A Better World (24 page)

The dangerous-looking one paused. “It wasn’t just that you took us from our families. That you renamed us. That you turned us against each other and poisoned our minds.” She raised the gun, stared down the barrel at him. “It was living in fear. Every single minute, in fear, and knowing we were trapped. That there was nothing we could do about it.”

Suddenly the one called Shannon gripped his forearm. Charles tried to pull away, but she was surprisingly strong. She snapped something around his wrist, cold and metal, and then jerked his arm up and fastened the other end to the bedpost. Norridge yanked, and the handcuff bit into his skin.

Shannon said, “Listen.”

He waited for her to speak again; when she didn’t, he realized she meant it more generally. “I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s right. No gunfire.” A pause. “Your guards are all dead. No one is coming to save you.”

Something wet coated his thighs, and Norridge realized he’d lost control of his bladder. The shame that washed over him felt hotter than the urine.

“Right now, our people are planting explosive charges. In the classrooms, the dormitories . . . the administrative residences.” She smiled. “In five minutes, this facility will be a smoking hole in the ground.”

“My God. You can’t!”

“It’s done. But here’s the good news. You have a chance to survive.”

He gulped air, strained against the handcuff, feeling weak and old. “You can’t do this,” he repeated.

“Chuck,” she said. “You’re not paying attention. You have one chance to live, one. All you have to do is answer a question.”

He tried to gather wits scattered like frightened rabbits. “What?”

“You have a student here named Alice Chen.” She leaned forward, her face inches from his. “How old is she?”

Norridge stared. His legs wet, his eyes crusted with sleep, his hand cuffed to the metal post of the bed he’d slept in for two decades. “I . . .” He fought to think, to conjure the records of his students. This woman was wrong. He knew his students, knew them all. He could look at a child and remember their transponder number, repeat every detail of their file, all their secrets. He just . . .

Didn’t know their names.

As though she could read his mind, the woman shrugged. “Too bad.” She stood up, and the two of them walked to the door.

“Wait!” His voice was as fearful and querulous as a child’s. “You can’t do this.”

Kathy Baskoff stopped at the door. “In five minutes, you’re going to die. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” She smiled. “Live with that.”

The bedroom door shut with a click.

CHAPTER 21

Soren smiled.

Books he loved. Movies and tri-d and stage plays and dance and comedy and sports and music were all torture. No matter the intelligence of a screenplay, no matter the elegance of a joke, at his timescale they were endless. Each note of a Bach concerto was drawn out until all meaning and emotion were lost.

But a book. He’d learned long ago how to widen his eyes to take in the whole page, focusing on individual words with his mind rather than his pupils. A good book was close to personal nothingness, a place the self could be lost. He often read five or six books between rising and sleeping.

John Smith had been thoughtful in furnishing the apartment in New Canaan. It was quiet, tastefully lit, and walled floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Soren found it a touching gesture, this reminder that his friend knew him in a way no one else did.

John said, “Iwillneedyousoon.”

“To?”

“Kill. Willyoukillforme?”

“Yes.”

“Myplansarelaid. Butthingsarefluid.”

Things are fluid
. Yes, that was certainly true. “And?”

“You’retherook. Overlookedonthebackrow.”

A reference to their childhood at Hawkesdown Academy, playing chess in the cafeteria. Soren always lost, but it hadn’t mattered. The games had been periods of simple pleasure and engagement
spent in the company of a friend. Maybe the first time in his life when time had passed too quickly.

His role was plain to him now. Smith would have spent years preparing for this moment, but strategies always changed in execution, always. So Soren would be the asset his friend’s enemies didn’t know about. The solution to problems yet undiscovered.

“I understand.”

“Ihaveasurprise.”

Soren followed his friend through the apartment to a closed door. John gestured to it, smiled, and left.

Soren opened the door and saw her waiting for him.

The only woman in the world. Tiny and blond and perfect. The one who understood what he needed. Not just understood it. Became it. That was her nature, her gift and her curse; she could transform herself into what others needed. Could sense and embody the desires people didn’t dare speak.

Samantha was naked, pink tulips and fresh cream, and her arms were open. “My love,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

Bliss. Not an instant’s worth, the way normal people experienced love, but complete and lasting. Bliss like warm water he swam languidly.

His curse could be a gift, too. With her.

In Hawkesdown they had found each other, perfect Samantha. When they were fourteen, she had come to him and touched his cheek and begun without a word spoken, and every touch lasted minutes. The caress of her tongue, the softness of her hair trailing down his body, the grip of their clenched fingers, all threatened to overflow him with fullness. When it finally came, the orgasm was a long, slow freefall down the curve of heaven.

Then she had vanished from the academy, stolen away by her mentor, and he had never seen her again.

Soren had tried with others, but failed miserably. Women wanted to banter and share and be charmed, to know and feel known. He understood that, but the rituals of the mating dance were unbearable to him. Jokes drained of all flavor, small talk lasted days.

There had been a prostitute, one time. An expensive call girl he paid in advance. He had given explicit instructions in an e-mail: she wasn’t to speak, wasn’t to delay. All he wanted was her perfumed warmth writhing above him.

She had done as he asked. But there was a moment as she moved on him when the expression on her face flickered, the mask slipping. Just an instant for her, but he had been forced to stare for long seconds at her boredom and hatred and contempt even as he was inside of her. Unable to turn away, to shut his eyes. He still burned with shame to think of the moment.

He and his love slid together, parted, and rejoined. She was his need. And he knew that for her he was the safest, purest thing she would ever know. She was an addict to her own self, and he let her be that with purest gratitude.

When at last they were done, she curled into the hollow of his arm and laid her head on his chest, and he basked in the afterglow of their bodies’ desire with perfect peace.

Thank you, John. A surprise indeed.

And another debt.

Will I kill for you?

God himself.

CHAPTER 22

“Wake up.”

Ethan’s eyes snapped open.

A shotgun was pointed at his head.

His brain was still swimming up from sleep, and his first thought was,
Jesus, not again with a gun pointing at me.

He moved without thinking, starting to sit up.

Jeremy racked the shotgun.

It was a horrifying sound, one he’d never heard in real life, and it made his fingers tingle and his belly go cold. Beside him, Amy gasped.

“Quiet.” Jeremy swiveled the shotgun to her. His face was tight, lips squeezed white.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

“Get up.”

“Jeremy,” Amy said, “what’s going on?”

“I said get up. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”

Slowly, Ethan slid a hand down to his waist, touched the butt of the pistol. It was warm from contact with his skin. He thought,
Ease it out, aim upward through the sleeping bag, and . . .

What? Blast away like a gangster? He’d never fired a gun in his life. The inaugural occasion was going to be at a human being, one who seemed quite comfortable behind the shotgun pointing at Amy?

What if you miss?

He let go of the gun. Nodded. “Okay. Easy.” Ethan stood slowly, making sure the hem of his shirt draped to cover the gun. He reached down and helped Amy to her feet.

Violet made a snorting sound in her sleep, and they all jumped.

If he so much as glances in her direction, pull out the pistol and fire.

“Now what?”

“Get your girl and go.”

He had a moment of pure relief. “Okay. Give us one minute to pack our gear, and we’ll be out of your life forever.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Leave everything. Just walk out of here.”

“You’re . . . this is a robbery?”

“Told you, these are the last days. World’s falling down around us. Money, sleeping bags, a tent, whatever else you have, it might save my family’s life.”

“You’re not serious,” Amy said. “Where’s Margaret?”

“In the morning I’ll tell her I found you looting our cabinets, ran you out.”

“What will you tell her if you shoot us?”

The man’s expression hardened. He turned and spat the toothpick. “Same thing.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Jeremy.” Amy’s eyes blazed. “A coward. You’re what’s wrong.”

“I’m a man looking out for his family, that’s all.”

“No,” Amy said. “My husband is a man. You’re a—”

“Honey,” Ethan said gently. “Let’s go.”

She looked at him, fury shining in her. Ethan flicked his eyes downward to where Violet slept. Amy caught the gesture and swallowed whatever she’d been about to say.

“Can we put our shoes on?”

“Coulda. Before you mouthed off. Now you just get your little one and get out.”

Amy shook her head, then bent down and picked up their daughter. She squirmed and started crying. Ethan’s right hand tingled, the gun seeming to pull at it.

You’re not a criminal. All the man wants is stuff. If you can walk out of here without violence, do it.

Jeremy followed them up the stairs, the shotgun leveled.

At the front door, Amy turned to him. “You said grace last night.”

“So?”

“So God damn you.” She turned and strode out the door. Ethan wasn’t sure if he’d ever been more in love with her than he was at that moment. It made him want to yank out the gun and blaze away, to shoot until he was out of ammo and then stand over Jeremy’s body and keep pulling the trigger.

Instead, he followed her into the night. Thinking,
It’s not about you. It’s not about
feeling
like a man. It’s about
being
one.

That means doing whatever it takes to protect them. Whatever it takes.

CHAPTER 23

It was no Air Force One, but Cooper had to admit the diplomatic flight was a pretty nice ride.

It had been a fun morning, lit with a simple sweetness. Apple pancakes in the skillet, the Stones on the stereo, his children spazzing, high on sugar and excitement. They’d gone to bed expecting the dawn to bring a day like any other, and instead, hours later, here they were playing tag in the sky. The jet had leather seats, integrated tri-d, a fighter escort, and a steward happy to bring them all the Coke their parents allowed.

“Hey, Todd,” Cooper called. “C’mere.”

His son dashed down the aisle, sweating and smiling. Cooper tapped the window. “Check it out.”

Obligingly, Todd pressed his face against the glass. They’d started their descent, and from this height, Wyoming looked like cake left too long in the oven. Near the horizon, almost out of view of the window, something glowed silver and white. “What is it?”

“That’s Tesla. The capitol of New Canaan. It’s not the only city, but it’s the biggest. It’s where Erik Epstein lives.”

“Is he really that rich?”

“Yup.”

“Everything looks like it’s made of mirrors.”

“That’s solar glass. It captures energy and keep the insides cool.”

“Oh.” Todd looked up at him with a grin. “Too bad. A city of mirrors would be cool.”

It was one of those weird moments of discordance, a sense of greater meaning. Cooper found himself staring at his son, a thought rising unbidden.
A city of mirrors. He’s not far from right.

If ever there were a place that reverses everything, this is it.