The Utopia Experiment

  “We shouldn’t be here. This is North Korea. They—”

  “This isn’t anything new. You’ve been here before.”

  “With Christian’s permission and protection! The military controls this place. We have no authority here without him.”

  “You’re going to have to calm down, Doctor. People can smell fear. If we act like we’re here with Dresner’s blessing, no one will have any reason to question that.”

  Eichmann looked unconvinced, which wasn’t surprising. He wasn’t a stupid man. In truth, they were very much working without a net. There was no way to know what security protocols were in place or how much direct communication the Koreans had with Dresner. They could very easily be walking into a summary execution and unmarked grave. But what alternative did they have? If the dismantling of the facility was already under way, going through the nearly nonexistent political channels between Pyongyang and Washington was guaranteed to fail.

  Randi swung the plane in a slow arc and Smith looked out the window, admiring the lush mountainscape for a moment before focusing on the narrow airstrip. On the bright side, the massive military force and SAMs that he’d half expected weren’t in evidence. But then, maybe they just wanted to take them alive.

  “Is this how it looked when you’ve come in the past?” he said, pointing to a single open jeep parked next to the ribbon of asphalt. “Do you see anything that looks unusual?”

  The German squinted out the window and shook his head. “That’s Kyong. He always picks me up.”

  “Is he armed?”

  “We should turn around. We can still—”

  “We’re not turning around,” Smith said. “After this is over, you’re going to live out a very comfortable retirement under another identity. But now it’s time to focus. Is he armed?”

  “Never that I’ve seen,” Eichmann said shaking his head miserably. “He isn’t a scientist or a soldier. He was born near here and speaks very good English, which makes him an ideal escort.”

  Randi touched down without her normal drama and shut down the engines as Smith opened the door. He peeked out and saw nothing but the young Korean jogging toward the plane waving.

  “What do you think?” Randi said, coming out of the cockpit and sliding a .32 beneath her light jacket.

  “Looks okay.”

  She indicated toward the door. “Age before beauty.”

  Smith unfolded the steps and went cautiously down them with Eichmann close behind. As terrified as the elderly scientist was of the locals, he didn’t seem particularly excited about being left alone with Randi either.

  “Dr. Eichmann!” the young Korean said, rushing up and offering his hand. “It’s good to see you again so soon.”

  “Hello, Kyong. I’d like to introduce you to my associate…” He hesitated and Smith covered.

  “Dr. Smith.” He indicated behind him, seeing no reason to bother with aliases at this point. “And this is Dr. Russell.”

  Kyong gave them a quick nod and then started toward the jeep. “Please, if you’ll follow me.”

  Temperatures were in the mid-fifties, but the sun was hot in the cloudless sky. There was no humidity and no pollution, just clear air and snow-topped emerald hills in every direction. A deceptively peaceful scene.

  Smith slipped into the passenger seat, forcing Eichmann into the back with Randi, where he couldn’t cause any trouble. They took off at a casual pace with Kyong skillfully negotiating the uneven dirt road while Smith watched the trees for signs that they were headed into a trap.

  Nothing but a few colorful birds, a distant waterfall, and a constant flow of small talk from their driver.

  They came out of the trees after about fifteen minutes and began angling toward an enormous complex built near the shore of a small lake. A chain-link fence surrounded the entire campus but they didn’t slow as they passed through the open gate. The regular army guard seemed interested in them only insofar as it gave him an excuse to snap off a crisp salute.

  The activity Smith had noted during their approach was even more frantic up close. Trucks of every type and size were coming in empty, being loaded, and then heading for the gate. What Eichmann had told them about the place being shut down was apparently true. But more than that, it looked like it was being completely dismantled. To the west, windows were being carefully removed and three men were carrying out a security desk that looked like it had been cut from the floor.

  They pulled up to what appeared to be the main entrance—so far untouched by the demolition crews crawling over the rest of the facility—and Smith jumped out. A military flatbed rumbled by with a massive tarp pulled tight over its load. The shapes bulging beneath it were unmistakable: bodies.

  Smith followed the vehicle with his eyes as it moved away, spotting a single hand peeking out from beneath the canvas. At first he thought it was covered with dust, but then he realized the color was natural. The body wasn’t Asian, but African or possibly East Indian.

  “Dr. Eichmann!” came a thickly accented voice behind him. Smith turned to see an older Korean man in an immaculate lab coat come through the glass doors. “I’m so pleased to see you again.”

  Introductions between them and the facility’s director went fairly smoothly, with Eichmann’s queasy expression and weak voice easily written off to jet lag and turbulence on the way in.

  Dr. Nang led them inside, where they found still more gaunt workmen using hand tools to tear out everything that had even a remote chance of being recycled: drywall, insulation, plumbing. Even the floor. In a country where labor was virtually free but materials were at a premium, they would undoubtedly strip everything right down to the ground.

  “As you can see we’re on schedule with closing the facility,” Nang said, leading them down a long corridor lined with empty doorways labeled in Korean. Smith looked into each one, finding rooms of various sizes with little left in them beyond the odd IV pole and the marks left by beds long since scavenged.

  “Most of the equipment is being sent to other government research facilities,” Nang continued. “And about eighty percent of the personnel have already been reassigned.”

  They passed a large space that still had a few things in it. Oddly, playground equipment.

  “What was here?” Randi said, breaking her promise to let him do the talking.

  “It was part of our childhood behavior modification effort.”

  “Where are they?” she said, ignoring an angry glance from Smith.

  “Some were released back to their families but the most severely impaired had to be euthanized,” he said casually. “Between the drug therapies and surgeries, many wouldn’t have been productive in their villages. We had a great deal of success, though—it’s unfortunate we’re abandoning this area of research. The brain grafts between subjects created significant changes in intelligence and behavior. And our experiments using chimp tissue were fascinating.”

  “Chimp tissue?” she said, the horror on her face now visible enough that it would be impossible for Nang to miss if he were to turn around. Smith fell back a bit and grabbed her arm in a grip calculated to be painful.

  “We actually were able to generate some simian behavior in a few of the children. Of course, rejection happened very quickly, even with our strongest immunosuppressive drugs. A shame. Did you read the report?”

  Eichmann had drifted so far from Randi that he was nearly sliding against the left wall as they walked.

  “I did. Fascinating work,” Smith said. When he looked over at Randi, her face had become a death mask. It was an expression he’d seen before.

  “We’ve gained a great deal of knowledge that could be useful to Mr. Dresner if I could continue the research. We’re on the verge of a number of breakthroughs.”

  Undoubtedly Nang was interested in a job and a ticket out of North Korea—something Smith could take advantage of.

  “Mr. Dresner is very impressed with your work here and agrees that there are some aspects that might
be worth further investigation. Now, how is the dismantling of Division D progressing?”

  “According to schedule,” Nang said. “Everything is either on time or ahead.”

  “Obviously, D is extremely important to Mr. Dresner. He wants it specifically included in our report.”

  Nang nodded a vague acknowledgment. “Unfortunately, I don’t have permission to allow you into that area. I assure you, though. There are no problems.”

  “You understand that we’re Mr. Dresner’s representatives,” Smith said, deciding to push a bit. They were already in the middle of North Korea with no official authority or backup. How much worse could it get?

  “I would need direct authorization.”

  Randi pushed past and, before Smith could react, shoved her pistol into the back of Nang’s head. “How’s this for authorization?”

  “Damnit, Randi,” Smith said, looking behind them. There was no one else in the corridor and the only evidence of the security cameras that had once been there was a few wires hanging from the ceiling. But there was no way to know when someone was going to come strolling around the corner.

  Randi seemed to read his mind and pushed Nang through a door to their right. Eichmann looked like he was going to bolt or pass out but Smith grabbed him before he could do either.

  By the time they made it into the large, dormitory-style bathroom Randi was drowning Nang in one of the few remaining toilets. Smith yanked her back, allowing the terrified scientist to twist around and raise his hands defensively as he crammed himself farther into the stall.

  “Division D,” Smith said, looking down on him.

  “I can’t get you in there!”

  “You’re the director of the facility,” Randi said, coming for him again, but being blocked by Smith’s outstretched arm.

  “I don’t have authority over security—the military answers directly to the government. I’m just a researcher.”

  Smith frowned. It was almost certainly true. The North Korean government was obsessed with security. Orders would come from central authority—maybe the supreme leader himself.

  Smith grabbed the man and pulled him to his feet. “What kind of work went on there?”

  He remained silent.

  “Listen to me, you don’t want to—”

  Randi came around him and slammed the butt of her .32 into the side of Nang’s head, knocking the man from his grip.

  “Randi! For God’s sake—”

  She jumped on top of the fallen academic and pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. “Did you hear him, Jon? Were you listening? He experimented on children’s brains and then executed them. Children!”

  Eichmann had apparently reached his limit and ran for the door. Smith barely managed to get hold of him before he could dart into the hallway. This was getting out of hand fast.

  “Tell us what you did in Division D,” Randi said, grinding the gun into the prone man’s head.

  He remained silent, staring her directly in her eyes. It wasn’t courage, Smith knew. It was just that the threat she posed wasn’t as great as the one posed by his own government. She could kill him. Maybe even torture him. But she couldn’t get to his family.

  Randi pulled the hammer back on the gun and Smith was about to intercede when Eichmann spoke.

  “Wait!”

  They both looked at him as he backed slowly toward the wall.

  “Do you know something?” Randi said. “Because I’d talk fast if I were you.”

  “I don’t know anything. But I suspect.”

  “What?” Smith said.

  “The research related to autonomic brain functions—something that’s beyond my expertise. Lower functions like balance and respiration.”

  Randi actually laughed. “So they’re downright proud of sticking monkey brains into kids’ skulls but they’re too ashamed to admit that they were looking into breathing? You’d better do better than that, Doc—”

  A deep thud sounded and the entire building shook around them. Smith ran to the door, yanking it open and looking into a hallway billowing with dust. The second impact was closer and completely unmistakable. A bomb.

  “Randi! Come on! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  He grabbed Eichmann and they ran back the way they’d come with the old man stumbling along behind. When Smith looked back, he saw that Randi was in the hall but with a much less cooperative prisoner. Nang used his momentum and superior weight to break free, turning and running deeper into the complex while she lined her sights up on his receding back.

  The next blast almost knocked the fleeing scientist off his feet and part of the ceiling caved in, ruining her aim but undoubtedly crushing her target. She seemed to think justice had been done and began running toward Smith.

  The dust was getting thick enough to choke on when she grabbed Eichmann’s other am and they began rushing toward the exit. The workmen they’d passed on the way in were all down, lying amid the rubble—some dead, others trying to get up. The frequency of the blasts increased and Smith nearly pitched onto his face when the floor dropped six inches beneath them.

  The doors they’d entered through weren’t far ahead, but he wasn’t sure bursting out into the open was a good idea. The explosions didn’t seem to be from demolition charges. They were coming from outside.

  “Do you have any ideas?” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the noise.

  “Get the hell out of here?” Randi came back.

  “How?”

  “The jeep.”

  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

  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.

  “Enough,” the president said. “Major, you told me you wanted to have a frank discussion. Well, let’s do it. You have the floor.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Again, he hesitated, but his resolve was clear when he locked eyes with Klein. “As I think you’ve become aware, I run an organization that protects the interests of the military and ensures the country is as well defended as it can be. We operate on similar unstable legal ground as your group—which is why I’m willing to admit any of this.”

  “Mutually assured destruction,” Klein said.

  “I hope not, Fred—we’re on the same side. But I don’t have to tell you that it’s a difficult business. In going through the background of your Jon Smith, I can see that you’ve been forced to make tough decisions. And like me, you’ve probably made a few mistakes along the way.”

  Over the last few days, Klein had gathered a substantial dossier on the retired soldier, piecing together a probable history of his organization and making connections between him and the Pentagon officials supporting him. But it seemed that Whitfield had been similarly occupied and equally successful. The questions were, what did he want and how could they get out of this particular standoff without tearing the country apart?

  “All right,” the president said. “I think we all understand the position we’re in. Now, what do you know about Merges in Sarabat?”

  Klein was relieved that Castilla hadn’t mentioned North Korea or Morocco. Apparently, he wasn’t prepared to lay their entire hand on the table. Would Whitfield hedge similarly?

  “It was a military field test done by Dresner prior to releasing the unit. I don’t know the exact details because I’m not a scientist and this is just one of hundreds of experiments and tests that we helped fund during development.”