Read Online The Keepers of the Library by Glenn Cooper - Free Book Online
Authors: Glenn Cooper
Ads: Link
insisting.”
He put his cup down hard. “I’m going out.”
“Will!” she called after him. “Can’t we talk about it? Don’t go running out on me like you always do!”
He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t know why he
had
to talk. Living on his own was easier. He hated the art of give-and-take and compromise. He liked things his way—always had, always would.
He sat on the front stairs lacing his sneakers tight. Truth be told, the thing that bothered him the most about Nancy’s going to China was that he’d be left alone with Phillip. Maybe on an intellectual level he knew that the kid probably loved him but the resentment on the surface was palpable. Not so different than the resentment he’d harbored against his own dad. But his old man had been a violent brute, a nasty drunk, a certifiable bastard.
He wasn’t that guy.
Phillip had it easy. He didn’t know what a lousy father was.
He rose to start his circuit. Physically, he was feeling strong. Maybe he’d start jogging straight off instead of walking.
Something caught his eye; rather, something didn’t catch his eye. When he was an FBI agent, his ability to scan a crime scene and notice the smallest detail had been legendary. That was a long time ago but some things stayed with you.
As he approached the garage he peered into the small windows in the garage doors.
Where was Phillip’s sideview mirror?
He cupped his eyes and looked through the glass. Nancy’s car was there but Phillip’s wasn’t.
He ran inside the house.
“Nancy, Phillip’s car is gone!”
She came out of the bedroom. “It can’t be!”
“Why not?”
“I was up early. I didn’t see him leave.”
Will was already heading to Phillip’s bedroom. He didn’t bother to knock.
“Christ …” he muttered. The bed hadn’t been slept in. He felt his knees go weak. Nancy was behind him and instinctively reached out to steady him. When Will spoke his voice was frosted with fear. “He’s gone.”
Y i Biao was notorious for keeping an uncluttered desk. As an ardent supporter of technology, he had all but banned paper from his office and he demanded that e-mails and reports be kept to a minimum of verbiage. Though he had a voracious appetite for information he liked to receive it crisply and concisely with no more than three action items per issue. And he banned the use of PowerPoint presentations from members of his staff. “Stand up and tell me what you have to say,” he would demand. “I want to see your face and your heart, not a list of bullet points.”
So his large desk was sparsely populated with objects—only a small collection of framed photos, a platinum- and diamond-encrusted Montblanc pen for signing state documents, a leather blotter and a pop-up computer screen. The photos told his story. His parents, both hardworking party members at his boyhood house in the countryside. His wife, a former actress who used to be more famous than he, his son, a graduate of Yale and Oxford who was now a rising star in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a stiffly posed shot with General Secretary Wen Yun and his favorite,his induction ceremony as Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission.
That was the penultimate stepping-stone in a long and calculated career stretching from his first job as a minor provincial official in Gansu to the highest seat in the land. He was the heir apparent to Wen, and it was only a matter of time before his turn would come as the next General Secretary and President of the People’s Republic of China.
The transition would probably have occurred already if it weren’t for the Horizon. Although it was the official policy of the government to disavow the significance of February 9, 2027, there were enough Politburo members who were concerned about a coming cataclysm that Secretary Wen had decided to postpone his retirement until later in 2027, assuming that the Horizon skeptics were correct and China and the rest of the world still
He put his cup down hard. “I’m going out.”
“Will!” she called after him. “Can’t we talk about it? Don’t go running out on me like you always do!”
He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t know why he
had
to talk. Living on his own was easier. He hated the art of give-and-take and compromise. He liked things his way—always had, always would.
He sat on the front stairs lacing his sneakers tight. Truth be told, the thing that bothered him the most about Nancy’s going to China was that he’d be left alone with Phillip. Maybe on an intellectual level he knew that the kid probably loved him but the resentment on the surface was palpable. Not so different than the resentment he’d harbored against his own dad. But his old man had been a violent brute, a nasty drunk, a certifiable bastard.
He wasn’t that guy.
Phillip had it easy. He didn’t know what a lousy father was.
He rose to start his circuit. Physically, he was feeling strong. Maybe he’d start jogging straight off instead of walking.
Something caught his eye; rather, something didn’t catch his eye. When he was an FBI agent, his ability to scan a crime scene and notice the smallest detail had been legendary. That was a long time ago but some things stayed with you.
As he approached the garage he peered into the small windows in the garage doors.
Where was Phillip’s sideview mirror?
He cupped his eyes and looked through the glass. Nancy’s car was there but Phillip’s wasn’t.
He ran inside the house.
“Nancy, Phillip’s car is gone!”
She came out of the bedroom. “It can’t be!”
“Why not?”
“I was up early. I didn’t see him leave.”
Will was already heading to Phillip’s bedroom. He didn’t bother to knock.
“Christ …” he muttered. The bed hadn’t been slept in. He felt his knees go weak. Nancy was behind him and instinctively reached out to steady him. When Will spoke his voice was frosted with fear. “He’s gone.”
Y i Biao was notorious for keeping an uncluttered desk. As an ardent supporter of technology, he had all but banned paper from his office and he demanded that e-mails and reports be kept to a minimum of verbiage. Though he had a voracious appetite for information he liked to receive it crisply and concisely with no more than three action items per issue. And he banned the use of PowerPoint presentations from members of his staff. “Stand up and tell me what you have to say,” he would demand. “I want to see your face and your heart, not a list of bullet points.”
So his large desk was sparsely populated with objects—only a small collection of framed photos, a platinum- and diamond-encrusted Montblanc pen for signing state documents, a leather blotter and a pop-up computer screen. The photos told his story. His parents, both hardworking party members at his boyhood house in the countryside. His wife, a former actress who used to be more famous than he, his son, a graduate of Yale and Oxford who was now a rising star in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a stiffly posed shot with General Secretary Wen Yun and his favorite,his induction ceremony as Vice Chairman of the Central Military Commission.
That was the penultimate stepping-stone in a long and calculated career stretching from his first job as a minor provincial official in Gansu to the highest seat in the land. He was the heir apparent to Wen, and it was only a matter of time before his turn would come as the next General Secretary and President of the People’s Republic of China.
The transition would probably have occurred already if it weren’t for the Horizon. Although it was the official policy of the government to disavow the significance of February 9, 2027, there were enough Politburo members who were concerned about a coming cataclysm that Secretary Wen had decided to postpone his retirement until later in 2027, assuming that the Horizon skeptics were correct and China and the rest of the world still
Similar Books
