Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  “So what do you propose?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Let’s hear it anyway.”

  Titov told him his idea.

  Francis didn’t like it.

  Chapter 18

  The Pandora

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  1800 EEST

  “What the hell are they doing?” Richelle asked.

  On the screen the yacht was now stationary and the patrol boats were less than a mile away.

  “Maybe they’ve run out of fuel,” Mitch said.

  “I had him check,” Almila said. “The tanks were full.”

  They watched helplessly as the pursuing boats closed the gap. When they were only a few hundred yards away the three split, two moving around to flank the yacht on both sides as the third slowed down. There was no sign of life at all on the yacht. Then a blond woman in a red dress emerged onto the deck. She ran down the side of the boat, arms in the air and flailing hysterically. When she reached the launch on the stern she jumped into the water and began splashing desperately. The patrol boat seemed to hesitate, but only for a moment. It moved forward and one of the men threw a life ring into the water. The woman swam toward it, still splashing. As soon as she grabbed it two of the men began to pull her in.

  “I don’t get it,” Richelle said.

  “Looks like they’re negotiating,” Almila said. “Perhaps they’ve released her to show they’re willing to cooperate.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mitch said.

  “Then what are they doing?” Richelle repeated.

  Mitch zoomed in on the woman and said, “You have to give it to him, he’s one crafty son of a bitch.”

  “What do you mean?” Richelle asked.

  “Watch.”

  When the woman reached the boat, two of the men pulled her out of the water and set her down on the deck. Just then a second woman emerged onto the deck of the yacht. Instead of running to the stern she headed straight for the bow and jumped. Everyone on the patrol boat turned to see what was happening. When they did, the woman in the red dress kicked the man closest to her and sent him flying over the side. Before the man who had been standing next to him could turn around, he had joined his colleague in the water. By the time the rest realized what was going on, Francis had disarmed a third, pushed him over the side and raised the machine gun he had taken. The rest of them slowly lowered their own weapons to the deck and stepped away. Then, like ducks to a pond, they obediently marched to the rail and jumped in one at a time.

  “He’s nuts,” Richelle said, but the tone in her voice was one of awe.

  “It’s taken you this long to figure that out?” Mitch said.

  Francis pulled off his wig, ran to the wheel of the patrol boat and quickly brought it alongside the yacht. On cue, Titov appeared and jumped aboard. By all appearances, the other two patrol boats were still unaware of what was happening. The first hint either got was when Francis turned toward one of them and opened the throttle. They watched as Titov mounted the machine gun and began firing. Half the men on board abandoned ship, while the rest hit the deck. Francis swerved to avoid a collision. As they passed, Titov peppered the instrument panel, sending up a shower of sparks as the wheel and everything around it was obliterated. Then they were in open water, moving again at full speed in the direction of the island. The remaining boat took up the chase, but soon began to fall behind.

  “Holy shit,” Mitch muttered. “This is heavy.”

  “They’re not exactly home free yet,” Richelle said.

  “I don’t want to put a damper on things,” Naoko cut in, “But has anyone figured out exactly where they’re supposed to go? I mean, even if they get off that island they’re still going to be in the middle of nowhere.”

  Richelle looked at Almila, who consulted the chart and frowned. “Well, the closest place would be Iran.”

  “No way,” Richelle said.

  “Then, depending on how far they can fly, I’d say either Pakistan or India. Pakistan is closer, but India seems like the safer bet.”

  “How far?”

  “Five hundred miles,” Almila said. “Nine hundred to the Indian border.”

  Chapter 19

  Beijing

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  2330 CST

  Commander Duan, head of special projects inside the intelligence directorate of the People’s Navy, was at his desk when the call came from Pyongyang. He listened patiently, his weather-beaten face betraying none of the excitement he felt. As soon as he put the phone down he walked to the safe in the wall behind him and removed the folder labeled Project 38.

  He left his office and walked to the rear entrance of the building, where his car sat waiting. Ten minutes later it pulled into the underground parking bay of a nondescript two-story concrete building near the Peking University.

  Waiting inside were four men. Two were senior army officers. The older of the civilians appeared to be in his late seventies or early eighties. This was Tsung Kuan Yew, deputy minister of defense and one of the longest serving members of both the Chinese Communist Party and the Politburo.

  Duan entered the conference room, first bowing to the deputy minister, then standing to attention and saluting the senior of the officers, a navy admiral.

  “Sit, commander,” Yew said, pointing to the only vacant seat.

  Duan did as he was told and placed the folder he had brought on the table in front of him.

  “So the time has come,” Yew said.

  Duan nodded. “The supreme leader was officially declared dead two hours ago.”

  “And the son?”

  “He has already been arrested and charged with the murder,” Duan said. “The news will be broadcast shortly. General Rhee assures me Kim Jong-sul’s appointment will be announced within the week.”

  Yew turned to the junior officer, an army general. “Is everything in place?”

  “We’re ready, sir.”

  Yew nodded somberly. “It appears your faith in General Rhee was well placed, commander.”

  Duan only nodded.

  “Gentlemen,” Yew said, “this marks the beginning of a new era for the People’s Republic. If all goes well, we shall be remembered. But let us not forget that if we fail, the consequences will be severe. I expect you all to maintain the upmost level of secrecy from here on.”

  “It’s not us I’m worried about,” the admiral said. “It’s them. How can we be sure they’ll keep their word?”

  Yew passed the question to Duan with a nod.

  “I have known General Rhee for a long time, sir,” Duan replied. “His loyalties lie with us. I have no doubt of it.”

  “And Kim Jong-sul?” the admiral said. “Are you equally confident of his loyalty?”

  Duan looked at Yew.

  “Show him,” Yew said.

  Duan opened the folder and removed several photographs. Each showed the soon-to-be supreme leader of North Korea standing with a woman and a small boy.

  “They were secretly married during his time here,” Duan said. “The boy is his son.”

  The admiral picked up one of the photos and looked at Yew. “You knew of this?”

  “Yes,” Yew said.

  “They live in Jiuzhaigou,” Duan said.

  “So we are blackmailing him?” the admiral asked.

  “Not at all,” Duan said. “Kim Jong-sul hates his father more than anyone. He will not fail us, sir; he is one of us.”

  Chapter 20

  Persian Gulf

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  2000 GST

  “There,” Titov said, pointing at the horizon.

  A moment later Francis saw the island, too.

  “And our friends?” Francis said.

  Titov picked up the binoculars and looked back. “Still with us.”

  “Take the sixty off the mount,” Francis said. “I’m going to try and talk them out of getting too close while you see about the flight out of here.”
<
br />   Titov unhinged the machine gun and lifted it off its stand. “Good luck hitting anything without a tripod.”

  “I’ll manage,” Francis said. “I’m more worried about the plane we’re supposed to find. Knowing our luck it’ll be stripped down for maintenance.”

  “How can they be so sure there’s a plane there at all?” Titov said.

  “I have no idea, and I don’t really care as long as it’s there.”

  Titov frowned at this.

  “You and I both,” Francis said. “But I don’t think she was lying.”

  As if to prove the point, they could now see the runway—and in the rippling distance, a blurry shape that might or might not have been a plane.

  “Get ready,” Francis said.

  He pulled back the throttle and let the boat coast the last twenty yards to the shore. As soon as the bottom touched the sand Francis jumped out. Titov passed him the machine gun and did the same. When they reached the small outcrop of rocks halfway between the beach and the runway, Francis stopped. “This is as far as I go.”

  From where they stood they could now see the twin-engine propeller plane sitting just off the runway.

  “Well, thank God for that at least,” Titov said.

  “Can you fly it?”

  “In my sleep.”

  Francis knelt behind the tallest of the rocks and put the machine gun on top. Less than a minute after Titov had set off, the first bullet crashed into the grounded boat on the beach. It was followed by several more bursts. Francis peered over the top of the rock and saw the oncoming patrol boat was now only a hundred yards or so from the shore. He lifted the rear sight and adjusted it, then aimed at the hull just above the waterline. All three shots were off by several yards, but the sound brought on another burst of fire from the approaching boat. Luckily for Francis they seemed to think he was behind the beached patrol boat. He took aim again, this time picking the machine gun up and pushing the stock into his shoulder. He fired another three-round burst and managed to hit the hull with one shot. The boat immediately made a sharp turn and headed back out to sea. Francis fired three more bursts, hitting the boat two more times before the small box magazine ran dry. With nothing left to do but join Titov, Francis stood and set off toward the runway. He’d made it only a few yards when something stung his lower back and sent him twisting to the ground. A second later the sound of the distant burst caught up with the bullet. Francis let out a scream that was as much frustration as pain and looked down at his shirt. The small crimson stain was already spreading. The bullet had gone straight through, missing his spine, but that was the only good thing about it. He tried to stand and quickly sank back to his knees. From the other end of the runway he heard the first of the engines on the plane sputter to life, quickly followed by the second. Francis began to crawl.

  Chapter 21

  The Pandora

  Saturday 9 June 2007

  1930 EEST

  Richelle let out a small gasp of horror and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Oh Christ,” Almila said.

  On the screen Francis stood, fell again, and began to crawl. Richelle watched for a moment longer, then turned away. They stood there, helpless, as Titov stopped the plane at the end of the runway and jumped out. He picked Francis up as if he were a child and pushed him inside. Then the plane was turning around and picking up speed. It soared into the air and banked sharply to the south with a grace that might have meant something had the world not just turned upside-down. Mitch put a tracker on the plane and looked around, but could think of nothing to say. Richelle walked off the bridge. A moment later Almila followed her.

  “This is so screwed up,” Naoko said. “What are we supposed to do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Mitch replied. “We’re sitting in a fucking spaceship from the other side of the galaxy and there’s not a god-damned thing we can do.”

  Mitch zoomed out the view. The triangle representing the plane was now moving northeast, across the Gulf toward the Strait of Hormuz.

  “Where do you think they’re going?” Naoko said.

  “I—”

  Mitch suddenly stopped and peered at the screen.

  “What?” Naoko said.

  Mitch zoomed back in on the plane and said, “You have got to be shitting me.”

  Naoko was about to say something when he saw them. Two fighter jets were now flanking the small plane.

  “I’ll go get Richelle,” Naoko said.

  “Don’t,” Mitch said. “Stay here. I need your help.”

  “Help with what?”

  Mitch marked one of the jets with a tracker. “We’re going to try every command this thing has.”

  “But we don’t—”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Mitch said. “In fact, I don’t care if we accidentally blow up the Middle East. We’re going to try.”

  “Alright, Mitch. You need to calm down and think about what you’re saying.”

  Mitch turned to Naoko. “You don’t know him. That man saved my life. As a matter of fact, he saved yours too. Now are you going to help me or not?”

  For a moment it looked as if Naoko was going to walk off the bridge, then he sat down and sighed. “Alright, fine. Bring up the options menu.”

  Mitch did. Of the twelve commands available, only three had been tested so far. The first changed the view between standard, thermal, infrared and two others they still didn’t quite understand. The second command tracked the selected target, keeping it centered on the screen. The third was the one Naoko had shown them earlier when he turned the Pandora into a 3D drawing.

  “So?” Mitch said. “What’s option four?”

  “I don’t know,” Naoko said. “It’s not a word I recognize. The fifth one says scan or inspect depending on how you use the word. Six says establish link.”

  Before Naoko could continue, Mitch executed the command. Nothing happened.

  “It says target is incompatible,” Naoko said.

  “Fine, what about seven?”

  “Open command channel,” Naoko said. “Eight says redirect. Nine says authenticate. The last three are just alphanumeric codes.”

  “I guess that leaves four,” Mitch said. “You ready?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good. Here we go then.”

  Mitch selected the command and pressed the button under his thumb. Again, nothing happened. “What does it say?”

  “It wants you to confirm the command,” Naoko said.

  When Mitch did, two symbols that he recognized as numbers appeared next to the triangle and began to count down.

  “Oh, shit,” Naoko breathed.

  Even Mitch suddenly appeared to be having second thoughts. He pressed down with his thumb again, thinking it might stop, but it didn’t. The double digits soon became single digits. They both watched in horror as it reached zero. For a moment it appeared the result would be the same, then the jet suddenly slowed and went into a spin. A second later the canopy flew off and the pilot ejected. They both looked at each other with wide, dumbstruck eyes.

  Before either of them could say anything Almila returned to the bridge. The moment he saw the remaining jet he said, “Oh, no.”

  “It’s okay,” Mitch said, but he was looking at Naoko.

  “Yeah,” Naoko said. “We’ve got everything under control.”

  Mitch selected the second plane, then executed the command and confirmed it. The countdown began again.

  “What are you doing?” Almila demanded.

  “The same thing we did to the first one,” Mitch said with a kind of lunatic triumph in his voice.

  Before Almila could ask what that was supposed to mean, the second jet went into a spin and the pilot ejected.

  “Tell me you didn’t just make that happen from here,” Almila said.

  “It must be some kind of directional EMP,” Mitch said.

  “A what?” Almila said.

  “A pulse that shorts out electric circuits,” Mit
ch said.

  By now the plane had passed the straits and was flying over open water toward the coast of Iran. Had it not been for the fact that none of it changed what had happened to Francis, the moment might have been cause for celebration.

  Less than twenty minutes later the plane crossed the shoreline near the mouth of a river. The first sign they had that Titov intended to land the plane was when it suddenly disappeared in a cloud of dust that soon became a trailing line. By the time it settled and the plane came back into view, it was stationary. They watched Titov pull Francis out and lay him on the ground. They all held their breath, then collectively let it out again when he re-emerged from the plane carrying what appeared to be a medical kit. As soon as it was clear Francis was still alive, Almila left the bridge again.

  “You think she’s alright?” Naoko asked.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure? She seems, you know, pretty…”

  “That’s because she’s in love with him,” Mitch said. “But don’t tell anyone I said that. It’s apparently a big secret.”

  “You think?”

  “Oh, please. It couldn’t be any more obvious if she sent everyone a memo.”

  “Go figure,” Naoko said.

  On the screen, Titov kneeled and put Francis over his shoulder, then began to walk in the direction of the river.

  “Do we even know anyone out there?” Mitch said.

  “I doubt it,” Naoko said.

  Almila returned to the bridge a minute later with Richelle in tow. She walked to the screen and stood looking at it for a long time. When she turned back to Almila she said, “Get me Caroline on the phone.”

  When Almila was gone Mitch said, “What’s the plan, boss?”

  She turned to him, the light of determination back in her eyes. “We’re going to find the greediest asshole in the country and make him rich, that’s the plan. If anyone doesn’t like it I suggest they keep the fact to themselves.”

  Chapter 22