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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

It wasn’t Smith who answered, though. Instead, a section of wall next to her slid aside, exposing a computer monitor with Marty’s Zellerbach’s disembodied face centered in it.

“Randi! How could you possibly still look so hot after all that? Is there no limit to your sexiness?”

“Marty?”

“I should have known I couldn’t sucker you with the planter. You wouldn’t believe the thing I built back there. It’s based on an orb spider’s—”

She rushed the screen and slammed her hands on both sides, trying to ignore the half-drowned, mud-splattered reflection in the glass. “I’m going to kill you, Marty. And that’s not a figure of speech. I am actually going to murder you and then hide your body somewhere no one will ever find it.”

“What?” he said, sounding genuinely surprised by her anger. “You do this for a living. Would I get mad if you asked me to fix your router?”

“Where’s Jon? Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s just lying there milking it…Wait. No, he’s up now. Hmmm. He looks a little pissed, too.”

“You were shooting at him with a machine gun, Marty!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. The right barrel had blanks in it and the left one’s a paintball gun. Man, you guys are pretty quick. I’m going to have to replace the turret motors with something more powerful. Or maybe it’s just the rain we’ve been having. Some rust could have gotten in there and—”

“Marty…” she said, trying to sound calm through clenched teeth.

“What exactly was it that you didn’t like about the planter, Randi? What if I made it a statue? Maybe me on a horse. That would be—”

“Shut up, Marty! Shut up, shut up! And get me the hell out of here!”

37

37

Alexandria, Virginia
USA

JAMES WHITFIELD SAT IN THE windowless room at the back of his house, illumination coming only from a small lamp hovering over his desk.

Arrogance.

With age was supposed to come wisdom, and for the most part it had. But now he’d made grave, and uncharacteristically amateurish, mistakes. Not only had he drawn conclusions with insufficient facts, he’d erred on the side of underestimating an opponent instead of the other way around. In his younger years battling the KGB, he’d be dead. A fate that would have been richly deserved.

The clock on his laptop ticked over to four p.m. and before he could even reach out, a quiet ring emanated from it. Another example of the captain’s unflagging efficiency.

“Yes,” he said, picking up the heavily encrypted line.

“Did you receive the file I had couriered to you, sir?”

“I did.”

“You know we use the Internet to transmit—”

“I’m aware of that, Captain. Thank you. Now, what have you found out about the transfers?”