Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  Mohindar was about to say something when one of the customs officers came running out of the building. When he reached the car he said something to Damir in a tone of obvious incredulity.

  “What?” Mohindar said.

  Damir dismissed the officer, then pointed at the ship. An Asian man in a dark gray suit was making his way down the gangway. He intercepted the officer on his way back to the building and began remonstrating with him.

  “What the hell is going on?” Mohindar demanded.

  Damir opened the door. “It seems the Chinese are insisting we return their prisoner. Care to join me?”

  Mohindar got out and followed Damir. When the Asian man saw Damir approaching, he stopped arguing with the officer and removed a passport from his suit jacket. He handed it over and said, “My name is Syun, the diplomatic officer on board. I have called our embassy. They should be in touch with you shortly.”

  Damir ignored the statement and examined the passport. Written in large gold letters at the top was the word DIPLOMATIC. Damir handed it back and turned to Mohindar. “Looks like this is a problem for immigration control.”

  It took Mohindar a moment to realize what Damir was doing. Syun shifted his gaze to Mohindar and said, “We must insist that the man you apprehended be returned in accordance with international law.”

  Mohindar turned to Damir and said, “You say he was found in the refrigerator?”

  Damir nodded. “Yes.”

  Mohindar gave Syun a disgusted look. “Your professed devotion to international law seems a little limited, sir. I’m afraid we have no choice but to refuse your request on humanitarian grounds.”

  Syun shook his head. “The allegation is false.”

  “You’re saying the officers lied?” Mohindar said.

  “Clearly,” Syun said.

  “In that case I’ll have to refer the matter to the foreign office and recommend a full enquiry,” Mohindar said, then turned to Damir. “Do you mind if I have a word with this gentleman in private?”

  Damir shrugged. “Not at all.”

  When they were alone, Mohindar took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to give you one opportunity to walk away. No awkward questions, no diplomatic incident.”

  Syun began to say something, but Mohindar raised a hand. “Let me finish. If, however, you insist on his return, I will make sure the American consulate is made aware of the circumstances under which Mr. Klein was discovered.”

  Syun eyed Mohindar warily for a moment and said, “You’re bluffing.”

  “Try me,” Mohindar said. “Now I suggest you turn around and walk back to your ship before I change my mind.”

  Syun held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and slowly walked away. When he reached the gangway he looked back and said, “I hope for your sake we don’t meet again.”

  When Damir rejoined Mohindar he said, “Do we still have a problem?”

  Mohindar shook his head. “No.”

  But the word felt hollow somehow, untrue to his own ears.

  Chapter 36

  The Pandora

  Tuesday 12 June 2007

  1200 EEST

  Professor Watkins looked up to see four expectant faces, each more apprehensive than the last. He consulted the notebook on his lap for what must have been the hundredth time and added another line to the growing translation. Seemingly oblivious to his audience, he read what he had written again, studied the glowing keyboard in front of him and began to tap one letter at a time with his index finger.

  “Sorry about this,” Watkins said, looking at Mitch. “If this young man had taken my advice and attended the Saishan lessons I offered, things would be going a lot faster.”

  Mitch smiled and said, “I have enough trouble with the one terrestrial language I’m supposed to speak to even think about taking up Martian.”

  “Saishan,” Watkins corrected.

  “That’s what I said; Martian.”

  Watkins rolled his eyes and looked at Naoko, who shrugged and said, “He’s right. I’ve tried.”

  It took him another twenty minutes. When Watkins was done, Mitch mirrored the small screen in front of him on one of the viewports. The three-dimensional diagram was of a flat cylinder with a slightly convex top and bottom. It was attached to three parachutes by an intricate mesh of thin lines.

  “What did I tell you?” Mitch said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  Richelle studied the image, her head slightly cocked to one side. “Alright. And do we have any idea what’s in it? For all we know it’s going to light up like a Christmas tree as soon as it touches down.”

  “There’s an inventory,” Watkins said. “But it’s just made up of alpha-numeric designations. I’m guessing they’re part numbers. I can try to identify them, but it could take a while.”

  “And what’s the plan once it’s here?” Richelle asked.

  “We cover it,” Mitch said.

  “With what?”

  “Anything we can,” Mitch said. “Vegetation, dirt, rocks? Until we can construct something more permanent to hide it.”

  “A fiberglass mold,” Heinz said. “Painted to blend in with the surroundings, supported by a steel frame of some kind. If we can drop it near the tree line, perhaps we could even move a few trees to block the view from the sea. The lease on the island permits the building of additional support structures, so I would suggest we erect something permanent as soon as possible. Call it an emergency shelter, perhaps.”

  Richelle considered this for a moment. “And when do you propose to schedule the drop?”

  “The dropship will be in range in eight days,” Heinz said. “As far as we can figure, it will take up a holding pattern on arrival. The window for the drop is limited by the increasing distance of the return trip. According to Watkins calculations it’s—”

  “Just over six days,” Watkins said.

  Heinz nodded. “Mitch has a point about the uncertainties we face with regard to Origin’s reaction now that the link is up and running. We have no idea what protocols the ship is operating on or if the drop will even be repeated. My advice would be to proceed right away. Two weeks is enough time to make the necessary arrangements.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve run any of this past Erik?” Richelle asked.

  Heinz looked down at his feet and murmured, “He’ll just have to toe the line.”

  Richelle frowned and said, “Will he now? What the hell is it with you two, anyway? Is there something I need to know?”

  When she looked at Mitch he turned away, his interest suddenly caught by something in his lap.

  “Heinz?” Richelle said.

  “Nothing,” Heinz said. “I just meant that he’ll have to pitch in and make it work like everyone else.”

  “Alright,” Richelle said, clearly not convinced. “In the meantime I want to know exactly what it is we’re letting ourselves in for. Chris, I’d like you to stay here and help until we know exactly what’s in that thing.”

  Watkins nodded. “You’re the boss.”

  “And Mitch?” Richelle said.

  “Yes?”

  “When it does arrive, try not to stand directly beneath it. I have a feeling we’re going to need your expertise more than ever.”

  Everyone laughed at this except Mitch, who, for a wonder, said nothing at all. Clearly proud of having achieved what few ever could, Richelle walked off the bridge with a triumphant stride.

  Chapter 37

  Mumbai, India

  Tuesday 12 June 2007

  1800 IST

  Francis arrived at the house only a few hours after Jasper. Mohindar helped him inside and up the stairs where they found Titov sitting on the balcony with a bottle of cold beer in one hand.

  “I’m glad to see you’re not straining yourself,” Francis said.

  “I’m taking a well-deserved afternoon off,” Titov said. “If you don’t like it, I suggest you take it up with the union.”

  “Where’s Jasper?” Francis asked.r />
  “Asleep,” Titov said. “I think he’s had about as much fun as he can handle for one week. How’s your stomach?”

  Francis put a hand over the bandage around his abdomen and said, “They say I’m lucky to be alive.”

  Mohindar left the room and returned a minute later with a very puffy-eyed Jasper in tow.

  “Well if it isn’t Mr. Klein,” Titov said. “Feeling any better?”

  Jasper looked at Francis. “You guys don’t work for a research foundation, do you?”

  Titov gave Francis a surprised look. “He’s quick, you have to give him that.”

  “Who are you?” Jasper said.

  “For your purposes,” Francis said, “we’re just a couple of concerned citizens out for justice and all things fair.”

  “Sure. And what you did was push me into a trap.”

  Francis smiled and shook his head. “For someone touted to be a genius, you come across as a tad on the dull side. If we were who we claimed to be, you’d still be on your way to China. Luckily for you, the Beixiang had to refuel. Now what we’re interested in is what happened on the ship before you were found.”

  “I was locked in a cabin,” Jasper said. “That’s what happened. Then I was put in a fridge and almost froze to death.”

  “No one spoke to you?” Francis asked. “No one made any effort to explain what you were doing there?”

  Jasper shook his head. “No.”

  “Maybe you overheard a conversation?”

  “None in English,” Jasper said.

  When it was clear Jasper was going to be of no use, Francis asked Mohindar to take him back to his room.

  “All that for nothing,” Francis said.

  Titov finished his beer and stood up. “Richelle wants us back as soon as possible. Apparently we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “No idea.”

  When Mohindar returned, he was holding two passports and two airline tickets. He handed one of each to them. “Your flight leaves at three in the morning. There are no direct routes to Tallinn so you’ll have to stop over in Frankfurt. I’ve also made arrangements to keep Mr. Klein here until you decide what you want to do with him.”

  “You don’t seem too curious,” Francis said.

  Mohindar held up his hands. “Curiosity is an expensive habit in my line of work. And I can’t tell anyone what I don’t know, can I?”

  “I suppose not,” Francis said.

  “The staff have prepared dinner. I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.”

  When Mohindar was gone Francis asked Titov to call Richelle. Based on what he could glean from their conversation Francis had expected her to be in one of her characteristic bad moods, but she sounded perfectly calm.

  “It’s great to hear you’re okay,” Richelle said.

  “It’s great to be okay,” Francis told her. “How are things there?”

  “Fine.”

  “Titov seemed to think you were all running for cover.”

  “We had a little scare with RP One, that’s all. False alarm. What do you propose to do about the situation there?”

  “Well, any chance of using Jasper to track these people down is gone. I didn’t want to discuss it with Mohindar, but it’s not safe for him to leave here yet.”

  “Mohindar is a good man,” Richelle said. “He’ll do what he needs to.”

  “As for the culprit,” Francis said, “I think we’re dealing with a classic case of state-sponsored kidnapping. It’s a bit of an outdated tactic, but then so are the Chinese in many respects.”

  “So we just let it go?”

  “I suppose we could always send an anonymous letter of protest to Beijing.”

  “Very funny,” Richelle said.

  “If you want to pursue it, we could wait a couple of months and put Jasper back in the picture under surveillance. There’s a good chance they’ll come looking for him.”

  “You want to use him as bait?”

  “What other option do we have? Unless you’ve got someone working for the Foundation inside the Chinese clandestine services, that is.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Richelle said.

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll be back in forty-eight hours, although I’m not going to be of much use to anyone for the next couple of weeks.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened in Iran. The whole thing was my idea.”

  “Water under the bridge,” Francis said.

  “I’ll see you back here, then. Have a safe trip.”

  Chapter 38

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Tuesday 12 June 2007

  1030 MST

  Mike Banner watched his section chiefs file out of the conference room with a sense of deep trepidation. He opened the folder on the desk in front of him and removed a communiqué marked for his eyes only. It was a brief summary of the situation in Asia.

  His new friend in the Senate—there was another crazy idea for you—had called earlier that morning to say events on the Hill would mean a cancelation of their weekend plans. That was good, because try as he might to gather the resolve, he still hadn’t told Susan about his own big change of plans. Which was to say, he had tried, she just hadn’t listened.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, Wentworth had already rented a small office downtown to act as a temporary campaign headquarters and announced with considerable lack of fanfare that his firm was lending the campaign a hundred thousand dollars to get the ball rolling.

  It all made Mike feel as if he’d stepped into a pressure cooker in some previously unknown dimension of the universe. A dimension where probability was of little import and the walls got closer the longer you stood in one place. He glanced at his phone and considered calling Susan there and then. Perhaps not being able to see the expression on her face would give him the nerve he needed to overcome her incredulity.

  “Mr. Banner?”

  Mike looked up to see his secretary standing in the doorway. “Sir, you have a visitor.”

  “I do?”

  “He’s waiting in your office.”

  Mike was about to ask her who the visitor was when she cupped a hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “It’s the governor.”

  Sure that she had either made a mistake, or that he was losing his mind, Mike walked into his office and found the governor standing by the window. As soon as he saw Mike he walked over and extended a hand. Mike took it hesitantly.

  “Mike, I just wanted to stop by and let you know you have my full support. We independents have to stick together after all.”

  “How did you—”

  “Senator Mason and I go way back,” the governor said. “I think it’s a damn shame Richmond’s stepping down, but I’m glad we’ve got someone running for his seat that he’s happy to endorse.”

  “Richmond is going to endorse me?”

  The governor looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “You didn’t know?”

  Mike shook his head.

  “Well he is,” the governor said. “And you’ve got Will Mason to thank for it. He says you’re going up to see him next week.”

  “He’s invited Susan and me to dinner at his ranch.”

  “Well, you listen to what he has to say. Will Mason has been on the Hill longer than most, and he’s a damn fine Senator. Anyway, I better get going. You need anything, you just give my office a call, Mike.”

  Mike only stood there, his face as void of expression as two dots and a line on an otherwise blank canvas.

  Chapter 39

  Nampo, North Korea

  Wednesday 13 June 2007

  0900 KST

  Rhee looked down from the window of the elevated office cubicle above the workshop floor with a genuine sense of excitement. Having lain dormant for over fourteen months, the place had suddenly come to life again.

  Directly below him sat ten train carriages in miniature. Anyone unfamiliar with the finer details of Project 38 migh
t well assume they were destined for a children’s amusement park. Each carriage was about eight yards long and three wide. Seven of the ten each contained two rows of seats facing away from each other that ran the full length of the carriage. Of the remaining three, one was clearly the locomotive, and one just a flatbed, presumably for carrying cargo of some kind. Only the final carriage had no obvious purpose. Unlike the rest, which had only four wheels each, this one had sixteen. Several welders were busy constructing a frame on top of it with a large circle in the center that protruded several feet beyond the base on both sides.

  Rhee watched as one of the supervisors, a Caucasian man with short-cropped red hair, explained something to two Korean mechanics. They were standing beside a large electric motor sitting on a pallet beside the locomotive.

  “They arrived this morning,” Pok said, pointing at the other crate near the main doors.

  “And the batteries?” Rhee said.

  “Offloaded in Dubai a week ago. According to the timetable they should arrive on the Beixiang.”

  Rhee looked at the man still busy instructing the two mechanics and chuckled. “Mr. Bower looks happy to be back at work.”

  Pok smiled and said, “The only thing an engineer hates more than being forced to work is not working at all.”

  Rhee glanced at him, amused.

  “I’m serious,” Pok said. “I have no doubt he’d run away if given the chance—I’m sure he would—but take away that option and sooner or later the urge to do something becomes hard to resist. It just takes a while.”

  Rhee considered pointing out the absurdity of this logic, but the more he looked at Bower, the harder it was to deny the truth of it.

  Karl Bower had been abducted outside his home in Frankfurt over two years ago and smuggled into the country onboard another Chinese ship. He had refused to cooperate for several months, holding on to the vain hope that some miracle of diplomacy would eventually see him liberated. It was only after Rhee had threatened to have his wife join him that Karl had finally accepted his fate and begun working on the plans for the little train.