“—the site of yet another in a string of terrorist attacks in recent weeks.” The woman standing on the El platform was plastic-pretty and overeager, a local reporter getting her big break. “Earlier today, an unidentified man planted a bomb during Chicago’s lunch rush.”
The image cut to her holding a microphone to a man Cooper vaguely remembered from a seminar in DC two years before. The words Terry Stiles, Chicago Bureau Captain, Department of Analysis and Response were printed over the lower third. Stiles said, “We’ve been tracking this individual for several weeks and were able to apprehend him before he could detonate a bomb on the El. However, we were unable to prevent him from firing on the crowd. Several civilians were wounded, as well as two agents.”
“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.