Pandemic Page 138

One of the triangle’s slitted eyelids was slightly open — but instead of the glistening black Murray expected to see, there was a sagging, puckered, grayish membrane, like a party balloon that had almost fully deflated.

The shaking camera whipped around to once again focus on Mitchell. He leaned in close, until the screen showed only his wide, bloodshot eyes.

“Dead! Dead as fuck! Because of me! Someone come and get me, please come and get me, I make these assholes die! You want to save the world? Then you better fucking save me!”

The movie ended, leaving a blurred image of the too-close face up on the screen.

Blackmon looked shaken. Seeing an American citizen being cooked on a spit would do that to a person. She sat on the edge of the table, maybe to keep herself from collapsing. The polished surface reflected the bright red of her pantsuit.

“So this man could have Montoya’s hydras,” the president said. “Where is he?”

“Chicago,” Vogel said. “Park Tower Hotel, downtown area.”

Blackmon slid off the table, stood straight. She gave her pantsuit jacket a sharp tug downward, as if she were just about to go on camera.

“Admiral Porter, I want this man. What kind of resources do we have around Chicago?”

Porter shook his head. “We have nothing in that area, Madam President. All of Illinois is a mess. Converted have been spreading out from the Chicagoland area. We’ve got troops positioned at the nuke plants near Rockford and Wilmington, killing anything that comes close. Davenport and Champaign are part of that chain, trying to slow the spread from the suburbs. We could pull some of those forces, but doing so is going to widen the gaps the Converted can get through. Indianapolis is holding strong and I highly recommend we don’t pull troops from there. Once we beat this thing, Madam President, we’ll need those power plants and the industrial base of cities that weren’t overrun.”

“Screw the power plants,” Blackmon said. “If we don’t get this man, there won’t be anyone left to use power.”

The idea hit Murray fast, took him over and charged him up.

“The SEAL team that rescued Montoya,” he said in a rush. “They’re in quarantine on the Coronado. That ship could be off the shore of Chicago in hours, and it has two SH-60 Seahawk helicopters. The SEALs could go in, get Mitchell and bring him back out again.”

Blackmon considered this. “Admiral? Will that work?”

Porter nodded. “Maybe. It’s a damn good idea, but the city is overrun — a partial SEAL team probably isn’t enough.”

“Then get me something to back them up,” Blackmon said. “Admiral, if we have any reserves at all, this is the time to use them.”

Porter drew in a deep breath. Even at this late stage of the game, he wasn’t going to rush things.

“We do have a few air-support assets on standby. The crews have been isolated from day one, so we know they’re reliable. As for ground forces, I’ve got a Ranger company at Fort Benning. I was saving them for your security, Madam President. If Air Force One can’t refuel in midair, or you have to land for whatever reason, that company will go to where you are, give you adequate protection.”

She huffed. “My protection matters even less than those power plants, Admiral. Send the SEALs. Send the Rangers. Will that be enough?”

“It has to be,” Porter said. “It’s all we have left. We haven’t seen the same organized forces in Chicago we’ve seen in Minneapolis or the New York boroughs, so this could work.”

“God guide and defend our soldiers,” Blackmon said. She addressed the entire room. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have to get to Air Force One. I have the utmost respect for your dedication and your bravery. The fate of our nation, of the entire world, hangs on us continuing to do our jobs. May the good Lord protect you all.”

She finally let her handlers hustle her out.

Murray was sad to see her go. Not long ago he’d hated that woman, but when things were at their worst, President Blackmon was at her best. Now he’d get to see the VP in action — Murray didn’t have high hopes. Albertson had been on the ticket because he could carry California. That, and probably only that, had put him in such a high place of power.

For now, however, Albertson didn’t matter. Cooper Mitchell did. Murray had one card left, and now was the time to play it.

“Admiral, Clarence Otto is on the Coronado,” he said. “He’s Department of Special Threats. I think he should go in with the SEALs, manage the biological aspect.”

Porter nodded. “That’s fine. People, contact the Coronado and have it steam full speed for Chicago. Let’s get the SEALs briefed.” He turned to Vogel. “Show me that video again.”

Vogel nodded, tapped some keys. The screen refreshed. It started to play, then he paused it. He pointed to view-counter in the video’s bottom right-hand corner. In the time it had taken Blackmon to watch the video and approve the mission to Chicago, the view-count had jumped from 301 to 15,236.

“Oh, shit,” Vogel said. “I think it’s gone viral.”

VIRAL

Steve Stanton played the video for a third time. To think he’d actually saved Cooper Mitchell’s life?

Now, he wanted to kill Cooper. Cut his belly open, pull out his intestines and make the man eat them. Have one of the bulls break his bones, one by one, while Steve danced to the music of his screams.

Four of Steve’s high-ranking followers — three men and Dana Brownstone — stood before him. They all had the smart strain, like him. None of the four had challenged his leadership; those who had were already dead.

Chapter end