A Better World

CHAPTER 38

Cooper had been expecting a corporate jet. Something sleek and fast with leather seats and tri-d streamed to the headrests. “No, sir,” the pilot had laughed. “Not while the good men and women of the United States Air Force are paying us a visit. All private craft have been grounded. Only things cleared to be in the sky are cargo transports with high-priority freight. Some of the ballsier smugglers are making runs, but there’s a good chance of getting exploded, so Mr. Epstein suggested this route.”

“This route” was a cargo-modified Boeing 737, seats removed, windows plugged, and a big red cross painted on one side. Cooper had looked at it, shrugged. “So where do I sit?”

“Well, you can pick any crate you like.” The pilot grinned. “But it might get kinda cold at thirty thousand feet.”

“Right. Copilot it is.” He’d strapped in, ready to rock and roll.

Three hours later, they were still waiting on the runway. Cooper had railed and cursed, but the pilot had just shrugged. Nothing to be done about it; according to him, it was a lucky thing they were taking off at all.

When they finally did get clearance, Cooper had looked out the window at the troops below and felt his stomach fall. It was one thing to hear the numbers and another to see it. A wide arc of military force aimed right at the heart of the Holdfast. Quick-fab barracks and hangars, row upon row of heavy equipment, a mass of ant figures moving. It’d been almost a decade since he’d left the army, but he could imagine the activity on the ground, the tension growing in every chest, the nervous energy that made you wish the worst would happen just so you could stop waiting for it.

The soldiers might look tiny from this height, but that was an illusion; the truth was that he was the tiny one. One man barely out of a hospital bed heading off to search a country of three hundred million for one genius who didn’t want to be found. As wild a goose chase as the world had ever seen.

How about instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you get to work?

He had flicked open his d-pad and began to read.

If there was one thing Epstein had, it was information, and the time had passed quickly as Cooper tried to absorb everything about Ethan Park. His parents, his childhood, his itinerant academic’s pedigree, his work on epigenetics, his relationship to Abraham Couzen. The guy was clearly a brilliant scientist, but to Cooper’s eye, it looked like he was one of those who inspired and supported others, rather than led the way. A catalyst, a protégé, destined to be near greatness. That was useful; the difference between someone like Ethan and the guy accepting a Nobel was likely a raging ego, an important variable when it came to predictability.

All the while, something nagged at him. There was a clue here, some piece of data that he hadn’t yet assembled. He knew better than to try to force it, just acknowledged it and let his mind spin, fed it the data that served as gasoline to the engine of his gift.

Cooper was unsurprised, but not at all pleased, to learn that Ethan Park was on the run himself. Good news was that though Park had been visited by DAR agents, that didn’t appear to be why he had left his home. Instead, it looked like it had been the situation in Cleveland that had driven him out of town. A risky play, but one Cooper approved of; better chancing a difficult journey than waiting until there was no way out at all. An especially tough decision for a new father to make; Cooper found himself admiring the guy for his chutzpah.

The pilot spoke into his headset, and then as he came in for his approach—

Wait. Park had been visited by DAR agents. Why?

The DAR would have seen through Couzen’s faked kidnapping as quickly as you did. But why would the DAR even hear about a simple kidnapping, unless . . .

They knew what Couzen was working on. And when he vanished, the agent in charge took the logical next step, the one you’re taking right now.

He went after Ethan Park.

—the landscape shifted.

“Son of a bitch,” Cooper said.

“Sir?”

The nagging clue came into sudden sharp focus. Unbelievable. The answer had been in front of him before he even knew to look for it. Been in front of him the night he’d gone out for a beer with his old partner.

“When will we be down?”

“About three minutes.”

“Okay.” Cooper tried to flex the bandaged wreck of his right hand. The palm felt like it might split, and ribbons of flame shot up his fingers, but he gritted his teeth and did it anyway. “I’m going to need two things.”

“Name it. Mr. Epstein said carte blanche.”

“First, I need a secure telephone line the moment we land.”

“And second?”

“A really fast car.”

It was a tribute to the sheer muscle of billions that despite the fact that they were in Akron, Ohio, at a small airport Cooper had never heard of, fifteen hundred miles from New Canaan, a man in a jumpsuit was hustling across the tarmac holding a bulky phone before their engines had even spun down.

Cooper unbuckled himself from the copilot’s seat and met the guy at the top of the rolling stairs. He started to reach for the phone with his right hand, caught himself just in time. “This is secure?”

“Yes, sir. Epstein Industries executive-level encryption.”

Which is probably safer than anything the DAR has. Cooper looked at the pilot until the guy said, “Right. On my way.” He closed the cockpit hatch behind him.

Cooper dialed the number, one of a few he had memorized. There had had been a time he called it a dozen times a day. It rang twice, three times, Cooper thinking, Come on, pick up, and then there was the sound of connection and a familiar voice.

“Quinn.”

“Bobby, it’s me.”

Silence. A long beat of it. Then, an edge to his voice, Quinn said, “Whoever this is, you should know that I have initiated trace algorithms. Enjoy whatever cute little game you’re playing, because in a few seconds, when I find you, I’m going to direct a drone strike.”

What? Oh. Right.

“Bobby, I’m not dead. Erik Epstein pulled a medical rabbit out of his hat, an illegal newtech surgery, saved my life.”

“Keep talking, asshole. How long do you think your encryption can hold up against the DAR?”

Cooper sighed. “You’re divorced. Your daughter’s name is Maggie. Three months ago, you, me, and Shannon threw Director Peters off a roof in midtown DC.”

A pause. “Cooper and I went out for drinks not long ago. Where did we go?”

“I don’t remember the name of the bar, but it was a dim place, Christmas lights. We drank beer and whiskey and talked about kidnapping John Smith.”

“Jesus Christ! Cooper? Is that really you?”

“It’s really me, man.”

“Oh God. Oh shit.” The man’s voice was fast, relieved, an overflow of emotion. “What the hell, Coop? I thought you were dead. We all did.”

“I was.”

“Huh?”

“Apparently, medically, I was. They did some kind of suspended animation thing, repaired my heart. Something to do with stem cells, I don’t know, but listen, I really don’t have time—”

“What about Todd?”

A rush of warmth for his friend hit at the same time as a terrible stab of guilt and pain. “He’s . . . they say he’s going to be okay.”

“Thank God. I was so scared—my God. Coop! You’re alive.”

“Hey, keep your voice down, would you?” He pictured Bobby’s office, how many people might walk by at any moment. “That’s not public knowledge.”

“Why not?”

“There are advantages to being dead. If I’m alive, I should call the president and follow orders. But dead men can do what they want.”

“Oh crap.” Bobby was suddenly serious. “What are you up to?”

“Saving the world, same as always.”

“How’s it going?”

“Same as always. Listen, we’re on the clock. That night in the bar, you said you’d just gotten back from Cleveland. That you’d been working a target there, a scientist who had run.”

“Yeah?”

“It was Dr. Abraham Couzen, right?”

More silence. “I’m not sure I can confirm—”

“I know it was Couzen, and I know you were there to work his number two, a guy named Ethan Park. Right?”

A sigh. “Yeah.”

“I know what Couzen developed. And so do you. He found the root cause of the brilliants, and he was working on a way to replicate it.”

“You know I love you, man, but this is way, way above—”

“Bobby, no kidding, this is not the time. I can be your old boss, or a special advisor to the president, or just your best friend, whatever you need to cut the crap right now.” He put steel in his voice, let Quinn hear the desperation. “Can you do that?”

A long pause. “What’s going on?”

“Couzen faked his kidnapping. I was trying to figure out why he would do that, and it finally came together. He did it because the DAR came looking for him, right? Somehow you found out what he was working on, and you wanted it.”

“Shit, man, everyone wants it. Thing like that could change the world. Maybe even stop what’s about to happen.”

“My thinking exactly. That’s why I need to find it, and right now.”

“Good luck. Couzen may not be much at faking a crime scene, but he’s turned out to be aces at lying low. I’ve been running every protocol we have to catch the guy, but no luck.”

“And now Ethan Park is on the run too. He’s my target.”

Another pause. “Is that right?”

Cooper hated the phone. In person, he could have read the layers of conflict behind what Bobby was saying, parsed it. But without the tiny physical cues, the twitches of muscle, the hint of nerves, his gift was useless. Second time that’s happened recently. Maybe you’re relying on it too much, Coop.

Maybe it’s time you used your brain instead.

“In Cleveland, you said that you’d braced Park. My guess, you put him under surveillance, right?”

“Sure. But then things got stupid in Cleveland. When the riots hit, my men were pulled off to help. That’s when he bolted.”

“You think he knew about your team?”

“Nah. Just dumb luck. A lot of people tried to leave Cleveland then. Once I realized what had happened, we ran a video scan, found his car. I got drone surveillance on it, found him and his family hiking south. The National Guard was supposed to pick him up, but some hothead shot a refugee, and then it was chaos.”

“You lost him?”

“For a while, then picked him up in a bank, lost him again, got him robbing a gas station.”

“Seriously?” That was way out of character with the pattern he’d built. “I thought he was a geek. He turned criminal?”

“Yeah, well.” There was a note of embarrassment in his friend’s voice. “I took a risky play, called him at the bank and tried to talk him in. He panicked.”

“Where was the gas station?”

“Place called Cuyahoga Falls, outside of Akron.”

Cooper laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Why?”

“Guess where I’m calling from?”

“No shit? Huh.”

“What does ‘huh’ mean?”

“Well, our boy Ethan is smart. He took the gas station attendant’s truck, but he didn’t try to run. Laid low instead. It took some time to scan satellite feeds, but we found him. He’s in a cabin not far from there. I was just about to send cops in to pick him up.”

“Local PD? No way. Bobby, we can’t lose him. If some rookie sees he’s got a gun and takes a shot—”

“Yeah, I know, but I got no choice, Coop. I have no resources, none. Have you turned on a tri-d? Everything is focused on Wyoming. Right now, I couldn’t order a pizza.”

“So sit on him. You’ve got him tagged; he can’t go anywhere.”

“That was the plan, until your playmate turned up in Ohio.”

“My playmate?”

“Soren Johansen. You remember, asshole with a knife?”

“Soren? He’s here? How do you know?”

“I know because I pulled every favor I’m owed to implement a nationwide random camera scan. Nobody kills my partner and walks away, I don’t care if World War III is about to start. With everything as it is right now, I could only get public safety cameras, you know, government institutions, airports—”

“Airports?”

Quinn read his tone. “Where exactly—you said you were in Akron. Are you at Fulton International?”

“Couldn’t get into Cleveland with the city shut down, so I came here.”

There was a long pause. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but so did Soren.”

Cooper felt a tightening in his chest, a weird and sudden pressure. His heart seemed to stick, a beat and then nothing, like a burp that wouldn’t come. An animal panic flooded him, fingers tingling, and then his heart jumped again, the beats coming, fast now. His vision went a little wobbly, and he leaned against the back of the pilot’s seat.

“Coop? You okay?”

It wasn’t fear, although that was there as well. It was something mechanical, like his heart had lost its rhythm. I guess a patched tire isn’t as strong as an undamaged one. He took a breath, concentrated on smoothing out the beats. “I’m fine. Listen, if he’s here, it’s for Ethan.”

“No kidding. That’s why I’ve got no choice but to send the cops.”

Cooper considered it. Why not let the police help? Surely he didn’t have to save the world single-handedly. Especially now.

Then he remembered the scene in the restaurant. The ease with which Soren had murdered Epstein’s highly trained guards. Add to it a scared father with a gun, a man who had no idea about the forces swirling around him. Stir in a handful of suburban cops thrilled to have a little excitement. It would be a disaster.

“Don’t send the cops, Bobby. There’s another option.”

The car was a Porsche 911, one of the new models that on a government salary he’d never even allowed himself to look at. A rear-mounted, turbocharged engine capable of zero to sixty miles per hour in 2.9 seconds, set in a candy-apple red body that screamed sex.

Looks like Epstein took you seriously about needing it to be fast.

Bobby had taken convincing, but in the end, he’d agreed to give Cooper the address of the cabin where Ethan and his family were hiding, as well as a thirty-minute head start on the police. But Soren had a head start too.

Cooper got in the car, fired it up, and was about to blast off when he realized that with his hand in the shape it was, he couldn’t use the stick shift. He pushed in the clutch, pinned the wheel with his right wrist, and then leaned across to shift with his left hand. A wave of exhaustion and frustration washed over him.

What are you doing?

Sitting in the hallway of Epstein’s clinic, he’d heard the truth behind Natalie’s words, good and bad. The truth was that as much as he loved his children, as much as he felt he should be sleeping in the chair next to Todd’s hospital bed, he was too much of the soldier to believe that made sense. It was romantic to believe that he would go ten rounds with the Grim Reaper for Todd’s life, but the truth was that sitting there would have been useless. The world was about to be at war, bombs were about rain on New Canaan, and he had a chance to stop it. So, yeah, better to go.

But the plan had been to find Ethan Park. To use his mind and his gift to track down a scientist and convince him to share what he knew. Not to go into combat. Not to face John Smith’s best friend and best killer.

With every beat of his heart, pain coursed through Cooper, a throb that started in his chest, echoed in his hand, and grated through his head. His vision was a little jumpy—not blurry, but lagging half a frame behind. As he skipped second gear and jump-shifted into third, he remembered the fight in the restaurant. The terrible economy of Soren’s movements, the way he danced around every blow like it hadn’t even been thrown.

For the first time in a long time, Cooper felt real fear. Not nerves or tension or concern. Not panic at an unexpected moment or terror for the safety of those he loved.

The idea of facing Soren again scared him.

And yet, what choice did he have? If Soren got to Ethan first, any hope of the war being averted was doomed. The military would attack New Canaan. The fragile dream would be destroyed, along with tens of thousands of its young dreamers. And after that, America would be over. At least the America he loved.

Not to mention the fact that Natalie and your children are dead-center of the crosshairs.

Once again, it came down to everything. Just as it had in DC months ago, when Peters had kidnapped his family. Once again, Cooper’s whole life lay on the table as fate’s roulette wheel clattered and spun. Only this time, he could barely—

Enough.

Win here, or lose everything.

Let’s see what you’ve got, soldier.