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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

“Do it now, Captain.”

Whitfield severed the connection and wiped a hand across the perspiration forming on his upper lip.

Fred Klein.

It explained a great deal, but in the worst way possible. Of all the people in the world he could have found himself pitted against, Klein was one of the most dangerous. And, if he guessed correctly, also one of the best connected. While Whitfield’s own power base was quietly centered at the Pentagon, it was almost certain that Klein’s was currently occupying the Oval Office.

50

50

Marrakech
Morocco

JON SMITH SPRINTED INTO the courtyard while Randi fired upward from the cover of the balcony above her. A bullet impacted only inches from the prone Gerhard Eichmann’s head, kicking up a spray of shattered marble.

The near miss broke him from his stupor and he rolled to his knees, trying to crawl beneath the leafy branches of an orange tree next to him. Psychological cover at best.

Another shot from above slammed into the floor and Smith grabbed the elderly scientist under the arm, jerking him to his feet and dragging him into the house’s entry. Randi came in a moment later, her momentum carrying her into an ancient sideboard and knocking an undoubtedly priceless vase to the floor.

Eichmann jerked at the sound of it shattering, then grabbed Smith’s shoulder with adrenaline-fueled strength. “They were shooting at me!” he said in panicked German. “Not at you! At me!”

“That’s because they aren’t after me,” Smith said, crouching and ripping open the leg of Eichmann’s pants to get at the bullet wound. “They know we’re talking to you and they want you silenced.”

“No…I don’t believe…”

“How is he?” Randi said. “Because I’m almost out and if that guy comes down the stairs with a full clip we’re going to be screwed.”

“Just a scratch,” Smith answered, standing again. “Dr. Eichmann. Is there another way out of here? We can’t get caught in that alley with a shooter above us.”

“No…Yes! There’s a servants’ door that leads to the main street. We haven’t used it in years, though. I don’t—”

“Take us to it,” Randi said when the sound of cautious footsteps reached them from the stairwell. “Now!”

He led them through the kitchen and Smith shoved him forward when he tried to stop next to his immobilized cook. They passed through a curtain at the back and down a narrow passage lined with food and kitchen utensils before coming to a thick wooden door.

It was dead-bolted with a rusted but extremely sturdy-looking iron bar. Even using both hands and a foot against the jamb, it took Smith a good thirty seconds to break it free.

“This leads out to the pedestrian shopping street?” Randi said, pressing her back to the wall and looking down the narrow hallway for signs of pursuit.

Eichmann nodded.