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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

Whitfield remained silent for a moment, but when he spoke again he had shaken off his confusion. “Deuce. Give the colonel back his phone. Jon, use it to tell your people what happened. We need to call a meeting with the president and the Joint Chiefs.”

It was precisely what Dresner had wanted to hear. The implication was clear: All the people who knew of Zellerbach’s discovery were in that room. What had been a potentially insurmountable problem now looked like a permanent solution.

There would be questions about their deaths, of course, but it was hard to imagine that they would lead to the rediscovery of his subsystem—particularly with the further precautions he intended to put in place. Once again, Castilla would want this to simply go away. To propagate his own power and the power of his country.

“Lieutenant. Did you hear me? Give Smith his phone back,” Whitfield said.

So arrogant. So foolish to believe that he was in command.

Dresner activated an icon in his peripheral vision, opening a direct link to Deuce Brennan’s Merge. “I think it’s time we took control of this situation, Lieutenant.”

66

66

Near Washington Circle, District of Columbia
USA

BY THE TIME SMITH HAD HELPED a shaky James Whitfield to his feet, both of the men guarding them had lowered their weapons. The red-haired one Randi had called Deuce reached toward his chest pocket—to retrieve the phone he’d been ordered to return, Smith assumed—but instead shot the man next to him in the side.

Smith froze at the quiet crack of the silenced pistol, unable to immediately process what had just happened. Randi was quicker and she lunged toward him with the wrench still in her hand.

“Not today, Randi,” he said, swinging the pistol in her direction before she even got close. “Now back off, bitch.”

She did as she was told, dropping the wrench while he followed her with his weapon, eyes sweeping smoothly around the room. Randi’s deference appeared to be well founded. He was fast as hell and apparently completely unaffected by the fact that he’d just gunned down his teammate in cold blood. Not a man to roll the dice with.

“Lieutenant…” Whitfield said, not yet fully recovered from being dead a few moments before. “What are you doing? You’re a soldier. You—”

“No sir. The day I went to work for you, I left my oath of loyalty behind. I became a mercenary.”

Whitfield continued to gain strength. “What the hell are you talking about? We do what we do to protect our country. To save the lives of the people you work with. How is that a mercenary?”