I stopped at the local library, just so I could gather a few books and articles on viruses, genetic symptoms, and malpractices throughout history. Afterwards, we stopped at the apartment residence of Witness 1, who was eagerly waiting outside. I wanted to get as much information as possible, so I planned to pry as many names out of him as possible. Camera-Man set up his equipment, making sure to keep the camera pointed away from the complex, as well as any street signs that would lead anyone to the witness. Witness one didn't mind showing his face to the camera, so long as we didn't release his name. KC monitored her equipment, recording and setting the proper tones and digital lighting on her personal computer, connected wirelessly to both Camera-Man's camera and my microphone.

After introductions between only us (anonymity, mind you), I asked my questions and got these answers:

"You have lived here long?"

"Yessem, since I was a kid."

"I see. And has this recent epidemic affected you?"

"Not personally, sir. There were people that I have grown up with that recently passed away, mainly because of that treatment, that so-called 'cure', and it was horrible, from what I heard."

"Do you know about Blake Plakkim, a.k.a 'Doctor Plague', the man responsible for that?"

"Yessem, but I think his organization was responsible far more than him. He had not done all this by his lonesome, you know."

"Have you talked with anyone from Blake's organization?"

"No. I avoid that place like the plague...no pun intended."

"But you did claim to the outlet that you saw Doctor Plakkim?"

"Yessim. All hooded up and moving inconspicuously at the supermarket where I shop, but the face was familiar from the depiction on T.V."

"I see. One more question; is there anyone else who may have seen him, or anyone that would have more information on him?"

"None I know of. You could try talking to the mayor; she might know something."

Wrapping up, I reflected on that organization, Blake's former workplace. Mentioning it to KC, she agreed to a drive-by sight-seeing of the place; upon doing so, we saw that more security was there than usual, like someone dropped off a military compound around the building. We decided to try that place last, and went to see the mayor.

Surprisingly, she was willing to do an interview, so long as we just referred to her as "Mrs. Mayor", and her personal guard as "Witness 2." Before the interview, Witness 2 warned me not to pry too deeply, as Mrs. Mayor had recently lost her husband and both parents to the disease, or the interview was off.

"Mrs. Mayor, thank you for having us. These times are hard on everyone, and all we want is to conclude this nightmare with justice and peace of mind."

I immediately thought that I had gone too far, but she smiled and nodded. Witness 2 kept watch over me, ready to answer when it was his turn.

"Mrs. Mayor, when this...event happened, did you want to launch an investigation into Blake's organization?"

"I did. I was recommended against it, given how it was a corporation with federal ties, and I was just a mayor of Salem. I pushed that notion aside, and I went to their front door and demanded to talk to someone."

"Did you?"

"Not for a few days."

I nodded. "And you, Witness 2, you mentioned a certain incident? One that you swore involved the spitting image of Blake Plakkim?"

"It WAS Blake! He was moving around the parking lot, and he was looking for something."

"Which was...?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't call it 'something'. If I had to guess, it was the Mayor's car."

"You checked her car?"

"Wouldn't be much of a guard if I didn't. Her safety is my concern."

I took it that this Witness 2 didn't like me very much. Probably bad press, or whatever excuse gets thrown our way. I turned back to Mrs. Mayor:

"What happened after a few days?"

"Well, after my guard chased away someone from my car, I received a call from a 'Harrold Tooms', wanting to talk to me. Not inside his building, nor mine, but somewhere in public. Uh, a restaurant, actually!"

I wrote down the name. "This Harrold a lawyer or a manager? Did he know Blake?"

"He didn't say anything beyond being a representative. He was willing to divulge quite a bit about Plakkim...that is, about the man and not much about his work. Oh, he did mention about the plague being an attempt at a cure!"

At this, she suddenly went silent, and turned to a picture frame upon her desk. Immediately, Witness 2 stepped between us and her: the interview was immediately over.

I thanked Mrs. Mayor for her time and the opportunity to talk with her and Witness 2. She smiled after I assured her that we would get to the bottom of all of this, and she wished us luck. Witness 2, on the other hand, wished us to get the huff out. Yeah, you know the actual word, but my work is G-rated.

PG at worst.

Coming outside, we found a note under the van's wiper blades. KC freaked out, thinking it was a parking ticket, but I took it off and saw that it was a note:

GOT SEOUL, MAN? GRAM, ANA.

I looked around. KC freaked out again, and Camera-Man actually went into the van and pulled out a tire iron. Aside from the passerby, a few looking on us curiously, there wasn't anyone close by. We decided to hit up a hotel for the night.

Morning came, and I was first to rise and dress. Looking at the note, I pondered about who this Ana person was. And then, it hit me!

Ana Gram...anagram! And if that's the case, then the initial message was not some random threat or lead, but was an attempt to reach us! But for what, and to where? Clearly, the message was directed to me, but then there was the part about the anagram, so I had to rearrange the letters.

The best I got was "atoms lounge". Something about it seemed familiar...

Snap! Of course! The Atom Bistro and Coffee Bar! I've been there before. Apparently, so had the messenger, which also meant that this person was following us. Was it Blake, or someone who knew him? Was it someone who wanted to find him? Maybe it was some sleuth, working with the authorities. Or maybe it was a bounty hunter, even an assassin, and this person was using us to find Blake. I checked my watch: 6:22 A.M. Time for a drive to breakfast.

We arrived at nine on the dot; Camera-Man had a lot to drain out at the hotel. So did KC, but don't tell her that. Anyways, we were at our own table, having ordered breakfast, when the waitress asked us if there was a fourth member joining us. Surprised, I told her that we weren't expecting anyone, and she left with our orders. Now, bear with me, here is where things get alarming.

Blake Plakkim sat at our table.

Initially, someone with a poncho-style hooded sweater just sat himself beside me, opposite Camera-Man and KC. I was about to interject, to ask him to leave, when he hissed this warning to all three of us: "Don't speak, or I open this." At that moment, he placed what I could only describe as a spherical case between me and him.

A few minutes later, the waitress came over and inquired if there was a problem. When no one answered, I stepped in and said that there was a mistake, that someone was joining us for breakfast as part of our interview for the network. She smiled and asked the newcomer for his order, which he gave courteously as if he didn't walk in here with a potential explosive. When she left, Blake turned to look at me, and all I could say was, "Doctor Plague?"

His eyes narrowed. "Don't ever call me that again! My name is Doctor Blake Plakkim. Now... got Seoul, man?"

Now my eyes narrowed. A pun at our literal expense, in a public place. "I...am Korean, if that's what you're getting at."

Blake smiled. "More than that, you're a journalist. A well-respected one named Ian Sung. I've followed your work."

I nodded. "And now you're literally following me. You do know you're a wanted man?"

"Heh. What else is new?"

I sighed. "What do you want?"

He turned away from me, his eyes upon the table as his hood would obscure the rest of his face. "It's what I can give you. To the world. But I need to do this my way. Not the government's. Not the organization's. Not yours."

The breakfast came, and I was perplexed at how fast Blake ate with one hand on a fork and the other on the case. Meanwhile, Camera-Man and KC ate diligently, watching the both of us. I ate with reluctance, feeling the case on my thigh at all times. Afterwards, we sat there quietly as I paid the bill, only asking one question:

"Is any of this wise, with all the eyes of the world looking for you to either arrest or kill?"

He shifted himself up from the seat, dragging the case with him. "I can't run and hide forever if I want the truth out. You have the access, the reputation, and now you have my attention. I'll give you all the information you'll need, even access to my new lab, but only you and your two associates. Tell no one except your network what happened here. No cops, no strangers, and no 'associates' of mine." Before he left, he left me another note, this one sealed. "This is a letter to your boss. Make sure only he sees it."

He walked out, inconspicuous as described.

This shocking visitation left us in that restaurant for another half-hour before we hurried back to the van (I checked the whole vehicle over for anything, whether from Blake or not). Another three hours later, we were all in front of Boss, and I handed him the note and told him that only he was to read it. He nodded, the opportunity of a lifetime basically in his hands; how he would play this out was up to him. He excused me, saying that he would let me know what he'll want next.

Another call came to our outlet, and Boss's secretary came for me rather than to the hard-ass. I told her to take a message, but she insisted that the person on the line would not hold for anyone except me, and he had information regarding Blake Plakkim. Honestly, after meeting the man, I wanted a break, but I decided to humor the secretary and I took the phone, asking, "Hello, this is Ian Sung, how may I help you?"

"Hello," said a soothing deep voice, "I am Harrold Tooms. May I have a moment of your time?"

*from the first Plaga Iuventae.