Phil caught his stunned expression and said, “They took it down because they wanted room to land the helicopters.”

Lee actually liked the sculpture, the way it had some sort of invisible tether to the heavens, as if it was some sort of pet from someone above. Lee thought it was a bad omen, this desecration of a Chicago landmark. But Phil was pissing him off, so Lee didn’t say anything. Bryan dropped them off in front of City Hall on the Cook County side. More soldiers checked their IDs once again.

Inside, they were directed upstairs to a large briefing room. The room had been built like an amphitheater, with descending rows of seats and tables curving around a central stage. A soldier directed Lee and Phil to one of the smooth tables with low lamps near the back. Some high-ranking official was down in the center, using a laser pointer to highlight areas of maps of the Loop and the subway system projected on the screens behind him.

The official, some major or general or something—Lee wasn’t too clear on these things—was laying out plans in a dry, almost disinterested tone. He was tall, with dark, vigorous eyebrows that didn’t match the gray, lifeless hair that had been cut close to his scalp. “Phase two is nearly complete, a total relocation of civilians to a neutral zone where they can be properly examined before being released into the public at large. Phase three preliminaries are complete and are ready to implement immediately. As we proceed with these two phases, phase four and five are being prepped.” He gestured at the map. “Every bridge, with the sole exception of the Congress Street Bridge, has been raised. The river has been irradiated with a compound that will . . . inhibit life.”

The officer traced the boundaries of the quarantine zone with his laser pointer. “The subway tunnels have been neutralized.” Lee figured this was code for blowing the shit out of the things. He sniggered.

Phil refused to look at him.

Lee got the hint. Play along. Don’t make waves. And above all, don’t draw any attention to yourself. Fine. Lee decided to play along. For now.

“To repeat, every bridge has been raised, except for Congress, and that will be raised within the hour. The river has been treated. No rat will survive the swim. And here”—the red dot swept along Roosevelt Avenue—“a continuous firebreak has been established, stretching from the Chicago River to Lake Shore Drive. We have squads spread out along Roosevelt Avenue, equipped with both .50 caliber firepower and flamethrowers.” He checked his watch. “In less than thirty minutes, the only access to downtown Chicago, in or out, will be restricted to this one lane of Lake Shore Drive.” The red dot seared into a spot just to the left of the Field Museum.

Some other senior official asked, “What about the lakefront?”

The major or general or whatever smiled. “The CDC has informed us that a cutting-edge medical and military vessel will be in place in the next several hours. Until then, the Coast Guard has agreed to help patrol the waters.” He surveyed his audience. “Trust me, gentlemen. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can escape the quarantine zone. This city will be locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”

He turned back to the map. “We are directing most of our forces down into the Blue Line subway stations, specifically Jackson Street Station. Platoons are gaining access to the underground through the post office and the Monadnock building. They will be spreading throughout the tunnels, forming an offensive that will be dispersing both fire and a lethal pesticide. This will provide an effective foundation, killing any infected rats, as well as any and all bugs with vapor chemicals that will reach into any crevice, any crack, any place where the bugs hide, and kill them.”

He added as an afterthought, “And if it is deemed necessary, the solution within the Chicago River can be set on fire.”

The speech had risen to a crescendo, and if this had been a political platform, that would be the cue to leap to your feet and start clapping like crazy. But since this was the military, the speaker took comfort in the total silence. He waited just as long as it would have taken for the applause to die down, and said, “Squads are currently conducting building-to-building searches, but this process takes time and manpower. Both of which we are in sore need of, I don’t need to remind you.”

Then he got into some math and started using words like, “kill ratio” and “projected casualties” and “dispersal rate” and Lee, too familiar with boring fucking governmental meetings, tuned him out immediately. Since his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he took stock of the room.

Every emergency department in the city was there, along with soldiers. Damn near everybody was taking copious notes. The general, or whatever the hell he was up front, finally finished coordinating the underground sweeps with, “Remember, flush ’em out, get ’em up to the surface, where the burn crews will flash-fire ’em. Any questions?”

Phil gave Lee a sour look, as if telling him to keep quiet.

“Right, then,” the general or whatever said. “You all have your assignments. I suggest you don’t waste any time moving into position. This operation will start precisely at fifteen hundred hours. No exceptions, gentlemen.”

The soldiers at all of the low tables gathered their notes and guns and filed out, leaving Lee and Phil alone with the projected maps of the Loop. Even the general left. Lee’s patience lasted almost fifteen seconds. “Okay. Now what? Where the fuck is this guy?”

A cold, deliberate voice came from behind them, deep in the shadows of one of the alcoves that dotted the wall. “I wanted to say . . . thank you, for your cooperation in detaining two of your employees.”

Lee whipped his head around to find Dr. Reischtal. The doctor’s tiny glasses caught the reflection of the maps down in front and gave him the appearance of eyes that flashed with white fire. He was wearing an orange hazmat suit, and even though he didn’t have the face mask covering his head, the outfit still made Lee nervous.

“Sure. Anytime,” Lee said. “How, uh, can we help you?”

“I understand you are the man to speak with, if you have . . . special needs. Mr. Shea here”—Dr. Reischtal indicated Phil—“has kindly offered to further our business arrangement, by admitting that you, his nephew no less, are in a rarefied position to help government employees such as myself find quiet places to store some of the unpleasant consequences of my job description.”

“Maybe,” Lee said.

“Then perhaps you might be of some assistance. For the right price, of course. I have already negotiated a most generous donation to your reelection fund with your uncle, so if you are unhappy with your share, you can take it up with him.”

Phil started nodding his head when Dr. Reischtal mentioned the fund, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger in the universal sign of “okay.” He shook his head when Dr. Reischtal said the word “unhappy.”

Lee nodded.

Dr. Reischtal stood quite still. “I have heard of a quiet, private disposal site under the downtown area.”

“Maybe.”

“I have heard that this space is accessible by eighteen-wheeled semi trailer trucks. It is my understanding that you know of a route that could provide access.”

“I know of all kinds of dump sites. What I need to know is what you’re dumping.”

“I shall require access to this site.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“Perhaps your uncle can satisfy your curiosity.”

Lee didn’t look at Phil. “That’s not his job. You want to go under downtown, that’s my job.” Lee finally figured it out. “Okay. Okay. Maybe you could give me a better idea of what we’re dealing with here.”

“I don’t see how that should concern you.”

“If I’m deciding where to put something, I need to know some details. Like, how many?”