Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  “I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Jasper said. “I agreed to attend a job interview, that’s all. You and your friend got me kidnapped. I have the right to a lawyer and a trial by jury.”

  Titov laughed, “A trial by jury?”

  “Yes. It’s my legal right as an American citizen.”

  Titov sat down on the bed and looked at Jasper the way a teacher might regard a pupil who had proudly reached the wrong conclusion to a simple problem. “Let me make something absolutely clear to you. There are people out there—very resourceful people—who want nothing less than to see you dead. I’m not saying you did anything wrong, but the fact remains that in agreeing to hear these people out, you’ve put us both in a very awkward position.”

  “You’re the ones that made me go,” Jasper said incredulously.

  “That’s true,” Titov said. “Which is why we’re now going to help you.”

  “What about witness protection?” Jasper said.

  “Oh, I think we can do a lot better than that,” Titov said. “I just need you to cooperate a little bit longer.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “That’s for me to know and for you to find out. But I think you’ll approve. You might even be able to help us find the people we’re looking for.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Jasper said.

  “Sure,” Titov said. “We can either take the highway and cross the Potomac at the border, or the interstate. I’m good either way.”

  “That’s hilarious,” Jasper said.

  Titov handed Jasper the envelope. “I’m afraid I didn’t have a say in the choice of names.”

  Jasper took out the license and studied it. “Jean Farris?”

  “Like I said, not my call. I suggest you repeat it a few times until you’re used to it. Or at least until you’re sure you won’t forget it. Now if there’s nothing else, we should really get going.”

  When they stepped into the elevator Titov pushed the buttons for both the lobby and the first floor. “You’re going to get out on one and wait for the next elevator. I’m parked across the street outside the IHOP. Dark blue Chevy Cobalt. You can run if you like, but I’d seriously advise against it.”

  When the doors closed behind him and he heard the elevator move on, Jasper felt a surge of relief so strong it made the big Russian’s warnings seem almost childish by comparison. He looked up and down the empty hallway, suddenly sure he could find a back door and get away if he wanted to. And where would he go? The nearest police station seemed like the best bet. After a moment of deliberation he decided on a compromise.

  Jasper stepped out into the lobby and made his way to the reception counter. What stayed his tongue was not second thoughts but the television mounted to the wall in front of him. In the top right hand corner above the news announcer was a picture of him. It had clearly been taken by one of the security cameras at the airport in Dubai. This fact alone may not have persuaded him to change his mind, but the headline running across the bottom of the screen did; SUSPECTED DEFECTOR JASPER KLEIN LAST SEEN IN DUBAI—STATE DEPARTMENT INVESTIGATING POSSIBLE LINK TO LOCAL HIJACKING.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Jasper turned to the young man behind the counter, but his mind was suddenly a blank.

  “Are you okay?” the young man asked.

  Jasper glanced at the TV and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Sorry.”

  For a moment Jasper wasn’t sure he would be able to move. He had no idea what the headline meant, only that his plan to turn himself in no longer seemed quite so compelling. When his legs finally agreed to cooperate, he turned away and headed for the door. By the time he reached the car he was running.

  Had Jasper turned around then he would have seen the young man was now standing outside the front doors of the hotel. His concern had been replaced by a look of puzzled recognition.

  Chapter 63

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Monday 18 June 2007

  1000 MST

  The improvised studio had been set up in Mike’s living room. Geraldine, who now seemed to be running his life as well as his campaign, had rearranged everything, while remaining either unaware or willfully ignorant of the looks this home invasion was eliciting from Susan. A large TV camera now sat facing them from the other side of the coffee table, flanked by two softboxes on tripods. To Mike’s chagrin the operation seemed to require at least a dozen people, half of whom appeared to have no role other than to stand around and look important.

  “Alright,” Geraldine said, taking a seat next to Mike on the couch, “I’m going to go easy on you to begin with. Once you’re comfortable handling a few slow balls we’ll bring out the big guns and see how it goes.”

  Before Mike could say anything a young assistant appeared and began dabbing at his face with a small round sponge.

  “Alright, people,” Geraldine snapped, “let’s kill the noise and get busy. Roll the camera on five.”

  The camera man held up a splayed hand and began counting down on his fingers. When the hand became a fist, Geraldine sat up, smiled pleasantly at Mike and said, “So, Mike, we’ve seen the ads, and I think just about everyone in the greater Phoenix area has received a flyer through their mailbox this week announcing your candidacy. And what I think they’re asking—I certainly know I am—is, who is this guy? Who is Mike Banner?”

  Every face in the room turned to Mike, whose own face suddenly felt as if it were glowing red hot and expanding to an impossible size. When he didn’t answer, Geraldine turned to the camera, raised her eyebrows to the imaginary audience and said, “Well, I don’t know about you folks at home, but I’d say this is already a marked improvement on the competition. When I spoke to Ortega this morning I couldn’t get a word in sideways.”

  Everyone laughed. To Mike the sound seemed to be coming from a great distance. The only person not laughing was Susan, but the pity he saw in her eyes was no more comfort.

  “Mike?” Geraldine said, “You still with us?”

  “This isn’t going to work,” Mike said.

  Geraldine pointed at the door. “Everyone out.”

  When they were alone she put one hand on his knee, pointed at the camera with the other and said, “There are only two things you need to pay any attention to in this room. One is me, the other is that camera. Everything else is a figment of your imagination, if you like. It sounds hard, but once you get it, it’s like riding a bike. Now tell me, who is Mike Banner?”

  “I wasn’t kidding,” Mike said. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try me. The first thing that pops into your head.”

  Mike looked down at his hands and considered the question for a moment. “Well, for twenty years I’ve been whoever I needed to be to keep the people I serve out of harm’s way. So to those on the wrong side of the law, I guess I’m a pain in the ass. To my superiors, I’ve tried to be a good subordinate. A source of inspiration to my staff. To my wife, a loving husband. To my son, a good father. That’s the honest answer. I guess it depends on who’s asking. All I can promise is that what I won’t ever be is someone I’m not. That view may not be compatible with politics as it’s practiced in this country today, but it’s the only answer I have. If you want me to say something else, you’ll have to write it down.”

  When Mike looked over at Geraldine, she was looking back at him with wide eyes.

  “What?”

  “Perfect,” she said.

  “It was?”

  “Listen, Mike,” Geraldine said. “I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know you as well as I know most of my clients. I took this job because I had to. By that I mean, I owed it to someone. Normally I’d say that was a problem. In your case though, it might not be. You’re obviously what you claim to be, and I admire that. Needless to say, it’s not always true, and I think you’re going to be in for one hell of a surprise if you make it to the Hill. And I do think you can make it. So I’m going to give you some advice that would normally be considered blas
phemy in my line of work; just be yourself. Can you do that?”

  “I can try,” Mike said.

  “Good. Then let’s get everyone back in here and give it another shot.”

  This time when she asked the question Mike glanced at the camera, nodded to himself as if he’d expected the question, then looked back at Geraldine and smiled. “First of all, I’d like to thank you for asking me before you asked anyone else.”

  Geraldine flinched at this subtle rebuke, then sat back, amused.

  “I guess like any man, I’m the sum of my experience in the shadow of my fears,” Mike said. “What I have in terms of the former is eight years in the Marine Corps, two decades of service as a law enforcement agent of the federal government, eighteen as a husband, and fifteen as a father. As for the latter—and I think this goes to the heart of what we’re really talking about—I fear that governance in America has become a class distinction and a profession when what it should be is a duty and an earned privilege. I fear that as a nation we’re suffocating under the burden of a relationship between the state, the managerial class, and financial interests to the detriment of our collective future. I don’t claim to be a better man, only that as an independent candidate I have no blank checks to make good on and no promises to keep other than those I’m making to the people of this state and the nation as a whole.”

  “And what would you say to those who claim your lack of experience is a serious problem?” Geraldine asked.

  “I’d say that experience is something as subjective as politics itself. If we’re talking about procedure, I’d have to agree that I’m not as well-versed as some. If we’re talking about the ability to distinguish between someone out to make an honest living and someone only pretending to while circumventing the law and the interests of this country, I’d say I probably have more experience than most.”

  This time it was Geraldine who seemed lost for words.

  “That going to work?” Mike said.

  “Is it?” Geraldine said. “If you weren’t already a client I’d think about hiring you to write speeches. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  Mike only shrugged.

  Geraldine stood and said, “Alright, guys, let’s pack it up. Remember we’re shooting the TV spot in the morning, so let’s show up bright and early and get it done before lunch.”

  When they were alone again Susan looked at Mike and said, “I never would have guessed this, but I think you’re in your element here.”

  “Don’t be cruel,” Mike said.

  “I’m serious,” Susan said. “I think you could give these guys something to think about even if they weren’t already screwed.”

  “Are you suggesting we let them off the hook?” Mike said.

  “Of course not,” Susan said. “I’m just saying that if you win this it won’t be just because they pull out.”

  Chapter 64

  The Pandora

  Monday 18 June 2007

  2030 EEST

  “Try it again,” Naoko said.

  Heinz, Naoko and Watkins were huddled around the central control seat on the bridge of RP One, where Mitch was gleefully controlling a round crimson cursor on the large screen in front of them. The image was of Times Square, and the object he was trying to center the cursor on was the mobile phone of a man standing next to the bus stop at 7th Avenue and West 47th Street. When the phone was inside the circle Mitch pushed the button under his thumb and it flashed twice before turning green. A moment later two unknown voices invaded the bridge.

  “You told me yesterday that my car would be ready by five,” the first voice said.

  “Yes, Mr. Pearl, and I’ve been trying to call you all day to tell you that the parts won’t be here until the morning,” the other voice responded. It was a woman.

  “Well, I’ve been in meetings all day. We don’t all fix cars for a living, you know.”

  “I spoke to your wife shortly before noon, sir, and she assured me she would get the message to you.”

  “No, you spoke to my ex-wife, who just happens to be a lying bitch, not to mention an unfaithful whore. And I don’t know why you would call her when I expressly told you to use my mobile number.”

  “I found the number in the phone book, sir. It’s still listed under your name. Like I said, I couldn’t get through on your mobile.”

  “Listen, I need the car today. I’m leaving for Boston early tomorrow morning, so you’re just going to have to find a way to fix it.”

  “Sir, we don’t have the parts. They—”

  “Won’t be there until tomorrow. Yes, you said that. If you can’t get my car back to me today you’ll have to pay for a rental or something. I can’t change my plans.”

  “We can certainly arrange for a temporary replacement, sir, but you’ll have to pay the rental charges.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I want to speak to your manager.”

  “That would be me, sir. Like I said, if you—”

  Mitch ended the intercept and looked around. “Is it just me, or is this the coolest thing you’ve ever seen? Let’s try another one.”

  “Better not,” Naoko said. “If we keep doing this we’re going to end up listening in on someone having phone sex or planning a murder or something.”

  “So then we call the cops,” Mitch said. “Could you imagine that? Some desk sergeant picking up the phone and discovering Batman has moved from Gotham to the Big Apple?”

  “I think that’s enough for now,” Heinz cut in. “I’d like to point out that as spectacular as this is, there are moral considerations here too.”

  Mitch looked at Watkins, who nodded. “He’s right. We know it works now. There’s no need to invade the privacy of people we don’t even know.”

  Mitch shrugged. “What about the privacy of people we do know?”

  “That’s a different matter entirely,” Heinz said. “Anything we can do to help figure out what’s going on is obviously justified. I was merely pointing out that we need to maintain a moral perspective on all of this. Playing God just because we can is—well, it’s corrupting. In fact, I think we should all agree right now that no one will use this or any other capability we might discover for personal or frivolous ends.”

  Watkins and Naoko both nodded their agreement and looked at Mitch.

  “Yes, fine, okay, I promise,” Mitch said. “No spying on innocent people.”

  “Or anyone who isn’t of immediate concern,” Heinz added.

  “Or them,” Mitch said.

  “Good,” Heinz said.

  Chapter 65

  Newburg, Maryland

  Monday 18 June 2007

  1400 EDT

  Despite some initial confusion owing to the excitability of the caller, it took less than half an hour for the reported spotting of Jasper Klein to reach the state police, who wasted no time putting the news out on the wire. A veteran Virginia Highway Patrolman by the name of John Koehrsen spotted the blue Chevy Cobalt turning onto Route 17 outside the town of Port Royal on the Rappahannock River and followed the car to the town of Champlain, where two of his colleagues were waiting.

  Titov, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary until he saw the cruisers parked nose to nose in the middle of the road, cursed and moved his foot to the brake. He considered making a run for it, but only for a moment.

  “Give me the ID documents,” Titov said.

  When Jasper handed them over Titov opened his door a crack and dropped the passport and both cards onto the road. Jasper, who had made no mention of his short-lived mutiny, began to panic.

  “Something you want to tell me?” Titov said.

  “The man at reception,” Jasper said. “He must have seen me. There was a picture of me on the TV.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to let me know?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jasper said. “I didn’t—I don’t—”

  “Never mind. Just do me a favor and let me do the talking.”

  But any hope that talking
might still be an option was dashed when Titov saw both officers were now kneeling behind their cars, shotguns at the ready. Titov stopped the car and put both hands where they could be seen.

  “I suggest you do the same,” he told Jasper.

  A moment later the cruiser that had been following them arrived. Officer Koehrsen stepped out with a bullhorn and raised it to his mouth. “Step out of the car. I want your hands where I can see them.”

  “Do it,” Titov said.

  “What the hell am I supposed to say?” Jasper said.

  “I suggest you start by asking for that lawyer. If you’re lucky you might just get the trial you wanted. Who knows?”

  “And if I’m not?”

  Titov didn’t reply. He opened his door, got out and held both hands above his head. The officer rushing toward him stopped when he saw how big he was.

  “Relax,” Titov said. “You’ll get no trouble from me. If you hand me your cuffs I’ll put them on myself.”

  If anything, this attempt at humor only seemed to make the officer even more nervous. He pumped the shotgun and turned to his colleague, who was already cuffing Jasper. “Dobbs, I’m gonna need some help with this one.”

  Titov shook his head in disappointment. “Do I look like a meth head to you? You think I’m going to get myself killed resisting arrest?”

  “Just take it easy, big guy,” the officer said. “Lay down on the ground and put your hands behind your back.”

  Titov considered making another appeal for civility. One look at the unsteady finger on the trigger of the shotgun killed the idea. He got to his knees, then lay down and crossed his arms behind his back. A moment later he felt a knee sink into his back between his shoulder blades. Then he was being cuffed and raised to his feet. It took both officers to do it.

  Officer Koehrsen lowered his shotgun and nodded toward his own car. “I’ll take them in. You guys follow me.”

  Chapter 66