CHAPTER 71

SAMPSON, brEE, AND I stiffened at his description of the problems the three of us were supposed to help solve.

Malcomb could see the skepticism in our eyes and held up both palms.

“Hear me out while you eat. And know that almost everything I am going to say is backed not only by the mega-data that Paladin supercomputers crunch every day but also, I suspect, by your own personal experiences.”

He cut a sausage, ate it, and took yet another sip of wine before pressing on. “We can argue about this, but aside from America’s systemic racial injustices, until the past thirty years or so, law and order as it was practiced in the USA worked. It wasn’t perfect, but it functioned.

“Today, that system is crumbling all around us, in part because of the massive disparity in wealth around the world. Because wealth has been gathered up and placed in the hands of the few, become scarce, people want it more than ever. And that desire for more breeds violence and corruption at every level.

“Don’t believe me? Look at our cities. The homeless are everywhere and so are the mentally ill and so are criminals. You can’t walk in parts of Manhattan, Chicago, LA, and Seattle because they are lawless open-air drug markets the police avoid. Go into stores in those areas, from Nike to Patagonia, and the security guards are packing Glocks because cops won’t investigate robberies or thefts under a thousand dollars. Murders are spiking in urban, suburban, and rural areas. So are rapes and assaults.

“And look at the droughts and the wildfires burning all over the world. Look at the politicians who know the climate is in massive danger and yet do nothing. Look at judges taking bribes and calling it justice. Look at law enforcement cutting corners, turning a blind eye to illegal drug shipments flowing across borders in exchange for bigger stacks of cash in bigger paper bags. It goes on and on and on. And because of that, the chaos in our lives will grow exponentially in the coming years. Mankind, civilization, seems right on the simmering edge of a lawless boil. Or am I wrong?”

I said nothing. Neither did Sampson.

But Bree said, “You’re not wrong.”

“No, I’m not,” Malcomb said, smiling grimly. “I wish I were, but I’m not. Every day brings another tale of chicanery up and down and throughout the financial industry. Souls are constantly sold to the devil. Same thing in law and in business. Ethics used to guide careers in those fields. Now it’s just a course to get through on the way to a high-paying degree.

“Is it any wonder that the justice system is riddled with corruption or that corporations routinely ignore the law and pollute the earth? Shit the bed they sleep in? Or am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong,” Sampson said. “But you say that underlying it all is the fact that the haves have most of the pie and the have-nots want it.”

“I think that’s true,” Malcomb said.

“Then what’s stopping you from spending your billions to change things, to fix the system?” Sampson demanded. “Why raise a private army?”

“That’s right,” I said. “Why go vigilante?”

“Because the way we practice vigilantism works. And because it has more impact than I’d have spending my billions conventionally. Would you like to see how it works?”

When Sampson and I hesitated, Bree said, “Yes, we would. Very much.”

Malcomb looked at John and me with a tilted head until we nodded.

“Lucas? Katrina? We’re all going to the control room.”

Bean came around to push Malcomb’s wheelchair. White took off her apron and followed us to the elevator.

The doors closed. We dropped smoothly. I watched White, knowing she was the one who’d killed the Supreme Court candidates, not understanding how she could be so at ease.

“Pneumatic elevator,” Malcomb said proudly.

Bean said, “Rises and falls on air pressure. Bloody brilliant.”

“Your own design?” Bree asked.

M’s face soured. “My brother’s idea.”

I made a note to myself that Malcomb remained conflicted about his brother and about having to kill him. He’d also confessed to protecting Sean from his secrets. What secrets?

Thinking back to all we’d learned in Idaho, I began to have suspicions about the nature of at least one of those secrets. The elevator slowed, and the doors opened.

Bean pushed M’s wheelchair into the top of an amphitheater of sorts, with tiers of workstations stepping down before a floor-to-ceiling curved screen showing various video feeds. Nine people manned the workstations and paid no attention as we entered.