A red light appeared on the camera.

One by one, the televisions blinked into shots of various people in lab coats, surgical scrubs, even a few in biohazard suits. Some of the people appeared to be set up in labs, and Tommy wondered if they were in some other room in the hospital, instead of an office, like the rest. A TV near the top displayed an image of a young man with dark, sunken eyes. A yellowing bandage was wrapped tightly around his head, just above his eyebrows.

With a start, Tommy realized he was looking at himself.

A woman, with glasses and hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, sitting behind a dark mahogany desk, spoke first.

“Good morning, Mr. Krazinsky. My name is Dr. Halsey. First off, let me apologize on behalf of some of my colleagues. You must understand the hazards in the hospital there; the risk of infection on a large scale has everyone on edge. Those in charge of this operation feel force is necessary for the safety of the nation. Some of us do not. However, time is short. We need to speak to you regarding the incident at City Hall two days ago. The official report has yet to be released, and reports from the scene are thin to say the least. We need to ask you about the rat.”

Tommy found the camera and stared into the lens. “I’m not talking to anybody until I hear my daughter’s voice.”

Dr. Halsey looked flustered. “Mr. Krazinsky, I can appreciate your situation—”

“I don’t think you appreciate shit, lady.”

Dr. Reischtal spoke up. “Perhaps I can solve this problem.” He was on a TV on the bottom, his biohazard helmet on the desk in front of him. He held up a cell phone, dialed, and hit another button. The digital ringing from the phone popped out of the speakers.

“Ahh, hello?” It was his daughter’s voice.

Tommy took a long shuddering breath through his nose, struggling not to let any tears out.

“Hello. Is this Grace?” Dr. Reischtal asked.

“Umm, yes? Uh-huh.”

“Grace, this Dr. Reischtal. I am your father’s doctor. You father is very sick, did you know that?”

“Ummm? Is my daddy at the hostable?”

Tommy knew that Grace didn’t understand. God only knew what Kimmy had told her. He suspected that Kimmy was in the same room as Grace, probably being coached through her own cell phone by somebody from the CDC team here at the hospital.

“Grace, I want you to hang on to that phone because I am hoping your father will be well enough to call you in a little bit. Do you understand that? I am sure that he will want to speak with you.”

“Can I talk to Daddy?”

“I certainly hope so.”

The confusion in his daughter’s voice hit him cold in the gut and he could only imagine the flurry of half-formed questions in her eyes as she said, “Ahh, okay?”

Dr. Reischtal hung up. He stared out of the TV. “Now. You have heard your daughter’s voice. Do not ask me again. I will give you a chance if you answer the questions honestly and without delay. This is my proposition. Does it suit you?”

Tommy nodded. He took a deep breath, then went through the entire thing once again, starting with pulling up to City Hall. He went into detail about the state of the rat, describing the near-starvation, the foam in the mouth, the way it had initially appeared dead, and the look in its eyes when it attacked. He talked about when they went to the bar after City Hall and how Don showed off the torn leather glove. He even talked about how they went down to Blue Island and how he was bitten by the raccoon. He answered every single question. He did not hesitate when they asked him to repeat details.

He was a model of cooperation.

A large man with scraggly hair and an unkempt beard squinted out of the TV. “Is there anything else about the rat, anything about how it moved, maybe the sounds it made, anything at all that you noticed? We’re trying to figure this virus out, and we need—”

Dr. Reischtal broke in, his voice sharp and direct. “I will remind all of you that this operation is working with classified information. I am afraid Mr. Krazinsky is here in a debriefing capacity, not as a consultant. Please refrain from disclosing any sensitive information during this interview session.”

The shaggy man threw up his hands in disgust.

Dr. Reischtal said, “Mr. Krazinsky, you may answer the question.”

Tommy thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Look, me and Don, we never had much experience with live rats. We pretty much only put out poisoned bait, then collected the dead ones. All I can tell you is this one was seriously pissed off. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any animal with that much . . . rage, aggression, whatever you want to call it. It looked like the only thing this rat wanted was to kill us.”

Eventually, they reached a point where Tommy had no way of answering any more questions. He did not know where the homeless woman was who had found the rat. He did not know the age of the rat. He did not know why the Streets and Sans workers’ quotas had been lowered or eliminated completely.

Dr. Reischtal said, “I believe the questions have run their course. Unless there is any other pressing business, this interview is over. Mr. Krazinsky needs his rest.”

“Very well,” Dr. Halsey said. “The interview regarding the rat situation may be over, but I believe there is still the matter of Mr. Krazinsky’s civil rights to be discussed.”

“Of course,” Dr. Reischtal said. “But not at this juncture. Thank you.”

Some of the doctors and scientists started to protest, but their voices were silenced as the televisions blinked over to a blue screen, one by one, until only two images remained. Dr. Reischtal and Tommy.

Dr. Reischtal said, “Very well. Sergeant Reaves?”

From somewhere behind him, Tommy heard Sergeant Reaves say, “Yes, doctor.”

“Give this man the phone.”

Sergeant Reaves placed a cheap cell phone in Tommy’s right hand. He figured it to be some pre-paid, disposable phone. Something with no paperwork. He turned it over and opened it with his thumb. The phone was fully charged and waiting. He wondered if he could dial nine-one-one before Sergeant Reaves took it away.

Dr. Reischtal said, “I feel . . . compelled to inform you that the outgoing call function has been disabled.” He checked his watch. “In less than thirty seconds, you are to get a phone call from you daughter. Sergeant Reaves will observe. So please remember that your daughter’s well-being is at stake here as well as your own.” Dr. Reischtal’s picture disappeared, leaving only a blue screen.

A moment later, the red light on the camera winked out.

The phone rang.

Tommy tried to stop his hand from trembling. He didn’t recognize the number. He hit the CALL button. Since he couldn’t lift it to his ear, he hit SPEAKER. He croaked out, “Hello?”

No answer. Some sound. Breathing maybe.

“Hello? Grace?”

A soft laugh. “Jesus, you’re a fucking moron.”

Tommy froze. He knew that voice.

It was Lee.

Tommy whipped his head around to glare at Sergeant Reaves. But the man simply stared straight ahead, face set in stone.

Lee’s voice continued. “Nah, Grace isn’t here right now, asshole. Want to leave a message?” Another laugh. “I don’t know what kind of deal you had with that wack job at the hospital, but let me explain a few things. You work for me. I tell you to shit, and you ask how much. You are mine. You and that fucking idiot Wycza caused me so many goddamn headaches, you have no idea. Jesus Christ. I got half a mind to go beat it out of your daughter. Maybe make myself feel better.”

“You touch her, and I will kill you.”

Lee laughed again. “Oh, yeah? You gonna take me on? Ten minutes with me and my boys, you’ll be wishing you was back in that fucking hospital. So think very carefully about that, tough guy.”

Tommy resisted the overwhelming urge to hurl the phone at the televisions. He pictured Grace, sleeping somewhere in this sonofabitch’s condo. “What do you want?”