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.