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?”
“How many . . . what?”
“How many trucks? How many loads? Three? Four? Five? Are you going to need special equipment to deliver the troublesome cargo? Or is it something that a couple of guys can manage? I need to know how much, you understand. Things like, is the product biodegradable? Would it benefit from close proximity to say, corrosive chemicals, which failed to find their way out of the city?”
“Perhaps as little as five. Perhaps as many as twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five what?”
“Twenty-five tanker trucks.”
Lee was impressed. “Whoa. Twenty-five loads. Shit. Okay. How long are you going to spread it out? You know, most of these guys, they drop off a load in February, maybe another in March. How do you want to space things out?”
“This will be a one time trip. Twenty-five trucks. Together.” Dr. Reischtal turned to the door. “Spaced around and under downtown Chicago.”
Lee thought of the long tunnel and the explosion. “When?”
“Perhaps days. Perhaps hours.”
Phil waved Lee over. He grasped Lee’s shoulder and bent him close. “Listen to me very carefully. You want to take what he’s offering. Please.”
Lee said, “If this asshole wants to come on my home turf here—”
“Shut up for five seconds and listen. If you want to have any kind of career at this at all, for the love of Christ shut the fuck up and listen.”
Lee swallowed his next sentence.
Phil tapped his chest. “It’s an easy choice. You handle this right, and by God, in ten years, you’re gonna be fucking president.”
The sheriff’s department would only provide three buses. No more.
“Fuck me,” Sam said and spit his gum into the gutter. He’d gone out to check everything out, just to make sure that they wouldn’t be putting federal prisoners on any kind of transport that might prove to be unstable and problematic. He stood at the curb as the three buses drove the wrong way down Clark and lined up along the curb. “Where’s the rest?” he asked the first driver.
The driver shrugged. “All I know is they sent me here. You got a problem, call the sheriff. I drive the bus. That’s all.”
The two other drivers all said the same thing. Sam pulled out his cell and called Ed. “Hate to say it, but this is gonna be all we got.”