Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  As she spoke, Mike’s attention seemed to wander to some distant place, his eyes intent but focused on nothing. When she finished he looked at her and said, “Wow, that’s quite a proposal. How the hell am I supposed to turn it down?”

  “I’m hoping you won’t,” Caroline said. “We all are.”

  When Mike didn’t say anything, Caroline went on. “You wouldn’t be alone. Sam here is one of the best in the business. We have a lot of contacts, a lot of favors to call in, you might say. And there’s something else.”

  “What?” Mike asked.

  Caroline deferred to Wentworth, who said, “Both the Democratic candidate and his Republican rival are about to go down in flames.”

  “They are?” Mike said.

  Wentworth picked up several sheets of paper from his desk and handed them to Mike. “Needless to say, if you’re not on board you’re free to take these back to Phoenix and begin your own investigation. But if you do decide to run, it would be best if you left the job to your successor.”

  Mike’s eyes grew wide as he read. “This is serious.”

  “It’s very serious,” Wentworth agreed. “But as I’m sure you can appreciate, your involvement with the investigation would make it impossible for you to run against them.”

  “So you want me to lie?” Mike said.

  Caroline shook her head. “Absolutely not. We’re just saying that you have a choice here. You can bring these guys down yourself and let the next asshole in line take their place, or you can put an end to it once and for all by stepping into their shoes. Either way, they go down. We’re simply looking at the bigger picture.”

  Mike sat down and ran his fingers through his hair, then buried his face in his hands. When he looked back up he said, “I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t tempting as hell. In fact, I think you’ve sold me. But I’m not really the one who needs to be sold.”

  “Susan?” Caroline asked.

  “Susan,” Mike agreed. “The only thing she hates more than moving is politics.”

  Chapter 15

  Pyongyang, North Korea

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  2230 KST

  Rhee arrived at the minister’s home shortly after half ten in the evening. A female servant greeted him at the door and led him through the house to a door that opened on a flight of descending stairs. Six men were gathered in the small basement study, three in uniform and three in the nondescript but well-tailored suits worn by senior members of the party. Two of them were locked in a heated debate that only ended when Rhee slammed the door behind him. One of them—the eldest of the civilians present—approached Rhee and said, “I demand to be let out. I was deceived into attending this illegal gathering, and I hereby disassociate myself from everyone in this room.”

  “Calm down,” Rhee said. “This isn’t a trap.”

  “It’s a conspiracy,” the man said. “You’ll all be shot.”

  One of the men in uniform—another general—said, “I’ve tried to tell him we’re quite safe. I’ve authorized no surveillance of this property.”

  The older man turned to him and laughed nervously. “And you think you’re the only one with spies?”

  “Minister Kay,” Rhee said. “Look around you. Your host is the minister of internal security. Marshal Hwang is, the head of foreign intelligence. And Major Guem is the commander of the supreme leader’s personal security company. Now please, at least sit down and listen to what I have to say.”

  The minister looked at the rest of them, then walked back to his chair and sat.

  “Minister,” Rhee said, “I apologize for the way in which you were brought here. The truth is we were unsure if you could be trusted. However, things have changed and we’ve had no choice but to act. What we plan cannot succeed without your help.”

  “My help? What is all this?”

  “The men you see in this room,” Rhee began, “represent the only hope this country has of survival. Your uncle informed me this morning that he means to abandon Project 38 and cut our ties to the Chinese. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that such a decision would lead to disaster.”

  “He told you this?” the minister said.

  “I believe he is no longer mentally sound,” Rhee said. “He also told me he intends to replace several members of the council. I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you what that means either.”

  “And what do you propose to do?” the minister said, no longer angry now, but clearly nervous.

  Rhee told them.

  Chapter 16

  Aurora

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  1700 EEST

  Richelle was standing outside the entrance to the new tunnel, watching as the tracked drill platform slowly emerged from the opening to the jubilant applause of the small group gathered outside. The foreman, a dark-skinned man in a dusty yellow boiler suit and hard hat, climbed down from the rumbling machine, removed his hat and threw it into the air. The rest of his crew quickly followed suit. This was met by another cheer from the crowd.

  “So that’s it,” Captain Williams said. “I’ve been officially made redundant.”

  “Cheer up, Dave,” Richelle said. “We both know that’s not true. Besides, you’ve been complaining that you don’t have time for anything for as long as I’ve known you.”

  Richelle was about to go over and congratulate the work crew when a boy in his early teens came running across the lawn. “You’ve got a call. Kevin says it’s urgent.”

  Richelle excused herself and hurried back to her office.

  It was Francis.

  “What’s going on?” Richelle said.

  “We’ve run into a bit of a snag,” Francis said.

  “Are you still in Dubai?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “We had to make a premature exit.”

  “Is Jasper with you?”

  “He’s being held on a freighter in the port.”

  “Tell me where you’re landing and I’ll get someone to come pick you up.”

  “We’re not on a plane,” Francis said. “We’re on a boat, about eight miles off the coast.”

  “Do I even want to know where you got it?” Richelle said.

  “Probably not.”

  There was a long silence as Richelle considered what to do. “Can you call me back in twenty minutes? I’ll give you another number.”

  “I hope so,” Francis said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  She gave him the number, hung up and quickly dialed another. “Tell Yoshi to wait. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  She listened for a moment and said, “Then call him and tell him to turn around.”

  Richelle reached the helipad above the research center just as Yoshi made his approach and set the Lynx down. Mitch was looking at her through the window. As soon as she was in she tapped Yoshi on the shoulder and motioned for him to take off again.

  “What’s going on?” Mitch asked.

  Richelle explained what was happening, then told Mitch what she had in mind.

  “I don’t see why not,” Mitch said. “As long as we can find them.”

  Fifteen minutes later they were walking up the gangway of RP One. Naoko was sitting in the command seat tinkering with the controls. Three of the large screens were in what they now called window mode. The one directly in front of the seat was zoomed in on the Pandora’s helipad.

  “Hey guys,” Naoko said without looking up.

  “You were spying on us?” Mitch said.

  “I’d hardly call it spying,” Naoko said. “Here, check this out.”

  Naoko zoomed out until the entire ship was in view, then typed a command into the interface and sat back. The picture slowly began to change. The water around the ship faded to black as the ship was transformed from an image to a line drawing. When the process was complete Naoko moved the button under his thumb and changed the angle of view,
revealing the diagram to be a three dimensional model.

  “Wow,” Mitch said. “That’s awesome.”

  They both turned to see what Richelle made of it, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had walked over to one of the screens and now stood staring at it as if hypnotized.

  “Boss?” Mitch said.

  Richelle turned to look at them. “Is this for real?”

  Instead of answering, Mitch left the bridge. A moment later he appeared on the screen. He waved, did a little shuffling dance with his feet then walked out of view. When he stepped back onto the bridge Richelle reached for the screen as if she might be able to put her hand right through it.

  “Pretty crazy, right?” Naoko said.

  “What the hell is it?” Richelle said.

  “We don’t really know,” Mitch said. “We think it’s some kind of projection. Although as you can see, there doesn’t appear to be a projector anywhere.”

  “And that?” she said, pointing at the screen in front of Naoko.

  “That’s the feed from Gandalf,” Mitch said.

  “From what?”

  “Gandalf,” Mitch said. “It’s what we’re calling it.”

  “It’s what he’s calling it,” Naoko said.

  “As far as we can tell,” Mitch said, “what we launched was some kind of imaging satellite. We think it may have divided in orbit. Either that, or it can move pretty damn fast.”

  Mitch motioned to the command seat and Naoko got up. Mitch cleared the 3D image from the screen and brought back the top-down view. He zoomed out until the entire planet populated the screen, then moved it over the Persian Gulf. “So, where are they?”

  “When I spoke to him,” Richelle said, “he said they were about eight miles off the coast.”

  Mitch zoomed in on the Emirate coast until they could clearly make out the port at Jebel Ali and the enormous man-made archipelago beside it. It looked like a giant rib cage extending out into the water.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” Mitch said. “We can track them once we see them, but there’s no way to find them except to look.”

  Before Richelle could answer Captain Almila arrived and handed Richelle a cordless phone receiver. “It’s Francis.”

  “Can you put him on speaker?” Mitch asked.

  Richelle did and said, “Where are you?”

  What issued from the speaker wasn’t the voice of Francis, but music. As they listened it was interrupted by a series of shouts and screams.

  “Hello?” Richelle said.

  They heard someone yelling, but couldn’t make out the words. Then the shouting stopped. A moment later the music died too, and Francis came on the line. “Richelle, you there?”

  “I’m here. What the hell’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid the natives were getting a bit restless.”

  “Please tell me you haven’t just hijacked someone’s boat,” Richelle said.

  “We didn’t really have an option,” Francis said.

  “Francis, it’s Mitch,” Mitch said. “We need to figure out where you guys are.”

  “Would coordinates be any good?” Francis said.

  “Sure, go for it.”

  Francis relayed the coordinates directly from the boat’s navigation screen and Naoko wrote them down. Before Mitch had a chance to ask, Almila left the bridge. He returned a moment later and said, “Someone’s bringing the charts down.”

  Francis heard him and said, “Hey, Captain, how’s it going?”

  “Apparently a lot better for us than for you,” Almila said.

  “You can say that again,” Francis said.

  Mitch was about to move the view away from the shore when he spotted something and stopped. He zoomed in and pointed to three small shapes moving away from the shore in what seemed like a hurry. “Guys, I think you better take a look at this.”

  Mitch closed in on one of the three boats until it filled the screen. At least half a dozen uniformed men were positioned around the rail at the bow. A seventh was standing behind a mounted machine gun.

  “That’s not good, right?” Mitch said.

  “What’s not good? Francis said.

  “You’ve got company,” Richelle said. “Three boats. And they’re moving fast.”

  “How—” Francis began to say.

  “Never mind,” Richelle said. “Just get moving.”

  A crewman came running onto the bridge holding a rolled-up chart and handed it to Almila. Almila spread it out on the floor as Naoko read out the coordinates. When he had the location he held the chart up next to the screen. Mitch assigned a tracker to each of the pursuing boats and zoomed out.

  “Here,” Almila said, putting a finger on the screen.

  Mitch zoomed back in on the spot.

  “There,” Naoko said, pointing at a small white line.

  “Francis?” Mitch said. “You there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Turn left,” Mitch said.

  The line on the screen immediately began to curve. Mitch zoomed in until they could see the yacht and put a tracker on that, too. “Alright, we’ve got you.”

  “And?” Francis said.

  Mitch moved the view out until all four boats were on the screen. “And you’ve got three gunboats headed straight for you.”

  There was a long pause as everyone on the bridge considered the implications of this.

  “Well,” Francis said, “I guess I had to run out of luck sooner or later. How much time have we got?”

  Everyone turned to Almila. He looked at the screen for a moment and said, “They’ve got at least fifteen knots on you. I’d say you’ve got twenty minutes at best.”

  More silence.

  “I’m going to stop,” Francis said. “Whatever happens, I’m sure you guys can get Titov out of here eventually.”

  There was a loud crash and they all turned to see Richelle standing there with the shattered remains of a flashlight in her hand. Her face was blank, but her eyes were wild. She looked at them each in turn and pointed at the screen. “Listen to me. We are not leaving them there. So put your heads together and come up with a fucking plan right now. I don’t care what you have to do, just get them out of there.”

  When no one said anything she threw the remains of the flashlight across the bridge and shouted, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “Richelle?” Francis said. “Listen, there’s nothing—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Richelle said. “Don’t you dare stop that boat.”

  Another awkward moment passed, then Almila pointed at his chart and said, “There’s an island thirty-five miles northeast of their position.”

  Mitch found the island and zoomed in on it. They all saw it at the same time. There was a runway on the southeastern tip, next to a group of buildings. Standing on the large tarmac square at one end was a plane. Before anyone could say anything, Almila picked up the phone and began to speak. When he was done he hung up and looked around at the faces staring back at him. “I hope to God this works.”

  Chapter 17

  Persian Gulf

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  1830 GST

  Francis ended the call and looked at Titov. “You need to get off this boat.”

  Titov shook his head. “Not a hope in hell, my friend.”

  “I’m serious,” Francis said. “You can use the lifeboat. I’ll draw them away. Someone will pick you up sooner or later.”

  “And turn me over to the police so I can spend the next thirty years rotting away in a cell somewhere? Not a chance. Besides, you can’t fly a plane.”

  “We’ll never make it to that island,” Francis said. “It’s a suicide mission.”

  “If that’s what it turns out to be, then fine.”

  Francis considered trying again, but the look on Titov’s face made it clear the discussion was over.

  “Okay,” Francis said. “Just don’t come crying to me when we’re both dead.”

  Tito
v laughed. “How could I? You’ll be in hell and I’ll be basking in the glory of the Almighty. Hopefully with a virgin on each arm.”

  Francis pulled the throttles back to idle and opened the small hatch beneath the instrument panel. He peered inside, then reached in with one hand and felt around until he found the bottom of the throttle mount. Straining, he grasped the plastic bracket and pulled until the veins stood out on his neck.

  “Move,” Titov said.

  Francis did.

  Titov reached in, found the bracket and ripped it off with no apparent sign of effort. He held it out to Francis, smiling.

  “Yeah, alright,” Francis said. “Save the gloating until we know it means something.”

  It did.

  When Francis pushed the throttle levers forward again they cleared the etched markings by another inch. The yacht lurched forward and was soon outpacing its previous top speed by almost five knots.

  “It’s not enough,” Francis said, “but it’s better than nothing. I suggest you go downstairs and ask our host if he keeps any weapons on-board.”

  While Titov was gone, Francis steered the yacht onto the course Almila had specified, then found a pair of binoculars in one of the drawers and scanned the port horizon. There was no sign of the patrol boats. Titov returned not long after with a shotgun in one hand and a flair gun in the other.

  “Great,” Francis observed. “At least we’ll have something to shoot ourselves with if things get hopeless.”

  “I know you’re the master spy,” Titov said, “but could I at least make a suggestion?”

  “Please do.”

  “Am I right in saying that you intend to use the people downstairs as hostages?”

  “It may be our only option,” Francis said.

  “What if they don’t care? I mean, there aren’t exactly any news cameras out here. This isn’t Europe, after all.”