He flipped it open. It had one number programmed into it. He dialed.

On the other end, the phone rang and rang. Clarence was patient. He closed his eyes, almost fell asleep — just like that, almost nodded off — then stood up, bounced in place trying to chase the fatigue away.

On the other end, Murray Longworth finally answered.

“Took you long enough,” he said. “Did you stop to jerk off before calling me?”

“Twice,” Clarence said.

“The vaccine on its way to Black Manitou?”

“It’s not a vaccine,” Clarence said. “But yeah, it’s on the way.”

“Good. I’ve seen reports from Yasaka and Tubberville. The task force is compromised. I want to hear it from you, Otto — what are the odds of this thing being fully contained?”

Clarence closed his eyes. He felt for the chair, sat back down. Murray was the hangman, and he was giving Clarence just enough rope to make the noose. Murray did not play games. He wouldn’t hesitate to put the entire task force on the bottom if it meant stopping the infection’s spread. That Murray asked him — not Tubberville, not Yasaka, but him — was a high honor, a mark of ultimate trust; trust that Clarence Otto would tell the truth no matter what the cost.

“The odds are zero,” he said. “Margaret and Doctor Feely both think the genie is out of the bottle and we can’t put it back in. Even if their inoculant works, there’s no way they can make enough in time to stem the tide.”

Clarence didn’t have to see Murray to know the old man’s head dropped, that he probably rubbed at his eyes as he tried to deal with the news.

“d.a.m.n,” the director said. “I was truly hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”

That was as close as Murray Longworth would come to an apology. And why should he apologize? He’d made the right call. Command meant that you put people at risk. Sometimes, you sent them out knowing full well they wouldn’t come back.

“Had to be done, sir,” Clarence said. “Yasaka and Tubberville might surprise us, but you need to prepare for the worst.”

“I’ll make arrangements,” Murray said quickly, which meant he’d already mapped out a contingency plan. He’d likely had that plan in place before he’d ever sat in the living room and asked for Margaret’s help.

“Now the hard question,” Murray said. “How about you and Margaret? Are you …”

That was a first: Murray didn’t know what to say. The almost expression of actual sentiment was almost touching.

“Negative so far,” Clarence said. “So’s Feely. If the s.h.i.t hits the fan, we must get them out of here so they can continue their work.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Murray said sharply, an automatic rebuke. Then, softer: “You know I can’t let anyone who’s been exposed fly back to the mainland.”

“Then keep her at sea,” Clarence said. “Has the Coronado followed orders to steer clear of any other task force ships and personnel?”

Murray fell silent. The lack of response answered Clarence’s question: the Coronado remained an infection-free place to stash Margo and Feely.

Finally, the director spoke. “SEAL Team Two isn’t a taxi service for your wife, Otto. The SEALs are my insurance policy. If the command structure of any ship becomes infected, their mission is kill those people. You think I’m going to take a chance that they could become compromised just to keep Margaret alive?”

Clarence closed his eyes. All this talk of life and death — at least he was no longer in danger of falling asleep.

“Sir, Margaret is too great an a.s.set to waste. She’s working on more than just the inoculant. If you don’t want to lose her, then give me direct contact with the Coronado. If things go bad, I can get her off the Brashear.”

“And what if she’s infected and doesn’t know it? Better yet, what if you’re infected, and you use the Coronado to s.h.i.t all over the mainland?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to gamble.”

Murray huffed, a sound that turned into a laugh of disgust. “Gamble.” Gamble with a disease that can make us extinct?”

“That’s right,” Clarence said. “You know Margaret is worth the risk.”

He waited through a long pause.

“All right, Otto. I’ll get you in contact with the Coronado. But the ride is for a clean Margaret Montoya. If you find out she’s infected …”

Clarence licked his suddenly dry lips. For better or for worse.

“Director, if it comes to that, I’ll do us both.”

“Good man,” Murray said. “I’ll be in touch.”

A NEW HOPE

Margaret double-checked the time in her visor’s HUD, just to confirm what she already knew; yes, it had been only eight hours since she’d injected two microscopic hydras into the body of Eric Edmund.

They had multiplied.

Samples taken from his spinal column showed a few hydras, as was to be expected. What surprised her was Edmund’s blood: there were already thousands of them in his circulatory system. They thrived in there, reproducing at a rate that defied logic, even strained the limits of her imagination. The hydras reprogrammed stem cells to make more hydras, which then reprogrammed additional stem cells, creating an exponential population increase. If he had thousands inside of eight hours, within twenty-four he would have millions.