“James Whitfield,” Klein said.
“Who?”
“He’s a retired military intelligence officer who consults for an organization that lobbies on behalf of the military. I think you’re familiar with him, Jon. Gray hair, scar on his neck?”
“What do you mean by ‘lobbying for the military’?” Randi said. “You mean he’s in the pocket of defense contractors?”
“No, actually. While he’s definitely been involved in making sure that our soldiers are well equipped, he’s also supported serious cuts in unnecessary bases and weapons systems. His goal is to make the military stronger, but also cheaper and more efficient — something that hasn’t won him many friends in Congress and the military industrial complex. I’ve only met him in passing, but I have to admit that I’ve always been an admirer.”
“Well, I can tell you that those guys weren’t trying to lobby us,” Randi said.
Klein crossed his arms and leaned against the wall behind him. “I think there’s a good chance that Whitfield is the one behind the money disappearing from the Pentagon. It just never occurred to me to look at him. I was focused on criminal activity — someone embezzling or a contractor covering up a failing project. Not someone diverting money to fund an organization looking to help the military.”
Smith finally turned away from the fire. His hands were thawing to the point that numbness was giving way to pain. “Am I the only one here who thinks it sounds a lot like you’re describing yourself? Whitfield sounds like your mirror image. Some kind of evil counterpart.”
Klein considered that for a moment. “Counterpart? Possibly. Evil? I’m not sure. There’s nothing I know of in his background to suggest he’s anything but an incredibly patriotic and competent former soldier.”
“It’s a hazy line, isn’t it?” Smith said. “Doing what you believe is right without any real authority. Killing people from the edges of democracy…”
“We save lives,” Randi said, sounding a little indignant.
“Maybe he does, too,” Smith responded. “Maybe he sees the importance of the Merge to our soldiers and thinks we’re poking our noses into places that could jeopardize that.”
“At this point, his motivations are irrelevant,” Klein said. “What we know is that the man is smart, motivated, and well connected. Your transfers didn’t work only because Whitfield had no way of knowing about my involvement—”
“And we aren’t dead because I’m one of the only people who really understands the control and command structure of the Merge’s military operating system.” Smith thumbed toward Randi, who was adjusting the blanket around his shoulders. “And of course because of the paranoia level of certain CIA operatives.”
“Miscalculations I myself might have made,” Klein admitted. “But I wouldn’t make them again. And neither will he.”
“Can we get him off our backs?” Randi said.
“I honestly don’t know. It’s a dangerous fight for us to get into.”
“Particularly in light of the glass house we live in,” Smith said.
“Exactly. Going toe-to-toe with Whitfield could shine a very bright light into places that need to stay dark.”
“And where does that leave us?” Randi said.
“Our primary concern is the proliferation of the military version of the Merge. We need to understand how those Afghans got those head studs and what they were doing with them. Secondarily, we need to look into the behavioral issues that you’re concerned about and the possibility that the Merge has capabilities we’re not aware of or that it can be subverted in ways we don’t understand.”
“But what’s Whitfield’s angle?” Randi said.
“If I had to bet money, I’d say that he somehow got early access to the military units and what happened in Afghanistan was some kind of pre-release test.”
“Maybe,” Smith said. “But maybe not. We found out that Christian Dresner was part of the athletics program in East Germany.”
“Athletics? I don’t follow,” Klein said.
“He has a history of experimenting on humans.”
“You think he could be behind what happened there?”
“The human brain is very different from a rat brain or even a chimp brain. I’d never given it a lot of thought until now but in order to get his system to integrate with the mind, there would have had to be a fair amount of direct experimentation.”
Klein nodded, obviously seeing where he was headed. “But where are all the early test subjects? I’ve never heard anyone talking about being involved in those kinds of trials.”
“And let’s not forget Craig Bailer,” Randi said. “It’s possible that his death was just a coincidence, but now I’m starting to doubt it.”
“Do we have any information on that?” Smith asked.
“Apparently his car missed a turn and rolled down an embankment. The bodies were badly burned, so information is shaky. Based on Bailer’s lungs, he was dead before the fire started, but there was no obvious trauma. Best bet is a heart attack. The passenger — a member of Dresner Industries’ board — appears to have been knocked unconscious and died in the fire. No obvious evidence of foul play.”
“Doesn’t mean there wasn’t any,” Randi pointed out.
“No it doesn’t,” Klein admitted. “Any thoughts on how to proceed?”
“Get our hands on Dresner?” Randi said.
“That’s not going to happen,” Klein said. “Beyond his obvious wealth and connections to more world leaders than I can count, he’s a German national who tends to move constantly between compounds set up all over the world. I’m not sure I could even find him, let alone get you access to him.”
“What about the psychologist he escaped East Germany with?” Randi said.
“Gerhard Eichmann?” Klein said. “You think he might be involved?”
“We Googled him on the way back from Germany,” Smith said. “He worked for a few years after making it to the West and then pretty much disappeared. A guy that brilliant should be at a top university or at least have a trail of publications in academic journals. Instead, there’s nothing.”
“And you think he was working on the Merge project?”
“He wouldn’t be a bad guy to have around if you wanted to integrate machine and mind.”
“Any idea where he is?” Klein said.
“Maybe Morocco, but we need Star to do some digging.”
Klein nodded. “We have to move fast on this. I’ve managed to postpone both your transfers but doing any more could generate tracks that I can’t cover. Talk to Eichmann and see what you can find out. But — and I want to be very clear on this — you’re not to take any direct action without my authorization. For now, we’re just gathering intel.”
“What about Whitfield?” Randi said.
“I’ll see what I can do to keep him off you, but I can’t promise anything. My advice is to watch your back.”
His phone rang and he pulled it from his jacket again. “Yes? ETA? Okay, I’ll be ready.
“Time for me to go,” he said. “We need to get the chopper in and out of here before the sun comes up. Good luck.”
48
Jon Smith narrowly dodged a moped coming up behind him and then watched it weaving aggressively through the people packed into the alley. Overhead, tarps had been hung to keep out the sun but seemed more effective at holding in the heat, enveloping him in humidity scented with sweat, urine, and cooking meat. Along the sides of the narrow corridor, shops sold everything from food to clothing to hand-carved doors, supplied by an endless procession of animal-drawn carts.
Despite his dark complexion and hair, Smith had no hope of passing for Moroccan so he’d opted for the baseball hat, camera, and khakis of the inexperienced tourist. Randi, shuffling along behind him, had disappeared into a chador that revealed only her eyes.