Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

For a long awkward moment no one spoke. Then Richelle sat down and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Listen,” Heinz said, flashing Mitch a dark look. “No one is questioning your right to be angry about what happened. And we’re sure as hell not suggesting anyone could do a better job.”

  “If it’s any consolation,” Mitch said, “I don’t actually think that would happen. I mean, I think if the ship was dangerous we would know by now.”

  “Great,” Richelle said.

  “Mitch,” Heinz said, “Why don’t you wait outside? I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Mitch left the office. The facility’s arc lights had been turned off to indicate the sun had now set in the real world. In their place were a thousand points of artificial starlight. All around him the transformations dictated by the change in circumstances were in full swing. Amity, the small strip of wooden buildings along the shore of the bay that had once housed the original crew and then gone on to serve as the facility’s social hub, was finally being demolished. In its place an even larger township would be built, this one resembling not so much a New England fishing village as 1950s America, complete with a new movie theater, diner, bar and a three-story town hall. Mitch had seen the model in Erik’s office and had suggested that it looked a lot like the set of downtown Hill Valley of Back to the Future fame.

  In the wall at the back of the cave lay the nearly completed tunnel leading to the dock and the elevator shaft to the research station above. At the opposite end, the Callisto sat idle alongside the dock. With the completion of the tunnel and the dock, Aurora’s fuel and supplies would soon be arriving by way of the Karl Gustav, relegating the submarine to an emergency role.

  “That was quite a display.”

  Mitch turned and saw Heinz standing behind him. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. Richelle has always had a short fuse.”

  “I don’t envy her, you know,” Mitch said. “If I had to make sense of everything that was happening, I think I would have given up by now.”

  “Which is why we need to do everything we can to help her,” Heinz said. “I’ve known Richelle and Caroline since they were teenagers. She’s a tough girl.”

  Mitch began to say something, then closed his mouth.

  “What is it?” Heinz said.

  “Well, it’s none of my business,” Mitch said, “but don’t you think she would be happier if she—you know—had someone?”

  Heinz laughed. “She did. She almost married Jack Fielding.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Before Brendan extinguished his wits and convinced him to help take this place over, Jack was a very different person.”

  “Does she blame herself?” Mitch said, “You know, for what he did?”

  “Of course she does,” Heinz said. “That’s not to say anyone else blames her. He made his own choices at the end of the day.”

  Mitch smiled. “I kind of thought maybe she and Francis might, I don’t know, hit it off?”

  This time Heinz’s laugh was both louder and longer. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Call me a hopeless romantic,” Mitch said. “But if you ask me, they’d make one hell of a couple.”

  “Do me a favor,” Heinz said, “Don’t try your hand at matchmaking. In fact, I think you’d be better off worrying about your own relationship, don’t you?”

  Mitch nodded somberly. “I’ve kind of screwed things up, haven’t I?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. These things happen. At least now the two of you will have a chance at a fresh start.”

  “Yeah, if her dad doesn’t disown her first.”

  Heinz looked at him curiously. “You two still not getting along?”

  Mitch let out a long sigh and chuckled. “I always thought it was the mothers who were supposed to get in the way. Did you know he asked me not to marry her?”

  Heinz looked startled. “He said that?”

  “A week before the wedding. He said she was infatuated with me because I’d come from the outside, and that it wouldn’t last.”

  “Does she know?” Heinz asked.

  Mitch shook his head. “It would only make things worse.”

  Heinz put a hand on Mitch’s arm. “Listen, Mitch. I know I’m a little old, but I haven’t always been. If you need someone to talk to, I’m a pretty good listener.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. I better get going. I told Sarah I’d help pack up.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Heinz said.

  “Sure.”

  “Go back in there and make peace with Richelle first. She’s a lot more sensitive than she lets on. And she has a lot of respect for you.”

  “She does?”

  “Trust me, I know her. She may not have been too happy about the way you arrived, but she knows you’re one of the few people around here—maybe the only person—with the brains to do what we’re doing with RP One. I happen to think so too. Go in there and tell her what an asshole you are then go help your wife.”

  Chapter 11

  Dubai

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  1400 GST

  Francis was beginning to get worried when he saw Jasper walk into the arrivals terminal. He resembled nothing less than a deer caught squarely in the headlights of an onrushing train. Francis had a sudden vision of the whole plan going up in smoke as Jasper lost his nerve and approached the first police officer he saw with an incoherent story that would quickly turn into a Pandora’s box. Titov appeared a moment later and walked over.

  “You made it,” Francis said.

  “The flight was delayed,” Titov said.

  Jasper’s instructions, received by phone shortly before they boarded in Frankfurt, were to wait in the arrivals hall, and that’s exactly what he was doing when an Asian man in a light beige suit approached him.

  “Japanese?” Titov said.

  “Chinese or Korean,” Francis said.

  “You can tell?”

  “Not always.”

  Francis handed Titov a set of car keys and his parking ticket. “You better get the car. I’ll keep watch.”

  Francis followed Jasper and his host through the terminal and out to the pickup point. Jasper, having now lost sight of Titov, was starting to look even more nervous. The man he was following made no effort to talk to him, but stayed a few paces ahead. When they stopped, he made a short phone call and stood back, leaving Jasper to stew in the discomfort of his new surroundings.

  The car arrived less than a minute later.

  It was a black SL500 Mercedes, and it didn’t pull to the curb, but stopped in the road, earning an agitated blast of the horn from the driver behind. Jasper’s host opened the door and ushered him inside, then rounded the back of the car and got in himself. Francis tried to get a look at the driver but the windows were tinted almost to black. Then they were gone, speeding away with a deliberate haste that made Francis even more uneasy than he already was. A moment later Titov pulled up behind the wheel of a white Porsche 911.

  “Go,” Francis said as soon as he was in. “Black Mercedes. They’re in a hurry, by the looks of it.”

  Titov revved the engine, threw the car into first gear and pulled away a little quicker than he had intended.

  “And if you could try not to get us killed or arrested, that would help too,” Francis said.

  Titov smiled. “Any particular reason you settled on such a discreet model?”

  “It was all they had,” Francis said. “And in case you haven’t noticed, this is what passes for subtle around here.”

  Francis spotted the car just as it pulled on to the highway and headed east. They were almost out of the city when the Mercedes shot down the off-ramp and entered the maze of roads leading through the industrial district toward the Jebel Ali shipping port.

  “So much for the Hilton,” Francis said. “At least we can rule out the job interview.”

  “Where do you think they’re going?” Titov said.<
br />
  “I think our friend is about to be kidnapped.”

  “What makes you think that?” Titov said.

  “Call it a premonition.”

  The Mercedes turned left down a narrow road between two parking lots full of newly imported cars. The next intersection led to the road running along the perimeter fence of the dock. When the car didn’t turn but drove straight to the gate, Francis cursed. They watched as the guard spoke briefly to the driver, then waved them in.

  “How’s your Arabic?” Francis said.

  “Not very good. How’s yours?”

  “I knew a few words back in the day,” Francis said. “But I don’t think they’re going to get us inside.”

  “What are we going to do?” Titov said.

  Francis considered the question and said, “Take a left at the end of the road. We’ll see if we can follow them from this side of the fence.”

  Titov did.

  “There, next to the crane,” Francis said.

  The Mercedes had stopped at the foot of a large container crane that appeared to be out of commission. Both the driver and the man who had met Jasper at the airport got out. When the driver opened the back door the other man reached in and pulled Jasper to his feet.

  “Looks like you’re right,” Titov said. “We going in for the rescue?”

  Francis shook his head. “We’d never get out of here alive. Especially with him slowing us down.”

  The two men each grabbed one of Jasper’s arms and led him toward the ship moored directly ahead. When they reached the gangway the driver pushed Jasper toward the steps. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking around as if the cavalry might be arriving any minute, then began to climb.

  Francis reached for the door handle, “Follow them when they leave. I’m gonna find somewhere to lay low until you get back.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?” Titov said.

  “No. But it’s the only one I have. You got a better one?”

  Titov didn’t.

  Chapter 12

  Pyongyang, North Korea

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  2000 KST

  General Rhee straightened his uniform jacket and took a moment to steady his nerves. It seemed no matter how many times he found himself waiting in the vast tomb-like entrance to the supreme leader’s apartments, the experience refused to grow any less harrowing. He could hear heated voices coming from beyond the door, no doubt the fate of another wayward henchman being sealed by a man whose concept of loyalty was as infantile as his sense of humor.

  “The supreme leader will see you now.”

  Rhee turned, silently cursing the woman for startling him. She moved away as quietly as she had approached. Rhee followed her to the door.

  The supreme leader had changed into one of his many uniforms for the occasion. Short, fat and round-faced, Rhee thought he looked more like a stage prop in a bad satire than a ruthless autocrat. On the polished granite table between them sat a poorly crafted polystyrene model of what appeared to be either a sports stadium or a concert hall. The young man standing beside it was the supreme leader’s personal architect. Rumor had it he had graduated from the Glasgow School of Art with honors. Looking at the model, Rhee strongly suspected the qualification was more a representation of the grading professor’s aversion to confrontation than an honest assessment of his pupil’s abilities.

  The supreme leader dismissed the architect with an irritated swipe of the hand, then ordered the guards at the door to leave and turned to Rhee. “General, what news from Beijing?”

  Rhee saluted smartly and said, “It is done, dear leader.”

  “Then we have everything we need, yes?”

  “We do,” Rhee said.

  “And the Chinese have paid?”

  “Yes, dear leader. All the transactions have been settled as promised.”

  “Then I suppose I should be grateful to them.”

  No fool, Rhee deftly avoided this subtle trap by saying, “They honor you, dear leader. As is only right. They are the ones who should be grateful.”

  “Indeed, they honor me. And with every dollar they spend I sink deeper into their debt. I dread to think what my father would have made of this arrangement.”

  Rhee could think of nothing to say to this. The supreme leader walked to the window and stood looking out at the garden for a moment. Without turning to look at Rhee he said, “The whole thing is madness. That’s what he would have said. I am no more prepared to abandon the future of this great nation to the whims of the Chinese than I would give it up to the capitalist pigs in the South. It’s a trap, nothing more. I’ve gone along with it this far because I have surrounded myself with incompetent idiots who care about nothing but the promise of wealth.”

  When the supreme leader turned to look at Rhee his face was red. “This country suffers because we have abandoned the principles of my father’s philosophy and allowed foreigners to dictate our policies. This plan is nothing but a scheme to depose me and turn the party into a slave of the traitors in Beijing. I won’t let them do it. If we have to go on without their help, so be it. I would rather my people starve than suffer the humiliation of seeing their great nation turned into a puppet. You do see that I am right, don’t you?”

  “Dear leader, I…”

  “Never mind,” the supreme leader said. “I’m calling it off. You are to shut down Project 38 immediately.”

  “Yes, dear leader,” Rhee said. “I’ll see to it right away.”

  “No one is to speak to the Chinese. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, dear leader.”

  The supreme leader appeared to go into a trance for a moment. When he came back around his eyes lit up. “Tell me General, what do you think of my design for the people’s sports arena?”

  For a moment Rhee had no idea what he was talking about, then he turned to the model, made as if to inspect it carefully and said, “It’s a work of true inspiration, dear leader.”

  “I’m going to have a statue of my father erected in the center of the field. The biggest ever seen. Bigger even than the Statue of Liberty. What do you think of that?”

  Rhee thought it was the most idiotic, not to mention impractical, thing he had ever heard, but politely nodded his agreement. “It’s a fine plan, dear leader.”

  “I knew you would like it.”

  The supreme leader did another disappearing act. Rhee looked at his face and saw his eyes flutter for a moment. When they cleared he seemed troubled again. “General, what I have told you must not leave this room until I am ready to announce my decision to the council. I plan to replace several of the members. You are one of the few people I can trust with this information. The Chinese are not our allies, but few of my advisors are able to see that as clearly as you or I.”

  In that moment Rhee would have liked nothing more than to point out to the old fool that the Chinese were the only reason the People’s Republic was a country instead of a relic of Asian history. Instead he said, “You are truly wise beyond your years, dear leader. We owe a great debt to your father for giving us such a capable man to lead our great nation.”

  Rhee watched the effect of his words and marveled as he always did at his own ability to maintain his composure in the face of so much absurdity.

  “Speak to no one of this,” the supreme leader repeated. “I am counting on you to gather up all evidence of the project and bring it to me. If the Chinese prove problematic we can always threaten to reveal their complicity to the media. But for now we need to keep silent.”

  “You can count on me, dear leader.”

  “Good.”

  Rhee didn’t move. It took the despot a moment to understand why. “You may go, General.”

  “Thank you, dear leader,” Rhee said, then saluted again and quickly left the room.

  Rhee’s driver was waiting for him by the car. He opened the door as soon as he saw the general, but Rhee passed him and kept walking. When he reached the guardhouse at the entra
nce to the estate he shouted at the soldier on duty to get him an outside line.

  “This is General Seo-jun Rhee. I wish to speak to the minister right away.”

  A moment later the raspy voice of a much older man said, “General, what can I do for you?”

  “Actually,” Rhee said, “I was hoping we might speak in person.”

  There was a long pause. “Is that really necessary?”

  “There is something I would like you to see.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll join me for a drink this evening?”

  “I would be honored,” Rhee said.

  Chapter 13

  Dubai

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  1600 GST

  Francis looked up at the cloudless sky and cursed the heat. Even at this late hour of the afternoon the sun appeared to have no intention of relinquishing its dominion over the desert kingdom.

  He had managed to make his way up to the roof of the building using the fire escape, although his first attempt had very nearly become his last when a security patrol came close to spotting him. Now, lying flat on his stomach to avoid being seen, he listened as the patrol car made yet another round. When it was gone he raised himself up again and peered over the edge.

  The only good thing he could say about the ship was that it was still there. In every other way it presented only problems. For one, it was too big to easily board at sea. Being a dry bulk carrier, it also provided very little cover for such an attempt, assuming there was any way they could even try. To make matters worse, Francis had already counted three armed men patrolling the deck.

  Francis spotted the patrol car returning and ducked just as his phone began to ring. “Where the hell are you? I’m literally baking up here.”

  “Actually,” Titov said, “I’m outside the Chinese consulate. Looks like you were right again.”

  “Then get back here as fast as you can. And be careful, there’s a security patrol covering the perimeter road. Call me back when you leave the highway.”

  By the time Titov called Francis was beginning to feel the onset of sunstroke. He had considered getting off the roof and finding some shade, but every time he made up his mind to get going the damn patrol car was there again.