Ed met Sam’s eyes. “They’re after one of those rat guys from City Hall. Tommy Krazinsky.”

CHAPTER 70

8:48 PM

August 14

Dr. Reischtal stared down at the body on the grass. The paramedic’s mouth was open, as if he was still protesting being slashed and bled out. A ripe, foul odor wafted up from his pants; his bowels had emptied in death. Maybe he was pissed about that too.

Dr. Reischtal fought to stop his teeth from grinding together. He could hear his dentist’s admonishments. He was supposed to wear a special mouthpiece at night to stop the gradual demolition of his molars when he was asleep, and he certainly did not want to start wearing it when he was awake.

Tommy Krazinsky had escaped.

Patient 0.2. Gone.

Until he had been interrupted by the president’s phone call, he had been watching that fool Shea attempting to hold a press conference in the middle of a quarantined city. While the current state of affairs was nowhere near as safe as the idiot kept pronouncing, as if saying it enough times would make it true, they were, at least, going according to schedule.

But now, now the situation jerked at his fingertips, threatening to slip out of his grasp, like a pack of wild dogs going crazy on the scent of a bleeding pig. The urge to simply step back and burn everything boiled up inside of him, and he fought it, recognizing the feeling as panic. No. Someone with his control would not panic. Would not.

No matter what.

His voice was barely audible above the soft wind. “I expected this patient to be held until the laboratory was properly prepared. He is a confirmed bioterrorist and his escape is unacceptable.”

The three soldiers surrounding the corpse nodded and grunted in affirmation.

Dr. Reischtal said, “Ready the choppers. I want him delivered, alive and relatively unharmed, in less than thirty minutes.”

Sergeant Reaves said, “Sir, most of the choppers have withdrawn. We only have two Apaches left, and they will be necessary when the squads move out of the secure areas. We have no idea how many infected are still—”

Dr. Reischtal said slowly, deliberately, “My orders are quite clear, Sergeant. Please do not tell me you are suffering some kind of hearing disorder.”

Sergeant Reaves nodded. “No, sir.”

Dr. Reischtal went silent for a moment, thinking back to the press conference. He remembered who had been standing next to the fool. “I know his destination. He will be trying to reach the press conference, at Daley Plaza. He wants his daughter. Cut him off before he gets there. I want him brought back to me. Alive. Nothing else matters. His blood, his brain, may hold the key to this entire pandemic. Nothing else matters. Nothing.”

“Understood, sir.”

“I certainly hope so. I want both Apaches in the air. They can coordinate his location with the Strykers. Bring him back to me in one piece.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Reischtal studied Sergeant Reaves in the bobbing glow of the flashlights and the dim spill of the floodlights that had been erected over the FEMA trailers. He had just come from Soldier Field, watching for their old friend Dr. Menard. Three days of no sleep and constant vigilance had taken its toll on the man. Exhaustion had crinkled lines into his face like an old map, leaving dark hollows and dry, red eyes. “Please do not tell me you are second-guessing my command, Sergeant Reaves.”

“No, sir.”

“Then if you please, go catch that sonofabitch. Every moment we stand here exchanging carbon dioxide for oxygen, Mr. Krazinsky is pulling farther and farther away.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Sergeant Reaves turned to bark orders at the three soldiers waiting at attention at the head of the corpse, Dr. Reischtal saw the two little bugs, waiting patiently on Sergeant Reaves’s back.

Dr. Reischtal did not hesitate, did not deliberate, did not think. He simply reacted. His hand flew down to his right hip, curled around the .45 Colt, pulled it out, raised it, settled the muzzle in the narrow groove at the back of Sergeant Reaves’s head, right where the backbone disappeared into the skull, and fired.

The bullet spun through the very top of the spinal column, obliterating the connecting nerves, tumbled through Sergeant Reaves’s mouth, churning his tongue into mush, and exploded through his upper front teeth, spraying blood over the waiting soldiers.

Sergeant Reaves slowly, hesitantly toppled over as if someone had given a sleeping man a gentle shove forward. The soldiers froze, their fatigues spattered in blood. Dr. Reischtal pivoted, raising his pistol slightly. Then he shot all three soldiers in the head. It couldn’t be helped. If Sergeant Reaves was infected, then it was only a matter of time before the virus latched on to those around him.

When the initial blast of the four rounds had faded, leaving Dr. Reischtal alone with five corpses tangled together before him, he holstered his pistol. Two other soldiers came running at the sound of gunshots. They gaped at the pile of bodies.

Dr. Reischtal said, “These men were infected. I want them burned immediately. And hazmat suits are now required for all personnel. The bugs are spreading beyond the confines of the city and the stadium.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the soldiers said. “We have reports that our squads are encountering severe resistance, mostly along the Blue Line subway system. We have lost contact with at least three squads. Based on their last transmissions, it appears that they were being overrun.”

Dr. Reischtal nodded. “Tell the remaining squads to redouble their efforts. They must succeed. The future of mankind depends on it. Call my launch. I am now relocating the command center out to the ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Reischtal clasped his hands and stared at the sky. There were no stars, not yet. But he had a feeling they would appear soon, triumphing over the light pollution. He shifted his gaze to the silent city.

There was no denying it now. The situation was officially out of control. The wild dogs had pulled loose, ripped free of their master.

He turned to assess Soldier Field and made his choice in less than three seconds. Again, once the decision had been made, there was no dithering, no second-guessing, no doubt. He would incinerate everything, burn the virus out of existence, wipe Chicago off the map. In a few years, they could start over, if they were so inclined.

He called Reynolds. “Are the trucks in place? Has everything been arranged?”

“No, sir. Three miles down the tunnel, we found a collapse. Looks like they brought it down on purpose. Recently too. We’re digging it out. A couple of hours maybe. Your guy say anything about this?”

Dr. Reischtal ground his molars into each other and this time, he couldn’t stop himself. Lee would suffer for his lies. “Call me when the trucks are ready.” He hung up and walked down to the shore and stepped onto the launch that would ferry him out to the warship.

At least the trucks under Soldier Field were in place and armed.

As the boat skipped across the surface of the lake, he thought about calling and informing the president, but then another, more efficient idea blossomed. He considered the angles briefly, and decided the loss of his men would be acceptable. And only he and the truck drivers knew the truckers were even there, let alone what kind of death they carried.

Yes, he thought. Soldier Field first. Then, when they had the trucks in place under the Loop, in a few hours, then downtown.

As the warship grew closer and the single tower loomed overhead, he called a very specific number and waited for the security system to come online. The launch slowed and stopped at the stern of the Sachsen-class frigate. Collapsible stairs descended from the low deck.