“I wasn’t sure,” Jasper said. “It was a little strange, I guess.”
Before Richelle could continue, Francis said, “Would you have gone to Dubai if we hadn’t forced you to?”
It wasn’t really a question, but a statement aimed at Richelle.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Francis said. “The truth is, whatever your motivations, no one here believes they involved the betrayal of your country or any of the other things you’re being accused of. Isn’t that right?”
Richelle held his gaze for a moment, but then nodded.
“Now,” Francis went on, “Poor lack of judgment notwithstanding, your actions have led to the discovery of something very serious and we may need your help to get to the bottom of it.”
“Of course,” Jasper said. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Good,” Francis said. “Does anyone have more questions for the new arrival, or should we just proceed to the part where we shatter his tentative grasp on reality and make a mockery of the world in general?”
Richelle wasn’t amused, but Titov laughed. He looked at Jasper and said, “Don’t listen to him. You’ll be fine.”
“Why don’t you do the honors,” Francis said to Titov. “He’s going to need something familiar to hold on to.”
Titov led a confused Jasper to the elevator. When they were gone Richelle said, “Thanks for the backup. I’m guessing the part where I take control of the situation and call the shots doesn’t apply to you.”
Francis smiled. “Oh, it does. I’ve just always had issues with authority.”
“With authority or with women in authority?” Richelle challenged. She almost said that Jack had always had trouble with the latter, but caught herself just in time.
“I won’t deny that I’ve spent most of my life in a male-dominated environment,” Francis said, still smiling. “But I’m pretty sure the rebel in me is a liberal.”
“That’s reassuring,” Richelle sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to work a little harder to bring you to heel.”
Chapter 87
Nampo, North Korea Monday 25 June 2007
0100 KST
The room was dark, save for the light above the door, which cast a pale shadow all the way across the floor and up the far wall. Rhee was standing in the middle of the warehouse, his dark eyes fixed on the contraption in front of him. There was now a nuclear warhead with a yield of just over 270 kilotons cradled inside each of its six cylinders. To Rhee’s limited understanding of the physics involved, this simply meant a weapon that would vaporize anything within a half-mile radius and spread its devastation far wider. The very idea of such destructive potential made the pit of his stomach feel like a lead ball. Even more powerful was the idea that it was entirely under his own personal command.
Rhee approached one of the cylinders and ran a hand over the smooth matte finish.
“Sir?”
Rhee turned to the soldier now standing just inside the door. “What is it?”
“We have disposed of the body, sir,” the soldier said.
“Good. Inform the captain of the guard that I will be leaving for Pyongyang within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the door was closed Rhee lowered himself to his knees and cupped his hands together. An atheist all his life, he summoned what little understanding he had of the divine and offered the powers that might still be listening a clumsy but sincere promise to address this deficiency in return for whatever help they might be able to offer. The ritual had a surprisingly reassuring effect.
Chapter 88
The Pandora
Sunday 24 June 2007
2030 EEST
Richelle had assembled what she was coming to think of as her crisis management team on the bridge of RP One. This included Francis, Mitch, Heinz, Titov, Watkins, the captains of both the Pandora and the Callisto, and Erik. Jasper had also been due to attend, however his reaction to the existence of Origin had been as physical as it was mental, and he was currently recovering in the medical center at Aurora. Richelle had been about to call the meeting to order when Mitch, at the prodding of Naoko, had stood up and formally announced his decision of two days earlier to retain the services of the dropship in orbit. To his surprise it was Erik who spoke first.
“I don’t know exactly what that means,” Erik said. “But I do know that the situation as it stands can’t continue. It may not be my place to make a judgment like this, but it seems to me that too many decisions are being made in isolation. I mean, we’re dealing with things here that none of us really understand.”
They all turned to Richelle. For a moment it looked like she was going to slap him, but she composed herself and said, calmly, “I agree. I also take full responsibility for the way things have gone recently. We’ve had a lot to deal with and I’ve allowed myself to get—well—too involved on an emotional level, I guess you could say. And some of the decisions I’ve made as a result have been wrong.”
This was greeted with silence.
“While that may be true,” Francis put in, “everyone here bears a share of the responsibility, myself very much included. So I’d like to take this opportunity to say that whatever doubts I may have had about what we are doing here—and I had quite a few when I arrived—I’ve dealt with them. I’d also like to say that this woman has done a better job of keeping the show on the road than any of us would have been able to, and she deserves our complete loyalty and support moving on. If I’ve said or done anything that suggests otherwise I apologize for it now and assure you that nothing similar will happen again. I’d be surprised if there was anyone here who feels differently.”
There wasn’t.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Moore.” Richelle was almost blushing.
“Any time,” Francis said.
After a brief pause Richelle went on, “In that case, I suggest we get down to business. But before we do I’d like to propose that Stewart Mitchell Rainey be officially relieved of his position as the head of the RP One research team for repeated and flagrant insubordination.”
Everyone on the bridge turned to look at each other. Heinz tried to say something but his astonishment became a choking cough before the words came out. Mitch himself appeared to be unsure he had actually heard her. Only Francis didn’t react. He gave her a quick nod and blink of the eye.
“I—I—I don’t think—” Heinz began.
“Heinz?” Richelle looked calmly at him.
“Yes?”
“I’m joking,” Richelle said.
The sudden drop in tension might well have registered on a barometer.
“Whether or not it was the right call doesn’t matter,” Richelle continued. “The fact is, we need to get organized enough to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again. We also need to establish exactly what it is we’re trying to achieve so that no one is in a position where they feel they need to hold anything back. Now I won’t admit this to everyone, but I will admit it here. I can’t replace my father. At least not entirely. For one, I don’t have the technical background to make the calls he did. That fact is becoming more relevant every day with the work you guys are doing here. So I’d like to make a proposal.”
She glanced at Francis, who nodded to indicate she was doing a fine job.
“I’d like the nine of us to form what I guess you would call a council or committee,” Richelle said. “I don’t really care what we call it, and this isn’t exactly the right time to start hashing out the details, but I think it’s the best solution. What do you think?”
Everyone nodded their agreement.
“Alright,” Richelle said. “That’s settled then. As for our little problem in Asia, I suggest we get our heads together and come up with a plan before someone blows us all to hell.”
Francis looked at Mitch and suggested, “Why don’t you bring us all up to speed?”
Mitch, still apparently recovering from Richelle’s prank, took a moment to gather his th
oughts. “Well, whatever they’re doing, they’re still doing it. If anything, activity at the mine has increased. As for the nuke, they haven’t moved it. The last Chinese vessel destined for the port at Huludao to be loaded in Dubai left twelve days ago. There’s no guarantee it’s headed for Nampo, but if it is it’s only six days out.”
“Tell them about the dropship,” Heinz said.
Mitch, clearly reluctant to revisit the topic, said nothing.
“Just tell us,” Francis said.
“Alright,” Mitch said. “We’ve been examining the interface to the dropship now that it’s here to stay. As I mentioned a minute ago it’s quite far away. I think the term is High Earth Orbit.”
Heinz nodded. “It’s about fifteen thousand miles above anything else up there at the moment.”
“Right,” Mitch said. “So we’ve had a look at the interface and there are some options that look—well—they seem to—”
“Shall I?” Watkins suggested.
“Please,” Mitch said.
“Okay,” Watkins said. “We were trying to figure out what the warning meant by ‘reduced functionality’ in reference to the system in question.”
“The robot?” Titov asked.
“Yes,” Watkins said. “If you like. Although this isn’t a robot in the sense you might think. The summary I found initially was vague about the function. It’s described as a ‘populace control’ system. At first we thought that meant some kind of—I don’t know—riot policing function perhaps. It’s actually something very different. In fact, it’s not even Saishan.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richelle asked.
Watkins hesitated for a moment, clearly struggling for a way to explain the mystery.
“It’s alright,” Francis said. “Just use small words and lots of pictures.”
Titov laughed, but quickly shut up when Watkins threw him a cold stare.
“Sorry,” Titov said.
“What I’m trying to say is,” Watkins continued, “this isn’t something they built, it’s something they found and adapted. I don’t mean on their way here either, but long before Origin was even built. The technology involved is far more advanced than anything they would have been capable of, as unlikely as that might sound.”
“So where did it come from?” Richelle said.
“We don’t know,” Watkins said. “What we do know is that there is one in the container on the island and half a dozen more on the dropship.”
“You said they aren’t what you thought they were,” Francis said. “So what are they?”
“Gods,” Heinz said. “They’re gods.”
When Francis, Richelle and Titov only looked at them blankly, Watkins said. “Not real gods, obviously, but godlike figures. Their entire purpose as far as we can see is to—I don’t know—awe people into submission, I guess.”
“To scare the living shit out people,” Mitch said. “That’s what they’re for. To bring the heathens and the believers alike to heel without firing a single shot. Pretty fucking ingenious if you ask me.”
“He’s right,” Watkins said. “And that’s not all. There’s an option in the interface that suggests they can be dropped anywhere and operated remotely from here.”
“That’s some freaky shit,” Titov said.
“Right?” Mitch said. “I mean, imagine what we could—”
“Alright, Mitch,” Richelle said. “I think we get it. We can now drop gods on people. Other than stir up more shit than anyone could possibly want to, I don’t see exactly what good it could do us. But I’m glad you figured it out.”
“We’re just saying it’s an option,” Heinz said.
“An option?” Francis repeated.
“One of many,” Heinz said.
“If we get desperate,” Francis suggested.
“If we get desperate,” Heinz agreed. “And to know for sure we need to access the system as soon as possible.”
“They want to play with the robots,” Titov said, laughing.
“Not play,” Mitch began.
“It’s okay, Stewart, you naughty little boy,” Titov said. “I want to play with the robots too.”
“Please don’t call me that,” Mitch said.
Francis looked at Richelle, who looked at everyone else. “Okay, that’s enough. I don’t really see how it’s going to help, but it’s up to you. By which I mean, it’s up to all of us.”
“Well,” Francis said. “What’s the verdict? Do we unleash the gods? Personally I’m having a little trouble even imagining what that’s going to mean, but I don’t see the harm in having a look.”
Nor did anyone else.
“Great,” Francis said. “In the meantime let’s keep the cameras pointed at our friends and hope they provide at least some insight into what they’re planning. My suggestion would be four six-hour shifts. You can count me in for one of them, although I wouldn’t know what buttons to press if my life depended on it.”
Chapter 89
Phoenix, Arizona
Sunday 24 June 2007
1500 MST
Mike’s baptism of fire, so to speak, came two days after the arrests, which left him in the precarious position of being the only candidate left in the race. The story had grabbed all the headlines in the daily papers and led the network news coverage for the rest of the day. According to the FBI, an anonymous whistleblower had sent in a number of transcripts and email conversations confirming that both candidates had been colluding with the defense lobby not only to seek federal funding for a number of projects, but to help drive down wages across the state as a concession to keep the jobs already there from migrating. Both parties had denied any knowledge of the agreement and announced their solidarity in getting to the bottom of the affair. Mike had made a formal statement to the press condemning the alleged crimes and pointing to what had happened as a clear example of what he himself had spent much of his time warning about.
Now that the storm had begun to blow over, he was back in Phoenix. In a sleight of hand that could only be called genius, Geraldine had bought up a significant amount of the airtime already paid for by the two opposition campaigns at bargain basement prices. She was determined to take full advantage of the lull to paint Mike as the only viable candidate going forward.
The first sign Mike got that all wasn’t sunshine and good cheer at the studios of the local FOX affiliate was when the presenter due to interview him, a woman named Pam Clark, didn’t even stop by to say hello before they began. When he joined her in the studio halfway through the morning news hour Pam was all business. Despite Mike being the only candidate left, she introduced him as the “wild card,” although the way she said it made it sound more like asshole.
“Tell me something,” Pam said when she had finished the introduction, “do you believe it’s morally appropriate for your campaign to buy up airtime paid for by the Republican National Committee? I only ask because I’ve heard you drove a pretty hard bargain, some say as low as a quarter of the asking price.”
Mike had been ready for a cold reception, but nothing like this. He did his best to keep his composure and said, “I have no idea what we paid, but I’d be very surprised if the twenty-two people that make up my staff could be honestly accused of bullying the second-largest political party in the country.”
“Well, I wasn’t suggesting you bullied them,” Pam said, “just that you refused to pay a fair price.”
Mike heard someone cough behind him and turned to look. Geraldine was standing just behind the backdrop holding up a sheet of paper. Mike read the sentence she had written on it in black marker and nodded.
“As far as I’m aware,” Mike said, “they offered to sell the time back to the studio before we spoke to them. I think you offered them considerably less than we did.”
If this rebuke phased her, Pam didn’t show it. Instead of responding she moved on to the next question. “You were a member of the FBI, is that right?”
“For twenty years,
yes,” Mike said.
“Here in Phoenix?” Pam said.
“For the last ten months I was the director of the local office, that’s correct.” Mike said.
“And what do you say to the allegations some people are now making that you had knowledge of the illegal activities of the other candidates while you were still employed by the FBI?”
Mike shook his head in wonder. “I wasn’t aware anyone had suggested that was the case.”
“Well, they have,” Pam said. “I’m only asking if there is any truth to it.”
“Sure,” Mike said. “Well, as far as I know the evidence was only received days prior to the arrests. I announced my candidacy almost three weeks ago. That should answer your question.”
Apparently it didn’t.
“Actually, some reports suggest the FBI have been looking into this for quite some time. If that’s true, as the head of the local office you would have had access to any information on the case, wouldn’t you?”
“If I did,” Mike said, “I wouldn’t be in a position to comment on it here. But I didn’t.”
“But as you said, you can’t comment. You see where I’m coming from, don’t you? How can the voters be sure one way or the other?”
“I didn’t say I can’t comment,” Mike said. “I said I wouldn’t be able to comment if I did know anything. Which, incidentally I don’t. If you say there are reports, I’d be quite happy to have a look at them and address any specific concerns.”
But Pam wasn’t in the mood to talk about her sources. She was ready to move on.
“I read that during your time as a field agent in New York you were held hostage for over two weeks by a terrorist cell, is that right?”
“Yes,” Mike said.
“I guess it’s fair to say that would have been quite stressful, to say the least.”
“It wasn’t nice,” Mike said. “I certainly wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.”
“I can only imagine,” Pam said, sounding not the least bit sympathetic. “According to an article published shortly after you were released you were in therapy for several weeks. I presume that would have been to deal with the stress, am I right?”
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