The Utopia Experiment

56

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.

As he watched a man in a gray coat emerge from the vehicle, a phone icon in the colors of the North Korean flag appeared in his peripheral vision. He picked up immediately.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Dresner?” came the thickly accented voice. Not General Park’s. His assistant’s. The man he used when a failure needed to be reported.

“What’s happened?”

“The facility has been completely destroyed.”

“Destroyed? You mean dismantled.”

“Our leader sent the military and they accomplished their goal with magnificent efficiency.”

“You used the military?” Dresner said, turning away from the window and trying to control the anger welling up inside him. Even in the North Korean hinterlands, that kind of action wouldn’t escape the American intelligence community. Once again the North Korean leadership had proved itself to be a tantrum-prone child trying to display its power and relevance.

“And the people I wanted captured?”

“We have the German.”

Dresner found himself unable to respond. Was it possible? Was it possible that a military force sufficient to destroy a fifty-thousand-square-meter bunker had managed to let Smith and Russell escape? That all they had accomplished was to trap a single aging scientist?

He glanced through the window beside him and saw James Whitfield stride through the rain as though he wasn’t aware of it.

“And the others?”

“They escaped in a jeep. Our leader is extremely busy, but you will be honored to know that he is giving this his personal attention. We expect to have them in a short time.”

“You expect—” Dresner started, but the man cut him off.

“You must excuse me. I have things to attend to. We will contact you when the situation changes.”

The line went dead and Dresner pushed himself to his feet, stalking to the empty rear of the plane and entering the elaborate bathroom there. He stood over the sink staring into the mirror, trying to construct the facade of control that would be necessary for his meeting with Whitfield. He constantly tried to remind himself of the seriousness of the path he’d taken but sometimes it was impossible not to be overwhelmed by the emotional satisfaction of knowing that one day soon, the world would be free of men like the ones who ran North Korea.

Perhaps his carefully laid plans to disappear after all this would be unnecessary. There were literally billions of people in the world who would thank him for what he’d done and some might even offer him asylum. The starving, oppressed population of North Korea would certainly have no reason to do anything but laud his actions.

He heard the door in the side of the plane open and took a deep, cleansing breath. His resources inside the CIA and army could find no extraordinary power base behind the two Americans, but questions remained — particularly about Smith. His history was especially murky.

The danger they posed could not be underestimated. In all likelihood, the North Koreans would put an end to this. They were two whites and at the center of a manhunt by a regime whose only area of competence was making people disappear. But he would be foolish to count on it. Smith and Russell had proved their resourcefulness too many times.

When he emerged, Whitfield was already sitting at the small conference table in the center of the plane. He didn’t speak until Dresner had taken a seat across from him.

“It’s my understanding that the North Korean facility has been leveled. In as obvious a way as possible.”

“And it’s my understanding that Smith and Russell were there at the time. They’ve now escaped into the countryside.”

No surprise registered on Whitfield’s face but it was impossible to know if it was because he’d already known of their presence in Korea or if it was a result of the mask he wore so comfortably.

“They’re no longer a threat.”

“Are you saying they’re dead?”

“I’m saying that they’re no longer a threat.”

“And I should just leave it at that?”

“Yes.”

“You must think I’m much more trusting than I am, Major. I have no idea how involved the CIA or military intelligence is in their actions but it’s impossible to believe that they’re working alone. The time when you could just make pronouncements and have me accept them has been over for quite a while. Your record doesn’t warrant that kind of confidence.”

Whitfield just stared at him and Dresner settled back to return the stare. It was a childish battle of wills, he knew, but not one he would permit himself to lose. There was too much at stake.

“The CIA and military intelligence aren’t involved,” Whitfield said finally. “This was isolated to Randi Russell and Jon Smith. She has a history of going out on her own and she recruited Smith because of their personal history and his position working on the Merge.”

“How can you be certain they haven’t told anyone about their suspicions? And if they’re still alive, how do we know that they won’t continue their investigation?”

Again, he didn’t immediately answer. And again Dresner waited him out.

“Because I spoke to the president.”

“Excuse me?”

“Smith and Russell are notoriously hard to deal with and this was escalating out of control. I met with the president and told him everything.”

“What do you mean ‘everything’?” Dresner said, trying to keep the shock from reading on his face.

“I mean how the Merge was developed and about my involvement in its financing.”

Dresner tried to process what he was hearing, beating back the growing sensation of panic as Whitfield continued.

“For obvious reasons, Castilla agreed that none of this can ever see the light of day. He’s personally going to call off Smith and Russell and I’m coordinating with him to make certain that every aspect of this is permanently swept under the rug.”

As dangerous as the situation was, what Whitfield was saying rang true. Castilla’s motivations were clear here: He wanted to remain in the White House and he wanted the American military to dominate the world. Ironic how much the politician would risk to protect a device that had been designed to destroy the very malignant power structure he sat atop.

“I’m not confident in Russell,” Dresner said finally.

“Explain.”

“Don’t play stupid, Major. Smith is a good soldier. He can be counted on to follow orders. But her past paints a very different picture.”

Whitfield’s expression lost its enigmatic neutrality for long enough to make it obvious that he was sympathetic to that particular concern.

“It’s my understanding that you have a relationship with the political leaders in North Korea.”

Dresner nodded.

“Well, I don’t. As long as they’re in Asia, I have neither the ability to protect them nor the responsibility to do so.”

The message was clear. He was unwilling to have anything to do with the killing, but if they never returned, it would be simpler for everyone. A modern Pontius Pilate.

“Are we through?” Whitfield said.

“I think so.”

The former marine stood and headed for the front of the plane. Dresner watched him exit into the heavy rain and kept watching until the SUV disappeared. A moment later the calming rumble of the jet engines spooling up filled the cabin.

Nothing that could be confused with serenity came to him, but the fear that had been building subsided a bit. In all likelihood, Russell and Smith would never leave North Korea. But even if they did, it was probable that they could be controlled — at least for the time frame important to him.

It was conceivable that his position had just been strengthened — that instead of worrying about being discovered, he would now be able to operate under the protective umbrella not only of Whitfield’s organization, but of the White House itself. Perhaps the two-year window he’d planned on could be extended to three, possibly even five years. What if he could delay activation until there were a billion users? Two billion? And over that time, how much more sophisticated would LayerCake become at targeting those responsible for the unnecessary suffering of humanity and everything humanity touched?

Grand dreams. But probably no more than that. Jon Smith and Randi Russell had motivations that were much more complex than the powerful men they answered to and it made them unpredictable.

They would have to be dealt with. Until he had seen their dead bodies, he would not be safe.