He was cruising Leibniz, just driving for the sake of it, taking the place in. It followed what he was starting to see as a pattern in NCH towns. Wind turbines to the west, massive water condensers on the east. Streets smooth and laid out in a perfect grid. An airfield for gliders, pay lots to charge electric cars. Well-designed pedestrian areas and public squares filled with bright young people moving with purpose. Mixed zoning, commercial and residential side by side; it would be an easy place to live, all the advantages of a city without the congestion and pollution. Come to New Canaan and help build a better world. Lots of ambition and energy, sunshine and sex.
He stopped at a hamburger stand on the outskirts of town, got a burger and a Coke, the latter more expensive. Ate sitting at a picnic bench gilded by the lowering sun. Across the street was a car dealership, small by American standards, the lot packed mirror to mirror with the tiny electric cars he saw everywhere here. His Bronco was unusual, but it didn’t draw stares; the countryside was still pretty rough, and there were limits to what a…
Got it.
Cooper finished his meal, wiped his hands, and drove the truck across the street. The car salesman was the same as car salesmen everywhere: easy smile, quick to get personal, just delighted he’d dropped in. “I’m thinking of making the switch,” Cooper said, pointing a thumb at the Bronco. “Gas is killing me.”
“You’ll never look back,” the guy said. “Let’s take a walk, see what moves you.”
Cooper followed the guy around the lot, letting the patter wash over him. Mileage between charges, top speed, amenities. He sat in a sedan, ran his hands over the hood of a sporty two-seater. Finally settled on a miniature pickup with horsepower that made him snicker.
“I know,” the guy said, “she doesn’t look like much compared to that beast of yours. But she’ll go off-road, handle light hauling. A perfect work truck, and if you ever need something heavier, you can always hire it.”
The negotiations took ten minutes, and Cooper let the guy take him. When they were done, he said, “Mind if I use your phone to call my financing guy? My cell’s dead.”
“Sure thing,” his new best friend said, not quite hiding his delight. “Step into my office.”
His office turned out to be one in a line of desks in the open showroom. Not as private as Cooper might have liked, but private enough; salesmen weren’t supposed to sit down, and the other desks were abandoned. His guy gestured him to his own chair, then left him with assurances that he’d be nearby.
The number he’d memorized six months ago and never dialed. It rang twice, and then a voice answered, “Jimmy’s Mattresses.”
“This is account number three two zero nine one seven,” Cooper said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I need to talk to Alpha. Immediately.”
“Alpha, roger. Hold please.”
Cooper leaned back in the sales guy’s chair, the springs creaking. Out the front glass, he watched traffic pass, watched the clouds shift and change, rays of sunlight stabbing down from between them.
There was a click, and then Equitable Services Director Drew Peters said, “Nick?” The voice was familiar even now, quiet with the assurance of command. Cooper could picture him in his office, slim headset over neatly trimmed hair, the framed photos of targets on the wall, John Smith among them. Is my photograph on that wall as well?
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m on-mission.”
“What was that scene last week?”
“What?”
“Don’t toy with me, son. On the El platform in Chicago. Do you know that civilians were shot?”
“Not by me,” Cooper said, surprised at the anger sloshing in his gut. “Maybe you better talk to your goddamn snipers.” He bit down on the instinctual sir.
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t shoot anybody. And you’re welcome, by the way. For, you know, giving up my entire life and becoming a fugitive. You want to talk scenes? Okay. How about Chinatown?”
“You’re referring to the detention of Lee Chen and his family?”
“Shoplifters are detained. This was a tactical response team starting a riot and kidnapping a family. That little girl was eight.” Heard himself say was instead of is, hated himself for it. “What are you guys even fighting for?”
There was a pause. In a clipped, controlled voice, Peters said, “Are you finished?”