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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

She released the German and sprinted ahead, leaping through the shattered glass door. It was unlikely that Kyong would be out there waiting for them, but she seemed to have a plan, which was more than he could say for himself.

He and Eichmann passed through the doors a bit more cautiously and immediately stopped when a tank swiveled its turret toward them.

The round passed over their heads and took out what was left of the wing’s main wall. Puffs of smoke on a ridge to the west became visible and were quickly followed by the inevitable mortar blasts behind them. Two more tanks were coming in, crushing the chain-link fence and then stopping so as not to put themselves in range of friendly fire.

With the fence down, armored troop carriers appeared, speeding into the compound and unloading men armed with weapons designed for serious destruction: flamethrowers, handheld rocket launchers, and bandoliers hung with grenades.

Smith pulled Eichmann left, following Randi as she jumped into the back of the jeep that was miraculously still there. And so was Kyong—desperately searching the floorboards for something.

Smith threw the German into the back next to Randi and then slid into the passenger seat as she leaned forward and held out a set of ignition keys.

“Looking for these?”

54

54

The White House, Washington, DC
USA

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.