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If it were below freezing, the dead bodies up here wouldn’t have rotted, bloated, and the corpse he hid beneath might have been frozen solid instead of turning into the wet, reeking mess that sagged down around him. The smell was enough to make him vomit, but to do that would be to make noise — to make noise was to die.

Die, or worse.

You ain’t gonna eat me, motherf.u.c.kers, you ain’t gonna eat me …

The motherf.u.c.kers in question were close. They were searching every room in the hotel. Earlier he’d risked moving down a few floors, just to keep checking his surroundings. On the fifteenth floor, he’d heard two men talking; talking about his YouTube video, talking about their search — for him.

It had seemed like such a good idea to upload that video, to make sure people knew who he was so the government couldn’t just make him disappear. He felt so, so stupid now, but it had never crossed his mind that the video would make all the murderers in Chicago want to waste him.

Cooper had thought about running to a higher floor, but he’d waited too long and now he didn’t dare. They were on the eighteenth floor. He’d barely had enough time to implement his next bright idea: dragging a sloughing corpse into room 1812 and hiding beneath it. His brain didn’t seem to work right anymore. Too much stress, too much horror, he didn’t know. He was smarter than this. He knew he was. If only—

Noises, coming from the next room. He moved slowly, adjusted the weight of the body on top of him, pressed his ear against the wall. He could hear m.u.f.fled voices.

“Check under the bed,” one said.

“Stop telling me that,” said another. “There’s no s.p.a.ce under these beds.”

Cooper started to shake. He slowly shouldered the corpse a little higher, so he could reach down to his back. Quietly, so quietly, he drew Sofia’s pistol.

Ain’t gonna eat me, Sofia, not like I ate you, no f.u.c.king way, I got four bullets left …

THE PACKAGE

It seemed so odd that the hotel still had power. Clarence was grateful for working elevators, though — climbing seventeen flights of stairs would have done him in. He was the only one wearing CBRN gear, which made him feel oddly out of place among Klimas, Bosh, Ramierez and Roth.

Beep … they pa.s.sed the fifteenth floor.

“We’re almost there,” Klimas said. He reached to his chest webbing, pressed a black b.u.t.ton. “Radio check, do you read?”

The three SEALs — Bosh, little Ramierez and the big fella, Roth — all nodded. Clarence nodded as well.

Beep … they pa.s.sed the sixteenth floor.

“Bosh, cover the right,” Klimas said. “Ramierez, the left. Roth, out and left. I’ll go out and right.”

Bosh and Ramierez knelt by their a.s.signed corners, M4s pointed straight up. Noise suppressors attached to the barrels made the weapons look long and mean.

Clarence drew his Glock 19 from the thigh holster strapped to the outside of his suit.

“Where do you want me?”

Klimas raised an eyebrow. “You? I want you to stay out of our way and move when we tell you to move.”