He’d been sipping the coffee, and the laughter made him choke and sputter. The waiter arrived and set their orders down, a hamburger for her, a BLT for him, the bacon brown and crisp. He snapped an end off, crunched it happily. In the background, some young pop group sang young pop songs, all heartbreak and wonder you could dance to.
Cooper took a bite of his sandwich and wiped his mouth. Leaned back in the booth, feeling strangely good. His life had always had a surreal quality to it, but that had only grown stronger in the last months, and even more so in the last days. Not two hours ago he’d been in the glowing heart of a temple of sorts, watching the world’s richest man swim currents of data.
The thought brought him back to the briefcase on the floor. He slipped his foot sideways, touched it again. Still there.
Shannon had cut her burger in half and then into quarters, but instead of eating one of them she was picking at her fries.
“What’s on your mind?”
She smiled. “I know that bugged your wife, but I think she was looking at it the wrong way.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure. Instead of having to sit here for five minutes trying to think of a way to broach the subject, I can just look distracted until you ask me about it.”
He smiled. “So you gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”
“You,” she said. She leaned back, put one arm across the back of the booth, and hit him with a level gaze.
“Ah. My favorite subject.”
“We’re done, right? We’re square?”
“Square? Are we in a gangster film?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re square.”
“So we don’t owe each other anything anymore.”
“What are you really asking, Shannon?”
She looked away, not so much to dodge his eyes, he could tell, as to stare into some middle distance. “It’s weird, don’t you think? Our lives. There aren’t that many tier-one gifted, and of those, there are fewer who can do the kinds of things we can do.”
He took a noncommittal bite, let her talk.
“And, I don’t know, I guess I’ve just found it nice to be able to know someone like you. Someone who gets what I do, who can do things I get.”
“Not just gifts,” he said.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He smiled, chewed, swallowed. “It’s not just the gifts. It’s our lives, too. Not many people get the way we live.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, this is sudden, but I accept.”
“What?”
“Oh,” he said, faking dejection. “I thought you were asking to marry me.”
She laughed. “What the hell. Why not. Vegas isn’t far.”
“No, but it’s pretty dull these days.” He set down his sandwich. “Jokes aside, I know what you mean. It’s been good, Azzi.”
“Yeah,” she said.
Their eyes met. A moment before, her eyes had just been her eyes, but now there was more. A weird sort of recognition. A yielding in both of them, an acknowledgement, and, yeah, a hunger, too. They held the look for a long time, long enough that when she finally broke it with a throaty chuckle, it felt like something he’d been leaning against had vanished.
“So what does Epstein want you to do for him?”
He shrugged, the game back on, took a bite of the BLT.
“Right,” she said. “Well, not for nothing, but I hope it’s something you can live with, and if it is, I hope you do it. And then I hope you take advantage of the chance you’ve got here.”
“Here being…”
“New Canaan. I know there’s more on your mind, Nick. Things you’re not telling me. But this place, it really can be a fresh start. You can be whatever you want to be here. And be welcome.”
He smiled—
Does she know?
No. Suspects, maybe. Fear.
And she called you Nick.
—and said, “Well, that’s the plan.”
Shannon nodded. “Good.” She pushed her plate forward. “You know what? I’m not hungry after all.” She wiped her hands on her napkin, tossed it on the plate, and kept her eyes off his. “Tell you what. Once you’ve given Epstein his pound of flesh, if you do start up a new life, maybe you and I can continue this conversation.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“It’s just—” He shrugged. “I don’t have your phone number.”
She smiled. “Tell you what. Maybe I’ll just appear. I know you get a kick out of me doing that.”
“Yes,” he said. “I really do.”
She slid out of the booth, and he joined her. For a moment they faced each other, and then he put up his arms and she slid into them. A hug, nothing sexual, but there were hugs and hugs, and this was the latter, their bodies close, testing the fit, and the fit was good. When she let him go, he felt the absence like a presence.
“So long, Cooper. Be good.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You too.”
She walked out with a sway he could tell was calculated, but no less powerful for that. Didn’t look over her shoulder. He watched her go and felt a tug in his chest, a yearning. She really was something. It was like meeting someone exceptional while you were married; the yank of possibility, the realization that here was another path your life could have taken.
Only, you’re not married. You could be with her. It’s just that she’ll hate you.
He sat back down, feeling heavy. Finished his BLT. When the waiter came round, he thanked him and asked for a refill of coffee. No, nothing wrong with the burger, turned out his friend hadn’t been hungry after all. Just the check, when you get a second.
After the guy filled his coffee and set the bill on the table, Cooper reached for the briefcase. The calfskin was so soft it seemed to hum beneath his fingers. He set the case on the table and took a casual glance about. No one watching. Popped the latches, raised the lid a few inches.
Onion-skin papers, an envelope, a set of car keys. He opened the envelope, discovered it was an itinerary. Someone was arriving at a particular address the day after tomorrow. He had a good guess who that someone was.
The car keys had a tag with an address on it.
The onion-skin was schematics for a building.
And underneath them, nestled in foam eggshells, was a .45 Beretta. The same weapon he’d preferred.
Back when he’d been a DAR agent.
The address on the car keys turned out to be a parking lot on the outskirts of Tesla, a ten-dollar cab ride. When he arrived, he repeatedly thumbed the unlock button on the remote and followed the honk to a truck, not one of the electric cars but an honest-to-God gas-guzzler, a spotless four-by-four Bronco with heavy tires and power to spare. Cooper climbed in, adjusted the mirrors, opened the briefcase, and started reading.
Like everything Epstein did, the information was clear and well calculated. It had all Cooper needed but nothing that gave it away. If someone had looked in the briefcase, they might have guessed he was a secret agent, but they’d have no idea that they were looking at plans for the assassination of the nation’s most dangerous terrorist.
There was a map recommending a route from this parking lot to an address in Leibniz, a town on the west side of the Holdfast. A three-hour drive that seemed to take him out of the way; a closer look at the map showed that it skirted a research facility that no doubt raised the security standard. The itinerary indicated someone arriving in Leibniz tonight and staying in a house nestled up against the Shoshone National Forest. Photos showed a pleasant cabin atop a mountain ridge. A second-story balcony and lots of glass would offer stunning views of pine forests sweeping to cottonwoods at the base. Four tall fingers of rock jutted improbably up a mile down the ridge. No nearby neighbors. Schematics showed that the cabin possessed a few security upgrades—cameras front and back, bulletproof glass, steel-frame doors on the ground level—but nothing startling.