But what does it mean to you, Nick? Is it exciting? Or terrifying?
Because your answer determines so much.
Picking her words carefully, she said, “If that were true, what would you do about it?”
“The opportunity for anyone to be gifted? It would be a hundred thousand years of evolution in a blink. The status quo would vanish. All our systems, our beliefs.” He shook his head. “The government would want to keep it quiet, control it.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But I asked what you would do.”
“What you’re really asking,” he said, “is whether I would do the same thing I did last time. Because when I shared the truth behind the Monocle, behind President Walker and Drew Peters and Equitable Services, it had massive consequences. I was trying to do the right thing, and in the process I pushed the world closer to disaster. And you want to know if I would do the same thing again.”
She waited.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Without hesitation. This can’t be a decision made behind closed doors, by people who have agendas. This belongs to all of us.”
A glow started in her chest and spread out through her body, a tingle of warmth that the cold Wyoming night couldn’t touch. She stepped forward, put a hand on his cheek. Looked him in the eyes. “Good answer.”
He sagged, not as though weight had landed on his shoulders, but rather like something rigid within him had fallen away. Like he could breathe for the first time in a long while. “It’s true, then? It exists?”
“Yes.”
“My God.”
“Yes.”
“This changes everything.”
“Yeah,” she said. Then smiled at him. “Don’t think it means I’m done being pissed at you yet, though.”
Nick laughed. “Never dreamed of it.”
We are plugged in all the time now. As we work, as we drive, even as we read a book or watch the tri-d. Our lives are partially virtual, lived in the digital space.
It’s the great equalizer: black or white, male or female, norm or abnorm, the first thing most people do in the morning—before they even brush their teeth—is reach for their d-pad.
You want to change the world? Forget politics. Learn to code.
CHAPTER 27
The woman in the projection field was slender, and the tactical blacks made her seem even smaller. But she carried herself with the grace of a ballet dancer, each gesture assured as she slipped past a guard, the man’s eyes elsewhere, his weapon coming up. There was a muffled bang, and a hole appeared in the center of his head. He had barely crumpled before a second commando stormed in. She forced the other guard to his knees and dug the barrel of a submachine gun into his neck.
Leahy said, “Pause.”
The two women froze, their expressions locked in the in-between of an awkward photograph.
“That’s Shannon Azzi,” Leahy continued. “Her friend is Kathy Baskoff. They’re both abnorms, known terrorists with strong connections to John Smith.”
Senator Richard Lathrup stepped into the display field, his body casting shadows as he blocked the projectors. “This one doesn’t look like a soldier.”
“Shannon’s not, usually. A spy and an assassin. She’s the one who broke into DAR headquarters last week.”
The senator whistled. “And now Davis Academy. Busy girl.” He turned. “Taking out the guards I can understand. But how did they disable the security protocols?”
“Part of what she lifted from the DAR was the academy IT package. They used it to put the alarms in a loop and black out the facility.”
Mitchum said, “Another failure.”
“Yes, sir,” Leahy said. “Worse, while ordinarily we could have kept this quiet, the terrorists released the footage to the media. Our presumption is that the public impact was the real purpose; freeing a few children has no tactical value.”
“This plays into our hands, doesn’t it?” The senator gestured at the frozen footage. “Attacking a government facility, killing teachers and administrators, blowing up buildings. It’s a clear indicator that the gifted can’t be trusted and a perfect reason for the president to move up the timetable on the Monitoring Oversight Initiative.”
Leahy shook his head. “When Cleveland rioted, I pushed Clay to do just that. He refused.”
“That’s not all he did,” Mitchum said, “is it?”
“No, sir.” Leahy took a breath. “Clay wants to deal with the gifted directly. He hopes to broker a deal with Erik Epstein, a full partnership between the NCH and the United States to end terrorism, starting with the Children of Darwin.”
“That’s correct. And as an envoy, he sent Nick Cooper, the DAR agent who killed Drew Peters and released the evidence against President Walker. Evidence that could lead back to our involvement.” Mitchum paused. “Would you say the situation is under control, Owen?”
Leahy forced himself not to wince. You knew he was going to make you eat that. “Clay has turned out to be weaker than I thought.”
“A dangerous miscalculation. And now we have an abnorm of uncertain loyalties negotiating with Erik Epstein.”
“Yes, sir.” He gritted his teeth, said, “I admit, the situation is out of my control.”
The senator said, “Is it such a bad thing that Clay is talking to Epstein? Cleveland, Tulsa, and Fresno are under siege. Maybe Epstein can end this.”
Good Christ, man. Are you even clear on what we’re trying to do here? The senator was a useful ally, no question. While the Monitoring Oversight Initiative had been Leahy’s idea, it was Richard who had proposed it in the Senate and served as the public face. But at the end of the day, he was a politician, not an intelligence agent. Leahy said, “I’m concerned about how far Clay will go to be liked.”
“You should be,” Mitchum said. “Yesterday our president authorized Nick Cooper to offer the New Canaan Holdfast the opportunity to leave our fair nation.”
Leahy’s mouth fell open. “Secession?”
“Indeed.”
“My God. How do you know?”
Mitchum didn’t respond, and Leahy cursed himself. A boneheaded move, admitting surprise. Secrets were power. Worth noting, though, that even the president can’t keep secrets from Mitchum. He said, “Clay is losing it. That will never work.”
“My concern is what happens if it does.”
The senator looked puzzled. “Why? Surely ending terrorism, not to mention the siege of three American cities, is worth some scrub land in Wyoming.”
Leahy was about to respond, but to his surprise, Mitchum wheeled on the man, all the careful meter gone from his voice. “ ‘Scrub land in Wyoming’? Senator, we are talking about sovereign territory of the United States. Our job is to protect our country, not give it away.”
“Yes, but—”
“Dreaming of a better world is for poets. Men in our position can’t afford to think that way. Surely you wouldn’t want your constituents, not to mention your caucus, to know that you’re willing to parcel out America as party favors.”
The senator paled. “No, sir. Of course not.”
Leahy almost smiled. Nice of Richard to step up to the whipping post, take some of the heat off you. But don’t get complacent. “I think we have to acknowledge that the Monitoring Oversight Initiative is dead. Events have spiraled past that point.”
Mitchum said, “Resume, full mute.”
The two terrorist women slid back into motion. Shannon Azzi pulled out a roll of duct tape and began to bind the guard with it. Leahy had seen the footage more than once, and so he turned his attention to Mitchum. For twenty-five years he had worked for Mitchum in one capacity or another, sometimes directly, sometimes simply because he owed his position to the man. He knew how Mitchum’s mind worked, and admired it.