Origin - Season One

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  She took him by the hand and began walking down the hall.

  “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Mitch asked.

  She led him through the door at the end and down several flights of stairs. Beneath the last one, a narrower set of steps led down to a door that didn’t look like it had been opened in years. Sarah fished in her pocket and brought out a key.

  “Is this a good idea?” Mitch asked.

  “You have a better one?”

  Mitch didn’t.

  Sarah handed him a small flashlight and Mitch went in. Beyond the door another flight of steps led down into a dank, narrow tunnel with a rusty metal conduit running along one wall. When Sarah joined him she took the flashlight and pointed it in both directions, then began walking. “This way.”

  The tunnel ended in a small round chamber that forked off in three directions. Sarah studied the fading red letters above each of the arched entrances and pointed to the one on their right. “This leads to the old generator room. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Safe from who?” Mitch asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They’ve…”

  She began to cry then and Mitch put his arms around her. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not,” she said. “My father said you were sent here to cut us off from the outside world. I know that isn’t true.”

  “It’s not,” Mitch said. “Did he tell you why?”

  “He doesn’t know. Brendan is furious because Brendan’s the one who said you should have been locked up.”

  “Did your father give you the key to the door?” Mitch said. “I’m only asking because he could get in trouble.”

  She shook her head. “No, I took it. None of this makes any sense.”

  “That’s true,” Mitch said. “But then around here, what does?”

  In the beam of the flashlight her face looked pale. “Come on, we need to get you to the generator room.”

  They reached another fork in the tunnel and turned left. The passage began to slope gently down. By the time it leveled off again they were knee-deep in water.

  “What is this place?” Mitch asked.

  “The old tunnels. Before they stopped using them there were pumps to keep the water out. I haven’t been down here since I was a child.”

  “If it gets any deeper we’ll be swimming,” Mitch said.

  “There,” Sarah said. “That’s the door to the generator room.”

  The rusting steel door was at the top of a flight of steps that rose several feet out of the water. When Sarah tried to move the lever holding it closed, nothing happened.

  “Let me try,” Mitch said.

  Mitch put both hands on the lever and pulled. It moved less than an inch. He knelt down and positioned his shoulder beneath his cupped hands and used his legs to push up. It moved another few inches. He pushed until he felt lightheaded and let go. “Jesus, when was the last time anyone opened this?”

  “I don’t think anyone’s been down here in years,” Sarah said.

  Mitch took a moment to get his breath back and tried again. It took him three more attempts. By the third he was seeing stars on the edges of his peripheral vision. For all the effort it had taken to move the handle, the door itself opened easily. The air inside was stale and smelled of sulfur. Mitch took the flashlight and went in first. He was running the beam over the ancient diesel generator in the middle of the room when Sarah closed the door behind him.

  “Make sure you lock this when I leave,” she said. “I doubt anyone will find you down here, but it’s best to be safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Mitch said. “Has it occurred to you that maybe this is the reason I’m here? To take the fall? Because it has to me. Think about it. It makes sense.”

  “That’s crazy,” she said.

  “No crazier than anything else that’s happened in the last week. What if it’s not safe for you to go back out there? When they find me gone, you’ll be one of the first people they suspect. You do see that, don’t you?”

  Sarah nodded. “Maybe. But I don’t care.”

  “I do,” Mitch said.

  She touched his face and smiled. “I know. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Mitch watched her open the door and walk back down the steps. When she was gone he closed it and pushed the internal locking handle down. He sat looking around the room with the flashlight for a moment, then turned it off, leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 77

  Utska, Poland

  Tuesday 25 July 2006

  0800 CEST

  “Will Mike be safe where he is?” Francis asked.

  “I’ve arranged to have him transferred to Berlin as soon as he is stable enough,” Caroline said.

  Richelle put a hand on Francis’s arm. “The foundation owns the hospital. He’ll be safe there.”

  When they stepped out into the courtyard Francis was surprised to see a number of men in navy blue overalls busily scurrying about under the direction of Captain Williams. Two of them were carrying the body of one of the attackers into a stable at the end of the yard. Another two came walking around the corner carrying what looked like a metal steamer trunk.

  They walked past the spot where only a few hours ago Francis had killed two of the intruders. Titov came out of the house behind them pushing a bound and blindfolded Salnikov in front of him.

  “Where the hell did they come from?” Francis asked.

  “All in good time,” Richelle said.

  Captain Williams stopped the men carrying the trunk and said, “Is that the last of them?”

  One of the men nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s get it down to the dock. We leave in half an hour.”

  When Williams saw Francis he frowned at Richelle. “You really think it’s a good idea to take him with us?”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Richelle said. “Besides, I think we owe him –”

  She was interrupted by another of the jumpsuit-clad men who seemed to have appeared like elves from the trees. “The comm link is back up. I have Brendan on the line.”

  Richelle walked back into the house. When she was gone Francis approached Titov and gestured at his captive. “What are you planning to do with him?”

  “He’ll be joining us for the flight back to Zurich,” Titov said. “Although I plan to drop him off before we get there.”

  Francis laughed.

  Titov didn’t.

  “You disapprove?” Titov said.

  Francis shook his head. “No. It’s probably what I would do.”

  “I know,” Titov said. And this time he did smile. “Perhaps you’d like the honor?”

  “That’s okay,” Francis said. “I’m getting a little tired of killing people whether they deserve it or not.”

  “Well, wish me luck,” Titov said. “My pilot’s license expired two years ago.”

  “I’d tell you it was like riding a bike,” Francis said, “but I highly doubt it.”

  Titov laughed. “We’ll know soon enough. Myself, I would run to Zurich if it meant getting my hands on that son of a bitch.”

  “Be careful,” Francis said. “He may not come alone. If he’s been colluding with the likes of Norton Weaver and Manin, you can bet one or both of the old assholes is keeping an eye on him.”

  Francis saw Richelle. She was walking towards them with Williams and the two seemed to be having a heated debate about something.

  “What’s going on?” Titov said.

  “I leave for a week and everything goes to shit,” Richelle said. “That’s what’s going on. Did you know anything about this new arrival? The so-called ‘security breach’?”

  “Of course,” Titov said. “You ordered him transferred yourself, didn’t you?”

  Richelle looked incredulous. “I ordered him transferred? Really? Do you all think I’m a complete fucking idiot? Go on, I’d like to know. You think my father left me in charg
e because he was soft in the head? For your information, I begged him not to. But I’m beginning to see why he insisted.”

  “Richelle,” Titov said. “Calm down. I saw the transfer order. Your signature was on it.”

  “First of all, don’t tell me to calm down. There are too many calm people around here as it is. And so we’re perfectly clear, I signed no transfer order for anyone. Now if we’re done playing stupid, I’d like to get out of here.”

  She walked away, leaving the three of them standing there.

  “What the hell was that about?” Francis said.

  “She’s under a lot of pressure,” Titov said. “She’ll be fine. I better go before she comes back.”

  Williams set of in the direction of the generator house. “Come on,” he said to Francis. We better not keep her waiting.”

  They walked down the tunnel in single file, Williams at the front and Francis taking up the rear. Once outside they set off through the trees toward the shore.

  The tree line ended about a hundred yards from the beach. The vessel at the end of the wooden pier looked like an upmarket diving boat, not quite big enough to be called a yacht, but larger than any Francis had ever seen. The low, flat stern was covered by a canopy and had enough seating to carry at least two dozen people. The name painted in gold leaf across the stern was Helen and he saw the boat was registered in Stockholm. Several of the men in blue began to bring the metal containers they had carried from the house onto the boat.

  Francis stepped onto the deck and helped Richelle down. Someone started the engine and Francis reached for the rail behind him as the boat pushed forward.

  Less than five minutes after setting off, the boat slowed and began to drift. There was a sudden flurry of activity as the crew began to prepare.

  “What’s going on?” Francis asked Richelle.

  “Just watch.”

  The small boat listed gently to port as twelve thousand tons of titanium and steel broke the surface less than twenty yards away.

  “She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Richelle said, smiling at the look on his face.

  “I’ve seen the drawings,” Francis said. “But I don’t think I ever really believed they were anything but a crazy idea.”

  “Crazy ideas are what we specialize in,” Richelle said. “They come with the territory.”

  “Your very own milk cow,” Francis said, unable to take his eyes off the giant submarine.

  “What?”

  “The Germans called their resupply U-boats milk cows. I mean it’s basically a submersible freighter, right?”

  “Something like that, yeah. I’m sure Captain Williams will tell you all about it if you want to know. He supervised the refit.”

  Half a dozen crew had emerged from the conning tower as soon as the submarine surfaced. They were now casting lines to the boat and pulling them in. When they were close enough two men unhooked a gangplank hanging on the side of the boat and pushed it across to the hull of the Callisto. Captain Williams stepped off the bridge and began shouting orders.

  Francis and Richelle were the last to board. Two of the crew had changed into fisherman’s slicks and were staying with the boat.

  “Are they going back?” Francis asked.

  “No,” Richelle said. “They’re taking her back to Sweden.”

  “And if someone finds the house and the bodies?”

  “They won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “We pay a lot of people to mind their own business. Let’s leave it at that.”

  The boat turned away and sailed off as soon as they were on the deck. Francis climbed the ladder to the top of the conning tower behind Richelle where Williams stood scanning the water around them through a pair of binoculars.

  “We’ve got company,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Francis reached the top and stepped onto the observation platform as Richelle climbed down into the hatch. He took a quick glance around and saw a small shape on the horizon but couldn’t make out what it was. He followed Richelle down and moved back as Williams shut the hatch and shouted, “Get this fucking boat below the surface before we’re spotted.”

  Chapter 78

  Zurich, Switzerland Tuesday 25 July 2006

  1500 EDT

  Jack Fielding was on the verge of falling asleep when someone tapped on the passenger window. He turned to see Manin standing there. Jack lowered the window and said, “Get in.”

  They drove out of the hotel parking lot and joined the afternoon traffic. “Salnikov lost two men,” Manin said. “He says your estimate of the number of guards was inaccurate.”

  Jack shrugged. “I haven’t been there for years. I told you that. Is she dead?”

  Manin took a picture from his pocket and handed it to Jack. In it Richelle was lying on the floor of the downstairs landing. One of her legs appeared to be broken and her face was covered in blood.

  “And the other one?” Jack said.

  “Don’t you read the newspapers?” Manin asked.

  “I’ve been a little busy.”

  Manin took the picture back. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now where is the drive?”

  “Somewhere safe,” Jack said. “You didn’t think I’d have it here, did you?”

  “Where are we going?” Manin said.

  “You’ll see.”

  They left the city and headed toward Basel along highway 2. When they reached the outskirts of Baden Jack turned off. A few minutes later they were driving through a small industrial park. The road wound around several small factory buildings, then turned east along a dirt road into thick woodland. It ended in a small clearing beside a single-story building that looked like a public utilities station of some kind.

  “Wait here,” Jack said and got out.

  Jack walked around the corner of the building and out of sight. He reappeared a moment later carrying a hiker’s backpack over one shoulder. When Manin got out of the car Jack put the backpack down in front of him.

  “It’s all there,” Jack said. “Have a look.”

  Manin leaned down and undid the straps of the top flap. As soon as he pulled it open Jack thumbed back the hammer on his own pistol. “Stand up slowly.”

  Manin did.

  “Walk toward the back of the building,” Jack said.

  Jack followed him past the door and around the side of the building. Manin saw the open body bag on the ground and stopped.

  “Go on,” Jack said. “Don’t be shy.”

  “It’s ironic,” Manin said. “Don’t you think?”

  “What is?”

  “That we’ve both been instructed to kill each other. I’m assuming the order came from him, did it?”

  “Yours might have,” Jack said.

  “Then why?” Manin said.

  “Let’s just say I’ve changed my mind. And if you were really ordered to kill me, not a moment too soon, it seems.”

  Manin studied him for a moment. “You don’t have it, do you? You still don’t have the drive. What the hell happened, Jack?”

  “Never fucking mind what happened. Stand by the bag.”

  Manin moved to the edge of the bag. “I suppose a deal between you and I is out of the question?”

  “You don’t have any idea what this is all about, do you?” Jack said. “Has he even told you why he needed you? It’s just that you seem to think you had some role to play in his plans for the future and if you knew him, you would also know that could never happen.”

  “I know about the island,” Manin said.

  Jack looked surprised. “He told you about the island?”

  They both heard the distant sound of a helicopter coming from somewhere in the direction of the city. The difference was that Jack looked up and Manin didn’t.

  Manin dropped to his knees and grabbed a small rock. He threw it just as Jack fired. The shot went wide and Jack stumbled back, tripped on something and fell. Above them the sound of the helic
opter was getting closer. Manin was on his feet and running by the time Jack got back to his. Jack fired again as Manin rounded the corner of the building and looked up just as the helicopter appeared overhead and turned on its searchlight, momentarily blinding him.

  Jack turned and ran. The beam followed him as he headed for the trees. A German voice boomed from the loudspeaker above him, ordering him to stop. Jack ignored it.

  He ran another hundred yards, stumbling several times and getting back up. The voice commanding him to stop was growing impatient. The trees suddenly ended as he reached a firebreak and he tripped again. When Jack looked up the helicopter was hovering just above the trees. A man was leaning out of the open side-door with a scoped rifle. Jack shielded his eyes from the light with one hand and fired several shots into the air. Then something hit him in the chest hard enough to throw him back to the ground. When he tried to take another breath it came not through his mouth, but through a hole just above his heart. The first shot was followed by another that caught him in the right shoulder. His last coherent, if not exactly pertinent, thought was that this is what an amputee must feel like. Then his head sank slowly back onto the soft grass and he thought no more.

  – – –

  As soon as Jack ran, Manin had sprinted for the car and set off back down the road. But he didn’t get far. Where the dirt track ended on the edge of the industrial complex there were now three cars blocking the entrance. Manin stopped, intending to go back, but saw at least a dozen armed police officers emerging from the trees on either side. He took a final look around, then rolled down his window and stuck both hands out.

  The first officer to reach the car pulled the door open and several of his colleagues pulled Manin out and piled onto him. When he had been searched and cuffed, they raised him to his feet. As he was half dragged, half carried, toward the cars at the end of the road, a black Mercedes pulled in behind them and a man in a smart three-piece suit got out of the back. A heated exchange ensued between the newcomer and one of the police officers. It was settled a minute later with a phone call, after which the police officer seemed to relent. Manin was taken to the Mercedes and put in the back seat. A moment later, the man in the suit joined him. He nodded to the driver and the car quickly left the scene.