Pandemic Page 154

How could they attack now? Tim said Margaret was infected … maybe she was just sick … the baby, making her act strange …

Clarence’s headset let out a short burst of static as someone switched frequencies.

“Otto, this is Klimas, over?”

Clarence reacted automatically. “Otto here, go ahead.”

“The shit is about to hit the fan. SITREP on the civvies?”

“Montoya is up in 1812 with Bogdana,” Clarence said. “I’m in the lobby with Feely and Mitchell.”

“Good,” Klimas said. “Stay right there unless I tell you otherwise, or unless someone is shooting at you.”

His wife was upstairs, and an attack was coming.

“I have to go get Margaret. I’ll grab her and—”

“Negative, Agent Otto,” Klimas said. “Stay right where you are. You are responsible for protecting Feely and the package. I’ll have Bogdana bring Montoya down. Klimas, out.”

Clarence closed his eyes, tried to think things through. The future of the human race was right next to him, sitting in a swivel chair, still partially sedated. But his family was seventeen floors above. Was Tim crazy?

Or, if Tim was right …

Clarence’s headset came alive with Rangers and SEALs calling out targets, with the sound of weapons fire.

Then several voices at once, from both inside the lobby and over the comm link, calling the same word: incoming!

Clarence heard a muffled crash of glass followed by the whoof of billowing fire that filled the lobby with a sudden and angry orange light.

GAME ON

Paulius Klimas rolled across the snowy pavement, putting out the flames that danced up his thighs. Molotov cocktails rained down around him. The smell of burning gasoline filled the air. Mortars from inside the perimeter thoooped, weapons fired, men shouted out targets or screamed in agony.

Paulius slid up against the door of a burned-out Lincoln Navigator. He peeked around the front bumper, east down Chicago Avenue. Dozens of small flames arced through the air toward his position, spinning orange stars that would land and burst, spreading long ovals of flame. Off in the distance, he saw muzzle flashes coming from behind overturned cars on Chicago Avenue and on Rush Street, as well as from skyscraper windows in all directions.

Bullets plinked off the Navigator, punched through what glass still remained in the ruined vehicle. Molotovs hit every few seconds. Most of the improvised missiles fell short, but more than a few sailed over the perimeter to set the pavement afire.

He thumbed to his SEAL-only frequency and pressed the “talk” button.

“This is Klimas. Overwatch, locate and return fire, concentrate on enemy positions in the buildings on the corners of Chicago and Rush, Chicago and Michigan. Prioritize all high-elevation enemy snipers, repeat, all high-elevation enemy snipers. SITREP by squads, go.”

The squads reported back: heavy concentrations of small-arms fire and Molotovs coming in from all directions. Most of the enemy troops had to be armed civilians. His marksmen would thin them out quickly, but just how big a force did they face?

Paulius switched to the Rangers’ channel and listened in. Captain Dundee was already calling in air support. The Apaches would be here in minutes.

The hotel was so large, Paulius still had men going from floor to floor, securing the place one room at a time. He switched back to the SEAL channel.

“Interior personnel, sound off.”

His men reported in. All but one — Bogdana. Were there still bad guys in the hotel? Had they taken out Bogs and Margo?

He switched channels again. “Civilians, sound off!”

FEEL THE HEAT

Tim coughed, trying to clear the thick, greasy smoke from his lungs and throat. He’d lost his gas mask.

He pushed himself to his knees, but stayed behind the reception counter. The Rangers were putting out fires even as bullets whizzed into the lobby, splintering into the wood walls or taking chunks out of the black marble columns.

He saw Cooper Mitchell lying prone, struggling to rise. Tim threw an arm over the man, protecting him as well as he could.

Then the big form of Clarence Otto scrambled behind the ruined counter, aimed his pistol over it toward the hotel’s front entrance.

Tim heard the short burst of static caused by someone coming onto the civilian frequency.

“Civilians, sound off!”

Klimas. In the background Tim heard the constant roar of gunfire and a wounded soldier screaming for help.

“Otto here,” Clarence said. “Feely is with me, as is the package.”

“Acknowledged,” Klimas said. “Margaret, sound off.”

There was no response.

“Margaret, sound off,” Klimas said again.

Still nothing.

Otto crouched low. “Have Bogdana bring her down, Klimas, right now.”

“No response from Bogdana,” Klimas said.

Had Margaret killed the man? Tim didn’t know if she could get the drop on a SEAL, but she was infected, he knew she was, and that meant she was capable of anything.

Clarence stayed low but took a step toward the elevator. “Klimas, I’m going to get Margaret.”

“Negative, Otto, that’s a—” Klimas stopped in midsentence. Gunfire filled Tim’s headphones, so loud it made him wince. “I repeat, that’s a negative. I’m sending Bosh and Ramierez to get her. Otto, do not leave your post.”

Clarence paused. Tim could see the man’s eyes through the gas mask lenses, see the turmoil, the indecision.

Chapter end