“Who is he?”
“I can’t comment on that at the moment,” Stiles said, “other than to say that we suspect he was working with abnorm terrorist groups operating out of Wyoming.”
“Does he have anything to do with John Smith and the March 12th explosion?”
“I can’t comment on that.”
The video cut to footage of an emergency crew wheeling out a gurney. The man on it was the hipster caught in the sniper crossfire. Over the footage, the reporter continued. “Wounded civilians are being rushed to local hospitals and are expected to survive.”
Another cut, and the reporter’s overly concerned expression again filled the screen. “This sort of scene has become familiar in recent months, and abnorm splinter groups warn that the violence will escalate if the government proceeds with the Monitoring Oversight Initiative. The controversial bill, which yesterday passed the House, makes it mandatory for all gifted individuals to be implanted with a—”
Suddenly the television blinked off. Cooper turned as Shannon tossed the remote onto the desk with a clatter. “I was watching that,” he said mildly.
“I can’t stand those lies. They make my skin crawl.”
“You know the game. Stories like that keep people calm. There was a bad guy, and we stopped him. It’s clean and simple. It’s better than the alternative, the mass panic and mob violence that would result if—”
“If what? If you told the truth?” Shannon fixed him with a hard stare. “That news report just talked about an abnorm attack, which there wasn’t. It said the terrorist—that’s you, by the way—shot agents and civilians, when actually the agents shot the civilians. And it said that Big Brother had things under control, when in fact we walked free. The only part of it that was true, literally the only part, was that there was a brilliant on the El platform today. Two, in fact.”
“What’s your point?”
“What’s my point?”
“Yeah. Apart from the idea that the truth shall set you free, and other lines no one believes. People don’t want the truth, not really. They want safe lives and nice electronics and full fridges.” He just couldn’t seem to avoid sparring with this woman. “You think I want abnorms microchipped? You think I like the academies? I hate it, all of it. But we are vastly outnumbered. Normal people are frightened, and frightened people are dangerous. The fact is, we, abnorms, brilliants, twists, we cannot survive a war. We will lose.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But maybe there wouldn’t be a war if you people didn’t keep going on television and saying there was one.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally he said, “Maybe you’ve got a point. But watch the ‘you people’ stuff. The department burned me. They needed a scapegoat for March 12th, and so they hung the explosion on me. My old friends are trying to kill me. But let’s not forget. It was your boss’s handiwork they blamed me for.”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, I know. The building was supposed to be empty. But did John Smith plan the attack? Did he arrange the explosives? Did he have them planted?”
She was silent.
“There’s nobody here who’s clean,” he said. The angle was coming to him, the right way to play her. “Not you, and not the DAR. And I’m tired of it. All I want is out of the game.”
He dropped to the bed, lay back with his hands crossed behind his head. The ceiling was stucco, and the low light of afternoon turned every bump into a sundial. Not another word. It’s a lousy salesman who talks too much.
Shannon put her feet up on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle. Leaned back in the chair to pull one drape aside. Her face glowed sunset colors. Still staring out the window, she asked, “What was Zane supposed to do for you, anyway?”
“Get me a new identity.”
“What, fake papers?”
He snorted. “I’ve got a dozen driver’s licenses. To Zane I was T. S. Eliot, and to the front desk here I was Allen Ginsburg, and I could walk out of here Chuck Bukowski. But this is the DAR we’re talking about. If I want a new life, it’ll have to be as a new person. New papers, but also a new history hacked into a hundred places, a new face, the whole thing.”
“Why not just go to Wyoming?”
“Right.”
“I mean it,” she said. “It may not be sovereign yet, but the DAR doesn’t plan raids in New Canaan.”
“It would be a death sentence. If Zane had come through, maybe, but he didn’t.” Let her sell you. Let her think it’s her idea.
“New Canaan is different than the normals’ world. Everyone comes there with a past. Everyone has baggage. You can get a fresh start.”
“Yeah. Until the brother of someone I killed sets my house on fire. No, if I have to spend my whole life watching my back, I’ll do it somewhere prettier than Wyoming.” He glanced at the clock, then closed his eyes. “I’m gonna crash for a few.”
A long minute passed, and then another, as he stared at the back of his eyelids. Come on. Come on.
“There might be a way,” she said.
Gotcha. He opened his eyes. “Yeah? What, take a jackknife to my nose, call it plastic surgery?”
“Hear me out. You could be safe in New Canaan, even as yourself.” She raised her hands to forestall his objections. “Not as you are now. But if the right person vouched for you, that could change everything.”
“I am not a terrorist.” He said the words flat and hard. It couldn’t look like he was eager. Even the tiniest hint of his true intent and this would all crumble. “I will not work for John Smith.”
“I wasn’t thinking of him.”
“Who were you—”
“Erik Epstein.”
Cooper stiffened. “The billionaire? The King of New Canaan?”
“Only straights call him that.”
“Why would he speak for me?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to convince him. But he’s a better chance than a scumbag like Bobby Z. And if you really want a fresh start, well.” She shrugged. “He might understand that.”
“I just knock on his door?”
“No. You’d need help.”
He sat up, spun his legs to the floor. The radiator kicked on, clicking and banging.
“What would you get out of it?”
“Until I square things with my people, which I need to do face-to-face, I can’t use any of my old resources. Not my credit, my IDs, my contacts. And meanwhile, your old friends are going to be chasing me as hard as they’re chasing you.”
Cooper pretended to think it over. “So I get you into Wyoming, and you get me to Erik Epstein.”
“Yeah.”
“And how do I know you won’t bail the moment we’re in New Canaan?”
She shrugged. “How do I know you won’t sell me out to the DAR to get them off your back?”
“You’re saying we trust each other.”
“God, no,” she deadpanned. “I’m saying we make it worth each other’s while.”
Cooper chuckled. “All right. Deal.” He held out his hand, and after a flicker of hesitation, she shook it.
“Deal,” Shannon said. “So. First thing.”
“What’s that?”
“We need to get some drugs.”
CHAPTER TWENTY