by Marcus Sakey
“I don’t work for you.”
As if on cue, Clay coughed and stirred to life. He tore himself from the monitor. His eyes darted back and forth between them. “Nick—”
Cooper cut him off. “Sir, this is a bad idea, and I think you know it, and I think that’s why you recruited me in the first place. You knew that someone would be standing here telling you to start a civil war. And you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to say no.”
“Hey.” Keevers’s voice cracked like a whip. “Enough.”
“It’s all right.” Clay’s voice was weak. “Go ahead, Nick. Say what’s on your mind.”
“Sir, we all agree something has to be done. But not this. I’m not being idealistic, I’m being practical. We’ll lose. We’ll lose everything.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“We shift our focus. Instead of dealing with the terrorists, we deal with the gifted.” He’d been wrestling with the problem ever since he and Quinn left John Smith in the burnout. If he couldn’t just kill Smith—and he was starting to regret that he hadn’t—they needed a way to cut him off at the knees. To change the game so that it wasn’t Smith against the repressive government, but Smith against Americans. That meant bringing in another player. Someone with clout and influence and money. “We go to Erik Epstein.”
Marla Keevers scoffed. Leahy said, “Are you serious? The man doesn’t even exist. He’s just an actor. John Smith and the Children of Darwin might be pulling his strings. There is no Erik Epstein.”
“Yes,” Cooper said. “There is. I’ve met him.”
All of a sudden, the room was very quiet. Clay and Leahy and Keevers all stared.
Cooper said, “In the New Canaan Holdfast in Wyoming three months ago. Erik Epstein is very real, and very much in charge. He’s just private. The man you called an actor is actually his brother Jakob. The two of them faked Jakob’s death a decade ago so that he could become Erik’s public face.”
President Clay sat down on the edge of his desk. He rubbed at his chin. “Well, Nick. You are full of surprises.”
“He trusts me.” That was a lie of epic proportions; he’d betrayed Epstein. Cooper had agreed to kill John Smith, and instead he’d not only spared him, he’d unwittingly served Smith’s agenda. Because of Cooper’s decisions, the New Canaan Holdfast was in greater danger than ever before, and there was nothing in the world that Epstein cared about more than his little realm in the desert.
Still, not much mileage in them knowing the world’s richest man is pissed at you. “Let’s reach out to him. Ask him to join us in calming the nation.”
Leahy said, “What possible good would that—”
“It would reframe the discussion. In the 1960s, the government legitimized Dr. King’s movement by bringing him into the discussion. That put radicals like Malcolm X and Huey Newton on the outside. Suddenly it wasn’t blacks against whites, it was pacifism against violence. You were a history professor, sir. You know that this has to be the way.”
Clay stared at the Christmas tree, a Victorian mess of bows and baubles.
Marla Keevers said, “Something else it does.” She turned to the president. “It gives us a target.”
Cooper said, “What?”
“We don’t have any way to reach the Children of Darwin. But if we were to work with Epstein and the NCH, to offer them support on the condition that terrorism cease . . .” She shrugged. “It’s a win-win. Either they get the situation under control, or we have legitimate reason to strike the stronghold of abnorm power.”
“Wait, that’s not what I—”
Clay stood up. “All right. Nick, pack your bags. You’re going to New Canaan as our ambassador. Convince Epstein to join us, help stop these attacks, and return our cities to us.”
“Sir, I’m not a diplomat. I don’t know the first thing—”
“You know Erik Epstein. He trusts you.”
“I—yes, sir.” Cooper felt dizzy.
Clay moved around the other side of the desk. “Meanwhile, Owen, make the troop deployments. Bring nonessential military home, and reinforce all domestic bases. And just in case, prepare a plan for concerted military action against New Canaan Holdfast.”
“Sir, what about the Monitoring Oversight Initiative? We should still move that—”
“We’re going to try this way first.”
Leahy started to argue, caught himself, and swallowed the words with a visible effort. He shot a look of purest poison in Cooper’s direction. “Yes, sir.”
Clay turned to him. “It’s on you now, Nick. You had better succeed.”
The president was too gentle a man to add the unspoken next sentence, but in Cooper’s head, Drew Peters’s voice finished it for him.
Because if you don’t, the world will burn.
CHAPTER 18
“So now you’re supposed to save the day?”
Natalie had an unsarcastic way of saying things that made the bald fact of the statement itself seem ridiculous. Usually Cooper enjoyed it, but after standing in the Oval Office watching a city burn while the president sat idle, it irked.
“It’s not like that. It’s not me against everybody. I’m just . . .”
“Putting on a cape and flying in?” She stacked dirty plates, piling silverware atop. The smell of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce made his empty stomach tighten.
“Trying to do what you said. I’m trying to fix it.”
She turned and walked for the kitchen, and he followed. “Oh, Nick,” she said over her shoulder. “No pressure, huh?”
“Look, I’m not asking you for anything. I’ll handle it by myself.”
“You’re kind of proving my point, hon.”
“Natalie . . .”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll come by in the morning to say good-bye to the kids. I figured I would—”
Natalie set down the plates with a thump. “Tomorrow.”
“Yes. I figured I’d make pancakes—where are you going?”
She didn’t answer, just left the kitchen, went through the dining room, and opened the hall closet. Stretching, she pulled down a suitcase.
“Natalie?”
She ignored him, just slung the suitcase and climbed the stairs. At a loss, he followed.
The bedroom had once been theirs, a place they’d read books and made love and talked about the kids. But since the divorce, he’d been in it only once, to help her move a dresser. She’d shuffled and redealt the space, putting the bed under the windows and repainting. His ex-wife had the suitcase open on the bed and was piling clothes beside it.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“Look, that’s sweet, but I’m going alone.”
“Like hell you are.” She spoke mildly, but as a woman who rarely swore, her word choice had power.
“Natalie—”
“Nick, be quiet.” She turned to look at him. He could see her wanting to cross her arms, see her making the choice not to. “Tonight was Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Hey, look, I’m sorry I missed it, but it’s not like I was drinking at a bar. My job—”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not mad. In fact, I’m proud of you. I’m just saying, tonight was Thanksgiving, and you couldn’t be here. That’s one less Thanksgiving Todd and Kate will have with you.”
He hadn’t thought about it in those terms. Cooper leaned against the wall.
“The last time you went away you were gone for six months,” Natalie continued. “I know it was for the best possible reason, but the kids are just now getting used to having you back in their lives. They deserve not to have their dad vanish again. And you deserve to get to be a father.”
“You know I want that.”
“I do,” she said. “That’s why we’re coming with you. This is something we can do. You’re not going undercover to kill someone. You’re the ambassador for the president of the United States. That means that there wi
ll be protection. It will be as safe as anywhere else is right now. Plus, it will be good for the kids. Kate will get to be in a place where she doesn’t feel different than everyone else. And Todd will experience the other side of things, to see that the world is bigger than the schoolyard. We’re coming with you.”
Cooper knew his ex-wife. She was kind and smart and gentle, and her words were more aligned with her intent than most anyone he’d ever met.
She was also as moveable as the Rock of Gibraltar when she set her mind to something. No argument, no stormy sentiment, no tidal pull could shake her. Short of cold-cocking her, there was no way to make her stay.
“People ask too much of you. Your father, the army, Drew Peters, now the president. Even me. You don’t always have to be the lone wolf. It will be good for the kids to see their dad trying to save the world. It will be good for us as a family.”
There was a slight emphasis on the last word, a tiny inflection that most people might have missed. One with a world of possibility behind it. He remembered sitting inside the fort they’d built in the living room when Natalie had kissed him. That hadn’t been a friendly peck. It had been . . . well, maybe not a declaration of intent, but certainly a statement of possibility.
When it had been good, their marriage had been very good. And he’d always been proud that when it stopped working, they had both recognized it. Had been able to acknowledge that though they loved each other, they were no longer right together, and they’d been able to part without rancor. He loved her, always would. But there was love and there was being in love.
Has something changed for her?
It was odd to think that the things he had done in the last year might actually have drawn her closer to him. They had been apart most of that time, and there had been the horrifying night that Drew Peters had kidnapped her and the kids. On paper, it should have pushed her away.
But in reality, all of the things he’d done had been to protect his children. Plus, he had made the choices she would have wanted him to make, right down to revealing the truth, despite the cost of that action.
Cooper had a theory about personality. Most people considered personality to be a singular identity. Malleable, sure, but essentially cohesive. But he tended to see people as more of a chorus. Every stage in life added a voice to that chorus. The different iterations of himself—lonely military brat, cocky teenager, faithful soldier, young husband, dedicated father, relentless hunter—they all existed within him. When he saw a ten-year-old girl, there was a ten-year-old boy inside him that thought she was pretty. Just one voice in a chorus of dozens, which was what marked the difference between healthy people and broken ones; in the broken ones, the inappropriate voices held an inappropriate number of spaces.
And the man who had been in love with Natalie had added a lot of voices to his personality. In moments like this one, that segment of the choir sang loudly.
He realized that he was staring into her eyes, and that she was staring back. He thought of that night in the space station, the way her lips had felt against his, the wine-sweet taste of her tongue—
THUD, THUD, THUD.
They both jerked upright. “Are you expecting—”
“No.”
He stood, moved swiftly down the hall. Another THUD, THUD, THUD at the front door. His sidearm was in a lockbox in the car, too bad. He moved down the stairs lightly, heard Natalie following him. What was this? Someone from the White House? Something worse?
“Cooper! I know you’re in there.” The voice was muffled, but perfectly recognizable.
Yep. Something worse.
He unlocked the door, opened it. Shannon stormed in, poking her finger into his chest. She wore a leather jacket and an angry aura, the muscles in her neck bunched. “You’re a colossal prick, you know that?”
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I spoke to John, that’s what’s wrong, you fascist—” She stopped, her glance going over his shoulder, to the dining room table, the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner spread out across it. Her posture tightened. “Shit.”
“Shannon,” Natalie said, her voice level. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m—I’m sorry, I forgot it’s Thanksgiving. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re always welcome here. Come in.”
“I don’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. Really.” Natalie turned to him. “Why don’t you guys talk in the living room? I’ll give you some privacy. I’ve got a lot to do if we’re leaving tomorrow.” Her smile was as perfect and chilly as if it were carved from marble. She turned and went back up the stairs.
“Shit,” Shannon repeated.
“Come on.” He let go of the door, walked into the other room. “You want some turkey?”
“No. I don’t know what I was thinking, banging like that.” She shook her head. “I totally forgot it was Thanksgiving.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “So did I.” Funny how the life they lived made it easy to forget the things that defined everyone else’s. It was one of the reasons he and Shannon had the connection they had. They both lived apart.
She followed him into the living room. “Where are they going?”
“What?”
“Natalie said she had a lot to do if they were leaving.”
Actually, she said “we,” which was a little stiletto on the way out. The brutality with which women waged war always surprised him. “I’m going to New Canaan tomorrow to talk to Erik Epstein. Natalie and the kids are coming with me.”
Shannon said, “Oh.”
“So.” He flopped down in an armchair. “You were calling me a fascist?”
Her eyes flashed, and whatever social awkwardness she’d been feeling fell away. “You kidnapped him? Put a gun to his head? Beat him up?”
He met her eyes. “Yup.”
“That’s it? ‘A-yup?’ ” she said in her best hick voice. “That’s all you have to say, honey?”
“No, dear. You want to hear something funny? Yesterday I sat in a meeting about a massive security breach. A terrorist snuck into the DAR and stole a huge amount of data. Most of it about genetic research centers and bio-labs, the kind of privately funded, quasi-legal places that develop chemical weapons and customized viruses.” He leaned forward. “And there I am, thinking, ‘Huh—the terrorist on the security cameras looks just like my girlfriend.’ ”
“Oh Jesus, Nick, I wasn’t after bioweapons.”
“What were you after?”
“A magic potion.”
He shook his head. “Cute.”
“I was working. You know the kind of work I do.”
“For terrorists.”
“For my cause.”
“Goddammit, you can’t put me in that position!”
She regarded him coldly. “Just because we’ve had sex a couple of times doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”
“And it doesn’t mean I can’t bring you into the DAR in handcuffs.”
“That’s great. So when you need my help, it’s all love and trust. And the moment you don’t anymore, you’re ready to arrest me?” She crossed her arms. “I saved your children’s lives, Cooper. Don’t you ever forget it.”
He started to retort, caught himself. Took a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry about that last bit.”
“I knew us dating was a bad idea. But I told myself that even though we were on opposite sides, I could trust you to do the right thing.” She shook her head. “But you’re still a storm trooper at heart, aren’t you?”
“No.” He felt silly sitting in the chair and wanted to stand up, but thought it would look even sillier. “No, I’m just a guy trying to stop a war.”
“Nick Cooper, one-man army. Judge and jury.”
“Said the woman who stole government secrets. Tell me, Shannon, what are you blowing up today? How many innocents are going to die in your next adventure?”
She stared at him, a storm raging inside her. He could see the
fire and fury of it, the lightning flashes and howling winds. “I’m going to West Virginia. I’m going to do the best thing I’ve ever done. And you know the funny part? If you’d asked me about it this morning, I would have told you everything.”
“What’s in West Virginia?”
“Watch the news.” She spun on her heel and stalked out. “And fuck off.”
Before he could respond, he heard the door open and then slam shut.
Shit. He hadn’t meant for things to get that far; angry as he was about what she’d done, she had the same reasons to be angry at him. They had both been keeping secrets, and he’d expected a fight about it. Just not right now, not here. He rubbed at his eyes. Shit, shit, shit.
After a moment, he heard Natalie enter the room. She leaned against the wall, a dish towel in her hands and the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Oh, Nick.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “You haven’t lost your touch with women, have you?”
EDUCATING THE GIFTED CHILD:
A TEACHER’S MANUAL FOR ACADEMY INSTRUCTORS
Section 9.3: On Pity
Being an instructor at a tier one academy is a privilege for which few are qualified. It requires not only the most advanced educational training, but also a sense of mission rooted in unshakable personal discipline.
Humans are conditioned to love children. It is difficult to see a child suffering, whether the harm is physical, emotional, or psychological. That is natural and right.
However, a child who has been burned in the past will not reach for a flame. A minor injury prevents major ones.
In other words, pain is a teaching tool.
Pity undercuts that education. Short-sighted and destructive, pity trades a brief benefit for long-term damage. When we see a child reaching for a flame, pity tells us to stop him. To protect him.
Instead, we must stoke the fire. We must encourage the child to burn himself. If need be, we must manipulate him into doing so.
How else will he learn that fire is not for him?
For the good of the academy, for the good of the world, and for the good of the children themselves, it is your duty to purge yourself of pity.