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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.”