41
Near Salihorsk
Belarus
JAMES WHITFIELD STEPPED THROUGH the door already suspecting what he would find. He’d been to three of Dresner’s compounds in the past and found them to be virtually identical. This was no exception.
The layout of the garden was familiar, though it was populated mostly with native plants that could survive the local climate. It was barely fifty degrees but the high walls kept out the breeze and the sun was directly overhead, beating down on him as he walked along a stone pathway.
The governments of the world loved Dresner for spreading his wealth—setting up homes, research centers, and manufacturing plants in its every corner. And while there may have been some altruistic ancillary benefit, Whitfield had come to learn that Dresner’s primary motivator was paranoia.
Not that this was particularly hard to understand after what the Nazis and Soviets had done to him and his family. While Whitfield’s career had provided more than a few glimpses into the dark side of human nature, Dresner had stared right into the abyss.
So now he moved from one heavily secured compound to the next, never staying in one place long enough to be located, communicating remotely, and meeting almost no one face-to-face. Unfortunately for him, though, no matter how remote his hidden sanctuaries were, they couldn’t be fully separated from the world he so feared.
Whitfield finally spotted Dresner near the center of the garden, staring into a small pond as though it held some kind of secret. If anything, his recent success seemed to have aged him even more. His shoulders were a little rounder and his face a little more slack than it had been before. Perhaps he wouldn’t live much longer—a situation that had both dangers and benefits.
“Why the hell did you move against Smith and Russell?” Whitfield said angrily “I said I was handling it.”
Dresner looked up slowly, examining him as he approached “But you didn’t, Major. You warned them. And then you tried to transfer them. Now they’ve appeared in Germany to go through my Stasi records.”
Dresner always knew too much for his own good. Whitfield wasn’t so naive as to believe that the man wasn’t using his almost limitless resources to watch every potential threat. It was only when he tried to act that the situation became dangerous.
“And was sending a group of criminal half-wits after them productive?”
“It will appear to be nothing more than a failed mugging.”
Whitfield didn’t respond immediately. He’d cleaned up most of the mess. All the men involved in the attack were now dead and Johannes Thalberg had himself burned his warehouse before disappearing. For now, the loose end that he represented would have to be tolerated. The man had undoubtedly been planning his escape for his entire career and would be unlikely to make waves that could end up drowning him.
What was really worrying Whitfield was the glimpse of Christian Dresner he’d never seen before: a man who would hire neo-Nazis—the ideological progeny of the very people who had tortured his parents—to murder two people endangering his attempt to reshape the future. Many men throughout history had decided that their vision was important enough to justify any action. All had been absolutely certain that they were right. And all had turned out to be incredibly dangerous.
Whitfield concentrated on keeping his voice calm. As unstable as Dresner was, his technology was exceeding all expectations as a weapons system and America’s continued control over it was essential. “Both Russell and Smith have proven over and over again to be very hard to kill. I’m also concerned that they have a power base beyond the military or CIA.”
“Then it seems you need to redouble your efforts to get rid of not only them, but the people behind them.”
Whitfield stiffened. “Careful, Christian. I don’t take orders from you. In fact, if it weren’t for me, your company would have collapsed years ago and you’d be tinkering in a basement in Leipzig. This is my sphere of influence. Back off.”
Dresner stared down into the water again, looking past the reflection of the man in front of him. The good major’s confusion was understandable. He had the illusion that he was creating a military superpower that would last for centuries. Thus, he needed to take the long view—to examine the repercussions of every action.
Dresner, on the other hand, had a much shorter horizon. Adoption of the Merge continued to be above projections, making his two-year horizon entirely realistic. But the continued presence of Smith and Russell had the potential to threaten even that short time frame.
“If our relationship and the details of development become public, it isn’t just me and my company that are at stake, Major. Your involvement and the involvement of the Pentagon will almost certainly come to the surface. Something that, I think you agree, your country can’t afford.”
“Getting rid of them isn’t as simple as—”
“It is simple, Major! If you’re right and someone is pulling Smith and Russell’s strings, perhaps they’ll reveal themselves when the two of them are gone. But one way or another, their investigation has to stop.”
Dresner took a deep breath and let his expression soften. “I understand that they’re both honorable and courageous people. And I understand that Smith will be difficult to replace in his capacity as the military’s director of development for the Merge. But we have to weigh what’s at stake for your country and the rest of the world against the lives of two people. How many American soldiers and indigenous civilians has my technology already saved? I suspect it’s more than two.”
Whitfield didn’t respond immediately and Dresner was satisfied to wait.
“Stay out of this, Christian. I told you that I’m taking care of it.”
Dresner nodded. “And I’m watching.”