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It had only been a few minutes before his phone rang, but they were the longest few minutes of his life. Millie had been on the other end, her voice filled with a lightness he’d never heard as she said that Erik and the president were speaking, and that they were agreeing to trust each other.

“Can they?”

She’d paused, then said, “Yes. I think they can.”

Not long after that, the cavalry had arrived on a roar of afterburners and the whapping of helicopter blades. Mounted loudspeakers ordered both sides to put down their weapons, stern voices assuring the armies on the ground that the one in the sky was fully armed and ready to fire.

A bluff. The military retrograde had gone so far that it had taken a direct order from the president to the commander of Ellsworth Air Force Base to even get craft in the air, and they didn’t have a bomb between them. But the New Sons didn’t know that. And whatever else the militiamen were, by and large they were patriots. That was how General Miller had motivated them in the first place, selling them the idea that they were the rough men America needed. There were certainly a few psychos too, but faced with direct orders from their president, not to mention the seeming might of the United States Air Force, they had stood down.

President Ramirez had granted a full amnesty for every person on both sides—other than Miller, who would likely hang alongside Owen Leahy—assuming they laid down their weapons. That part stuck in Cooper’s throat, the idea that these men who had marched children in front of them, who had tried to kill Natalie and Todd and Kate, would just go back to their homes. But he was the one who’d called for compromise, and the nature of compromise was that no one was happy. That’s how you knew a fair deal had been reached.

“The tests at the airfield turned out okay?”

“Viral influenza is destroyed between seventy-five and one hundred degrees Celsius. Liquid hydrogen burns above two thousand degrees.”

“But no traces were found? Nothing spattered in the explosions, survived on the ground?”

“The airfield was quarantined and incinerated. No evidence the virus escaped.”

It was a relief. In the moment, there had been nothing to do but take the chance, but Cooper had been haunted since by the idea that they might have accidentally done Smith’s work for him. “And now you’re a celebrity, on your way to a summit with the president. How does it feel to be a public figure?”

The abnorm grimaced. “I like people.”

“I know, Erik. I know.” He smiled. “What’s your take on Ramirez?”

“She operates with significant efficiency.”

“Wow,” Cooper said. “High praise. Is the deal finalized?”

“Broad strokes. Dotting and crossing remain.” The terms of it were all over the newsfeeds. Besides sharing Ethan’s work, the NCH agreed to remove all software backdoors from all computer systems, to obey laws both state and federal, and to relinquish all attempts at sovereignty. The Holdfast was American territory, and would remain so. In addition, Epstein had pledged half his fortune to reparations for the families of those killed by his Proteus virus.

For her part, the president had agreed to dismantle the Monitoring Oversight Initiative to microchip brilliants. The “abnorm refuges” like Haven in Madison Square Garden were dissolved, all residents free to go. Ramirez was also expected to issue executive orders extending nondiscrimination coverage to the gifted. Technically the Fourteenth Amendment covered that already, but given the last few years, the reminder was welcome.

There were a thousand questions yet to be answered—the functioning of the academies, the future of the DAR, war crimes trials, questions of copyright violation and cybercrime, access to Ethan’s work, on and on and on. Each of them was a potential public policy nightmare, a flashpoint for civil unrest. No battle, no speech, kept the world from turning. But in theory, gifted and normals would have to deal with one another as American citizens, equal in the eyes of the law. It was something.

“What about December 1st? The troops, and the White House?”

Erik looked down. “I had no choice.”

“You could have surrendered then.”

“Statistically—” He broke off. “Perhaps.”

“Those were American soldiers. Our president. Our history. It’s nice that you’re giving a couple hundred billion dollars, and forgive and forget is a pleasant sales pitch. But no one is buying. Me included.”

“Each side bears blame. ‘Both normals and gifted are staring into the abyss.’ Your words. The abyss is frightening. It might be enough. To bring change.”

“I hope so,” Cooper said. He rose from his seat. Held out his hand. “To change.”

Epstein took it. “To change.”

“You’re heading to DC tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good luck.”

“Luck is an imprecise idiom. And you? Where are you going?”

“Long term? I’m not sure,” Cooper said. “But right now, I’m going to go see my kids. And have a conversation I’m dreading.”

Erik smiled. “Good luck.”

CHAPTER 47