Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Utopia Experiment (A Covert-One novel)

by Kyle Mills

  “All right,” the president said. “I think we all understand the position we’re in. Now, what do you know about Merges in Sarabat?”

  Klein was relieved that Castilla hadn’t mentioned North Korea or Morocco. Apparently, he wasn’t prepared to lay their entire hand on the table. Would Whitfield hedge similarly?

  “It was a military field test done by Dresner prior to releasing the unit. I don’t know the exact details because I’m not a scientist and this is just one of hundreds of experiments and tests that we helped fund during development.”

  “So you’ve known about this technology for a long time,” Castilla said. “Much longer than we have.”

  Whitfield nodded. “I became aware of it almost twenty years ago when it was a skunkworks project in one of Dresner’s subsidiaries. The research looked promising and the military applications were obvious.”

  “Obvious enough for you to support it through black funding from the Pentagon.”

  “It wasn’t a project that was far enough along to get the government funding it needed. There was less than a fifty-fifty chance that Dresner could pull it off. And he wouldn’t accept public funding from the military anyway. In the end, I persuaded him that it was the only way he was going to get his dream financed and that we’d keep it completely out of the public eye.”

  “And in return, he would create a military version and give us exclusive rights to it,” Castilla said.

  “That’s exactly right, sir.”

  “At a high cost, though. People died in Afghanistan. Women and children.”

  Whitfield gave a jerky nod. “Two Afghan villages were unfortunately wiped out. But neither my organization nor any branch of the U.S. government was directly involved in that or with any other experiments.”

  The suspicion on Castilla’s face deepened. “Other experiments?”

  “Yes,” Whitfield admitted. “There have been extensive experiments on humans in North Korea as well as large-scale, but less intrusive, long-term studies on children worldwide.”

  Klein was initially surprised by the man’s forthrightness, but after a moment’s thought he understood. The damage was already done and everyone in this room lived in far too fragile a glass house to start throwing stones.

  Castilla lost a few shades of color. “The North Koreans?”

  “Yes sir. But I want to stress that the technology was developed in a very compartmentalized manner. They have no access to it. The facility was focused on—”

  “Providing an endless supply of guinea pigs,” Castilla said, finishing his sentence.

  “Initially, I wasn’t aware of Dresner’s unorthodox research methods—”

  “Unorthodox?”

  Whitfield pretended not to hear. “Unfortunately, the complexity of the human mind can’t be replicated by animals or computers. Again, I want to stress that we kept a great deal of distance between us and those activities.”

  “But you didn’t discourage them.”

  He shook his head. “Your own Jon Smith will tell you that the Merge has already saved more soldiers’ and civilians’ lives than died in Kot’eh and Sarabat. And we’re not just talking about the military system. When the Merge is integrated into things like automobiles and commercial planes, more people will be saved worldwide in a few months than—”

  “So the end justifies just about anything: human experimentation, the military making decisions without political authority—”

  “With the only goal being keeping the country safe,” Whitfield said.

  “But that’s how it always starts, doesn’t it?” Castilla said, standing and beginning to pace around the room. Once again, Klein felt sorry for the man. Power could be intoxicating, but having no higher authority to turn to—being the final word—had a way of slowly crushing men of conscience.

  Finally, the president turned back toward them and stared directly at Whitfield. “I want you to give Fred all the information you have on every dime you’ve siphoned off. I want his assessment of the chances it could be discovered by some outside party.”

  Klein shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He’d done a great deal for his old friend, but getting involved in this might be a bridge too far. “Sam…”

  Castilla cut him off, keeping his eyes locked on the former marine. “I want to be clear here. I don’t condone any of this and I wish to God that it had never happened. But the Merge can’t be uninvented and the major has been very clever at tying my hands. Dresner Industries is a multinational corporation headed by an incredibly popular and powerful German citizen. The North Koreans will deny everything like they always do. And I don’t think anyone questions how important this technology is to our soldiers.”

  “But…” Klein started.

  “But what, Fred? What do you want me to do? Let it come out that a faction inside the Pentagon has been funding human experiments? And what about me? Should I say I knew about it all along and give our enemies the PR coup of the century? Or should I say I didn’t know anything about it and make the world wonder who really has control of the deadliest fighting force in history?”

  He was right, Klein knew. Any weakening of America’s stabilizing influence on the world had the potential to create chaos. And at the same time as America’s reputation was going down in flames, so would Dresner and his exclusivity deal with the U.S. military. The people who had been killed in the development of the Merge weren’t coming back. Tossing a few million more on their funeral pyre would help no one.

  “I’d welcome a second set of eyes,” Whitfield said. “Particularly Fred’s. I think he’ll be satisfied that we’ve done everything possible to obscure this and that the few loose ends left are being tied up. The remains that Russell found have been destroyed and the North Korean facility is being sterilized.”

  “What do you mean sterilized?” Klein said.

  “It’s been in the process of being dismantled for some time and it’s my understanding that the timetable has been moved up. By tomorrow, there will be nothing left but rubble.”

  Castilla gave a curt nod that was obviously intended to be a dismissal. “Then I suggest you start working on Fred’s briefing, Major.”

  Whitfield stood and disappeared through the door at the back without another word.

  “What the hell,” Klein said as soon as it clicked closed. “I have people in North Korea.”

  “Then pull them out. From now on your organization’s investigation into this is going to be limited to making sure that Whitfield hasn’t missed anything—that a thousand years from now, this thing still won’t have seen the light of day. And don’t start with your moral indignation. I don’t give a shit.”

  “It seems like you don’t give a shit about anything anymore, Sam. Why would you blindside me like that?”

  “Blindside you? My office gets a call from a former high-level intelligence officer saying he wants to talk to me about Fred Klein’s investigation into the use of the Merge in Sarabat and I blindside you?”

  He threw a hand out and heaved a lamp onto the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain caused a Secret Service man to burst in but then quickly retreat when the normally serene Castilla pointed at the door and shouted “Out!”

  Klein waited until they were alone again before he spoke. “Can I assume that Whitfield found a way to track me when I tried to stop him from assassinating Jon and Randi?”

  “Brilliant! But a little late. What the hell were you thinking, flying in there like that?”

  “I understand that secrecy is a priority, Sam. But my people are not expendable. If that’s what you’re after, I suggest you start looking for my replacement.”

  For a moment, the president looked like he was going to throw something else, but instead he just let out a long stream of expletives. When he was done, he seemed to have regained some of his familiar calm.

  “The son of a bitch put spy planes in the air and still only IDed you by blind luck. That’s the other reason he was here. He took a huge
risk sending those birds up and now it’s starting to bite him in the ass. He needs me to smooth things over.”

  “If there had been time, Sam, I’d have contacted you about going in.”

  Castilla gave a familiar wave of his hand, indicating that the storm was over. “And I’d have authorized it. You’re right. Your people aren’t expendable. But goddamn if my tit isn’t caught in a wringer now.”

  “Are you sure you want to cover this thing up, Sam? Is it the right decision?”

  He laughed bitterly. “I make a hundred decisions a day and there’s never been a single one that I was sure of. Look, Fred. Even with all our problems, America is a bright light in a dark world. I can’t express to you how important it is that we stay that way.”

  “So that’s the final word.”

  Castilla nodded. “This country has a closet where we permanently store our skeletons—some so ugly even you don’t know about them. And that’s where this is going. Understood?”

  55

  Hamgyong-Namdo Province

  North Korea

  A SECOND BLAST FROM THE TANK caused Smith to duck behind the dashboard, though he knew it wouldn’t do much good. Fortunately, the round went wide, passing through the doors they’d escaped from and taking out most of the front of the facility. Apparently, someone had decided they wanted it gone. Now.

  The jeep fishtailed and Smith searched for a seat belt that turned out not to exist. He’d originally assumed he’d have to take over driving, but Kyong seemed to know every pothole, ditch, and rock on the compound. The Korean turned off the dirt road and headed across a field of tangled ground cover toward a section of fence that had been crushed by an armored troop carrier.

  It didn’t take long for the men pouring from the back of the vehicle to spot them and begin swinging rifles in their direction. That was less worrying, though, than the fact that the vehicle’s driver was starting to back across the opening in the fence to block their path.

  “Shiiiiiiiiiiit!” he heard Randi shout from the back as Kyong aimed at the shrinking gap leading to what may or may not have been freedom. Smith slid down in his seat as a few of the soldiers managed to bring their weapons to bear and individual shots became audible over the explosions behind. Their driver didn’t seem to notice, though, and just stared straight ahead as he struggled to keep the jeep under control on the uneven ground.

  They were jerked hard to the left when the truck’s rear bumper slammed into their rear quarter panel, but then they were across the fence line. Smith stayed down, preparing to take over if Kyong was hit and not rising again until he calculated they were out of range.

  A quick glance back confirmed that Randi was still upright, looking surprised to be alive. Eichmann had crammed himself onto the floorboard behind the driver’s seat and was now struggling to get free. Beyond, the troop carrier was accelerating in their direction with soldiers running alongside, grabbing hold of anything that would let them join the chase.

  Kyong threw the jeep right and headed toward a dirt track cutting through the trees in front of them. Their jet was in the other direction, but so were the majority of the tanks. Best to give them a wide berth.

  They made it to the main road, but the slightly smoother surface didn’t seem to be translating into speed. Smith looked past Eichmann, who had finally managed to untangle himself, and saw the troop carrier gaining.

  “Can’t this thing go any faster?” Smith shouted

  “No,” was the only reply.

  The Korean seemed to have gone through a profound transformation. The friendly helpfulness was gone, replaced not by panic or despair—but by anger. Maybe even hate.

  Not that being chased by the North Korean army wouldn’t ruin anyone’s mood, but this was something more. The change was so complete, Smith had to wonder if this was the real man and the dutiful guide was nothing more than a meticulously crafted character.

  “Is there any way off this road?” Smith said. “Onto terrain that will give us an advantage over the truck?”

  “No,” Kyong said flatly. “We will be caught.”

  The satellite phone in Smith’s pocket vibrated and he pulled it out, punching in his password when he saw that the text was encrypted. Even under the circumstances, it was impossible not to laugh when he read it.

  “What?” Randi said from the back.

  “Fred says we should get out. That it isn’t safe to be here.”

  “Nice timing.”

  “We can’t be captured!” Eichmann said in a panicked voice. “They’ll call Christian and find out we—”

  “Shut up!” Randi screamed and punched the man in the side of the head with alarming force. “You knew about this place! You knew what they were doing here. And you just sat there and collected data. Don’t talk. Do you understand me? Next time you open your mouth, I’m going to kill you!”

  The German was too dazed to respond and instead teetered precariously toward the edge of the open jeep.

  “Calm down!” Smith said.

  She turned her angry gaze on him. “You shut up too.”

  Knowing that there was no point in fighting this battle, he gestured toward the vehicle behind them. “It’s going to catch us. And when it does, it’s going to ram us. The road’s too narrow for us to do anything about it.”

  “Then we need to slow it down,” Randi shouted, barely audible over the wind and the roar of the approaching troop carrier’s engine.

  “The tires are made in North Korea. Maybe they aren’t run-flat. Do you think you could hit one with your Beretta?”

  She shook her head. “I have a better plan.”

  Eichmann had shaken off the effects of the blow to the head, but he wasn’t prepared when Randi grabbed him by the front of his jacket. And neither was Smith. By the time he managed to throw a hand out, the scientist was already over the gate and dropping into the road.

  “Goddamnit, Randi!” he shouted, watching the old man rag-doll in the dirt.

  “What?” she challenged. “He was a sadistic bastard who didn’t have anything else to tell us. I made him useful again.”

  It was hard to argue—particularly when the truck skidded to a stop in front of the man and soldiers began streaming out. She’d bought them some time. Now he just had to figure out what to do with it.

  When he turned back in his seat, Kyong was staring at him. The anger on his face had turned to confusion.

  “But you were with him,” he said. “You worked for him.”

  Smith didn’t initially respond but then decided that this was no time to be clever. He might as well come clean and see what happened.

  “We forced him to bring us here. We wanted to investigate what was happening at that facility.”

  “Then you’re American agents?”

  Smith nodded as the dirt road they were on turned steep and winding, improving their odds against the personnel carrier. What wasn’t going to help them, though, was the familiar green shape rising over a crest about a kilometer ahead.

  “Tank!” he shouted.

  At first, the driver didn’t react, but then the jeep he’d insisted was at full speed started to accelerate. To their left, Smith spotted a double track leading into the trees and assumed they were headed for it.

  That wasn’t the case, though, and Kyong sped by, continuing on a collision course with the tank.

  “Did you see that?” Randi said from the back. “We could have gotten off there!”

  “No!” the Korean said forcefully. “We might be able to make it! If they stay stopped behind us to pick up Dr. Eichmann and we can get to the river bottom…”

  Another path, this time to the right, became visible ahead and Smith felt Randi grab him by the back of the neck.

  “He’s probably secret police,” she said, bringing her lips close to his ear. “Who else would they send to escort foreign nationals? He’s going to drive us right into that goddamn tank!”

  She was probably right. But where did all these side ro
ads go? For all he knew, they petered out after a hundred meters. Add to that the fact that neither of them spoke Korean, they stood out like sore thumbs, and they were in the most clamped-down police state on the planet. It was time to gamble.

  He managed a weak shrug and Randi released him, falling back in her seat as they started down a steep hill toward a dry riverbed. Fifty meters before they got to it, Kyong slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel.

  “Hold on!” he shouted, crashing into the trees to their right.

  Smith put a hand up to protect his face, but in less than a second they were through. Trees that had looked dense a moment before turned out to be a row of saplings planted only a meter deep.

  “Come on!” Kyong shouted as he slid the vehicle to a stop and leapt from it. “Help me!”

  Still not sure what had just happened, Smith and Randi jumped out and began helping him push the trees and bushes they’d broken upright again. The sound of explosions and mortar fire was still audible in the distance, but it was quickly being drowned out by the rumble of the tank bearing down on them.

  “Hurry!” Kyong said. “It’s coming!”

  A moment later Smith saw a flash of it going through the riverbed. There was no way to know if the man protruding from the top had seen them go in, but they were about to find out. He helped Randi prop up a bush with a rotting log and then hit the ground. The vibration from the tank sank into his chest as Kyong dropped between them and closed his eyes.

  56

  Near Chicago, Illinois

  USA

  CHRISTIAN DRESNER SAT in the back of his private plane—a 737 that his growing security detail had insisted on—and watched the black SUV approach through the rain. Another meeting—another altercation—that he didn’t want to be involved in. It was more of his increasing sense of disconnect from the world and the people in it. His time was fading while for so many others it was just beginning. In some ways, he wished he could be part of the future, could see what was to come. Other times, he just felt tired.