Written in Fire (The Brilliance Trilogy Book 3) (8 page)

CHAPTER 9

“—and I say that they cannot murder our brothers and have it go unanswered. They cannot murder our leaders and have it go unanswered. Because
we
will answer it.” With ramrod posture and fire in his eyes, the man paced atop a bus painted with an eagle and the words
T
HE
N
EW
S
ONS OF
L
IBERTY
. The bus was parked amidst a sea of people packed past the limits of the screen. At the lower third, a crawl identified the speaker as Major General Sam Miller, US Army, retired.

“Two hundred and fifty years ago, a group rose up against tyranny. Though they faced the greatest military power of the time, they were not professional soldiers; they were farmers, and shopkeeps, and bankers. They were ordinary men and women who said, ‘Enough. This ends now.’ They stood together, and they changed the world.

“Today, our enemies are not separated from us by wide seas; they are not communists or foreign kings. The modern enemies of America have grown up in our homes. They have eaten our food, attended our schools, worshiped in our churches. And then when it suited them, they attacked us in the most cowardly way. They didn’t even have the courage to face us. They killed with a computer.” Distaste dripped from the word, and the crowd matched it in boos and jeers.

“No,” he said when they’d quieted, “the modern enemies of America are not on the other side of the world. They are in the heart of our great nation. They are just eighty-seven miles”—he pointed behind—“that way, in the city of Tesla. From there, terrorists launched an attack that murdered our sons and daughters in front of our eyes.

“Those in power tell us to ignore the blow. To turn the other cheek. To forgive those who stole not just our land, but our future.

“And so we are faced with a choice. Will we lie down and watch the dream that is America wither and die? Or will we, like those patriots of old, rise up?

“Make no mistake. Stand with me, and the weaklings in power will condemn you. Stand with me, and you may bleed. Stand with me, and you may be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice.

“But in the histories studied by our children’s children’s
children
, this moment will live forever. It will live forever as the moment that America collapsed into darkness—or as the shining moment when a group of ordinary people, farmers and shopkeeps and bankers, rose up and said, ‘Enough. This ends now.’”

Miller lowered the microphone and waited.

From the front rows, the cheer started. “This ends now.”

Quickly the crowd began to pick it up. “This ends now!”

Until with one voice, twenty thousand people cried, “This! Ends! Now!”

“This! Ends! NOW!”

“THIS! ENDS! NOW!”

Miller stood rigid in the swaying waves of sound, staring out at his army—then snapped a picture-perfect salute.

The footage cut to a reporter wearing camping gear and an earnest expression. “Retired two-star general Samuel Miller, addressing a crowd outside the New Canaan Holdfast that has grown to more than twenty thousand people in the last two weeks. Support for the New Sons of Liberty has poured in, with sources ranging from grassroots donors to billionaire Ryan Fine, founder and CEO of Finest Supplies, the nationwide grocery chain—”

Cooper crumpled the d-pad and rubbed at his eyes. The chopper was civilian, quieter and smoother than he was used to, but in the seat next to his, Ethan Park still looked distinctly uncomfortable. “That’s what we’re flying into?”

“That’s what we’re flying
over
. What Miller neglected to mention is that those eighty-seven miles are occupied, defended, and surrounded by a big-ass fence.”

It had taken longer than Cooper would’ve liked to get to the NCH. There had been a time when Epstein would have arranged a jet. Circumstances being what they were, the trip had taken two days, two cars, a train, and now this helicopter.

“Still. Are you sure this is the safest place?”

“Honestly, Doc, I don’t even know what that question means these days.”

“It means, asshole, that you convinced me to bring my family here. It means that right now my wife and our four-month-old daughter are on another helicopter heading for what’s looking like a war zone.”

“Would you feel safer in Manhattan?” Cooper gazed at him. “Convincing Bobby Quinn to let you come with me cost every favor he owed, and if he knew where I was taking you, he wouldn’t have. Would you prefer the DAR chasing you? Not to mention John Smith?”

“No.” Ethan blew a breath. “It’s just . . . I never signed up to fight a war.”

“That doesn’t keep you safe when the bombs fall.” The helicopter banked, and out the window he could see the mirrored city that was Tesla, the solar glass shining in the midday sun. “The only way out is through. You helped Abe figure out how to make people gifted once. Re-create that work, and General Miller and his posse won’t be a problem.”

Out the window, Tesla grew larger. The city was a neat grid arrayed around a cluster of shiny rectangular buildings that were the corporate heart of Erik Epstein’s power. More than $300 billion in assets, spread across every industry. Wealth as a living entity, wealth that grew and morphed and shifted, that fed on smaller companies and spread its tentacles to every facet of American life. It was hard to overvalue that much money; larger than the combined market capitalizations of McDonald’s and Coca-Cola, it had given rise to this new Israel in the heart of the American desert. A place where brilliants could live and work without fear.

Or at least that had been the idea. Cooper imagined the mood had changed some.

The airstrip was familiar. He had landed here twice before—once in a glider with Shannon, when he was undercover and they were both deceiving each other; once again a few weeks ago, aboard a US diplomatic jet, as an ambassador and special advisor to the president of the United States.

And now here you are again. Neither agent nor politician, but something different.

The moment the struts touched earth, Cooper began to undo his seat belt. He wasn’t sure his message had gotten through, but if it had, they’d be waiting for him—

“Is this it, then? For you and me?”

Still staring out the window, Cooper said, “For now, at least.”

“Then. Well. I never really thanked you.” The somber tone brought Cooper back to the moment, and he turned to see Ethan holding out his hand. “For saving my family. I owe you one.”

“No problem.”

“Actually, I get the feeling the whole world owes you.”

The sentiment, unexpected and probably overblown, nonetheless touched something in his chest. “Thanks, Doc.” He reached out and shook Ethan’s hand. “You did good.”

They stayed like that for a moment, hands gripping, and it filled him with that warmth he’d always gotten from fidelity and camaraderie, the same feeling that had made him proud to be a soldier all those years ago.

Then the hatch was opening, and through it Cooper saw three figures running his way, and he was out of his seat and on the tarmac and sprinting to meet them, sweeping his son and daughter into his arms, hoisting them up to his chest and all of them laughing and crying and smiling like they’d found the last safe place on earth. He squeezed until he thought their spines might pop, Kate clinging to him, Todd saying, “Dad, Dad, Dad!” and pounding his back.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Natalie standing there, a smile on her lips despite the fear he could read in her posture. “Hey, you,” she said.

“Hey, you.” He set down his children and embraced his ex-wife, neither of them holding back as the kids hugged their waists and the cold gray of the afternoon swept away.

“Mr. Cooper,” said a voice behind him.

He turned, saw a tall woman with the airy beauty of a runway model. It took him a moment to place her; Epstein’s communications director, her name was—

“Patricia Ariel,” she said. “I’ve got a car. Mr. Epstein is waiting for you.”

He still had one arm around Natalie’s back, and he felt her muscles tense. Todd and Kate both stared with identical heartbroken expressions. Cooper looked at them, then back at Ariel.

“Mr. Epstein,” he said, “is going to have to wait a little while longer.”

“Sir, he was very clear—”

“I think I’ve earned a day with my family. If Erik disagrees, he can send soldiers to get me.” He gave her a lazy smile. “But he better send a lot of them.”

Natalie and the kids were still in the diplomatic quarters, a tasteful three-story apartment on a public square. It was messy in a way he’d missed, that lived-in look that accompanied children—toys and books and blankets strewn about, plates in the sink, the smell of processed food in the air.

Todd and Kate chattered nonstop, talking over each other, telling stories and asking questions he answered as fast as he could: where had he been, was he okay, would he look at this drawing, did he see that somersault, had he met the new president, had he been back to their house, did he want to play soccer?

Yes. Yes, he did.

Wyoming was cold in December, the temperature in the midtwenties—negative two, the thermometer in the window read, the NCH of course having converted to the metric system—but he hardly needed a jacket to keep warm. Just standing in the quad playing with his family did the job.

Cooper tipped the ball up with his foot, bounced it off either knee, then toe-popped it to Todd. “How you feeling, kiddo?”

“I’m okay,” his son said. “It doesn’t hurt. I hate my hair, though.” The surgeons had shaved part of his head, and the stubbled portion stood out like a scar.

“Neat thing about hair,” Natalie said, “it grows.”

“Slowly.”

“I think it’s cool,” Cooper said. “You look tough.”

“You look like a dweeb,” Kate said, and giggled. Todd stuck his tongue out at her, then kicked the ball gently in her direction. He was a good kid, a good older brother. Cooper and Natalie shared a quick look of private pleasure, and one of those moments of psychic communication that came of years together.
Look what we made.

“What have you guys been up to? Any new friends?”

Todd shrugged. “It’s okay. I want to go home.”

“I still like it here,” Kate said. “But it’s different than before.”

“How’s that?”

“The grown-ups are all scared.”

Intellectually, he knew that his daughter was gifted, almost certainly tier one. But that didn’t make it easier to hear his five-year-old announce that all her guardians were frightened. “Are you scared, honey?”

“No,” Kate said. “You’ll protect us.” She spoke with the faith of a child, the simple certainty that her parents would keep the world at bay. That they would always catch her before she fell, always put themselves between her and harm. Which was good; that was what she was supposed to feel. And yet her words filled him with a mix of pride and terror more profound and powerful than anything he’d ever known.

“Right?”

“Of course, baby,” he said, but because she could read him, the only way to make the words meaningful was to
mean
them. To commit wholeheartedly to everything that came along with them. In that moment, he knew that he would burn down the whole world if that would keep his daughter not just safe, but secure in the knowledge of her safety.

“Dad,” Todd said, his expression at once steady and yet uncertain, like someone looking down at a long drop and standing very still, “how come this is happening? All of it?”

“I don’t know, buddy.” He paused. “I mean, we’ve talked before about how people are different, right?”

“Yeah, but . . . Mom told us that the president and a lot of other people died. That wasn’t just because they were different, right?”

He looked at Natalie, caught her tiny shrug, and in another burst of that psychic communication, he could almost hear her saying,
Good luck with that one, Dad.

There was the temptation to lie. But with the world in the state it was . . .

Kate kicked the ball to him. He pinned it beneath one foot. “There’s not an easy answer to your question. Are you up to a complicated one?”

“Yeah.”

Cooper looked at Kate, who nodded somberly.

“Okay. Life isn’t like the movies—you know, how the bad guys just want to be bad guys, villains. In real life, there aren’t very many villains. Mostly, people believe they’re doing the right thing. Even the ones who are doing bad things usually believe they’re heroes, that whatever terrible thing they’re doing is to prevent something worse. They’re scared.”

“But if there aren’t real villains, what are they scared of?”

“It’s kind of a circle. When people are scared, it’s easy for them to decide anything different is evil. To forget that everyone is basically the same, that we all love our families and want regular lives. And what makes it worse is that some people use that. They make others scared on purpose, because they know if they do, everyone will start acting stupid.”

“But why would they want that?”

“It’s a way to control people. A way to get what they want.”

“What about the guy at the restaurant who tried to kill you? Is he a villain?”