Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  Francis crawled to the fire escape. He spotted the Porsche and began to climb down. Titov was less than ten yards away when the security patrol pulled out behind him. When Francis peered around the corner both cars had stopped and the guards were already getting out. One of them was talking on his phone.

  Francis stepped into the road, raised his arms and began waving them frantically. “No, no, no, we don’t have time for this.”

  The guard walking toward Titov stopped and lowered his hand to the holster on his belt.

  “I have a meeting to get to,” Francis shouted. “This is my driver. We need to leave right away.”

  The guard clearly didn’t understand. He turned to his colleague and said something in Arabic. The other guard ended his call and came over. “What is going on here?”

  “This is my driver,” Francis said. “He’s here to pick me up.”

  “And you are?” the guard said.

  “Mathew Landen.” Francis handed over his passport. “I’m an insurance broker.”

  The guard studied the passport, then handed it to his colleague. “And may I ask what business you have in Dubai?”

  “I’m here to conduct insurance assessments,” Francis said. “Now I have a meeting in twenty minutes, so if you don’t mind we need to get going.”

  “A meeting with who, sir?” the guard said.

  “A client,” Francis said. “A very wealthy client who I’m sure would be most grateful to you for letting us get on our way.”

  “And where is this meeting?” the guard said.

  Francis considered telling him it was none of his damn business, but thought better of it. “The Burj Al Arab.”

  “Let me get this straight,” the guard said. “You have a meeting in twenty minutes at the Burj Al Arab with a very wealthy client. Correct?”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure that’s what I just said.”

  “Well, I hate to disappoint you, sir,” the guard said, “but the Burj Al Arab has been closed for over a week. Perhaps you want to try another answer?”

  Before Francis could reply the guard sent his colleague back to the patrol car.

  “I’ll need you to wait here,” the guard said.

  “Listen,” Francis said. “I may have gotten the hotel wrong. The truth is I go to so many meetings it all just kind of—you know.”

  “You can explain it to the police when they get here,” the guard said. “Perhaps they can help you find the correct hotel.”

  “Is it a question of money?” Francis said. “I know your time is valuable, sir. And we’re wasting it.”

  “Now he offers me a bribe,” the guard said. “My friend, perhaps you should stop speaking. For your own sake.”

  Francis, his mind now racing, surveyed the scene. Titov, who had remained silent throughout this exchange, was looking at him with wide eyes.

  “Start the car,” Francis said, mouthing the words rather than saying them. Titov nodded and reached for the ignition.

  “Now,” Francis said.

  The guard jumped as Titov revved the engine into the red. Francis tackled him to the ground and kept running. The guard who had returned to the patrol car was on the phone. When he saw Francis he dropped it and reached for his gun, but he was too late. Francis knocked him into the driver’s seat and slammed the door on his protruding leg, then ran back and kneed his colleague in the ribs as he tried to get to his feet. He picked his passport off the ground and jumped into the Porsche just as Titov popped the clutch. The rear tires screeched, sending up a cloud of white smoke.

  “I really hope you have a plan,” Titov said. “Because if you don’t, we’re both dead.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Francis said. “I think I’m the one who would be dead. You’d probably just end up in jail for a very long time.”

  When they reached the highway, Titov pushed the accelerator to the floor and took the car up to a hundred and ten.

  “Slow down,” Francis said. “No need to advertise where we are. Get off at the next exit and head for the coast.”

  “We gonna make a swim for it?” Titov said.

  “Actually, I’m thinking we might be able to get away with a little more style than that.”

  As they turned off the highway three police cars came flying by in the opposite direction, lights flashing and sirens blaring. They crossed an enormous turning circle and joined the road running parallel to the coast.

  “Pull in there,” Francis said, pointing to a parking lot in front of a complex of glass-fronted buildings. “We need to get rid of this thing.”

  They left the car in the parking lot, crossed the street on foot and set off in the direction of the water just as two more police cars came thundering past. Five minutes later they were strolling along a white, sandy beach.

  Dubai being what it was, it didn’t take Francis long to find what he was looking for. The marina was surrounded on two sides by a wide breakwater that extended several hundred yards into the sea before curving sharply to form an artificial bay of sorts. It sported a collection of perhaps two hundred yachts, ranging in size from the merely absurd to the completely ridiculous. Anchored beyond the breakwater was a vessel that looked more like a pocket cruise ship than a yacht.

  “I don’t mean to sound pessimistic,” Titov said, “but how far do you think we would get in a stolen boat?”

  “Probably not very far,” Francis replied. “Which is why we’re going to commandeer one instead.”

  “We are?”

  “I suggest you get your game face on,” Francis said. “Let’s say I’m a millionaire in the market for a new toy, and you can be my ever-loyal protector.”

  “Would you consider a swap?”

  “I find stereotypes always work best when you’re dealing with the obscenely rich.”

  Tito considered. “You want me to cross my arms and look stupid?”

  “You see,” Francis said. “You do get it.”

  They set off at a leisurely stroll down the breakwater. When they reached the bend Francis pointed at a boat near the end of the second dock. “Blue and white hull.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Titov retorted.

  The boat in question was one of several with people on board, only this one had more than any other, and they appeared to be having considerably more fun.

  “Just follow my lead,” Francis said.

  Francis stopped several times on their way down the dock and made a point of inspecting some of the other yachts. When they reached the one he had singled out, he pointed to it and said, “Now that’s more like it. Look at the lines on her.”

  There were at least a dozen people on board, and it wasn’t long before one of them—a scantily clad blonde with breasts that were too round to be anything but forgeries—saw them. She approached the rail, swooned slightly, then smiled and said, “You looking for Peter?”

  “Would Peter be the owner of this fine boat?” Francis said.

  She leaned forward and put a hand to the side of her mouth as if she had a secret to tell them. For a moment it looked like she might just keep leaning until she went ass over heels into the drink, then she looked up and said, “No. But don’t tell him I told you. He likes people to think it’s his.”

  Her words were slurred, but the accent was definitely British.

  “Do you think we might have a word?” Francis said.

  She seemed to consider this with great deliberation before saying, “I think he’s downstairs with Veronica.” This was followed by a hiccup and the observation that Veronica was a bit of a bitch.

  “Perhaps we can wait for him?” Francis said.

  She pivoted on her heels, almost falling as she did, and pointed to the gangway. “Come aboard. Have a drink. Be merry.”

  “Are you sure?” Francis said.

  “It’s my father’s boat,” she said. “And that useless piece of shit downstairs is my no-good husband.”

  As they walked to the gangway Francis said, “This isn’t exactly what
I had in mind.”

  The woman met them at the top of the gangway and held out a hand. “I’m Shauna, by the way. What’s your poison?”

  “Any chance of a gin and tonic?” Francis said.

  Shauna turned and shouted the order to no one in particular, then looked at Titov. “Wow, you’re big.”

  Titov offered her a smile but didn’t say anything.

  Shauna leaned closer to Francis and whispered, “Can he speak?”

  Before Francis could respond she burst out laughing. Another woman came over and pulled her to one side. “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” She led Shauna away and returned a moment later. “Sorry about that. My sister’s a bit of a lightweight. Are you friends of Peter’s?”

  “Actually,” Francis said, “We were just admiring your father’s yacht. My name is Mathew Landen. I’m looking to upgrade and was particularly taken with this one. I don’t suppose you know who the builder is?”

  The expression on her face was all the answer he needed.

  “The shipyard,” Francis said.

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. I’ll tell you what, why don’t I just go and get Peter.”

  Peter turned out to be Peter Cavendish, the second of that name and something of a complete idiot when it came to boats and just about everything else. He appeared on the deck with a very upset Shauna in tow and the two had a lively argument that left no one listening in any doubt about the direction their marriage was heading in. When her sister finally broke up the festivities and led Shauna back inside, Peter rolled his eyes at Francis as if this explained everything.

  “I think we’ve shown up at a bad time,” Francis said.

  “Don’t be daft,” Peter said. “Gabrielle says you’ve taken a liking to the Empress.”

  “She’s a beautiful boat,” Francis said.

  “That she is. We bought it from the Earl of Gloucester last year. I think it was the Earl of Gloucester. Or maybe it was…oh, who knows.”

  “I guess that means you won’t be selling her any time soon,” Francis said.

  “Afraid not.”

  “That’s a shame,” Francis said. “Still, would you mind if I had a look around?”

  “Be my guest,” Peter said. “I’d let you see how she handles, but I’m afraid we’ve sent the captain away. He’s a local. Doesn’t like to be around when we filthy Westerners indulge ourselves.”

  This was apparently the funniest thing he had ever heard, although the sound emanating from his mouth was more akin to the braying of an ass than laughter.

  “I don’t mean to be unduly presumptuous,” Francis said, “but I happen to be a qualified skipper.”

  When Peter turned and walked away without saying a word, Francis’s first thought was that he had gone to call the police and tell them two strangers were in the process of trying to hijack his boat. Then he was back and handing Francis a set of keys with one hand. The other he brought to the tip of his eyebrow in a stiff salute. “Captain, you have the bridge.”

  This little piece of theater was punctuated with another spine-curdling round of laughter.

  “Are you sure?” Francis said. “I was only half-serious.”

  Peter smiled and winked at Francis. “Just promise you won’t take us all hostage.”

  This remarkably prophetic statement triggered yet more laughter. Instead of leading them to the bridge, however, Peter announced to the four guests on the rear deck that they were going on a short cruise. This was met with a burst of drunken good cheer.

  “Shall we?” Francis said.

  “Unbelievable,” Titov said, shaking his head.

  “Cast off the lines,” Francis said.

  “Yes, Captain,” Titov said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “How hard can it be?”

  It turned out to be a lot harder than either of them suspected.

  Chapter 14

  Washington DC

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  0900 EDT

  Mike Banner was standing at the entrance to the offices of Ritter, Wentworth and Low and asking himself—not for the first time—what the hell he was doing there. The office was located on the first floor of an imposing granite building on the corner of Pennsylvania and Constitution Avenue, across the street from the National Gallery. He watched the taxi that had brought him from the airport rejoin the traffic, and then he turned back to the building. It occurred to him that he could simply turn around. Perhaps spend the day checking out the capitol before returning to Phoenix in the morning. Something told him that if he walked through those doors there would be no going back.

  Mike had waited for a week before making the call. His initial idea—that the urge would pass—had proven unfounded. If anything, Wentworth’s visit had brought the past back into focus with almost brutal insistence, and nothing more so than Francis’s allusion to the truth behind the pictures. Perhaps that had been his purpose all along. Mike liked Francis, but that didn’t make him a saint. And if this was really all about those pictures, was there any way Mike was ever going to just let the whole thing go? The answer to that seemed obvious enough; he could no more let it go than he could pretend it didn’t matter.

  “Mr. Banner?”

  Mike turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway.

  “It is Mr. Banner, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “That’s me,” Mike said.

  “Mr. Wentworth is waiting for you in his office.”

  Mike followed her inside. The receptionist looked up and offered him a smile as they passed.

  “You can go on in,” the woman said, pointing to the double doors at the end of the hall.

  Wentworth was on the phone. He held up a finger to say he would only be a moment, then listened, scribbled something on the yellow legal pad in front of him and hung up. He came around the desk and shook Mike’s hand. “Welcome to DC. How was your flight?”

  “Well,” Mike said, “the stewardess had a little trouble convincing me I was in first class, but otherwise it was uneventful.”

  Wentworth laughed. “Is there any other class?”

  It took Mike a moment to realize he was joking.

  “So,” Wentworth said, “have you considered the offer?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” Mike said.

  “Indeed. And may I ask what conclusion you’ve come to?”

  “I haven’t.”

  Wentworth indicated to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  Mike did.

  “Can I get you anything?” Wentworth asked. “Tea? Coffee?”

  “I’m good,” Mike said.

  Wentworth walked back around his desk and sat down. For a moment he only looked at Mike thoughtfully, then said, “Does anyone know you are here?”

  Mike shook his head. “I’m on vacation.”

  “And your family?”

  “I’m on a business trip.”

  Wentworth considered this and said, “Isn’t that a bit risky?”

  “Lying to my wife?” Mike laughed. “It’s a hell of a lot riskier than you think. But not for any reason you need to worry about. Susan doesn’t do the wives thing, and I fly to DC three or four times a year as it is. In economy class.”

  “Touché,” Wentworth said.

  “If you’re worried I was followed, don’t be,” Mike said. “Besides, I’m guessing you wouldn’t have let me inside the building if I was.”

  Wentworth regarded Mike for a moment with what seemed a renewed assessment of him, then stood and pushed a button on the intercom. “We’re ready.”

  “We are?” Mike said.

  Before Wentworth could answer, the door opened and Caroline de Villepin entered. Mike stood, but found himself lost for words. She put her arms around him. “It’s good to see you again, Mike. Sorry about the charade. I’m told you can never be too careful.”

  “Don’t be,” Mike said, standing back to look at her.
/>   “You look good,” she said. “I’m really glad you decided to come.”

  “I’m not sure I had a choice,” Mike said, “Fran—”

  Mike stopped and looked from Wentworth to Caroline.

  Caroline laughed and said, “It’s fine. Charles is what you might call our local man on the ground. He was my father’s lawyer.”

  She looked at Wentworth. “Isn’t that so?”

  “I tried to be,” Wentworth said, smiling. “He was a stubborn man.”

  Mike could only stand there for a moment, marveling at this unexpected turn of events.

  “So what do you say?” Caroline asked. “You ready to run for a seat in the Senate, or do we have to clone you and bury your body at sea?”

  Mike laughed. “Whose crazy idea was it, anyway?”

  “Actually,” Caroline said, “it was Mitch Rainey who first proposed we back someone for office. Richelle is the one who suggested you might be just the person for the job.”

  “How is Mitch?” Mike asked. “Francis said he was doing well.”

  “Well,” Caroline said, “the last thing I heard he was having a little marriage trouble, but otherwise he was fine.”

  “Marriage trouble?” Mike said, looking dumbstruck.

  “It’s a long story,” Caroline said.

  “I bet it is,” Mike said. “Would there be any point asking where he is?”

  Caroline and Wentworth shared a knowing look and she said, “Probably not such a good idea. For your sake as much as ours. It’s not a question of trust, Mike. We have to be very careful.”

  Mike nodded. “I bet. Francis said the pictures on the hard drive were real. Is that true?”

  He saw Wentworth flinch at the mention of the hard drive.

  “It is,” Caroline said. “I’ll be straight with you, Mike. As long as you’re a member of the FBI you’re best off knowing as little as possible. If you were a private citizen, however, that would change. I admit, it’s an awkward situation. I don’t want you to think of our proposal as an ultimatum or bargain. It isn’t. We need people on both sides of the equation. That means people here on Capitol Hill without the baggage that renders most of them unable to do anything but tow whatever line put them here in the first place. We have the money and the connections to make that happen for you, but only if it’s something you want to do. We don’t need a pawn or a yes-man, we need someone who knows what’s at stake. If you agree to try, we can show you what that is.”