A Better World

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.

Intelligence work was about collecting mountains of information. There were three components to success. The first was spotting which minor detail was the important one. The second was deciding what to do about it. The third was having the stomach to carry out those actions ruthlessly.

Mitchum was very successful indeed.

In the footage, Shannon Azzi patted the guard on the cheek, then pushed his chair toward the bank of monitors and walked out. The view jumped to the area outside the guard hut, heavy trucks rolling into sight.

“People who disparage the status quo have never experienced the opposite,” Mitchum said. “Maintaining order, keeping the system running, flawed as it may be, is a sacred duty. It’s not about words on a piece of paper. It’s about our children. America may not be perfect, but it’s closer than anywhere else, and preserving it for my children is my highest calling.”

Leahy had never heard Mitchum wax so poetic. The senator was doing the sycophantic thing, nodding sagely, but Leahy knew better. Terence Mitchum didn’t need to be loved, didn’t rationalize his actions. That speech was a message.

He flashed back to that moment, more than two decades ago, when he had sat outside Mitchum’s office, holding the study announcing the arrival of the gifted. His hands sweaty and his thoughts scattered. It had been a bold, even reckless maneuver, and it had made him. If he hadn’t caught Mitchum’s eye, Leahy would probably be a midlevel manager at some private military contractor instead of the secretary of defense.

Perhaps it’s time for another bold maneuver.

“One of the things I’ve always found concerning,” Leahy said slowly, “is that the New Canaan Holdfast is quite peaceful. There’s no greater refutation of the argument that abnorms are a threat than that happy little enclave. Normal and gifted coexist there. It’s a problem.”

Richard looked at him. “Son, you have a strange worldview.”

“I’m not your son, Senator. I’m the secretary of defense of the United States of America.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s a problem because it’s false. The NCH is about as self-sustaining as a two-week-old puppy. They are able to function as a city on a hill because of us. We shield them and support them. And meanwhile, abnorms work together there, with limitless funding and little regulation. They pile advantage on advantage, leapfrogging science and technology, and then doling it out at a pace that pleases them.”

On the projection floor, Shannon Azzi hoisted her gun into the air. Leahy said, “Freeze.”

He’d timed it perfectly, caught her just in the moment of exhorting her troops, weapon high, face wild, the stock pose of every third-world rebel commander. “That, Senator, is what the gifted represent. We are protecting an environment that harbors terrorists and drains our resources while creating advancements we cannot hope to match.” He turned to Mitchum. “Sir, if we don’t act, I believe that we are fostering our children’s future masters.”

Mitchum rubbed his chin. His eyes were unreadable.

Leahy thought of last night in the Oval Office. Thanksgiving, and the president sitting catatonic as he watched Cleveland burn. There had been a chance to save the country. To take the kind of strong action that could turn things around.

Nick Cooper’s misguided policy of appeasement had put an end to that. But Marla Keevers had raised a point that had been bouncing around Leahy’s brain ever since.

“Sir, I’m wondering if we haven’t been thinking too small.” He thought of adding more, then decided against it. Let them work it out themselves.

After a moment, Mitchum said, “Can it be done?”

“With Clay’s policies of compromise and discussion, there are certain to be more attacks. More destruction in American cities. More of”—he gestured—“her. Instead of trying for the MOI, what if we thought bigger?”

“My God, man,” Richard said. “Are you really talking about—”

“Senator,” Leahy said, “shut up.” He stared at the man, put the threat in his eyes.

Mitchum walked over to stand in front of Shannon Azzi. For a long moment he stared thoughtfully into her holographic eyes. Finally, he said, “Play for all the marbles?”

“This is our moment, sir.”

“Maybe.” Mitchum turned. “Of course, Clay is unlikely to launch an attack.”

“Yes, sir, he is.” Leahy slid his hands in his pockets. “That’s why he’ll just have to trust his advisors.”