A Better World (36 page)

“I still don’t understand. Why is that worse?”

“Because it means he’s
hiding
. Actively hiding.”

“So find him.”

He laughed. “I can barely move without seeing spots. My right hand is utterly useless. We’re ten minutes from a civil war, and the only guy who can stop it has a huge head start. My son is in a hospital bed.” Cooper slid down the wall and sat on the floor. “What do you want me to do?”

He knew how everything he’d just said sounded, and he didn’t care. The floor tile was comfortingly cool through his hospital gown. He’d been running so hard for so long, and all that he’d accomplished was to make things worse. Enough.

Natalie walked to the wall opposite him and sat down herself. Her hair was bundled back in a tight ponytail, and coupled with the dark circles under her eyes, it made her look drawn and pale. She said, “You think you’re the only one?”

“No. I know that you—”

“I’m the reason Todd is here. Me. It was my dumb idea, remember? I wanted us to be together, as a family. For the kids, and also”—she shrugged—“if I hadn’t had some romantic notion of all of us being together, of what it might mean for us, you and me, Todd would be back in DC right now. Instead, he’s in a coma. So don’t start with me, okay?”

“Natalie—”

“You don’t see it. You never did. In your head, it was always you against the world. You, personally, were going to be the man to save it.” She laughed coldly. “What would you even do if things did get better? Tell me, Nick, I’m curious. What would you do if suddenly the world didn’t need saving? Take up golf? Become a CPA?”

“Hey,” he said, “that’s not fair.”

“Fair?” She snorted. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved. And we were so good together, we were happy, we made beautiful children. But somewhere along the line it stopped working. Maybe it
was your job, maybe it was that you’re gifted and I’m not, maybe it was just that we fell in love too early, burned out on each other. Not fair, but, fine. Life happens, you move on. And we did, and that was okay too.

“And then it turns out that Kate is an abnorm, and not only that, but she’s tier one. They’re going to take her from us.

“Instead, you do this amazing thing. You go undercover and risk everything for her. Not fair. And the way it ended, not fair either.

“But life starts to go back to normal. Maybe better than normal. And part of me starts to wonder, were we too quick before? Should we have stuck it out? And because I’m wondering that, and because I want you to know that you’re not alone, we come here, and—” She sucked in a deep breath. “ ‘Fair.’ Fuck you.”

The words were a slap, and he jumped. “Natalie—”

“You’re hurting, I get it. And things look bleak, I get that too. But don’t talk to me like that. Did we make mistakes? Sure. No doubt. But we were fighting on the side of the angels. I know it, and you know it too. And now you’ve got a choice. You can sit on the floor outside your son’s hospital room and wait for the bombs to start falling. Or you can take one last shot, no matter how slim the odds are, to make a better world. It’s up to you, Nick, it really is. No one could blame you no matter what you decide. But either way, don’t talk to me about fair.”

As suddenly as she’d started, she stopped, and the silence felt like the aftermath of a thunderclap, the air electric. Cooper stared at her and felt a pain in his chest that had little to do with the knife wound. He tried to think of what to say, how to answer. Where to start.

Finally, he said, “Couzen is a genius. He knows he’ll be pursued. He won’t go anywhere people would look for him. Nothing he owns, no family or friends, no research facilities.”

Natalie gazed at him, that cool, level look that always matched her thoughts. “So how do you find someone if all you know is that he won’t go anywhere you expect?”

He stared down at his hands. One in ruined agony—

Time is against you. War will break out any moment.

Dr. Couzen may be the only person on the planet who can stop it. His research could change everything. Even in this desperate hour.

Only, he’s hiding, and the chances of you finding him are slim to none.

The data Epstein gave you said that though Couzen was a genius, he didn’t work alone. He had a team of the best and brightest.

Including a protégé.

Where are you, Ethan Park?

—the other still strong. He rose, then leaned over to offer his good arm to Natalie. She took it and stood opposite him. Their faces were close.

Cooper leaned in and kissed her, and she kissed back, both of them hungry. After far too short a moment, he broke it, leaned back. “You’ll tell the kids I love them?”

Natalie bit her lip. He could see the realities hitting her, the consequences of her speech, and see that even so, she didn’t regret it, and he loved her for that. She nodded. “Where are you going?”

“To convince Erik Epstein to loan me a jet. But first”—he smiled—“I’m getting out of this goddamn dress.”

CHAPTER 36

The sound of a low-flying plane pulled her from the deep black.

Shannon blinked, rolled over. The hotel bed had half a dozen pillows on it, and she’d used them all. Her cocoon was warm and soft, and her body felt heavy in that good way. She yawned, then glanced at the clock.

10:12 a.m. Good lord. She’d slept for . . . eighteen hours?

Being awake for two days straight will do that to you.

After Nick had left last night—well, the night before, she supposed, but not to her—she’d waited in the Tesla airport for Lee and Lisa to arrive. Molded chairs, bad music, her body aching and her eyes grainy, she’d sat vigil as her goddaughter slept. Shannon had stroked the girl’s hair and watched people walk by and waited out the gray hours.

It had been almost dawn when she saw two figures running down the concourse. She hadn’t seen Alice’s parents in months, not since the night she and Cooper had stayed at their Chinatown apartment. A night that had ruined their lives, had landed them both in prison and their daughter in Davis Academy and Shannon in the emotional purgatory she’d been dealing with ever since. The two of them had aged years in those months, deep circles etched beneath Lisa’s eyes, a stoop to Lee’s shoulders she’d never seen before.

But when they caught sight of their daughter, it was like the moment a campfire caught, a sudden flare of warmth and light. Shannon had shaken the little girl in her lap, said, “Sweetheart?”

Alice opened her eyes, and the first thing she’d seen had been her parents racing toward her. She’d leapt up and hurled herself at them, and the three had collided in a group hug, arms entwining, words flowing, love and loss and joy. They had all been crying, and Shannon, standing there feeling useless, had clenched and unclenched her fists.

Finally Lee Chen had turned to her. Shannon had dreaded this moment, the first look from her old friend; she had been devastatingly careless, and he had paid the price. She deserved every hurtful thing he was about to say to her.

“Thank you.” His face was wet, his nose red. “Mei-mei. Thank you.”

And at that she’d lost it too, had joined the hug, all four of them crying and laughing.

Shannon yawned and stretched, then flipped the covers aside. Padded to the bathroom, peed for half an hour, splashed some water on her face. Her cheeks had pillow lines.
No kidding, lazy girl,
her dad said in her head. She smiled.

One of her favorite things about hotels was bathrobes, and the one hanging beside the shower was a beaut, thick, soft terrycloth. Even better, there was a coffeemaker in the room. She put two packets of coffee into the machine, stood waiting while it gurgled and hissed, remembering the warmth of Alice’s head in her lap, the feel of the girl’s hair between her fingers.

She’d splurged on the suite, and the décor showed it. The room was a study in minimalism, the walls white, the furniture low profile. One wall was solar glass, the surface mellowing the harsh winter glare. Shannon took her coffee out to the balcony, shivering and tightening the belt of the robe. Wyoming in November, no thank you.
You need to find a revolution based out of San Diego
.

Still, cold as it was, it felt good, bracing, and the contrast made the coffee taste even better. Tesla spread out below her in all its blocky, preplanned glory. The mirrored walls of the Epstein Industries complex reflected cold desert sky. There was a growling
roar coming from somewhere, traffic probably. She wondered how Nick’s meeting with Erik had gone, whether the billionaire had admitted what his scientists had created. The thought of the serum still blew her mind, a feeling like the morning after she’d had sex for the first time, the way the whole world looked the same and yet different, and what was that roaring, because it sounded an awful lot like . . .

The sound was suddenly more than a sound, it was a presence all around her, full and huge, strong enough to lean against, growing fast and all-consuming, a blasting howling wail coming from not one or two but three fighter jets streaking overhead, a formation of predatory triangles flying low enough that she could make out missile clusters hanging beneath the wings.

What the hell?

Shannon gripped the balcony railing, watched the planes kite through the gray sky, the roar echoing and bouncing. She didn’t know much about military aircraft, couldn’t have said what make they were, but she had been a soldier her whole adult life and recognized a threat when she saw one.

She hurried back into the suite, leaving the door to the balcony half-open, a chill wind creeping in. The tri-d was sleek and stylish, more modern art than entertainment center, but all she cared about was finding the damn power button and the controls to jump the channels. The faded kitchen of a faded sitcom, the hyperkinetic animation of some kid’s show, a commercial for a personal injury attorney, and then, finally Fox News, the middle of a flashy graphics package. Bombastic music played in the background as three-dimensional letters tumbled in to spell A
MERICA ON THE
B
RINK
, then the letters exploded, replaced by a stylized map of Wyoming on fire behind the title S
HOWDOWN IN THE
D
ESERT
. A fast serving of patriotism bouillabaisse: flag, stars, White House, eagle’s screech, fighter jets.

The package cut to an aerial shot, moving slowly, a news drone. A military encampment of prefab buildings buzzing with
activity. Rows of tanks and trucks. An airfield packed with helicopter gunships. And thousands and thousands of soldiers.

The landscape was dusty brown and cold-looking, the sky the same color as the one out her window, and if it looked familiar it was only because she’d been through it half a hundred times: Gillette, the eastern gateway of the New Canaan Holdfast. Shannon gasped, not believing what she was seeing.

American troops occupying an American city.

The newscaster’s voice, saying, “Military forces continue to gather in Wyoming in what the government is describing as ‘antiterrorism exercises.’ There is no word on whether these exercises will involve entering New Canaan Holdfast land.”

The shot switched to a map of Wyoming, the gerrymandered blob of the NCH shaded a bloody red. There were only three routes into the Holdfast, massive highways flowing from Gillette, Shoshoni, and Rawlins. All three cities were marked with stars that looked rather like bullet holes.

“Army spokesmen confirm that a joint force of as many as seventy-five thousand troops are involved in these maneuvers.”

Cut to a shot of a runway somewhere, a military base, jets streaking away.

Cut to a line of tanks, huge metal monsters surrounded by soldiers loading ordnance.

Cut to a barricade across a freeway, Humvees angled to block it. Men leaned on heavy machine guns. A snarl of semis ran to the horizon.

“Access to the New Canaan Holdfast has been suspended, against the complaints of local government, who note that most basic necessities must be shipped in.”

Cut to a foppish man in a good suit and glasses, behind a podium. The crawl read H
OLDEN
A
RCHER
, W
HITE
H
OUSE
P
RESS
S
ECRETARY
, as the man said, “All efforts are being made to ensure a swift and peaceful solution to this situation. Meanwhile, let’s remember that three American cities are still without power and
food as the direct consequence of terrorist actions—terrorists we believe to be harbored by the NCH.”

On cue, the screen cut to a photograph. A handsome man with a good jaw standing beside a podium.

“Senior White House sources confirm that orders have been given for the arrest of activist and public speaker John Smith. Once considered a terrorist leader, Smith was exonerated of his crimes in dramatic fashion when evidence surfaced of former President Walker—”

From outside, the roar grew again, louder and louder. At first it sounded like a stereo turned to maximum; then thunder rolling overhead; then the howl of the crowd in a stadium. Finally the sliding sound of the jets blasting by. The hotel windows shook.

The newscaster continued, “While tensions have been running high since the initial attacks by the Children of Darwin, the Unrest Index currently stands at an unprecedented 9.2 . . .”

There was a knock on the door, and Shannon about jumped out of her robe. Coffee sploshed onto her hands. “Crap.” She muted the tri-d, yelled, “No housekeeping, thanks!”

“Shannon?”

She froze in the process of wiping her fingers on her robe. She knew that voice, though she wouldn’t have expected to hear it under these circumstances. Setting the coffee on the table, she walked to the door. A mirror over the side table bounced her reflection back, and she grimaced. There were lines on her cheek from the pillow, and, yikes, her hair. She ran a hand through it, accomplishing nothing at all. Then she took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and opened the door. “Hello, Natalie.”

Nick’s ex-wife looked pale and tired. “Hi.”

They stood like that for a moment, either side of the door, and then Shannon said, “Everything okay?”