BooksBarbecue
Back The Utopia Experiment Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Title Page
  2. Welcome
  3. Prologue
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. Epilogue
  81. About the Authors
  82. The Covert-One Novels
  83. Newsletters
  84. Copyright

“I have come to you, Major. And I’m expecting you to handle it.”

32

32

Washington, DC
USA

FRED KLEIN FOLLOWED an unconcerned Secret Service man toward the president’s executive residence. The reason for the casual attitude was that this was a regular occurrence. Klein and the president had been roommates in college and the friendship they’d formed there transcended the world of politics and intelligence that they now lived in. Sam Adams Castilla surrounded himself with the same political creatures that every president was forced to, but he only really trusted the people he’d known before his rise to power. It’s how Klein had ended up heading Covert-One and why his virtually unlimited access to America’s leader would be the envy of everyone—if they knew about it.

While the two men occasionally met publicly in the Oval Office under the completely reasonable assumption that Castilla would periodically ask his old friend’s advice on matters of national security, it was better to keep those meetings to a minimum. Klein, to the degree that it was possible in the information age, felt most comfortable when working from the shadows.

Castilla was sitting on a threadbare sofa that had come with him from the governor’s mansion in Santa Fe when his old friend entered. He started to rise, but didn’t seem to have the strength. Instead, he grabbed a can of Coors off the coffee table and raised it in greeting.

“Even you wouldn’t believe the day I just had, Fred.”

Klein had always been suspicious that American presidents started slowly dyeing their hair gray the day they took office—a transition from the youth and energy expected of a candidate to the maturity and gravitas expected of a president. Now he knew. It wasn’t dye.

“For me?” Klein said, taking a seat across from him and pointing to a glass of scotch on the table.

“Ardbeg 1975. A gift from the Thai ambassador.”

“Is Cassie still out of the country?”

“Touring sugar plantations and eating too much island food. That’s the job you want, Fred. First Lady.”

Castilla was a brilliant man with an honest streak much wider than most and a reassuring aura of calm that tended to slip when his wife was gone for long periods of time. With so few people he trusted implicitly, he liked to keep them close.

“I’m not sure I’m qualified.”

Castilla grinned and drained his beer, pulling another from a dignified-looking oak chest that had been converted to hold ice. “These days it’s hard not to start looking forward to building my library, writing a self-serving autobiography, and hitting golf balls. What do you think, Fred? Will you be ready to join me in the pasture when my term’s up?”

“I don’t play golf,” he responded, evading the question.