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The president took a final slug of coffee, set the mug on her desk, and started for the door. Leahy held it open. To her assistant, Ramirez said, “Geoff, tell them I’m coming down.” Out in the hallway, the cacophony of construction noise bounced off the polished marble. Sawdust hazed the air. Two Secret Service agents fell into step in front of them, another two behind.

“What about naval vessels?”

“Long-range ordnance has been disabled on ships and submarines both. Which leaves us vulnerable to enemies abroad—”

“The air force?”

Leahy sighed. “All but mission-critical flights have been grounded, and those planes are flying disarmed. Throughout the entire military, distributed communications are being replaced with hard networks, computer-aided navigation and vehicle support are being taken offline, front-line technology is being gutted . . . look, ma’am, my office sent over a detailed report, but the short answer is that we are well on our way to turning the clock back to 1910.”

“Are you on board with this, Owen?” Ramirez glanced sideways at him. “Speak your mind.”

“I’m the secretary of defense of the United States. I’ve spent my whole life strengthening America’s military, and I don’t enjoy tearing it apart.”

“I understand,” she said. “But for whatever reason, on December 1st, Erik Epstein limited his attack to the White House and the soldiers threatening the New Canaan Holdfast. His computer virus resulted in almost eighty thousand deaths, but it could have killed tens of millions. Epstein had complete operational control. He could have annihilated our military and vaporized our cities with our own weapons. He claims he didn’t because he was only acting in self-defense, but I won’t leave him the opportunity to change his mind.”

Acting in self-defense, Leahy thought. She doesn’t know it, but what that really means is, responding to my order to attack. My illegal order.

Since 1986, when the existence of the abnorms was first discovered, America had been heading toward open conflict. The gifted were simply too powerful. Though they accounted for only one percent of the population, they were explicitly better than the other 99 percent. Demigods in a world of mortals. Unchecked, they would make regular Americans obsolete—or slaves.

Along with a few like-minded individuals, Leahy had fought to contain them. Public dissent and fear had been sowed. Special academies had been developed to reeducate the most powerful. And after John Smith planted bombs that destroyed the stock exchange and killed more than a thousand people, legislation had been passed to implant microchips in every abnorm in America. In the months leading up to the December 1st attacks, Leahy thought they had things under control. They had been so close.

But then President Walker’s role in the plan had been uncovered, and he’d been impeached and brought up on charges. Vice President Lionel Clay was a good man but too weak for the big chair; he’d only been put on the ticket for electoral math reasons. As further terrorist attacks rocked America and an abnorm splinter group known as the Children of Darwin isolated three cities, Clay had dithered and hesitated. He’d even been on the verge of allowing the New Canaan Holdfast, Erik Epstein’s abnorm enclave, to secede.

There had been no choice but to force his hand. So Leahy had ordered an attack on the NCH.

He hadn’t made the decision alone. He owed his career and allegiance to Terence Mitchum, officially the number three man at the NSA. In reality, Mitchum had been the leader of their shadow government, a clear-eyed patriot who had understood that protecting a nation required firm action. Unfortunately, Mitchum had been in the White House when the missile struck. One more casualty in a war the rest of the nation is only just acknowledging.

Leahy said, “Self-defense or no, once we’ve successfully retrograded the military to boots and bayonets, we’re going to have to invade.”

“I haven’t made that decision.”

“Madam President, the public—”

“I know that everybody wants payback. But at some point we’re committing to an ugly path. There has to be a solution besides genocide.”

They stepped outside Longworth onto South Capitol. The Secret Service had commandeered the narrow street and built heavy gates and guard posts at either end. The only vehicles allowed were the presidential motorcade, today four armored Escalades, six motorcycles, and the limo itself. The morning was cold, exhaust steaming from the running vehicles, low clouds roiling above.