Chapter Fourteen

Finnigan Watts - Naguela

Finnigan Watts walked into the elevator, following COG advisor, Dean, and President Secada’s chief of staff, Roberto Diega. Diega tapped the button for the top floor, and then the three men stood side by side. “The President is excited to meet you both. He is especially excited to meet an immortal.”

Finnigan kept quiet. He opted to let Dean do the talking. Formalities and politics were boring. His heart pumped with the anticipation of what he was about to do at President Secada’s briefing.

“Oh, trust me, we’re both very excited to meet the Naguelean president in the flesh,” Dean said. “Also, let me tell you, we haven’t released it publicly yet, but behind the scenes, the immortals are now referred to as The Seers.”

“The Seers,” Diega repeated. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah, we wanna move away from the word immortals because there are groups attaching a negative connotation to it.”

Diega nodded. “Makes sense. Such a word threatens other nations.” Diega glanced past Dean’s shoulders to fixate on Finnigan. “How are you liking this rebrand, Mister Watts?”

 Piss off! Is what he wished he could say. Instead, he cooked up a witty response. “I could see some kook comic book writer coming up with a name like that for a group of superheroes. In which case I’m sold.”

Diega chuckled. “There will be Seers cartoons before long. And now that this trade deal is finalized, I assure you that Naguela will support your group.”

What a bunch of dickbags, Finnigan thought. Politics infuriated him. It was jarring to think that pencil-necks in suits made nationwide policies based on agreements and bribes. It made him crave the hallucinations Quinn introduced him to. He wanted to rule this pathetic human race. It was what his ancestors sent him out to do.

It was fitting then that today would present him the opportunity to put down one of these stupid politicians.

The elevator doors opened, and Roberto Diega led them into the packed briefing room. It was a large rectangular space with a high ceiling. An intricate zig-zag wooden tile design covered the floor, and the walls were painted light blue. There was a large podium at the far end of the room, in front of draped Naguelean flags. It was where President Armando Secada would stand to address the media and his country at large.

Finnigan had almost melted from the South American heat outside, but the briefing room was air-conditioned to feel like Antarctica.

Diega walked them through a crowd of media who seemed thirsty for a moment with an immortal. Some wore expressions of pure shock. Finnigan understood why. Naguela was at war with its neighbor, Estrea. And Estrean president, Ruben Ladron had recently bragged about his trade deals with the U.S. Boasting that it would give Estrea the upper hand in claiming their rightful land.

And now, almost out of nowhere, President Secada struck a reactionary trade deal with the U.S. America would provide discounted costs with its top weapons manufacturer. All in exchange for favorably discounted Naguelean produce, medicines and other resources.

The truth of the matter was that COG had already chosen a side in this war. Estrea had a far richer oil supply. And that oil was worth more than anything Naguela could offer. That was why they sent Finnigan here. To tip the odds.

Diega walked both Dean and Finnigan onto the podium, where they finally greeted President Secada. “Thank you for being here. It means so much to our people,” President Secada said as he held onto Finnigan’s hand like it was a precious commodity.

Finnigan decided he would put some effort into this one. “I can’t thank you enough for inviting me into your beautiful country, President, sir. I’ll never age up, but if I did, retiring here would make me a happy man.”

President Secada roared. “You’re welcome to come back here always. And bring the rest of your incredible team here next time, please.”

Diega cut in to end their little chitchat. He told them the broadcast would start in five minutes, and that President Secada needed to go through his notes once more.

Finnigan Watts felt anxious chills shoot down his spine. President Secada wasn’t the only one who needed to prepare. He glanced over at Dean, who nodded back at him in response. The moment loomed. Finnigan had to be quick with his movements when the opportunity came around.

He pushed his hand into his pocket, searching for the Infractor. The Infractor was a top-secret piece of kit given to him by former DARPA technicians who now worked for COG. He slid the gel straps around his fingers, ensuring that the round magnetic plate sat just above his palm. The Infractor resembled a small watch that he could wrap around his fingers, with a round plate at its core. He did not know what was inside the plate, but he knew he would need to place it discreetly against President Secada’s chest and give it a surge of electricity.

A woman stepped to the microphone and spoke. “President Secada is now ready to address the room, and the millions watching live.” Her heels knocked against the podium on her way down.

President Secada took his place before the Naguelean flag and addressed the people. Finnigan Watts felt a pump of adrenaline shoot through his body.

Due to the nature of this briefing, he was speaking in English. TV networks would translate the broadcast for Spanish-only speakers.

When Secada announced the deal he had struck with the U.S., the room reacted. They heard a mixture of oohs, ahhs, and claps. President Secada continued speaking as if there had been no reaction at all.

And then Finnigan heard his name. President Secada called over COG representatives Dean Baker and Finnigan Watts. The media clapped as the two Americans approached Secada.

Finnigan watched Dean greet the president first. He leaned in, shook his hand, and tapped his shoulder. Finnigan would need to get a little more physical with him than that.

The president turned his attention to Finnigan, inviting him to step forward with his gaze. Finnigan obliged. He felt the president’s hands rest on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to swiftly slip his hand out of his pocket and tap the left side of the president’s chest with the Infractor, disguising it as a friendly gesture. Secada twitched slightly as Finnigan fired a surge of electricity into the Infractor. “You alright there, Mister President?” Finnigan asked, distracting Secada so he didn’t notice him slipping the Infractor into his inside jacket pocket.

President Secada coughed and nodded back at him. “Yes. Recently I’ve had a cough.”

With his hand free of the Infractor, he grabbed the president’s hand and shook it. The Infractor would take between sixty and ninety seconds to do its job. He hoped to be out of the president’s way by then.

A sequence of camera flashes came as the media snapped their money shots of President Secada shaking hands with the immortal. Finnigan made a mental note to ask Dean if they could cease the publication of these photos.

They parted from their handshake, and Finnigan stepped off the podium, rejoining Dean Baker. President Secada spoke about the benefits of this new alliance, including more money for workers, and the opportunity for new trade deals.

Finnigan felt Dean Baker’s eyes on him as Secada continued to blabber on. For a moment, Finnigan was worried. Until President Secada stumbled on the word unity. A long pause followed, in which many confused media reps turned to the person next to them.

With a desperate grasp, the president's hand convulsed upon his chest, as if trying to tear away the agony within. The president's body wavered, caught in a temporal rift as if time itself conspired to prolong the inevitable descent. With a graceful surrender, he collapsed on the podium. President Secada had fallen.

Now aware that he had to keep up his act, Finnigan dashed onto the podium and knelt before the president. “Mister President, are you okay?” he yelled loud enough for the room to hear. He placed his palm against Secada’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat. Job done!, he said in his head.

Within seconds, a medical team rushed onto the stage to tend to the president. “Nosotros nos encargamos a partir de aquí,” a woman told him. Finnigan assumed they were relieving him and he made his way off the podium, rejoining Baker.

Beyond the look of shock Finnigan had forced on his face, was a looming expression of triumph. Perhaps politics could be interesting.

-Mere Immortal is written by Gary Swift. If you see this on another website under another name, then someone has plagiarised it. Visit mereimmortal.com for official chapters. Subscribe to the Substack paid tier to read further ahead in the story.

-This version of Mere Immortal is written in US English.