Robert Ludlum's The Utopia Experiment - By Kyle Mills Page 0,16

green glow.”

“But what about the evaluation of people that everyone’s talking about?”

“I’m reserving judgment at this point, but I have to admit that I think it’s going to work better than the press is giving it credit for. It’s been pretty accurate when I’ve looked at people I know well and I have to assume that it’s just as good for people I don’t know. And it’s only going to get better as it collects more data and collates user feedback,” Janine said.

The gate swung back and Smith pulled into what the sign said was the Anacostia Seagoing Yacht Club. The pleasantly winding asphalt and carefully landscaped berms reinforced that particular piece of fiction, but in fact had been designed to make a straight-on attack impossible. Smith winced as the Triumph scraped over a speed bump and then turned to parallel a dock full of boats that completed the illusion that this was just an extremely exclusive playground for wealthy yacht owners.

“It’s a brave new world,” the interviewer said, and Smith switched off the radio.

It sure as hell was.

9

Khost Province

Afghanistan

RANDI PUT THE HELICOPTER into a steep climb, feeling a jolt of adrenaline when she spotted the shape of a goatherd moving against the dead Afghan landscape. It wasn’t the fear of death that caused it, though. It was the fear that something might happen to the chopper.

There were only three in existence and the CIA tended not to hand them out to self-confessed mediocre pilots. The change of heart could only be the result of the quiet involvement of Fred Klein, but still it had been made clear that there would be hell to pay if she brought it back with so much as a scratch.

Neither the animals nor the goatherd so much as glanced at the sky as she passed overhead, reminding her why she’d fallen in love the moment she’d laid eyes on the aircraft. Its blades had a bizarre bat-wing shape that cut rotor slap by more than half; what noise was left was deadened by a web of speakers using the same technology as over-the-counter noise-canceling headphones. The skids and bottom were painted the hazy blue of the Afghan sky and the top the monotonous tan of the Afghan ground, completing the incredibly effective stealth package.

Of course there were drawbacks. The range was crap and it was a single-seater with a 250-pound capacity. So instead of carrying Deuce to watch her back, she was crammed into the cockpit with a bunch of jerry cans full of fuel. At least they’d make a really big fire if she crashed. Burning alive would be preferable to having to go back to Klein and tell him that she’d left the CIA’s multimillion-dollar toy sticking out of a sand dune.

Randi followed an obvious ridgeline, navigating by memory toward the Taliban village of Kot’eh. She was fairly certain they were responsible for the attack on Sarabat and while it didn’t seem to bother anyone else, she couldn’t shake the image of those headless bodies. She wanted to know what the hell had happened there and, while his motivations were murkier, so did Fred Klein.

It wasn’t until she came around the edge of a broad plateau that the smoke became visible—multiple narrow columns rising dead straight for a hundred meters before being ripped apart by the crosswinds she’d been fighting since leaving base.

“Damn,” she said, her voice just audible over the hum of the engine and hiss of the state-of-the-art rotors. A tug on the collective took her to maximum altitude—a pathetic two hundred meters off the deck.

In the end, neither the mundane performance specs, the fancy paint job, nor the silence mattered at all. A few passes made it clear that there was nothing left alive in Kot’eh to care about her presence. And while she couldn’t say she hadn’t considered the possibility that this was what she’d find, the knot in her stomach tightened perceptibly.

She made another arcing pass around the north edge of the village, speaking aloud to herself again. “So what’s the brilliant plan now, Randi?”

She answered the question by dipping the chopper’s nose toward the rooftops. Just a quick peek. What could possibly go wrong?

It was strange to hear only the sound of the sand battering the glass as she touched down. There was no visible movement outside. She jumped out, leaning over her assault rifle as she ran through the dissipating cloud of dust.

When she made it to clear air, she stood upright and scanned the