Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  “You still think this is a setup?” Richelle said, Titov and Jasper momentarily forgotten.

  “If it is,” Francis said, “it’s not going to work out very well for the Chinese. Or anyone else for that matter.”

  “Then maybe we should warn them,” Mitch said.

  “It might just come to that,” Francis said. “But we’re not going to do anything until we have some idea what they intend to do with it.”

  “What does anyone with a nuclear bomb intend to do with it?” Richelle said.

  “Well,” Francis said, “since 1945, bluff people into thinking they’ll use them. Which is sincerely what I hope our friends have in mind.”

  “You don’t seriously think—” Richelle began.

  “No,” Francis said. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know so either. This entire thing has made no sense from the start, and now it makes even less. If we assume the Chinese are aware of the bomb we’ll need to go back to the drawing board and start again.”

  “Do we have anyone who speaks Korean?” Watkins asked.

  Richelle considered this and shook her head, “I don’t think so.”

  “What about Chinese?”

  “Meilin?” Naoko suggested. “In the biology lab?”

  “Yes,” Richelle said. “I’ll get her over right away.”

  “Now all we need to do is catch someone using a cell phone,” Mitch said.

  “You can listen in on calls?” Francis said.

  “If we catch someone in the act, yes,” Mitch said. “Although we haven’t yet.”

  “They won’t be using cell phones,” Francis said. “Encrypted satellite phones would be my guess.”

  Mitch and Naoko glanced at each other, but it was Watkins who spoke. “Gandalf can relay any signal it finds. We already know the system is aware of the satellite traffic up there. The problem is that it has no way of isolating or decoding individual signals in binary code.”

  “Can’t you teach it?” Francis asked.

  “If it’s something Gandalf is capable of,” Mitch said, “it’ll be a while before we figure it out.”

  “So we’re stuck with eyes only for now,” Francis said.

  “We’ll try,” Mitch said. “But I wouldn’t count on anything else.”

  Watkins was about to add something to this when Richelle stood up and said, “Listen, guys. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Francis admonished her not to go on with a discreet shake of his head, but she ignored him. “Titov and Jasper were stopped by the police this morning on their way to the safe house at Willoughby. They’ve been arrested.”

  This was met with shocked silence.

  “Wentworth’s hands are tied,” she said. “Caroline is finding out what she can through our contacts in Zurich, but there isn’t really anything she can do either.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Mitch asked.

  “Because I advised her against it,” Francis said. “The fact is, we’re juggling problems here, and the more we try to do at any one time, the less we’ll get done.”

  “And I agree,” Richelle said. “At least in principle. But I really need to know if there’s anything we can do from here. Anything at all.”

  “Do you know where they are?” Mitch said.

  “The FBI field office in Richmond,” Richelle said.

  Mitch thought about it for a moment and said, “What about Mike?”

  “Mike’s officially retired,” Francis said. “And even if he wasn’t, there’d be nothing he could do.”

  “Your friend in Florida?” Mitch suggested. “What’s his name?”

  “Reginald,” Francis said. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. He might have been able to help, but he’s a very sick man. I’m not even sure he’ll live much longer.”

  “Sorry,” Mitch said. “I didn’t know.”

  “What about that thing?” Richelle said, pointing at the screen. “Can’t we at least use it to keep track of where they are?”

  “Sure,” Mitch said. “If we could see them.”

  “And the container?” Richelle said, now clearly growing desperate. “Isn’t there something in there we could use?”

  When no one answered she said, “Christ people, help me out here! Is there anything in this fucking alien marvel we can use to get two goddamned people out of a building? Anything at all? I’ll welcome any suggestion you can make.”

  Francis reached for her shoulder. “Richelle? I thought we—”

  She pushed his hand away and pointed at the chair Mitch was sitting in. “What good is any of this shit if we can’t even use it to protect our own people? Fuck the Chinese and the North Koreans. If they want to blow themselves to kingdom come, let them. Like you said, it would be two less things for us to worry about.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said,” Francis said.

  “But it’s true,” Richelle said. “In fact, the whole damn planet can go to hell for all I care. My father was right about a lot of things, but he was wrong on one crucial point; the world isn’t divided between the ruthless and the oppressed, it’s divided between the assholes who want to take everyone else down with them and the assholes who are too stupid to realize it and do something about it.”

  In her rage Richelle neither heard the phone ring, nor saw Francis pick it up. Nor did she see the look of relief that came over his face as he listened. He put it back down and began nodding his agreement with her increasingly vicious verbal assault on the world and the people in it until the smile on his face finally frustrated her into asking what the hell he was so damn happy about.

  “Titov’s fine,” Francis said.

  Her face made a remarkable shift from an ugly snarl of disgust to the blank stare of total incomprehension. It was so sudden Francis couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Wentworth just spoke to him. He’s got Jasper too.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. When Francis put a hand on her arm and said it was over, the breath went out of her along with the anger, the frustration and what remained of her strength.

  “Give us a minute here, guys, would you?” Francis said.

  They all stood up and walked toward the gangway. Mitch tapped Naoko on the shoulder, winked and gave a big thumbs up. “Told you there was something going on between them.”

  “You’re an asshole, Mitch,” Naoko said. “You know that?”

  “Yes,” Mitch said. “But I’m an asshole who knows what he’s talking about.”

  Chapter 84

  Richmond, Virginia

  Friday 22 June 2007

  1100 EDT

  Sometimes the best solution to a very complicated problem, especially when it involves people, is the idiotically simple one most would dismiss out of hand, and for that very reason. It was on the basis of this loose logic that Wentworth, having exhausted every other avenue of possibility, devised his plan.

  Because it relied entirely on the tendency of the human mind to overlook what it cannot credit, he employed for the purpose not one of the many highly trained men of deeds on his formidable list of contacts, but a man and woman of words, which is to say, two unemployed actors from upstate New York.

  Stanley and Veronica Durant had enjoyed a brief spell of success on the TV circuit in the mid-1990s, including appearances on Friends, Seinfeld and The X-Files. It was their role in the latter that made Wentworth think of them. Stan and Ronny, as they were known, had played two FBI agents caught up in a dispute over jurisdiction with the show’s outspoken crime fighting duo, and in Wentworth’s opinion had made Mulder and Scully look like B-rate standins in a D-rate straight-to-video horror movie.

  Shortly after his conversation with Francis, Wentworth had called Stan at home and asked him if the couple might be interested in a quick job. The two of them had worked together on several previous occasions, although never on anything quite this risky. The first had involved Stan playing the part of an electrician to recover a bug from the home
of a local lobbyist who would soon be putting his house up for sale to pay his back taxes before moving to less up-market digs at the Jesup Federal Correctional Facility in Georgia. The last had been less than a year ago when Stan walked into a hospital posing as an inspector for the Department of Health and Human Services and obtained the medical records of a client suing for malpractice before they could be destroyed or falsified.

  To her credit it was Ronny who talked Wentworth back into the plan, when Wentworth, after hearing himself describe it and realizing how completely absurd it was, got cold feet.

  Thus, a little less than an hour after Titov and Jasper were taken to separate holding cells in the basement, Stanley Durant—now Special Agent William Kerr from New York—walked into the Richmond field office, identified himself with a badge stolen from a 20th Century Fox Studio lot in Century City, and kindly asked the young woman behind the front counter where he might find the agents dealing with the “new arrivals”. She duly placed a call upstairs and informed him that agents Sims and Oliver had been assigned to the case, and that they were to be found on the second floor, last door down the hall on the left.

  On his way up in the elevator Stan put in his ear piece and called his wife. Ronny was sitting in a parking lot less than a mile away with a laptop in front of her, search engine at the ready. It was decided she would be playing the part of director for this feature until Stan was ready to go, at which point she would drive over and, assuming all went well, leave with three passengers.

  The key to a successful bluff, as any conman worth his salt will tell you, is to find out what you need to know without asking. In the case of his operation to recover the redundant bug this had involved a heated five-minute conversation with an imaginary real estate agent on the front porch which had made it obvious to the man listening on the other side of the door that Stan was an engine of efficiency whose valuable time was being wasted by the incompetence of others. During his infiltration of the hospital he had employed a different tactic, informing the obstinate clerk in the record office with a subtle hint of pride that he would soon be taking his long-awaited place on the hospital’s funding board and looked forward to finally getting a chance to do something about the inefficiency that hampered him at every turn. This situation was not quite so simple, but Stan was an actor, not a YouTube baby with illusions of grandeur.

  “Agent Sims?” Stan said, popping his head around the corner of the open door.

  “Oliver,” Oliver said. “Can I help you?”

  Stan stepped into the office and extended a hand. “William Kerr; Maggie said I’d find you guys up here.”

  “How can I help you?” Oliver said.

  In his earpiece Stan heard Ronny say, “Well, you can start by telling me how you got on with Klein.”

  “Well, you can start by telling me how you got on with Klein,” Stan repeated.

  Oliver, justifiably skeptical, didn’t answer.

  “Keep talking,” Ronny said. “Let him know you’re in the loop. Mention Goa or Singapore.”

  “We thought we had a bead on him after he left Goa,” Stan said. “Then he turns up in Singapore only to disappear again. It’s been a damn wild goose chase.”

  “Who did you say you were?” Oliver said.

  “Sorry,” Stan said. “I’m with the Criminal Investigative Office in DC. I’ve been overseeing the Klein case since he was reported missing. You can imagine our surprise when we got the call, and from the Virginia Highway Patrol of all people.”

  For a moment it looked like Agent Oliver might go either way. Stan could see him weighing his skepticism against his inclination to discuss the case with someone who clearly knew more than he did.

  “Klein doesn’t know anything,” Oliver finally said. “It’s the other one who’s holding back.”

  “Titov Kargin,” Stan said. “I ran the name before I left, but there’s nothing on anyone by that name. So he’s not talking?”

  “He’s done plenty of talking,” Oliver said. “Just not the kind we need. If you ask me, he’s not all there.”

  “I know the type,” Stan said. “I’m looking forward to the opportunity to have a little chat with him myself.”

  Oliver frowned, “I thought we were handing them to the spooks?”

  “We are,” Ronny said. “But it’s a two-hour drive to Langley from here.”

  Stan smiled, took another step into the office, then looked back to make sure no one was listening. “Between you and me, it’s a two-hour drive to Langley.”

  Recognition dawned on Agent Oliver in the form of a reciprocating smile that suggested he’d like to come along for the ride.

  “If you ask me,” Stan said, “it’s all bullshit. He was taken on American soil. As long as the crime is only kidnapping it’s our case.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Oliver said. “Although we were told they would be picking them up themselves.”

  “Bring me in,” Ronny said. “If they’re on their way we need to get out of here pronto.”

  “She’s outside,” Stan said.

  “She?” Oliver said.

  “We drove down from DC together. Practically chewed my goddamned ear off talking about the horse ranch she’s gonna buy when she throws in the towel. I almost offered to buy it for her myself just to shut her up.”

  Oliver laughed at this, the unmistakable admiration of a fellow male chauvinist.

  “Very funny,” Ronny said. “I’m on my way. You’re going to have to guide me in.”

  Stan, forgetting himself for a moment, almost responded to the undertones of the statement with a remark that would have made no sense at all under the circumstances.

  “Come on,” Oliver said, standing up, “I’ll walk you down.”

  They were waiting for the elevator when someone shouted from down the hall, “Jason, Langley just called. They’ll be here in five.”

  “I’m hanging up,” Ronny said. “Pick up when I call.”

  For a moment Stan was sure the game was up. Oliver, clearly puzzled, was looking at him for an explanation. The phone in Stan’s pocket began to ring and he picked it up.

  “Hand him the phone,” Ronny said.

  “She wants to talk to you,” Stan said, and handed the phone over.

  Oliver took it.

  “Agent Oliver?” Ronny said.

  “Speaking,” Oliver said.

  “This is Chief Special Agent Jackson with the Directorate of Intelligence at Langley. I don’t know if you’ve been told, but there’s been a bit of confusion at this end. It looks like we’ve given the job to more than one person. I’m just calling to let you know we’ve turned the other team around. Agent Kerr will be dealing with the transfer on your end. I’m sorry about the confusion.”

  “That’s quite alright,” Oliver said.

  The elevator arrived just as Oliver handed back the phone. Stan considered trying to reconnect the earpiece but found his nerves were too on edge to even try. He followed Oliver to the end of the hall, then down a flight of stairs and through a security door into the small detention block.

  Titov and Jasper had been placed in separate cells at opposite ends of the hall. When the uniformed security officer got up and led Oliver to the first cell, Stan reached down and pulled the cord out of the phone on the desk just far enough to break the connection.

  Titov was the first to be let out. Stan, who hadn’t been warned about the man’s size, took a step back.

  “Good luck with this one,” Oliver said. “Shame you couldn’t stay another day or two.”

  Titov ignored the comment. He was looking at Stan.

  “Don’t tell me,” Titov said. “You’ve come to take us somewhere more conducive to your needs.”

  The guard returned a moment later with Jasper. “I’ll need to see your ID to clear the release, sir.”

  Stan handed over his badge. The guard walked over to his desk and sat down in front of the computer terminal, then looked up. “You know this ID is no
longer valid, don’t you.”

  “What do you mean?” Stan said.

  “It expired over a year ago,” the guard said, holding it up to show the date.

  Oliver walked over and took it from him. “He’s right. You want to have a word with your admin staff.”

  “So you can’t release them?” Stan said.

  “Not unless you’re happy to sign over your pension,” the guard said. “Head of station’ll have to authorize it from his office.”

  The guard picked up the phone and frowned.

  “What is it?” Oliver said.

  “Line’s dead.”

  The shift was subtle, but unmistakable. Oliver looked from the ID in his hand to Stan and then the guard. “Go find a phone that works and get the boss down here.”

  “Listen,” Stan said, “let me make a quick call. I’m sure we can clear this up easily enough.”

  “It’s not clarification I need,” the guard said, “it’s authorization. I’ll be right back.”

  When the guard was gone Stan saw that Oliver was looking at him with clear distrust.

  “I don’t get out of the office much,” Stan offered.

  “You don’t say,” Oliver said. “Who’s your head of department in DC?”

  “Jones,” Stan said. “Mike Jones.”

  “You mean Assistant Director Jones, don’t you?”

  “That’s the one,” Stan said.

  “Never heard of him,” Oliver said. “Where’s he from?”

  “Ohio,” Stan said. “Columbus, I think.”

  “Mike Jones from Columbus,” Oliver said, as if trying the words out.

  Titov watched this exchange with growing curiosity. When he looked at Stan he saw the edge of his mustache had separated from his upper lip. Agent Oliver saw it too and raised his hand toward the lapel of his jacket.

  And that’s when the charade came to an end.

  Stan, seeing the game was finally up, ran toward Oliver. In a testament to his lack of exposure to violence he tried to get his arms around Oliver and push him against the wall. Stan suddenly stumbled back and brought a hand up to his nose, which was now broken and gushing blood. Titov, who had been prepared to jump in on either side, rushed forward and kicked Oliver’s arm just as he reached into his jacket for his weapon. Before Oliver could try again Titov tackled him to the ground and followed him down.