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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 s.h.i.+rt 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 leaders.h.i.+p 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 finis.h.i.+ng 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?