Origin - Season One

by James, Nathaniel Dean

It was a diary. Francis reached into his pocket and brought out the picture the chief had shown Richelle. He flipped through the diary until he found a page with several lines of writing and laid it down beside the picture. “I knew I’d seen it somewhere before.”

  “Seen what?”

  “That,” Francis said pointing at an arrowhead scribbled below Richelle’s left foot in the picture.

  “What is it?” Williams said.

  “You see the way the inside lines curve back up?” Francis said, “The only other place I’ve seen an arrow drawn like that is on the crest of the US Army Special Operations Command. Are you telling me a German scientist would just draw that? And look at the lines of the writing. Look at the S’s and the R’s.”

  “Oh my god,” Williams said. “It’s Brendan’s writing.”

  “We need to find him right now,” Francis said.

  Chapter 84

  Aurora

  Wednesday 26 July 2006

  0420 EEST

  The chief waited until Richelle was out of the elevator before turning the key in the panel and putting it back in his pocket. They approached the double steel doors at the other end of the small room and Richelle pressed the green button beside the door. The two heavy steel doors parted on a narrow dirt path weaving around several large trees into much denser woodland a few yards away. The glow given off by the dim lights that marked the boundaries of the path every few feet was just enough to see by.

  “Where are they?” Richelle said.

  “Probably over by the lookout.”

  They set off along the path. It ran through a thick pine forest for a hundred yards or so before bending sharply to the left. The wind began to pick up as they rounded the corner. The path sloped down onto a semicircular platform surrounded on one side by a low, stone wall. Beyond the wall the ground ended in a sheer cliff face that ran down to the sea. Even this far up, the waves could be heard crashing against the rocks below in a steady procession.

  “I thought you said…”

  Richelle stopped when she saw the gun in the chief’s hand.

  “Brendan, what the hell –”

  “Shut up!”

  “I don’t –”

  “I said, shut your fucking mouth. If I have to listen to any more of your bitching and whining, I honestly don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from shooting you.”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “Brendan, I don’t know what you –”

  He stepped forward and slapped her across the face with his left hand. The force knocked her off her feet.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he said. “Now get up. We’re going to the launch.”

  She got to her feet slowly and took several steps back toward the wall.

  “Go on,” the chief said. “Try it. I dare you. I run five miles a day up here. It would be fitting when you consider I spend most of that time wishing you were in front of me.”

  When she didn’t move, he said, “I’ll even give you a head start. I wouldn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of a helpless little bitch with nowhere to go.”

  “You’re fucking insane,” Richelle said. “You’ll never get out of here alive.”

  The chief nodded toward the path leading down the slope along the cliff edge. “You seem to forget that I’m the one who decides what does and what doesn’t leave this island. But then you always were a cocky little bitch. Move it.”

  Richelle seemed to consider her options one final time, then did as he said.

  The path moved gradually closer to the cliff edge for another two dozen yards, ending at the top of a set of steps carved from the rock with a thin metal railing along the outer edge.

  “Down you go,” the chief said. “Try anything stupid, and I’ll throw you over the side.”

  “What are you going to do?” Richelle said.

  “The first thing I’m going to do is finish what that idiot Manin was clearly incapable of. After that I guess I’ll have to improvise, now that your boyfriend has thrown a wrench in the works. It’s just as well Jack is dead. I don’t think he would have approved.”

  “You’re a twisted old fuck,” Richelle said. “You know that?”

  The chief laughed. “Perhaps. I spent fifteen years listening to your father and his naïve ideas. Frankly, I don’t know how I didn’t kill him sooner.”

  Richelle stopped. When she turned around, the look in her eyes was pure poison.

  “That’s right,” the chief said. “I killed your father. It wasn’t hard. I mean, he was practically dead already. I smothered him with his own –”

  Richelle let out a scream of rage and charged up the steps. The chief swung the butt of his gun at her face but she ducked and brought all her weight into his midsection. He stumbled back and had to let go of the gun to grab the railing. She let out another scream and pushed with all her strength. For just a moment it seemed he might actually go over. But then he grabbed her neck with both hands and pushed her head away.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” the chief said.

  He tilted his head back and lifted her off the steps. Still holding her by the neck, he brought his forehead crashing into the bridge of her nose. Her wide, vacant eyes looked at him for a moment longer, then they rolled up and she went limp. The chief picked her up as if she were a child and slung her over his shoulder.

  He carried on down the steps, taking them three and four at a time. As he rounded the final corner the boathouse came into view. It was a large, shoddy, wooden structure built on the shallow rocks at the bottom of the cliff and accessed by a narrow pontoon gangway. As he neared the bottom, a light came on in one of the windows. A moment later the door opened and a man stepped out.

  He was dressed in the uniform of the Estonian coast guard and appeared to have been asleep. When he saw who was coming down the steps he turned back and shouted something, then came running forward across the gangway. “Chief? Is everything all right?”

  “It’s Richelle,” the chief said. “She’s hurt. We need to get her inside.”

  The chief laid her down on the bottom of the bunk bed at the back of the small room, then turned to the other man who was wearing the same uniform and gestured toward the cupboard by the door. “Get me the first aid kit.”

  The man who had come outside knelt beside the chief to get a closer look at Richelle. “Jesus, chief. What happened?”

  The chief leaned down, pulled the revolver from the guard’s holster and shot him in the back of the head. The other guard turned at the sound of the shot and went crashing back against the wall as two bullets caught him in the chest.

  Richelle’s eyes fluttered open briefly as the chief dragged her from the bed and through the inner door. A 40-foot twin-engine patrol boat marked in the colors of the coast guard and flying the Estonian flag sat bobbing in the swell.

  He bound her hands and feet and cuffed her to the bulkhead in one of the small storage compartments below deck. As soon as he entered the wheelhouse he heard Captain Williams’s voice on the boat’s radio. “Paul? Roger? Are you there? Pick up. If you can hear me, do not let the chief leave the island. He has –”

  The chief took the gun from his pocket and fired the three remaining shells directly into the radio. There was a burst of static followed by a shower of sparks.

  “Eat my shit, you nosy bastard,” the chief said as he started the engines and eased the throttles forward. The boat bumped up against the barn doors of the boathouse and rebounded. He let the boat drift back, then opened both throttles all the way. The engines let out an almighty roar and the stern sank into the water as the boat bounded forward. This time the doors burst open in a shower of splinters. The hull scraped against one of the rocks in the shallow water with a high-pitched screech, then it was clear of the boathouse and picking up speed.

  A few minutes later the island was little more than a silhouette against the backdrop of the rising sun.

  Isle of Dra
gons

  Chapter 85

  Aurora

  Wednesday 26 July 2006

  0445 EEST

  Williams slammed the mic down on the table. “He’s taken the goddamn launch!”

  “The what?” Francis said.

  “We keep a patrol boat on the eastern side of the island to ward off anyone who gets too close,” one of the guards said. “It’s the only boat we have.”

  “What about the Callisto?” Francis said.

  Williams shook his head. “Too slow. We’ll have to take the helicopter.”

  “I’ll get Yoshi,” Erik said. “He’ll meet you top side.”

  Francis followed Williams out of the radio room and back down the hall to the stairs. A door at the top led to another hall that ended in a set of elevator doors. Williams took a small set of keys from his pocket and inserted one of them into the lock at the bottom of the panel. When he pushed the call button nothing happened.

  “He’s locked it,” Williams said and pounded on the doors with both fists. “God damn it!”

  Erik came running up the hall a moment later. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s locked down the elevator,” Williams said.

  Erik pointed at a door several yards up the hall. “You’ll have to use the access shaft.”

  The room was little more than a broom closet with a ladder at the back disappearing into a round hole in the ceiling.

  “It’s a long way up,” Erik said. “The cover at the top is probably a little rusty, so you’ll have to give it a good push. I’ll send Yoshi up when he gets here.”

  Francis went up first. By the time he reached the top he was sweating so badly he lost his grip on the ladder several times and almost went flying back down. When he finally did reach the top, the cover turned out to be more than just a little rusty. He had to lean back and rest his shoulders on the opposite side of the shaft to free up both hands. Even then it took three attempts to get it open.

  “Everything all right up there?” Williams shouted.

  “Fine,” Francis said. “Come on up.”

  If Francis looked tired, Williams seemed on the verge of fainting as he climbed out of the hole into the small room and sat down to catch his breath. “I’m going to kill him. You watch me.”

  “We’re going to need to catch him first,” Francis said. “I hope this pilot of yours knows what he’s doing.”

  “Yoshi knows what he’s doing. He used to be a rig pilot.”

  “How many miles to land?” Francis said.

  “Thirty-four,” Williams said.

  “Then we better get a move on.”

  They followed the path to the lookout and turned right instead of left toward the boathouse. The path in this direction went uphill and Francis found himself having to slow down to let Williams catch up. As they neared a large clearing Francis could just about make out the round, oblong shape of the hanger on the far side. The entire area was suddenly flooded in bright light and Francis found himself instinctively running for cover.

  “It’s okay,” Williams said between gasps for air. “Erik will have turned them on from the control room.”

  They heard footsteps and turned to see a short Asian man running up the path toward them. He was wearing a black flight suit with shower slippers on his feet.

  “Captain, is this shit for real?” he said. “Erik said the chief’s gone mad.”

  “It’s for real, all right,” Williams said. “And he has Richelle. He tried to kill her at Utska. And Caroline.”

  “What?”

  Francis headed toward the hangar. “The explanations are going to have to wait. How soon can you have the chopper in the air?”

  Yoshi looked at Williams, bewildered. “Who’s he?”

  “Never mind,” Williams said. “It’s a long story.”

  The helicopter was a British-made Westland Lynx. Like the patrol boat, it was white and bore the markings of the Estonian coast guard.

  “We’re not going anywhere in that,” Yoshi said.

  “What do you mean?” Williams said.

  Yoshi pointed at an open panel in the side of the helicopter. Below it on the floor there was a small puddle of oil. He pulled out the end of a split hose. “Oil feed. Looks like the chief got here first. Luckily, I’m a sentimental fool.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Williams said.

  Yoshi pointed to the back of the hangar where something big had been covered by an old dusty tarpaulin.

  “What is it?” Francis said.

  “The old Bell 47,” Yoshi said. “I was supposed to fly it to the Gustav after this thing arrived, but things just keep coming up, if you know what I mean. Help me get the cover off.”

  The three of them pulled off the tarpaulin. Francis stood looking at the small bubble-dome cockpit with a sense of growing dread. “Will it fly?”

  “Oh, she’ll fly all right,” Yoshi said. “If she starts, that is.”

  “If she starts?” Francis said.

  “Relax. I’m joking. Just help me wheel her out.”

  They pushed the small helicopter out of the hangar and out into the clearing. Francis couldn’t help but notice the thick coat of dust on the narrow seats and the enormous cobweb running from one of the control sticks to the instrument panel.

  “Stand back,” Yoshi said. “She’s going to smoke a little.”

  She smoked a lot.

  By the time the engine finally began to turn over it looked like the small helicopter was on fire. Yoshi raised the thumb of one hand and Williams stepped forward.

  “Hold on,” Francis said. “There’s only room for two on that thing.”

  “Yeah,” Williams said. “And I’m one of them.”

  “Listen,” Francis said. “Don’t take this personally, but this isn’t going to be easy. Assuming we even find them, it might not end well for any of us.”

  “I don’t care,” Williams said.

  “Maybe not. But I do. Enough to know that if you catch up to him, he’ll kill you before you know what’s happening. And I think you know I’m right.”

  Williams ignored him and stepped forward. Francis reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Captain? I’m serious.”

  Williams hesitated for a moment then looked down and nodded slowly. “Fine.”

  “All right,” Francis said. “Now get back down there and do what you can. If I can’t stop him you’re going to have to do it some other way. I suggest you and Erik get busy figuring that part out.”

  Francis turned and ran toward the helicopter.

  “If you find that son of a bitch, you kill him,” Williams shouted. “You hear me? You kill him.”

  But Francis didn’t hear him. Yoshi had the engine at near full throttle. As soon as Francis jumped in the helicopter began to rise.

  “Head straight for land,” Francis shouted.

  The pilot nodded. “I’m Yoshi by the way.”

  “Francis.”

  “Nice to meet you, Francis. Have you ever jumped out of a helicopter before?”

  “Actually, I have. Just not onto a moving boat.”

  Yoshi smiled and banked sharply to the left. When they were over the water he tapped Francis on the shoulder and pointed at one of the gauges.

  “What is it?” Francis said.

  “Fuel tank’s almost empty. There’s enough to get us to the coast, but not back. I guess we’ll both be jumping.”

  If this fact bothered Yoshi, he didn’t let on. If anything, it seemed to amuse him. He tapped the gauge several times with one finger to see if maybe it wasn’t just stuck, then shook his head and shrugged.

  Five minutes later Yoshi pointed down at the water ahead. It took Francis a moment to make out the small shape rushing across the water about half a mile in front of them. Judging from the size of the wake the boat was moving fast. By the time Yoshi dipped the nose and began to descend, the first signs of land appeared over the horizon.

  “I’m going to get as low as I
can,” Yoshi said. “That thing is a lot louder than we are. If we’re lucky he won’t see us until we’re on top of him.”

  Francis nodded and reached for the handle. He had to use both hands to get the flimsy plastic door open. When they were only about twenty yards from the stern of the boat Francis saw the back of the chief’s head through the window of the wheelhouse. He wedged his foot into the gap of the open door and braced himself. The helicopter suddenly misfired and dropped several feet and Francis saw the chief turn around.

  Under less precarious circumstances the look on the chief’s face might have been cause for laughter. Francis saw the gap widen as the helicopter began to misfire repeatedly.

  He jumped.

  His first thought was that he was going to end up in the water if he was lucky, and being churned into mince by the propellers if he wasn’t. But he reached out and managed to grab the railing with both hands. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the helicopter rise and bank away. Francis managed to get one foot on the deck and was pulling himself up when he saw the chief.

  He was moving far too quickly for a man of his size and age, Francis thought. One moment he was bounding over the rail of the wheelhouse onto the rear deck, the next he was practically on top of him. Francis managed to avoid being pushed into the wake of the speeding boat by pure chance. The chief tripped over a steel plate on the deck and landed hands-down a few feet from the rail.

  Francis leaped over it and rushed forward, intending to seize the advantage while the chief was down. He brought back his foot and aimed the toe of his boot at the chief’s ribcage. But what should have been soft tissue and weak bones, felt more like a slab of solid granite. The chief hardly seemed to notice. He got to his feet, the grin on his face not so much amused as insane.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” the chief said. “Now you’ve made me angry.”

  “That’s funny,” Francis said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  For a moment both men stood, each trying to read the intentions of the other. Francis glanced toward the wheelhouse and saw the chief’s grin widen.