“Unorthodox?”
Whitfield pretended not to hear. “Unfortunately, the complexity of the human mind can’t be replicated by animals or computers. Again, I want to stress that we kept a great deal of distance between us and those activities.”
“But you didn’t discourage them.”
He shook his head. “Your own Jon Smith will tell you that the Merge has already saved more soldiers’ and civilians’ lives than died in Kot’eh and Sarabat. And we’re not just talking about the military system. When the Merge is integrated into things like automobiles and commercial planes, more people will be saved worldwide in a few months than—”
“So the end justifies just about anything: human experimentation, the military making decisions without political authority—”
“With the only goal being keeping the country safe,” Whitfield said.
“But that’s how it always starts, doesn’t it?” Castilla said, standing and beginning to pace around the room. Once again, Klein felt sorry for the man. Power could be intoxicating, but having no higher authority to turn to — being the final word — had a way of slowly crushing men of conscience.
Finally, the president turned back toward them and stared directly at Whitfield. “I want you to give Fred all the information you have on every dime you’ve siphoned off. I want his assessment of the chances it could be discovered by some outside party.”
Klein shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He’d done a great deal for his old friend, but getting involved in this might be a bridge too far. “Sam…”
Castilla cut him off, keeping his eyes locked on the former marine. “I want to be clear here. I don’t condone any of this and I wish to God that it had never happened. But the Merge can’t be uninvented and the major has been very clever at tying my hands. Dresner Industries is a multinational corporation headed by an incredibly popular and powerful German citizen. The North Koreans will deny everything like they always do. And I don’t think anyone questions how important this technology is to our soldiers.”
“But…” Klein started.
“But what, Fred? What do you want me to do? Let it come out that a faction inside the Pentagon has been funding human experiments? And what about me? Should I say I knew about it all along and give our enemies the PR coup of the century? Or should I say I didn’t know anything about it and make the world wonder who really has control of the deadliest fighting force in history?”
He was right, Klein knew. Any weakening of America’s stabilizing influence on the world had the potential to create chaos. And at the same time as America’s reputation was going down in flames, so would Dresner and his exclusivity deal with the U.S. military. The people who had been killed in the development of the Merge weren’t coming back. Tossing a few million more on their funeral pyre would help no one.
“I’d welcome a second set of eyes,” Whitfield said. “Particularly Fred’s. I think he’ll be satisfied that we’ve done everything possible to obscure this and that the few loose ends left are being tied up. The remains that Russell found have been destroyed and the North Korean facility is being sterilized.”
“What do you mean sterilized?” Klein said.
“It’s been in the process of being dismantled for some time and it’s my understanding that the timetable has been moved up. By tomorrow, there will be nothing left but rubble.”
Castilla gave a curt nod that was obviously intended to be a dismissal. “Then I suggest you start working on Fred’s briefing, Major.”
Whitfield stood and disappeared through the door at the back without another word.
“What the hell,” Klein said as soon as it clicked closed. “I have people in North Korea.”
“Then pull them out. From now on your organization’s investigation into this is going to be limited to making sure that Whitfield hasn’t missed anything — that a thousand years from now, this thing still won’t have seen the light of day. And don’t start with your moral indignation. I don’t give a shit.”
“It seems like you don’t give a shit about anything anymore, Sam. Why would you blindside me like that?”
“Blindside you? My office gets a call from a former high-level intelligence officer saying he wants to talk to me about Fred Klein’s investigation into the use of the Merge in Sarabat and I blindside you?”
He threw a hand out and heaved a lamp onto the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain caused a Secret Service man to burst in but then quickly retreat when the normally serene Castilla pointed at the door and shouted “Out!”
Klein waited until they were alone again before he spoke. “Can I assume that Whitfield found a way to track me when I tried to stop him from assassinating Jon and Randi?”
“Brilliant! But a little late. What the hell were you thinking, flying in there like that?”
“I understand that secrecy is a priority, Sam. But my people are not expendable. If that’s what you’re after, I suggest you start looking for my replacement.”
For a moment, the president looked like he was going to throw something else, but instead he just let out a long stream of expletives. When he was done, he seemed to have regained some of his familiar calm.
“The son of a bitch put spy planes in the air and still only IDed you by blind luck. That’s the other reason he was here. He took a huge risk sending those birds up and now it’s starting to bite him in the ass. He needs me to smooth things over.”
“If there had been time, Sam, I’d have contacted you about going in.”
Castilla gave a familiar wave of his hand, indicating that the storm was over. “And I’d have authorized it. You’re right. Your people aren’t expendable. But goddamn if my tit isn’t caught in a wringer now.”
“Are you sure you want to cover this thing up, Sam? Is it the right decision?”
He laughed bitterly. “I make a hundred decisions a day and there’s never been a single one that I was sure of. Look, Fred. Even with all our problems, America is a bright light in a dark world. I can’t express to you how important it is that we stay that way.”
“So that’s the final word.”
Castilla nodded. “This country has a closet where we permanently store our skeletons — some so ugly even you don’t know about them. And that’s where this is going. Understood?”
55
A second blast from the tank caused Smith to duck behind the dashboard, though he knew it wouldn’t do much good. Fortunately, the round went wide, passing through the doors they’d escaped from and taking out most of the front of the facility. Apparently, someone had decided they wanted it gone. Now.
The jeep fishtailed and Smith searched for a seat belt that turned out not to exist. He’d originally assumed he’d have to take over driving, but Kyong seemed to know every pothole, ditch, and rock on the compound. The Korean turned off the dirt road and headed across a field of tangled ground cover toward a section of fence that had been crushed by an armored troop carrier.
It didn’t take long for the men pouring from the back of the vehicle to spot them and begin swinging rifles in their direction. That was less worrying, though, than the fact that the vehicle’s driver was starting to back across the opening in the fence to block their path.
“Shiiiiiiiiiiit!” he heard Randi shout from the back as Kyong aimed at the shrinking gap leading to what may or may not have been freedom. Smith slid down in his seat as a few of the soldiers managed to bring their weapons to bear and individual shots became audible over the explosions behind. Their driver didn’t seem to notice, though, and just stared straight ahead as he struggled to keep the jeep under control on the uneven ground.