A Better World

CHAPTER 30

He’d never wanted this job. Hadn’t, in truth, wanted the vice presidency either. The Senate had been the limit of Lionel Clay’s political ambition: a place where he could craft the laws and dialogue of the nation, where a strong argument and a persuasive voice could still change the world the same way Cicero had in Rome.

The first time the RNC had come to him to feel him out on the idea of running as Walker’s vice president, Clay had said thanks, no. Henry Walker wasn’t his taste, and that was more limelight than he needed. But they’d kept coming, with charts and stats, with arguments about the social importance and need for an academic perspective and, finally, with the honest truth, which was that he won Walker the South, and that was the ball game.

Even as he’d agreed, he’d known that accepting the position was a mistake. And now, walking into the Situation Room, he was more certain of that than ever. Everyone stood as he entered, and he waved them down. “What happened?”

Leahy coughed. “Sir, about twenty minutes ago, at 9:43 local time, Nick Cooper was assassinated in Tesla, New Canaan.”

Clay had been about to sit down, and the words froze him. He took a deep breath, then lowered himself to the chair. “He’s dead?”

“Yes, sir. An abnorm named Soren Johansen entered a restaurant where Mr. Cooper was having breakfast with his family, killed two plainclothes bodyguards, and then stabbed Cooper in the chest. The blade punctured the left ventricle of his heart. He was rushed to Guardian General but pronounced dead on arrival.”

“His family?”

“His son Todd was wounded in the attack. He’s in critical condition.”

“And this assassin, Soren Johansen?”

“We’re still getting a clear picture. But it appears that he escaped.”

“My God.” Clay leaned back. “How did this happen?”

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Yuval Raz, exchanged glances with Jen Forbus, the director of the DAR. Mentally, Clay sighed. So much of politics was a matter of everyone covering their collective asses. After a moment, General Raz said, “Our information at this moment is very preliminary.”

“Understood.”

“We haven’t intercepted any evidence of a conspiracy. However, Johansen walked past a team of Epstein Industries diplomatic security. He killed the two inside the restaurant, but . . .”

“Epstein is complicit in the attack?”

“His team at least failed to prevent it.”

“That may be because of the nature of our assassin,” Forbus added. “Soren Johansen’s gift is temporal, with a T-naught of 11.2, an exceptional rate. That means that what we experience as one second, he perceives as slightly more than eleven. With that much difference, it’s possible he simply had time to do everything right.”

“How do we know that?” Clay asked.

“He was academy-raised. At Hawkesdown.”

“Hawkesdown Academy?” Clay steepled his fingers. “The same as John Smith.”

“Yes, sir, and at the same time, although Smith is two years older. However, after graduation, Soren disappeared. If he’s political, he’s been very quiet. There’s no evidence tying the two together. But my gut says that John Smith is involved.”

“Mr. President,” Leahy said, “we’d like to detain John Smith for questioning.”

Marla Keevers, quiet until now, said, “That’s a political nightmare. He’s got enormous goodwill following the Monocle revelations. He’s been on the talk shows, the speaking circuit. His book has been a New York Times bestseller for weeks. Arresting him will have major blowback.”

“We’re past that point,” Leahy said.

Clay studied the man. A former soldier, Leahy had spent the last three decades in the intelligence field, rising to run the CIA before being appointed secretary of defense. To say that his résumé prepared him to view the world militaristically was an understatement of massive proportions.

That doesn’t mean he’s wrong. After all, Owen was against sending Cooper in the first place.

“Detain John Smith,” he said.

Leahy nodded to General Raz, who picked up a phone and began to speak into it quietly.

“In addition, sir, we need to move forward with a military response against the New Canaan Holdfast.”

“Why? If we believe that Smith—”

“Cooper was an ambassador for the United States. His assassination has to be treated as an act of war.”

“What does Epstein say?”

Leahy looked around the table. “Sir, we haven’t been able to reach him.”

“Excuse me?”

“It could be that things are just happening too fast. But ultimately, there are two possibilities here. Either Epstein and the NCH are themselves acting as terrorists, or their government”—Leahy said the word with distaste—“is riddled with them. Either way, an American advisor was murdered on a diplomatic mission during a time of unprecedented unrest. Three cities are under martial law, without power or food. We can’t afford to consider our options.” Leahy paused. “Sir, it’s our recommendation that you order preparations for a full-scale military invasion of the New Canaan Holdfast.”

Clay glanced at Marla. She shrugged, said, “People are scared. Calling in the cavalry demonstrates that the government of the United States is still in charge.”

“General Raz, what would an invasion look like?”

“We’d establish air superiority with F-27 Wyverns operating out of Ellsworth Air Force Base. Ground all but humanitarian flights in the region. Units from the Fourth Infantry Division, First Armored Division, and 101st Airborne would then seize Gillette, Shoshoni, and Rawlins, the entrance points for the NCH, cutting it off.”

“How many troops would be involved?”

“Approximately seventy-five thousand.”

“Seventy-five thousand? That’s almost equal to the entire population of the Holdfast.”

“Yes, sir. It’s important to bring overwhelming force to bear. We’re not proposing a fair fight,” the general said, “we’re demonstrating that we can annihilate them. It makes the idea of resistance ridiculous. Ultimately, that will save lives on both sides.”

A dozen faces stared at him. Men and women in uniforms heavy with medals, the commanders of every branch of the military and intelligence community. Lionel Clay took pride in having lived an honorable life. He had been a teacher and a leader. But he had never been a soldier.

And my God, did I never want to be the person making this decision.

“You’re talking about a military attack against American citizens.”

“We’re talking about preparing for one,” Secretary Leahy said. “Moving troops into position. It’s a reminder to our enemies that they are facing the combined might of the finest fighting force the world has ever seen.”

“What’s the endgame?”

“Sir?”

“If I give the order to attack. What happens after we take the NCH?”

Leahy looked around again. “That’s up to you, sir. But our recommendation is that all leaders and tier-one and tier-two abnorms be held in temporary internment camps. The NCH itself should be evacuated and destroyed.”

What had Cooper said?

You knew that someone would be standing here telling you to start a civil war. And you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to say no.

A second civil war, only this time, not between states, but between a majority and a minority, with all of the potential horrors that entailed—up to and likely including genocide.

“Sir, you don’t have to decide to attack yet. But moving troops into position gives us the option, while also sending a message to the enemy and reassuring the public.”

A thought hit him. He could stand up and walk out of the room. Then out of the building. He could go to the corner and hail a cab to the airport and book a ticket back to Columbia. He could just quit and go home.

It was an absurd fantasy. But tempting.

Lionel Clay stared at the table. At his fingers spread on the polished wood. “Dictators ride to and fro upon tigers which they dare not dismount. And the tigers are getting hungry.”

“Winston Churchill,” Leahy said. “But we’re not dictators.”

“I wonder if history will agree.”

“Sir?”

“Order the army into Wyoming.”