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

by Kyle Mills

  “Bullshit. I saved our asses back there and that old man wouldn’t have made it five steps up this mountain.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes before Randi spoke again. “Why does something like this happen every time we see each other? I’m starting to think we should each pick a hemisphere and stay there.”

  “Probably not a bad idea.”

  The foliage started to encroach on the edge of the stream and Kyong was no longer visible ahead. He wasn’t hard to track, though. His thrashing would be audible for hundreds of meters in every direction and his trail of broken branches and muddy footprints would damn near be visible from space. Worse, though, was that Smith had underestimated the drop in temperature when the sun dipped below the horizon. Kyong would stay warm as long as he could keep moving but his trail was starting to wander. It was doubtful that they had much more than an hour before he collapsed from exhaustion.

  Smith passed Randi and came up behind the man, watching him with admiration. He might not be fit, but he could sure as hell suffer.

  A few hundred meters ahead, a cliff rose above the foliage and the area around the base looked relatively flat and dry. The glow of the sunset was still powerful enough to illuminate the fog of Kyong’s breath, but it wouldn’t be long before the unfamiliar terrain would become too dangerous even for Randi and himself.

  He glanced back at her. “Dig in up there?”

  “Looks good.”

  When they arrived in the tiny clearing, Randi took off her jacket and held it out to the Korean.

  He shook his head. “It’s yours. I’m fine.”

  Randi smiled and pointed to a natural furrow slanting northwest. “Don’t be too hasty. I need you to do something for me. Walk up that for about fifteen minutes and then turn around and come back. Don’t step out of the groove, though. You’ll get lost.”

  He looked scared but, to his credit, just took the jacket and set out.

  They watched him for a moment and then began gathering sticks and leaves, piling them next to the tangle of bushes and vines growing along the base of the cliff. When they had a reasonable supply, Smith began constructing a small lean-to—less than a meter high and barely wide enough to accommodate the three of them. With the frame finished, he covered the outside with dirt and leaves, then crisscrossed it with the vines growing around it. Randi weaved together a makeshift hatch out of the same materials while he finished up by stuffing the interior with grass and moss.

  “What do you think?” Smith said, standing and dusting himself off.

  “I’d probably walk by it. Particularly once it gets completely dark.”

  They heard Kyong’s stumbling footfalls coming from above and Smith jogged over to help the exhausted Korean down a steep section of rock.

  “You made it,” he said, throwing the man’s arm over his shoulders and half carrying him to the open side of the lean-to. “Now’s the reward. A good night’s sleep.”

  “In there?”

  “Yup. Just wiggle in feetfirst. You’ll be fine.”

  He looked skeptical, but did as he was told, struggling to worm his way into the tight space through all the debris stuffed into it.

  “Will this be warm enough?” he asked as Smith squeezed in next to him. “It can snow here this time of year.”

  “It’s not as good as a nice down sleeping bag—”

  “Or a room at the Four Seasons,” Randi chimed in.

  “But we’ll survive.”

  It was a tight fit, which was the plan, and once Randi pulled the cover she’d made closed, it started warming up noticeably. Smith closed his eyes, forcing his mind to shut off. They had too few options to bother going over. What he needed now was some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be harder. A lot harder.

  * * *

  SMITH’S EYES CAME OPEN and for a moment he was confused where he was. It didn’t take long for the sticks and leaves jabbing at his face to remind him, though. Why was it that he couldn’t occasionally wake up in his own bed to find that the day before had been nothing but a particularly ugly nightmare? Like normal people.

  He wasn’t sure why he’d awoken—probably the cold or the rock in the small of his back—but there was no sunlight filtering through to him so he closed his eyes again. Before he could drift off, though, a quiet crunching and the snap of a twig brought him fully alert.

  The wind? Maybe an animal?

  Again, his luck just wasn’t that good. Quiet Korean voices became audible and he felt Kyong shift next to him.

  Smith grabbed the man’s wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the voices closed in. The Korean started to tremble with fear as the men outside stopped only a few paces away. Smith increased the pressure on Kyong’s wrist and assumed that Randi was doing the same from the other side. If they stayed cool, they might get out of this.

  The men didn’t pause for long, moving away again after less than a minute to follow the trail Kyong had left leading up the gully. Smith calculated that it would take them about ten minutes to get to where it dead-ended, maybe a minute of confusion, and then another five to double-time it back. The three of them would make a break for it as soon as the men were safely out of earshot.

  Again, though, his luck wasn’t that good. Whoever the tracker was had real talent. The sound of them had barely faded when they turned and began running back in the direction of the clearing. Kyong tensed again, this time completely locking up in terror. It was impossible not to be sympathetic after what had happened to his family. Men like the ones approaching had taken everything from him.

  Soon, the voices were all around. Smith couldn’t understand them, but Kyong could and he began to fidget. A flashlight came on outside and swept over them.

  Don’t do it…

  But Kyong had finally reached his limit. He jerked upright, bursting from the delicate lean-to and bolting in the wrong direction. Surprised shouts rose up as the Korean ran straight into the cliff, bounced off, and fell backward over a log.

  Randi didn’t even have time to reach for her weapon before no less than five guns were pointed at them. Orders were shouted in Korean and, though unintelligible, it seemed likely that they wanted their new captives to raise their hands and stand.

  They were forced to more open ground with the guns still on them, some only a few inches from their heads. Running would almost certainly get them shot before they made it more than a few steps. And even if they did managed to slip away, what then?

  A man emerged from the darkness and came to a stop directly in front of Smith. Based on the nervous deference the others gave him as he reached into his jacket, he was in command.

  Instead of the expected gun, he produced a phone and held it out. His accent was thick, but the English still decipherable: “Call your boss.”

  Smith just stood there. Did they still think he worked for Dresner? And if so, how could he take advantage of their confusion?

  His inaction elicited a frustrated huff from the man and he began dialing the phone himself.

  “Take,” he said, holding it out again.

  Smith did, and listened to the ringing on the other end. Apparently, they had a way through the military’s jamming.

  He was still trying to formulate some kind of plan when a familiar voice came on.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Fred?”

  “Jon! Are you and Randi all right?”

  The men lowered their guns and backed into the woods to take up perimeter positions. Randi didn’t seem sure what was happening but took the opportunity to kneel next to Kyong and examine the gash in his head.

  “We’re fine. I should have known you’d be connected here.”

  “The resistance movement is small and not very well organized, but there were a few people I could call on. They’ll do their best for you, but no guarantees. North Korea runs by its own set of rules and I’m afraid none of them favor you getting out.”

  59

  Prince George’s County, Maryland

>   USA

  YOU TWO LOOK AWFUL!” Maggie Templeton said, actually standing up from behind her monitors to give them an apprehensive once-over.

  “The aftermath of being smuggled across North Korea,” Randi said. “On foot, in boats, hidden in oil drums, on flatbeds…”

  “And don’t forget under half a ton of rice on that horse-drawn cart,” Smith added.

  “How could I? I still have grains stuck in places I’m not sure they’re ever going to come out of.”

  It had taken the better part of two weeks, but they’d finally made it over the Chinese border, where Randi’s language skills and Covert-One’s contacts were a hell of a lot more useful.

  Fred Klein appeared in his doorway and motioned them inside, taking the unusual added step of closing the door behind them.

  “Sit,” he said, apparently deciding to dispense with any niceties about being happy they weren’t dead.

  “We got into the facility before they destroyed it,” Randi told him, ignoring the invitation. “The scale of the human testing is worse—”

  “Sit!” Klein repeated and she fell into a defiant silence, but not a chair.

  Smith, on the other hand, did as he was told. Randi hadn’t worked with Klein long enough to know how out of character his tone was and to be concerned by it.

  “Your investigation has ended.”

  “What?” Randi said.

  “Was I unclear?”

  Smith shifted uncomfortably. After what he’d seen, even he would have a hard time taking that order at face value. The chances of Randi just nodding submissively were hovering around zero. When you signed on with her, you got the skills but you didn’t get the obedient soldier.

  “Yes,” she said. “You were unclear.”

  Based on Klein’s expression, he’d anticipated the pushback. Whether he was starting to regret bringing Randi into the fold was less obvious.

  “Whitfield identified me at your cabin and went to the president. The three of us had a meeting and decided to…” He paused for a moment, considering his phrasing. “De-escalate the situation.”

  “A meeting?” Randi said, the volume of her voice rising. “You had a meeting? Do you have any idea what we found in Korea? What they were doing to those people?”

  “This isn’t my call to make, Randi. But the consensus is that America needs the technology and the only people looking for skeletons in Dresner’s closet are you and Jon.”

  “So we’re supposed to just walk away from people who’ve been murdered, tortured, and experimented on because Jon and his soldier buddies need a new toy to play with?”

  Smith passively examined an antique globe by the back wall while she stalked out and slammed the door. A string of muffled expletives was audible for a few moments as she headed for the exit—undoubtedly to drive off in the car they’d come in. Stranded again.

  Klein finally took a seat behind his desk, and the two men stared at each other. Smith was the first to break the silence.

  “There was something called Division D at that facility, Fred. All we know about it is that a lot of the test subjects there died. Even Eichmann—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Jon.”

  Smith ignored him. “My concern is that this was something separate from the normal development research. Something that could bite us in the ass.”

  “The investigation is over,” Klein repeated.

  “Because Castilla is worried about his legacy?”

  “Don’t try to channel Randi’s outrage. You know better.”

  Smith let out a long breath and tried to figure out a way to get through. “Our military is getting reliant on the Merge faster than even I expected. Actually, ‘reliant’ isn’t even the right word. Addicted. How can I get comfortable continuing to integrate a technology that I don’t fully understand? A hell of a lot of blood and treasure was expended in Division D, Fred. And even Dresner’s closest friend and collaborator didn’t know why.”

  Klein didn’t react.

  “Authorize me to continue to quietly pursue this, Fred. I’ll convince Randi to walk away. This will just be between you, me, and the president. Then we can make a decision with a full set of facts.”

  Klein didn’t seem sure how much to say. “You’re not bringing up any points that I didn’t already discuss with the president, Jon. This is over. We’re shut down.”

  “What about Whitfield? What does he know?”

  Klein stood in a way that was clearly a dismissal. “I’m going to say this one more time. We’re not asking those kinds of questions anymore. We’re not even authorized to speak about it among ourselves. Any data—anything you’ve written down or recorded—is to be destroyed. By the end of the day, I want there to be no record that any of this ever happened.”

  “Fred, we—”

  “I’m not sure you understand how difficult it was to get you out of North Korea and how involved with that operation the president was,” Klein said, cutting him off. “We’ve compromised some of our best eyes in that country and now have to get them and their families out. Castilla could have left you there to rot, Jon. Are you going to make him regret his decision?”

  Smith didn’t answer.

  “I want to hear you say it, Colonel. I want to hear you say that you’re clear on your orders.”

  “I’m clear. But what about Randi?”

  “I’m making her your responsibility. My hands are tied here, Jon. If you can’t handle her, I’ll be forced to.”

  Smith didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he was certain he didn’t want to find out.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Klein nodded solemnly. “See that you do.”

  60

  Outside of Pyongyang

  North Korea

  CHRISTIAN DRESNER FOLLOWED SILENTLY, a darkness he hadn’t felt since the night of his escape from the East threatening to overwhelm him. The concrete-and-steel bunker of a building was empty except for the occasional guard, whose only purpose seemed to be to snap to attention when he and the aging Korean general came into view. None of this was as he had instructed. Whatever this building’s original purpose, it now felt like the dungeon it was.

  On his way there, he had flown over the facility in Hamgyong and confirmed that its destruction, while unnecessarily public, had been entirely thorough. Even the rubble created by the military’s heavy-handed action was nearly gone—to be recycled into a project proclaiming the enduring glory of Kim Jong Il.

  The immediate eradication of the facility had been a difficult decision. The human cost was much higher than it would have been under the more measured dismantling he’d planned before his hand was forced. North Korea had become an ironic microcosm for his situation—a reminder of not only why what he was doing was so necessary, but also of the gravity of that undertaking.

  Left to its own devices, the country’s malignant government would continue to starve its people by diverting resources to the task of staying in power. But when those resources dwindled, they would have no choice but to turn to their nuclear arsenal. Millions of their own people would die, as would countless innocents in the greater region. All for a handful of twisted men like the one in front of him.

  Dresner could never allow himself to forget the blood on his own hands, though. The people who had died at that facility weren’t part of North Korea’s sadistic ruling elite. They were blameless victims who he had sacrificed so that others could live and prosper.

  General Park stopped next to a heavy steel door and turned toward Dresner. His skin hung loosely, contrasting with the heavily starched uniform weighted down with meaningless medals and a polished sidearm. He didn’t speak, but his dull eyes flicked toward the door, making it clear that they had reached their destination.

  Dresner’s anger intensified as the bolt was thrown back and he entered. The cell was probably no more than three meters square with an open toilet, a cot, and a single chair where Gerhard Eichmann sat. Park had undoubtedly gon
e out of his way to defy his wishes that his friend be made as comfortable as possible until he arrived.

  When Eichmann looked up, the fear in his eyes was replaced by relief, hope, and even joy. All illusions spun by the computer in his head, of course, but no less powerful for not being real. And neither was the deep sense of melancholy he himself felt.

  “I’m so sorry, Gerd. They weren’t supposed to put you here. I came as soon as I could.”

  He crossed the tiny room to help his friend overcome the cast on his leg and rise to his feet. When Eichmann looked into his face, though, some of the fear had returned.

  “You tried to kill me, Christian.”

  “In Morocco?” Dresner smiled sadly. “No. It was Smith and Russell. They did it to turn you against me. To trick you into bringing them here.”

  Eichmann broke away and stumbled backward, trying to think through what he was hearing. By the time Dresner reached out to steady him, it was clear from his face that he realized it was the truth.

  “I…I’m sorry, Christian.”

  “I know.”

  “They found the data for the study. And they know what was done here. Everything except Division D.”

  Dresner retrieved a set of crutches leaning against the wall and held them out. “Let’s go, Gerd.”

  “Go? We’re leaving?”

  “Of course. My jet is waiting. We’ll be home soon.”

  “Home,” Eichmann repeated. “But that’s where they found me. I can’t go back unless they’re gone. Are they? Do you know what’s happened to them?”

  In fact, Dresner didn’t. They’d escaped into the mountains and the military had mounted a massive—and thus far fruitless—hunt for them. While it seemed impossible that they would be able to avoid capture, both had proved their resourcefulness too many times to make any other assumption. And that left him relying on Castilla’s anxiousness to end their investigation. Far from certain, but more likely than Smith and Russell allowing themselves to be caught. Powerful men were easy to predict and even easier to manipulate. Castilla would protect his beloved country. And he would protect himself.