Robert Ludlum's The Utopia Experiment - By Kyle Mills Page 0,20

what does ‘exclusive’ mean?”

“All I know is that his people contacted the Pentagon and want a meeting. It’s really not all that surprising. If Dresner believes that politics and the financial industry are destroying the world and need his supervision, he sure as hell thinks the military does.”

“So you figure there are going to be strings attached.”

“My guess is that he’s somehow angling to try and fix us,” Klein responded. “To give us something that will eventually lead us not to fight.”

“I’ll buy that. And, frankly, if he can pull it off I’ll buy him a beer.”

“The president doesn’t disagree, but he wants to make sure that we understand what we’re getting into and that the Merge is used in a way that suits our purposes. Not just Dresner’s.”

“So I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

“General Montel Pedersen is meeting with the CEO of Dresner Industries this afternoon and you’re going to tag along. You have the combination of scientific and operational backgrounds to understand the technology and Sam trusts your judgment.”

Smith winced. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Fred. Emerging technologies are Pedersen’s sphere of influence and he and I aren’t fans of one another.”

“Really?” Klein said, though it was unlikely this was something he was unaware of. “Why not?”

“Speaking just between us, he’s a megalomaniacal half-wit who has a huge say in what cutting-edge technologies get adopted by the military but can barely turn on a computer. On the other hand, he thinks I’m an arrogant jackass who doesn’t know his place.”

“I won’t take sides,” Klein said with a barely perceptible smile. “You’ll be going as his aide.”

“Seriously Fred, I could name three or four really talented people who’d do a great job on this. I don’t think the president understands how much this guy despises me.”

When Klein spoke again, there was an obvious dismissal in his tone. “Oh, he understands perfectly. He just doesn’t care.”

11

Outside Baltimore, Maryland

USA

THE COMPLEX HAD THE FEEL of a meticulously whitewashed prison from the outside, but once through the gate everything changed. Buildings were widely spaced and partially hidden by landscaping designed to accent the graceful modern architecture. Cars were few and far between, with open-air trolleys ferrying young, casually dressed people through the immaculate, but vaguely Stepford, environment.

It was impossible not to wonder what was going on behind the mirrored windows. Was it a cure for cancer? A sentient machine? Plans for a manned flight to Mars? Or was this just the home of DI’s accounting and human resources divisions.

The company had always been incredibly diffuse—facilities like this were spread throughout the world, splitting the work into the bite-sized chunks that their founder preferred. Good science tended to be about the free exchange of ideas and constant peer review. But Dresner’s philosophy on development—and so many other things—went against the conventional wisdom. He preferred to break his technical problems down into their most fundamental components and then have them worked on separately by the best people he could find. His job—his genius—was understanding what those basic components were and how to put them together at the end.

Smith got a scowl from a group of people power-walking along a well-tended trail and suddenly regretted not renting a Prius. Who knew that his little Triumph would feel like a diesel-belching semi truck inside the Eden that Dresner had created?

He pretended not to see them and accelerated a bit, following the directions he’d been given to the visitor parking lot. It was hidden behind a stand of pines and the only other car was a generic black sedan with a man in an impeccable army uniform standing next to it.

Smith had made it a point to be fifteen minutes early to avoid just this situation. Obviously, the general had anticipated his move and countered. Round one: Montel Pedersen.

“No uniform, Colonel? Are you embarrassed by it?”

In Smith’s extensive experience, tech people didn’t respond all that well to the trappings of the military. They didn’t seem to differentiate between strolling up in a neat dress uniform and leaping from a tank with a necklace made of human ears. Best to just go with the khakis and a polo.

“My apologies, General.”

Pedersen was about fifty, but looked older. His middle had spread enough that it could no longer resist gravity and had collapsed over what was undoubtedly a meticulously polished belt buckle. His hair was cut close where it still existed, accentuating a head that looked a bit like it was melting. He told people he’d