Standing at the men’s room sink, Leahy stiffened, his stomach filling with acid. He’d been using the toilet when the tri-d on the wall switched suddenly to video of Nick Cooper. He’d hurriedly wiped and flushed and now stood rooted.
“Both of these men,” Cooper continued, “would tell you that they are fighting for their country. They may even believe it. But what they really want is war. The only weapon we have against fanatics is the truth, so here it is.”
It’s impossible, Leahy thought. An abnorm trick. Cooper is dead. He was assassinated weeks ago.
“Several months ago, a team of researchers discovered the biological source of brilliance. Not only that, but they figured out how to replicate it.
“That’s been a goal for thirty years. It could change humanity’s future forever. It’s a triumph that belongs to all of us, that should have been screamed to the heavens.
“Instead, it was concealed. The scientists were chased by the government and terrorists alike. The work ended up in John Smith’s hands. The greatest discovery in human history, and he immediately weaponized it. He used it to develop a virus that would have cost hundreds of millions of lives if he’d been able to release it.
“That’s the truth. But there’s more. Today, as an army of killers swept toward his city, Erik Epstein tried to beg the president for mercy. He couldn’t get through.”
The image cut away from Cooper, replaced by a split screen. On one side sat Erik and Jakob Epstein. On the other, Leahy found himself staring at himself. The call from earlier. No. Oh, no . . .
Erik: We surrender. Unconditionally. Leahy: It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? You’ve already murdered seventy-five thousand soldiers. Destroyed the White House. Killed our president. Erik: Self-defense. Orders were given to attack, to bomb our city— Leahy: I know. I gave them.
The video froze on him, an unflattering pause, a cold smile on his face.
Then Cooper was back. “That’s the truth too. These people use our lives as poker chips. They did it in the Monocle. In the bombing of the stock exchange. Right now, a mob is burning a city of innocents. And all for lies.
“Both normals and gifted are staring into the abyss. But there is still time, barely, to make a choice. We can find a way to move forward together.” He paused. “Or we can keep fighting. All of you watching can sit quietly while Tesla is destroyed, while thousands of brilliants are massacred with their families. But make no mistake, that won’t be a victory. Someone will survive, and they will strike back harder. Blood will lead to blood. In the end, we’ll annihilate each other.”
Cooper stopped talking, and the video held on his face for a moment, blue flames burning behind him, the faint firecracker pop of gunfire. Finally, he said, “We are better than this. We have to be.”
A moment later the video disappeared, and the screen returned to a newsfeed, the anchors confusedly blinking at one another.
Leahy stared. His hands shook. They looked so old. Part of him wanted to run, but where would he go? There was no window to crawl out of, no getaway car waiting to whisk him to safety.
You’ll have to bluff it through. You can do that. You’ve done it before.
He took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.
Camp David’s largest conference room had been converted to serve as the Situation Room. Ranged around the table sat the chief advisors, the surviving cabinet, the commanders of the armed forces. Twenty pairs of eyes stared at him. On a dozen screens, the battle for Tesla raged.
President Ramirez rose from the head of the table. She pressed a button on the intercom. “Could we get some agents in here please?”
“Madam President, I can explain—”
The door to the conference room banged open and four men in dark suits rushed in, eyes sweeping for threats, their coats open and hands inside.
Ramirez said, “Detain Secretary Leahy for treason.”
The Secret Service agents glanced at one another, then drew their sidearms and moved toward him. Leahy said, “Madam President, this is foolish—”
“If he resists,” Ramirez said, “shoot him.”
Then she turned to the people around the table. “Get me Epstein.”
CHAPTER 46
“We are better than this.” Cooper’s face was ten feet high. “We have to be.”
The video cut back to the anchor, a warm-eyed woman in severe glasses. “In the three days since former DAR agent Nicholas Cooper made an impassioned plea to the American public, round-the-clock negotiations between the United States and the New Canaan Holdfast have been ongoing, with sources close to the president saying they are confident that this marks, quote, a new era of communication and friendship, end quote. While no agreement has been formalized, the expected provisions will include sharing the technical details of the so-called Couzen-Park Therapy, the process by which abnorm gifts can be replicated in—”
Erik Epstein changed the channel with a gesture.
“—arrival of the prisoner transport carrying retired two-star General Samuel Miller. Miller, who incited and led the militia group known as the New Sons of Liberty, will be tried as a war criminal. His arrest is controversial, as is the general amnesty granted to all members of the militia who lay down their arms—”
Another gesture, another channel.
“—forty-five minutes later there were jet fighters over Tesla. The whole nation had been told that military intervention was impossible. The official story is that Secretary of Defense Owen Leahy exaggerated the effects of the military retrograde in order to allow the New Sons of Liberty to attack the Holdfast. But how far beyond him did the conspiracy go? How do we know that President Ramirez herself was not part of that decision, and only forced to act because of the pirate broadcast?”
Gesture.
“—I agree that Mr. Cooper’s speech was moving. But what people seem to be ignoring is that abnorms hijacked every device in America. It wasn’t just a massive privacy violation, it was a criminal act employing the same methodology as the computer virus that murdered seventy-five thousand soldiers and destroyed the White House.”
“Yes, but isn’t that the point? Their technological superiority has to be taken into consideration. If NSOL hadn’t been stopped, the Holdfast could have used that same technology aggressively—”
Gesture.
“—media is painting Nick Cooper like he’s some kind of hero. The man is an assassin. He killed people for the DAR. He openly admits to murdering activist and author John Smith. But because he claims Smith was a terrorist, we’re supposed to cheer—”
Cooper said, “I’m getting tired of myself. Mind switching me off?”
Erik smiled and muted the stream, then turned, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. Behind and above and around him, video kept playing in a dozen quadrants. Footage of helicopters buzzing the Tesla streets. Thousands of protesters packed around the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, waving placards. Owen Leahy in handcuffs. Ethan Park wearing a sharp suit and talking with his hands as diagrams of DNA helixes spun. Workers picking through the rubble of the DAR offices. The brothers Epstein lit in strobes of flashbulbs, Jakob suave as ever, Erik looking like he’d been balled up and slept in. And always, everywhere, the video of Cooper beat to shit, pleading to the camera as blue flames burned behind him.
That night, after Shannon turned off the d-pad, they had just stared at each other. Bone-weary, wrung dry, and out of moves. It had been a terrible feeling. Half a mile away, the battle had continued, the gunfire raging. Natalie was out there somewhere, his children were still in danger, and there was literally nothing more he could do. Nothing but wait and hope.