They called it Camp Chicago. Much like the quarantine fences, it had sprung up literally overnight. Two square blocks cordoned off by Chicago’s finest, with Daley Plaza at its center. Ringing the camp’s perimeter was an armored shell of satellite trucks, thick hunks of cable sprouting from their cavernous bellies, a bristle of dish antennas tethered at the other end. Closer in, a skeleton of steel scaffolding ringed the plaza itself and stretched into the sky. Atop it, huge blue broadcast booths, enclosed in Plexiglas and bathed in banks of television lights.
The government had done its best to shut down the media, withholding any semblance of content from the blinking, ravenous beast. It didn’t matter. Once the fences went up, more than a thousand journalists sought credentials to cover whatever was unfolding on the West Side. Most of them knew next to nothing that wasn’t handed to them in a press release. That didn’t matter either. In fact, it only made things better.
A city terrified. A nation paralyzed. A world horrified. All of it, 24/7. Ratings went through the roof.
James Doll sat in the basement of City Hall, holed up in an airless room, watching the coverage on a bank of monitors. A parade of images streamed past. A reporter standing near the Water Tower, Michigan Avenue empty behind her. The Dan Ryan, jammed with cars going nowhere. People walking past soldiers into the Loop, belongings in shopping carts and strapped to their backs. Doll himself at a podium, mouth moving but no sound coming out. The mayor, even more so.
The man from Homeland hadn’t slept more than four hours in the last forty-eight, and the on-screen pictures held him in a sudden trance. The black phone on the table barked, and he jumped. Fuck. Doll scrubbed his face with his hands and shook his head. The phone rang again. Then a third time. Only a few people would have been routed in, and Doll wasn’t looking forward to speaking with any of them.
“Yes?” Doll listened for a moment. “Put it up on five.”
One of the monitors flickered. The news coverage was replaced by a silent feed of Michael Kelly and Rachel Swenson in a Cook County examining room. Kelly moved close and ran his hand through her hair. The woman gave what Doll imagined to be a sigh. Their bodies mingled. Kelly backed her against a wall. She spread her arms and let him in.
“Why don’t we have sound down at Cook?” Doll spoke softly into the receiver and kept his eyes glued to the screen. The couple disentangled. A moment later, they headed for the door. The feed switched to a second camera in the hallway. Doll watched them walk away. “She’s gonna drive him out? Uh-huh. Fine. Let them go.”
The door behind Doll clicked, and a man in a long gray overcoat entered the room. He dragged his left foot behind him as he walked.
“I’ll get back to you.” Doll hung up the receiver.
The gray man took a seat on the other side of the table. His eyes were dead holes, pegged into his skull and fixed on Doll.
“Call DC.”
Doll waited long enough to satisfy himself he wasn’t taking orders. Then he did exactly that. The room filled with the thunder of numbers being dialed. The other end picked up on the first ring.
“It’s me,” Doll said.
“Where are you?” The voice was muted and full of precision.
“City Hall.”
“I’m here as well,” the gray man said.
“Where’s Michael Kelly?” the voice on the phone said.
Doll’s eyes flicked to the screens. The hallway at the hospital was empty.
“He walked into Cook County Hospital about an hour and a half ago. They screened him for exposure and released him.”
“We don’t know why he was there, or what he saw?”
“I haven’t spoken to him directly,” Doll said.
“Is he still pursuing the outbreak?”
“Honestly?”
“By all means, Mr. Doll.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Kelly.”
“You don’t have much confidence in him?”
“Guy’s a hack.”
“Really?”
“Hundred percent.”
A pause. “Anyone out there ever talk about something called the Dweller?” the voice said.
“The Dweller?”
“Kelly ever mention it?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.” Doll scribbled down the name on a piece of paper and underlined it.
Another pause. Then the voice on the phone again.
“I think we’re going to need to take care of this.”
“Take care of what?”
“Kelly. Crane can handle it.”
Doll felt his focus tighten until it blurred. “Why?”
“Get a location on him. I’ll explain the rest later. Crane?”
“Yes, sir.” The gray man scratched two fingers against the finish on the table.
“There’s a package of information on the secure link. Let me know once you’ve reviewed the options. Any questions?”
No one spoke.
“Good. Mr. Doll, we have a conference call with the mayor in an hour. You can update me then.” The man from DC cut the call.
“It’s a mistake,” Doll said.
“Wouldn’t be the first.”
“You ever heard anything about this Dweller?”
“I find it’s easier if I don’t hear anything at all.” Crane stood up. “Let me know when you get a fix on Kelly.”
The door opened and Crane limped off. Doll hit a few buttons on his computer and listened to a recording of the conversation. He made a copy to a flash drive and deleted the original from his desktop. After that he took a cell phone from his pocket. Rachel Swenson picked up on the other end.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Doll said.