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Bloomingville, sir,” Murray said. “And no, it’s about seven hundred miles away. Glidden is near Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.”

“Is there a another construct?” Vanessa asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Murray said. “Dew Phillips is in Glidden, trying to find parasite hosts who could identify the construct’s location. He’s using Perry Dawsey to track down the hosts.”

“Dawsey?” Vanessa said.

“He’s under control,” Murray said.

“Under control,” Vanessa said coolly. “I did a little fact-finding. When infected, Dawsey killed his friend Bill Miller. He killed Kevin Mest, the person who gave him the Mather location, and then it seems you forgot to tell us he burned three little old ladies to death to get the South Bloomingville location.”

Murray blinked. How had she found out about that?

“That was self-defense,” Murray said.

Vanessa raised her eyebrows. “Three women in their eighties, Murray? Self-defense?”

The president’s eyes narrowed. “Murray, is this true?”

She’d saved this up and sprung it on him, right in front of the president.

“Yes, Mister President, but I’m not kidding about self-defense. Those ladies were infected. They tried to fire-bomb Dawsey with a Molotov cocktail. Apparently, he caught it and threw it back.”

“That’s five deaths,” Vanessa said. “Tell us, Murray, why are you still using him?”

“We don’t really have a choice, ma’am,” Murray said. “As I’ve explained, the only reason we’ve found any of the gates is because Dawsey can track these hosts.”

“I understand that,” Vanessa said, her voice dripping with contempt. “Your bloodhound picked up the scent. Now send in professional soldiers, not Phillips and his pet psycho.”

Donald cleared his throat. “Vanessa, Ogden’s men are already deployed. I don’t think Murray has a choice here.”

She shot Donald a glare that spoke volumes. “Ogden has four hundred eighty men in the DOMREC,” she said, using the military acronym for Domestic Reaction Battalion. “Four companies of a hundred twenty men each. Ogden is going in with X-Ray Company and he’s got Whiskey Company on reserve there, right?”

Donald nodded.

“That leaves Companies Yankee and Zulu on the ground at Fort Bragg,” Vanessa said. “So why the hell aren’t we using them instead of Dawsey and Phillips?”

“We need to be subtle,” Murray said. “Glidden is a town, not the deep woods. If we drop two companies on Main Street, USA, that might attract a little attention.”

“And a rampaging psychopath won’t?” she said.

“That’s enough,” Gutierrez said. “Murray, I’m sure you took steps to keep Dawsey in check, am I correct?”

“Yes, Mister President,” Murray said. “We have two seasoned agents following Dawsey at all times. Dawsey will locate the hosts, then these men will move in, take Dawsey down if necessary and secure the hosts.”

General Cooper knocked twice on the table. “This is all good and fine, but we have an attack to monitor here,” he said in a voice so gruff it almost sounded like a caricature of how a marine general should talk. “Not to speak out of turn, Mister President, but there’s information we need to share so you know what you’re seeing when the attack begins.”

Gutierrez nodded. “Thank you, General Cooper. Murray, before we focus on Ogden’s attack, I want to make something clear. We know that this is a crisis situation and Americans may get hurt, but we don’t need them getting hurt by the people who are supposed to be solving the problem. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Murray said. “I do.”

Murray did understand the need to control Dawsey—he just hoped Dew Phillips understood it as well. Vanessa Colburn wasn’t playing around. She clearly wanted Murray gone. And as much as he disliked that woman, she was right about one thing . . .

That kid was a fucking psycho.

YOU SHOULDN’T HIT YOUR KIDS

Dew Phillips ran a red light at the intersection of Grant and Broadway. He’d even put the port-a-bubble on top of his