hapter 207


    Hold on a damn second," Mr. Fleming snarled, his eyes bulging with disbelief.


    "Are you honestly expecting me to swallow the idea that a there human can diagnose a bacterial culture just by tasting it?"


    "This isplete nonsense! You must be cheating, you filthy brat. There''s no way you''d know my culture is Bacillus anthracis unless you peeked at my notes!"


    Alex merely rolled his eyes, looking bored.


    "Peek? Right. Because the smell alone wasn''t a dead giveaway. Let me spell it out for you, Professor Genius-I could practically sniff out your half-baked anthrax the second you brought it in."


    "And the fact you tried to pass this off like some big deal? You''re not even professional enough to mutate it properly. It''s so basic, even a bored middle- schooler could''ve whipped this up in science ss."


    Mr. Fleming''s pride stung like a ho''s sting.


    The smugness in Alex''s voice was grating, and it took everything for him not to let his anger bubble over.


    But when Alex listed every single ingredient of Fleming''s form-down to thest droplet-and rattled off each step in the creation process, the old scientist couldn''t hide his shock.


    "H-how the hell..." Mr. Fleming''s voice trembled. "You... you deduced all that just by smelling it?"


    "Huh,” Alex scoffed, "I guess you didn''t realize a nose could be more urate than your entire underachievingb crew. It''s gonna be another century before you figure that one out."


    Unable to retort, Mr. Fleming stood there fuming, sweat beading on his forehead.


    Meanwhile, Charles Kingston lurked on the sidelines, arms folded.


    He looked from Fleming to Alex and back again, a growing sense of worry needling at him.


    Alex had literally tasted anthrax and was still standing-minutes had passed, and he was moving around the room and heading to the restroom like nothing had happened.


    "What''s going on?" Charles muttered under his breath. "There''s no sign he''s even remotely sick. That''s... not possible, right?"


    Mr. Fleming took a steadying breath, trying to mask his own unease.


    "Calm yourself, Mr. Kingston. The kid''s ying tough, but anthrax will rip him apart soon enough. No one shrugs it off without an antidote. Trust me-he''ll be crawling and begging any moment."


    Charles exhaled slowly, relieved by the man''s confidence. All right. Good. Then let''s just get this over with."


    Right on cue, Alex strode back into the room, a small bottle in his hand.


    "Sorry to keep you waiting, folks," he drawled, holding up a container of foul- smelling, yellowish liquid that let off visible steam.


    "I just finished making my own culture. Thought we couldpare notes."


    Charles recoiled at the stench. "What the hell is in that? Ugh, it smells like rotting garbage dipped in old socks."


    Alex shrugged with practiced indifference.


    Maybe it''s not a five-star bouquet, but I can assure you the vor profile''s... unforgettable. Now, you don''t have "to drink it, of course."


    Asly smirk curved his lips. "But you did say you wanted a fairpetition, so you''re not... chickening out, right, Mr. Kingston?”


    Jasmine, who had been watching from the corner, leaned in with a sweet but scathing smile. "Surely the great Charles Kingston isn''t going to back out over a little stink, is he?"


    Charles sucked in a sharp breath and looked over at Mr. Fleming, "Well?" he hissed, eyes darting nervously.


    Mr. Fleming ced a hand on Charles''s shoulder, as though bestowing some grand benediction.


    "Rx, Mr. Kingston. I happen to have a universal bacterial antidote that''ll work within five minutes. Let the little upstart have his fun."


    Straightening himself, Charles snatched the bottle and pinched his nose.


    "You want drama?" he snapped, voice dripping with disdain. "You got it." Then, in one swift move, he chugged the contents.


    Almost instantly, Charles gagged, a bitter, rancid taste wing at his throat.


    His eyes watered uncontrobly, and he half-choked, ready to spew the mess across the floor.


    "Uh-uh,” Alex said, wagging a finger. "Swallow everyst drop, buddy. Wouldn''t want you cheating, now, would we? Well, you can puke it out-but that''ll mean you lose."


    Charles red at him, cheeks flushing. With monumental effort, he forced the putrid liquid down.


    The aftertaste felt like molten slime coating the back of his teeth.


    Spluttering, Charles managed to choke out, "W-what the hell is this revolting concoction? It tastes like you scooped it off the bottom of a dumpster!"


    "Oh, nothing much," Alex replied, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "Just a little golden juice and golden cake."


    Fleming''s eyes widened at that, and Jessica raised an eyebrow from across the


    room.


    Charles blinked in confusion, still trying topose himself. "Golden... what? Don''t get cryptic with me-what does that mean?"


    In a tone so casual it verged on flippant, Alex exined, "Oh, just your run-of- the-mill ''fecal fluid.'' In other words, you just swallowed human excrement, Charles. Fresh from the source, as they say."


    The color drained from Charles''s face so fast it was almostical.


    He retched, turning away, but there was no escaping it now!


    The foul brew was already down his throat,tching onto his insides.


    "I think," Jasmine said with an air of mock sympathy, "my big brother just found


    out what ''eat shit'' really means, in a most literal sense. Didn''t see that on any fancy restaurant menu, did you, Charles?"


    "Damn


    you, Alex!" Charles roared, incensed. "You tricked me into-"


    Chapter 207.


    "Tricked you?" Alex interrupted with a sarcasticugh.


    We


    were told to make a bacterial culture, remember? I used the ingredients of my choice. I didn''t force you to drink it... you did that all on your own. But hey, if the shoe fits."


    He leaned in. “Seems like a perfect match for all the crap thates out of your mouth on a daily basis."


    Charles''s hands shook. He wanted to lunge at Alex, to throttle that smug grin off his face. "When my anthrax kicks in, you''ll be on your knees, you hear me? You''ll beg for mercy!"


    Alex offered a nonchnt shrug. "We''ll see which bacteria does its job first. You might want to have your precious Mr. Fleming look into my recipe, though, just in case he needs to whip up a miracle cure."


    "Now!" Charles practically screamed. "Give me that universal antidote you promised, Mr. Fleming!"


    "Of course, Mr. Kingston, of course. Let me check the bacteria he created first," Fleming said, shooting a poisonous re at Alex before turning his attention to Charles.


    He lifted the bottle that still contained Alex''s putrid mixture, brought it close to his nose, and took a quick sniff.


    His expression soured.


    Wanting to confirm his suspicions, he dipped a finger into the dregs, and for a second, thought he might not need to taste it.


    But Charles was already looking at him-and if looks could kill-he said coldly, "If


    you don''t damn taste it, I will kill you."


    In Vancouver, who dared to refuse the Kingstons? It was the same as signing a death warrant.


    He finally gave in and had a taste of the mix-golden juice and cake.


    A single bead of sweat rolled down Fleming''s temple.


    His face went whiter than a corpse.


    "What''s wrong?" Charles demanded, terror gnawing at him.


    Fleming''s voice emerged in a ragged whisper, "Neisseria meningitidis... The lethal kind. The poor bastard who ingests it can die within six to twenty-four hours. My god... how in the hell did this kid craft such a deadly strain so easily?"


    Charles''s world spun. 1


    He teetered on his feet, chest tightening in panic as the horrifying reality sank in.


    And across the room, Alex stood watching them both with a razor-sharp smile.


    Checkmate.