The hammer snapped back twice, but the revolver didn’t fire.
Oh shit.
Cooper was a professional, had been counting his shots, four fired. But in the pressure of the moment, he’d forgotten that Ethan had already shot twice at him. The gun was empty.
For an endless fraction of a second, he and the other soldier stared at one another. Gazes locked like lovers. The man was bearded and stocky, with thinning hair and thick eyebrows. Cooper watched as the man realized that he should be dead, and watched the beginnings of a smile pull at his lips. The barrel of his rifle came up. Cooper told his body to move, to read the vector of his aim and dance away, but he was so tired, his body so sore and beaten, and even if he’d been in perfect health and well-rested he doubted it would matter, because it was one thing to know roughly where someone was going to shoot and another to dodge bullets. A blur of red marked the laser sight, and Cooper could almost feel the dot on his forehead, and for the second time in two days, he knew he was dead.
He thought about closing his eyes, decided he’d rather go with them open.
A fast cluster of gunshots blasted, the weapon on full auto. He marveled that he could hear them before he felt them.
Then the bearded man collapsed like a giant hand had squashed him.
Cooper stood with his mouth open. Not processing. Behind him, someone laughed. Slowly, he turned.
Shannon stood at the edge of the cabin, the stock of a submachine gun braced against her shoulder. She quirked her half smile. “Hi.”
Natalie wanted to scream.
The room was unlike anything she’d ever seen. The closest parallel she could think of was a planetarium, only bigger, and instead of stars, holographic images hung in space. Charts and graphs and rainbow-colored diagrams. Pictures replacing each other in a sequence that seemed nonsensicaclass="underline" a smiling blond child, a macro close-up of a flower petal, a bombed-out concrete structure in some gritty country. Live feeds from news drones throughout New Canaan showed the world outside, massing troops, people staring open-mouthed at fighter jets streaking above, a line of tanks rolling across the desert trailing clouds of dust. Information piled on information, all of it moving and changing, swapping in and out according to the whims of their strange ringmaster, Erik Epstein, the richest man on the planet dressed in a hoodie and sneakers.
The glowing light washed in pale colors across the pale skin of her only son, and Natalie wanted to scream.
Moving here from the clinic had been Erik’s idea, no sooner voiced than a team of efficient techs were rolling the bed through the private clinic, Natalie trailing behind.
“Are we hostages?” she’d asked, and he’d reacted like she’d bitten him.
“No. Safer. The clinic is good, good walls, good security, but this is my world. The safest place.”
From what Nick had told her, Epstein did nothing without calculation, and she wasn’t sure that she believed that was the only reason for their presence. As a lawyer, she knew that negotiations weren’t about what was said, but about the cards all parties held, played or not. If the war started, there might be some benefit to Epstein to have the ex-wife and children of an American diplomat close by.
In the center of the room, Epstein said, “Quads two to ten, nix. Replace. Video, Tesla drone composite,” and the data wavered and changed.
In her arms, Kate said, “We don’t have to be scared, Mommy.”
Natalie had grown to accept that her daughter, like her ex-husband, was forever going to be able to know her mind before she spoke. Often there was something sweet in it, like the two of them shared a private language. But there were other times when being a parent meant not letting your five-year-old know that you were terrified. Terrified that her father was out somewhere, in danger, that her brother might not wake up, that your world had already fallen apart and that the rest of the world seemed like it was about to follow suit. That you wanted to scream.
“I’m not scared, honey. I’m just tired.”
Epstein said, “Decode intercepted data packets from Ellsworth AFB to F-27s, Leopard Wing.”
Kate wrinkled her brow. “We’re safe here.”
“I know, baby.” Except that I can see troops on a dozen different screens. Jets blasting over this city, bombs on their wings. Armored tanks rolling this way.
And in the center of all of this destruction, my children.
“No,” Kate said. “Of the soldiers. We don’t need to be scared of them.”
Epstein said, “Natalie? Listen to this?” in a voice like he was asking her to the prom.
“What? Sure.” She shifted Kate to her other side.
Over hidden speakers came two voices in an argument:
“Ground, can you confirm this order?” A woman’s voice.
“Roger, proceed with Delta One.”
“What? No. Ground, this is an attack order.”
“Roger. Proceed.”
“Ground, I’m seeing civilians everywhere. Those buildings have not, repeat, not been evacuated.”
“Understood. Proceed with attack protocol Delta One.”
“There are thousands of people—”
Natalie said, “Is that—”
“Yes. The jets. Above. Your government has ordered them to destroy the complex we are in.”
“What? You said we were safe!”
“Mommy,” Kate said.
“One second, honey. Erik, you promised we were safe here.”
“Yes.” There was a note of something like sadness in his voice. “I wanted you to hear so you would understand.”
“Understand what? Erik, my God, surrender, do it now, maybe you can—”
“Computer,” Epstein said, “activate Proteus virus.”
“Yes, Erik. Spectrum?”
“All of them.” The words almost a sob. “Do it to all of them.”
Before Natalie could ask what that meant, the voices from the speakers were back.
“Ground! Ground! I have lost instruments! I repeat, I have lost HUD. Ground, my computer is shutting—” The woman’s voice cut off.
Motion in one of the screens caught Natalie’s eye. A camera mounted on top of a building was tracking the three jets blasting over the city.
All three were spinning out of control, tilting at angles that couldn’t possibly be intentional. As she watched, one of them did a lazy flip, spun too far, and crashed into another. They exploded in a rain of fire.
“See, Mommy?” Kate said. “I told you. You don’t need to be scared.”
Cooper stared at Shannon. “How?”
“Epstein. The phone he gave you has a tracker. I thought you might need a hand.” She smiled, and he felt something stir in his chest that had nothing to do with his wound. He thought about storming over, putting one hand behind her neck, and pulling her into a kiss that would mash them together. But.
“Soren is still out there.”
“Soren?” She jumped, spun a fast circle. “He’s here?”
“Yes. Come on.” Cooper turned and sprinted for the house.
He made it two steps before he fell down.
“Nick! Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” he said, and pushed up. “Come on.”
The door to the cabin was ajar, and he pulled it open, stepped in quickly. “Dr. Park?”
The television was on, scenes of troops in Wyoming. Ethan was picking glass out of arms streaked with red. There was a wail, and Cooper turned to see Amy Park holding a crying baby. A tiny thing; he’d forgotten how small they were at this age. The woman looked at him and asked, “Is it over?”