Brilliance (37 page)

“They killed more and more people,” Cooper said, “and then something happened.” On intuition, he said, “The Romans decided they’d had enough.”

Epstein nodded. “The Sicarii were hunted, pursued to the fortress of Masada, where they were either slaughtered or committed mass suicide. But look deeper.”

“The rest of the Jews.” It was coming clear to Cooper. “The Romans punished not just the killers, but the rest of the Jews.” He turned to the man. “You want me to kill John Smith because if he keeps doing what he’s doing, the government may turn against New Canaan.”

“Will turn against. It’s in the data. Extrapolating current terrorist activity and charting it against public countermeasures, mapped against similar historical datasets, there’s a 53.2 percent chance that the US military will attack New Canaan within the next two years. A 73.6 percent within three.”

Cooper had a flash of the briefings he’d seen, the preemptive plans, the missile strikes.
One thing the DAR has,
he’d thought on the way in,
is plans.
“So why not kill Smith yourself? You’re the big man here. The King of New Canaan.”

The abnorm had winced. “No. It’s not. It doesn’t work like that. Besides. I like people. But people like him.”

“You want him dead, but you’re afraid that if you kill him, your…artwork…will tear itself apart.” Cooper laughed grimly. “Because no matter how smart or rich you are, he’s a leader, and you’re not.”

“I know what I am.” There was the faintest hint of sadness in his voice. “I’m not even me.”

The whole thing felt vaguely dirty, had the stench of palace politics about it. An odd reaction, Cooper knew, but he couldn’t shake it. Still, the arguments made sense. And Epstein was right—if things kept going the way they were, New Canaan would be destroyed. And it might not stop there. Congress had already approved a bill to implant microchips against the carotid artery of every gifted in America. What was to keep those chips from becoming bombs?

He’d never thought of himself as an assassin. He’d killed when he had to, but always for the greater good. That was a certainty that fueled him. It was the only thing that kept him apart from John Smith. This, though, felt like crossing a line.

What line? You came here to do this.

Yes. But not for him.

So don’t do it for him. Do it for Kate. And then go home.

“You understand?” Epstein seemed nervous on the point, afraid. After all, he had revealed not only his secret, but his agenda. The man might have an unparalleled head for data, but a chess player he was not, Cooper realized.

“Yes, I understand.”

“And you’ll do it? You’ll kill John Smith?”

Cooper had turned, started up the ramp. At the door, he’d turned, taken in the whirling chamber of data dreams, and the man at the center of it. An architect trapped in a palace of his own design, watching a tsunami approach.

“Yeah,” he’d said. “Yeah, I’ll kill him.”

The elevator doors slid open. Cooper shook his head to clear it, then stepped out into the office. The sudden sunlight was bright but not clean, the air beyond the windows thick with dust. Shannon had looked up at him, quirked that grin of hers. The lawyer had twisted his lips. From behind the desk, the handsome hologram of Erik Epstein gestured him in.

It was only Millie who understood, though.

The lawyer ushered them back the way they’d come, down the sun-smeared hallway and the tiered stacks of plants. Cooper paused at the door of “Epstein’s” office, glanced back at the hologram. The thin, handsome doppelganger met his eyes, started a smile, and then canceled it. They stared at one another for a moment. Then, slowly, the faux-Epstein nodded and disappeared.

In the elevator, Kobb said, “I hope you realize what an honor that was. Mr. Epstein is a very busy man.”

“Yeah,” Cooper said. “It was eye-opening to meet him.”

Kobb cocked his head at that, didn’t respond. Cooper had suspected the lawyer didn’t know, felt it confirmed. He wondered how many people did.

The doors slid open on the lobby, the massive tri-d tuned now to a nature show, lush jungle green, monkeys perched in the crooks of tree limbs, gauzy light filtering from a faraway sun. Shannon tucked her hands in her pockets, craning her neck. “Funny. After the display upstairs, this isn’t quite as impressive.”

“That’s for sure.” He turned to Kobb. “Thanks for the time.”

“Certainly, Mr.…Cappello. A pleasure. You can see yourselves out from here?” The lawyer spun on his heel, already checking his watch as he strode to the elevator. Late for something. He seemed the kind of guy who ran through his whole life heading for something more important.

“You okay?”

“Sure,” Cooper said. “What did you talk to, uh, Epstein, about?”

“You. He asked if I thought you were telling the truth.”

“What did you say?”

“That I’d seen you attacked by DAR agents. That you’d had plenty of opportunities to make sure I got arrested, and that you hadn’t.” She grinned. “Kobb stopped just short of advising Epstein to have us both arrested. I don’t think he enjoyed that meeting.”

“I don’t get the feeling Kobb enjoys very much.” They strolled through the lobby, heels clicking on the polished floor. “He must be a kick in bed, huh?”

She laughed. “Three to five minutes of church-approved foreplay, followed by restrained intercourse during which both partners think about baseball.”

“Mr. Cappello?”

He and Shannon spun, easy enough but both shifting weight, softening the knees, positioning themselves back-to-back. They’d grown used to each other already, knew which side to cover if something went wrong. Funny.

The woman who had called his pseudonym wore too much lipstick and her hair in a tight bun. “Tom Cappello?”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Epstein asked me to give you this.” She held up a tan calfskin briefcase, smooth and expensive looking. Cooper took it from her. “Thanks.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled vacantly and turned away.

“What’s that?” Shannon asked.

He weighed the case and his words. “Epstein is going to help me. But you know. Nothing for nothing.”

“What are you doing for him?”

“Just an odd job.” He gave her a bland smile and saw her read it, understand. She was in the biz, after all. Before she could ask a follow-up question, he said, “Listen, I know we’re all done, but…”

She tilted her head, the idea of a smile crossing her lips. “But?”

“You feel like grabbing a bite?”

After all the whirling forward-thinking of New Canaan, the café seemed downright nostalgic. It wasn’t, of course—he hadn’t yet seen one art deco sign here, one ironic T-shirt—but the place was simple and straightforward, with curved plastic booths and mediocre coffee in stained cups. The change was welcome.

“Are you serious?” He took a swig of the coffee. “Your boyfriend really said that?”

“Cross my heart,” Shannon said. “He said my gift was clearly a sign of insecurity.”

“You may be many things, but insecure ain’t one of them.”

“Yeah, well, thank you, but I spent the next three weeks in my bathrobe, crying and watching soap operas. And then I heard he was dating this stripper chick with huge—” She held her hands out in front of her chest. “I mean, like, water-melons. And it occurred to me, maybe the problem was that he didn’t want to be with a woman who could manage to not be noticed. If his new girlfriend rubbed two brain cells together, she didn’t have a third to catch fire, but she sure got noticed.” She paused. “Of course, that was probably because she was always toppling over.”

He’d been sipping the coffee, and the laughter made him choke and sputter. The waiter arrived and set their orders down, a hamburger for her, a BLT for him, the bacon brown and crisp. He snapped an end off, crunched it happily. In the background, some young pop group sang young pop songs, all heartbreak and wonder you could dance to.

Cooper took a bite of his sandwich and wiped his mouth. Leaned back in the booth, feeling strangely good. His life had always had a surreal quality to it, but that had only grown stronger in the last months, and even more so in the last days. Not two hours ago he’d been in the glowing heart of a temple of sorts, watching the world’s richest man swim currents of data.

The thought brought him back to the briefcase on the floor. He slipped his foot sideways, touched it again. Still there.

Shannon had cut her burger in half and then into quarters, but instead of eating one of them she was picking at her fries.

“What’s on your mind?”

She smiled. “I know that bugged your wife, but I think she was looking at it the wrong way.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. Instead of having to sit here for five minutes trying to think of a way to broach the subject, I can just look distracted until you ask me about it.”

He smiled. “So you gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“You,” she said. She leaned back, put one arm across the back of the booth, and hit him with a level gaze.

“Ah. My favorite subject.”

“We’re done, right? We’re square?”

“Square? Are we in a gangster film?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re square.”

“So we don’t owe each other anything anymore.”

“What are you really asking, Shannon?”

She looked away, not so much to dodge his eyes, he could tell, as to stare into some middle distance. “It’s weird, don’t you think? Our lives. There aren’t that many tier-one gifted, and of those, there are fewer who can do the kinds of things we can do.”

He took a noncommittal bite, let her talk.

“And, I don’t know, I guess I’ve just found it nice to be able to know someone like you. Someone who gets what I do, who can do things I get.”

“Not just gifts,” he said.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He smiled, chewed, swallowed. “It’s not just the gifts. It’s our lives, too. Not many people get the way we live.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, this is sudden, but I accept.”

“What?”

“Oh,” he said, faking dejection. “I thought you were asking to marry me.”

She laughed. “What the hell. Why not. Vegas isn’t far.”

“No, but it’s pretty dull these days.” He set down his sandwich. “Jokes aside, I know what you mean. It’s been good, Azzi.”

“Yeah,” she said.

Their eyes met. A moment before, her eyes had just been her eyes, but now there was more. A weird sort of recognition. A yielding in both of them, an acknowledgement, and, yeah, a hunger, too. They held the look for a long time, long enough that when she finally broke it with a throaty chuckle, it felt like something he’d been leaning against had vanished.

“So what does Epstein want you to do for him?”

He shrugged, the game back on, took a bite of the BLT.

“Right,” she said. “Well, not for nothing, but I hope it’s something you can live with, and if it is, I hope you do it. And then I hope you take advantage of the chance you’ve got here.”

“Here being…”

“New Canaan. I know there’s more on your mind, Nick. Things you’re not telling me. But this place, it really can be a fresh start. You can be whatever you want to be here. And be welcome.”

He smiled—

Does she know?

No. Suspects, maybe. Fear.

And she called you Nick.

—and said, “Well, that’s the plan.”

Shannon nodded. “Good.” She pushed her plate forward. “You know what? I’m not hungry after all.” She wiped her hands on her napkin, tossed it on the plate, and kept her eyes off his. “Tell you what. Once you’ve given Epstein his pound of flesh, if you do start up a new life, maybe you and I can continue this conversation.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“It’s just—” He shrugged. “I don’t have your phone number.”

She smiled. “Tell you what. Maybe I’ll just appear. I know you get a kick out of me doing that.”

“Yes,” he said. “I really do.”

She slid out of the booth, and he joined her. For a moment they faced each other, and then he put up his arms and she slid into them. A hug, nothing sexual, but there were hugs and
hugs
, and this was the latter, their bodies close, testing the fit, and the fit was good. When she let him go, he felt the absence like a presence.

“So long, Cooper. Be good.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You too.”

She walked out with a sway he could tell was calculated, but no less powerful for that. Didn’t look over her shoulder. He watched her go and felt a tug in his chest, a yearning. She really was something. It was like meeting someone exceptional while you were married; the yank of possibility, the realization that here was another path your life could have taken.

Only, you’re not married. You could be with her. It’s just that she’ll hate you.

He sat back down, feeling heavy. Finished his BLT. When the waiter came round, he thanked him and asked for a refill of coffee. No, nothing wrong with the burger, turned out his friend hadn’t been hungry after all. Just the check, when you get a second.

After the guy filled his coffee and set the bill on the table, Cooper reached for the briefcase. The calfskin was so soft it seemed to hum beneath his fingers. He set the case on the table and took a casual glance about. No one watching. Popped the latches, raised the lid a few inches.