They moved south on Michigan Avenue. On the far side of the street, a Converted woman was using a hacksaw to cut away at the arm of a frozen corpse. As Paulius and Bosh moved past, the woman didn’t even look up.
The firehouse wasn’t much farther.
THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY
The president of Russia glared out from the Situation Room’s large screen. President Albertson glared back. At least, that’s what Murray thought Albertson was going for — in truth, it looked like he was trying hard not to soil himself.
Stepan Morozov’s face sagged with prolonged anger and extreme exhaustion. He wore a suit coat, but no tie. His sweat-stained shirt was unb.u.t.toned down to the sternum, showing graying chest hair.
“President Albertson, the time to act is now,” Morozov said. “China is going to launch her missiles. Our intelligence confirms this. If Russia and America combine for a first strike, together we will eliminate China’s nuclear capability.”
Albertson opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Murray saw beads of sweat break out on the man’s forehead.
On the screen, Morozov’s eyes narrowed. “Mister President? Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” Albertson said quickly. “Yes, I heard you.”
When Albertson didn’t offer anything else, Morozov’s face started to redden.
“The Chinese have already struck us,” he said. “A million Russians are dead. The Chinese leadership says nothing — no apology, no explanation. We must a.s.sume that they are infected. If we strike while they are disorganized and silent, we might hit them before they can launch at all.”
“And we might not,” Albertson said. “They could launch in retaliation, get their missiles away before ours. .h.i.t. I’ll consider your proposal … I’ll talk it over with my staff. Thank you for the call.”
Murray couldn’t believe what he was watching. The Russian president was asking the United States to join him in a large-scale nuclear attack on the world’s most populous nation, and Albertson just wanted to get off the line. The man was overwhelmed, completely unprepared for something like this.
Morozov snarled. A string of spit ran from his top lip to his bottom, vibrating with each word.
“There is no time to consider,” he said. The string of spit popped free, landed on his chin. “Maybe there is a reason you don’t want to strike! Maybe you are infected, and you are already talking to the Chinese about first-striking us!”
Albertson shook his head. “I … we … of course we’re not infected! We … we …”
Morozov shook his fist. “Then prove it! Strike now, before it is too late!”
“I …” Albertson said. “We …”
Murray stood up. “President Morozov, we are close to finishing a weapon that will wipe out the infected, all of them, worldwide.”
In the Situation Room, faces pinched tight in anger or went blank in shock — two heads of state were deciding the fate of the world, and Murray Longworth was b.u.t.ting in?
On the screen, Morozov turned to look at Murray. The virtual conference technology made it feel like he was looking Murray dead in the eyes.
“You are Longworth?” he said. “The one who handles the … the … ah, yes, the special threats.”
Murray was a little surprised to be recognized so quickly, but he plowed forward.
“Yes, President Morozov, I am the director of the Department of Special Threats. Our solution, sir, is highly contagious. It spreads from one infected to the next. Our team is in Chicago, testing this solution as we speak. If Russia’s actions cause a nuclear strike on Chicago, then our solution will also be destroyed. And to be blunt, your weapons, our weapons — none of them can do a d.a.m.n thing to save our citizens and our nations. If your people haven’t told you that already, they are either ignorant of reality or they are telling you what they think you want to hear.”
Morozov’s face grew redder. His eyes widened.
“Who do you think you are talking—”
“Shut up,” Murray said. He couldn’t take this anymore, couldn’t take the pressure and these people posturing while the world died around them.
He walked up to the screen as if Morozov was a real person and they were about to stand toe-to-toe. “If you launch, you doom the entire human race. We need more time.”
Morozov stared out from the screen. His left cheek twitched.
“Our intelligence says your military has abandoned Chicago.”
Murray nodded. “And what better place to run our test than in a city overrun with the infected? We need more time, Mister President. We can stop this thing without nuking the bejesus out of China.”
Morozov turned to look offscreen. Murray saw him mouth the word bejesus, then shrug. Someone offscreen answered him. He nodded, turned back to stare at Longworth.
“I am told that you are a soldier?”
The question surprised Murray. “I was,” he said. “I served in Vietnam.”
Morozov spread his hands, palms up. “Once a soldier, always a soldier. I served my country in Afghanistan.” His anger faded somewhat. “You have killed people, Mister Longworth? You have seen your friends die?”
What the h.e.l.l does this have to do with anything?
“Yes to both,” Murray said.
Morozov bit his lower lip. He nodded, turned slightly to look at Albertson. “You have twenty-four hours to prove this. Then, America will join our attack. As one of your former presidents once said so eloquently, you are either with us, or you are against us.”