The Utopia Experiment

54

Fred Klein slipped through the door to the White House’s private residence and saw the president in his usual position on the sofa. He was about to greet Castilla by his first name but then spotted the top of a man’s head protruding over the back of a broad leather chair.

Castilla had personally called him about an emergency — not a word the almost preternaturally calm man often used. Klein had assumed that it was a Covert-One matter, but those meetings were always one-on-one affairs explained away as two old friends getting together to talk about old times.

“Mr. President,” he said respectfully, closing the door behind him.

Castilla didn’t rise, but the man in the chair did. When he turned, it took all of Klein’s discipline to keep his expression impassive. Major James Whitfield.

“I’m not sure if you two have ever actually met,” Castilla said. “But I assume that introductions aren’t necessary.”

Neither man spoke as Klein walked to his usual chair, mind working through every possible explanation for the man’s presence.

“Jim here called me because he thought it was time for us to put our cards on the table,” Castilla said.

“I thought he already did that at Randi Russell’s cabin,” Klein countered.

Whitfield mulled his response for a few seconds. “And now three good men are dead.”

“But not a certain army doctor and CIA operative.”

The anger and suspicion on Castilla’s face wasn’t anything new — he was the leader of the free world. What had changed was that Klein couldn’t be sure it wasn’t aimed at him.

“Enough,” the president said. “Major, you told me you wanted to have a frank discussion. Well, let’s do it. You have the floor.”

“Thank you, sir.” Again, he hesitated, but his resolve was clear when he locked eyes with Klein. “As I think you’ve become aware, I run an organization that protects the interests of the military and ensures the country is as well defended as it can be. We operate on similar unstable legal ground as your group — which is why I’m willing to admit any of this.”

“Mutually assured destruction,” Klein said.

“I hope not, Fred — we’re on the same side. But I don’t have to tell you that it’s a difficult business. In going through the background of your Jon Smith, I can see that you’ve been forced to make tough decisions. And like me, you’ve probably made a few mistakes along the way.”

Over the last few days, Klein had gathered a substantial dossier on the retired soldier, piecing together a probable history of his organization and making connections between him and the Pentagon officials supporting him. But it seemed that Whitfield had been similarly occupied and equally successful. The questions were, what did he want and how could they get out of this particular standoff without tearing the country apart?

“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?”