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Vincent’s racist asshole neighbors wouldn’t have let him pack a bag, or maybe even grab a wallet. He might well be on the streets with nothing.

A friend? Possibly. But right now, Vincent won’t be in a trusting frame of mind.

He’s scared, broke, and trapped. Looking for . . .

Sanctuary.

Cooper stood, finished the last of his coffee, then crumpled the cup and dropped it in the trash. “Let’s go.”

He’d been to Madison Square Garden only once, for a Knicks game a few years ago, and had come in through the bright glass lobby, along with about twenty thousand other people. This time they headed for a side entrance, what had once probably been for employees, a set of grungy metal doors on the undecorated side of the massive building. A mobile sign on a parked trailer read, MADISON SQUARE GARDEN REFUGEE HAVEN, and below that, ALL GIFTED WELCOME. Two soldiers in active camouflage chatted by the door, the digital patterns of their BDUs flexing and shifting as they gestured.

“Gentlemen,” one of them said as he opened the door. “Please have your identification ready.”

The room was a cramped security antechamber. Cameras monitored every angle, and more soldiers manned a walkthrough scanner and an X-ray conveyor. A weary mother carried a girl of six while her husband argued with a pretty woman in civilian clothes.

“But I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought families could come.”

“They can,” the woman said. “But for your safety, we’re quartering the gifted members of the family separately.”

“I’m not leaving my wife and daughter.”

“It’s just a matter of bunk assignment. You’ll still be together.”

“If we’re staying separately, then how are we—”

“Honey.” The man’s wife touched his shoulder. “We don’t have a choice. Unless you want to wait for someone to break down our door and drag you away?”

The little girl startled at that, said, “Who’s taking Daddy?”

“Nobody, baby,” the man said. “Nobody.” He stroked her hair. To Cooper’s eyes, the man’s rage and helplessness burned a dangerous shade of red, but he said, “Okay.”

“Please step this way.” The pretty woman turned to Cooper. “Welcome to Haven. Are you requesting admission?”

“No.” He flipped open his wallet. The picture was of a wildly different man. A man filled with certainty, who didn’t hope he was doing the right thing, he knew it. Fighting the good fight. Making hard choices for the greater good. Embodying the tropes that made him tear up at the heroic moments of movies—the swell of music, the bold self-sacrifice, the faith that the cause was worth dying for—all the soldierly clichés he’d bought into since he was a kid, they had belonged to:

COOPER, NICHOLAS J.

SPECIAL AGENT

DEPARTMENT OF ANALYSIS AND RESPONSE

EQUITABLE SERVICES DIVISION

Beside the ID was a badge, the logo in the center the all-seeing eye of the DAR. While he wasn’t on active duty, technically, he was still a government agent on extended leave. He’d thought about formally resigning from the department when he’d accepted the job as special advisor to President Clay, but he’d been uncertain he’d stay in politics.

There’s a wild understatement for you

The woman examined the identification. “Welcome, sir.” She handed them plastic badges. “Please keep these on your person at all time; they grant full access to Haven. If you’re armed, we’ll need you to leave your weapons here.”

“Why?”

“Just a precaution. We have several thousand residents and can’t risk an incident.”

Cooper wondered what that meant. “We’re not armed. But maybe you can help me find a . . . resident. Vincent Luce.”

She typed on hidden keys. “Section C, row six, room eight. Elevator to the fifth floor and follow the hallway out to the midcourt entrance.”

Badges in hand, they bypassed the security station, where soldiers waved wands over the family’s three sad bags. Packing them must have been hard. How did you decide which parts of your life to abandon? The father stared at him, and Cooper nodded. The man didn’t.

They stepped into the waiting elevator. When the doors closed, Ethan said, “I do not get it.”

“What?”

“No way I’d bring my family here.”

“No?” Cooper pressed the button for five. “You tried to sneak out of Cleveland in the middle of the night past a military quarantine. You telling me that if there’d been a warm, safe place to go to, you wouldn’t have considered it?”

“We didn’t ‘try.’ We did it. And all prisons start out warm and safe.”

“Prison? Come on.”

“Look how quickly this came together. Just days after the attack they had sleeping arrangements, security, even an ad campaign. Someone planned it in advance.”

“So?”

“So what are the odds they did it out of the goodness of their hearts?”