Origin - Season Two

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  Heinz took it cautiously and frowned.

  “Not very heavy, is it?” Francis said.

  “It doesn’t seem to weigh anything at all,” Heinz said.

  “Open it,” Francis said.

  When Heinz only looked at him, Francis reached down and pushed the red light on top of the box. The lid flipped open. By now Richelle and Erik had joined them. The inside contained yet another four compartments, each with its own red light.

  “Christ,” Francis said. “It’s a goddamned matryoshka doll.”

  When Heinz touched one of the dots the object popped out with a faint hiss of air. He pulled it out and held it up.

  “What the hell is that?” Richelle asked.

  The back of the small faceplate held a transparent tube containing four round balls each the size of a golf ball and the color of blood.

  “Please don’t tell me that’s supposed to be food,” Richelle said.

  Francis, whose time in the military had taught him that nourishment was sometimes a strictly functional proposition, was less skeptical. “Rations, not food. Believe me, they’re two very different things.”

  Francis held out his hand. There being no obvious alternative, he suggested Heinz push the red light again. When he did one of the balls fell into the palm of Francis’s hand. He rolled it back and forth, gave it a gentle squeeze and held it up to his nose. When he saw everyone was expecting a verdict he said, “Doesn’t smell of anything.”

  “Please don’t eat it,” Richelle said. “If it’s food, we should let Cane have a look at it before we do anything.”

  Francis ignored this plea and turned to Heinz. “You said they were as human as us, is that right?”

  “Yes,” Heinz said. “At least in theory. As for what that is, I’d hate to even venture a guess.”

  Before either of them could protest Francis touched the ball with the tip of his tongue and put it in his mouth. From the expression on her face it was clear Richelle expected him to either throw it back up or drop dead. What he did instead was smile. Had it not been for the fact that his teeth were now red, it might have looked like a good sign.

  “You’re crazy,” Heinz said.

  Francis chewed a moment longer, then swallowed and said, “Not bad.”

  When Richelle glared at him, Francis looked hurt. “What?”

  “You think this is a joke?” Richelle asked.

  “No,” Francis said. “But I’ll tell you what I do think; we can carry on applying our own idiotic standards to these people, or we can accept that we’re dealing with a civilization that’s moved on.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’ve been talking to Mitch?” Richelle said.

  “He’s been right so far,” Francis said.

  “So what does it taste like?” Erik said.

  “I don’t really know,” Francis said. “It’s sweet, but not sickly. I guess you could say it tastes a bit like berries.”

  “Strawberries?” Erik suggested.

  “No, not exactly. In fact I can’t really think of a comparison. Go on, try one.”

  Erik stepped forward and put out his hand. Richelle, still clearly not convinced, watched him eat with a grimace on her face.

  Erik’s eyes instantly lit up. “I see what you mean. It’s not quite raspberry either.”

  “Fruits of the forest?” Francis suggested.

  “Yeah,” Erik said. “That’s about right. A bit of everything.”

  Heinz held out for a moment longer, then his curiosity overruled whatever doubts he was harboring and he quickly ate the third ball in the tube. “Wow, that really is quite nice, isn’t it?”

  They all turned to Richelle.

  “Not going to happen,” Richelle said.

  Francis popped the fourth ball out of the tube and held it up. “You sure? You’re missing out on a chance to be part of something big. The first woman on Earth ever to taste a Martian berry ball.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Richelle said. “And I wasn’t kidding. I want that thing examined by Cane right away. I’m touched to see you’re all so confident it’s harmless, but the truth is we don’t know what that is, and I don’t want anyone else going near it until we know.”

  Richelle’s phone rang and she stepped back to answer it. Francis shrugged and was about to pop the last ball back into the tube when he saw the look on her face and stopped.

  “Then get him out of there,” Richelle said. “I don’t give a shit about Jasper.”

  She began walking toward the research center and Francis fell in behind her. When the call ended Richelle stopped, looked up to the sky and let out a scream of frustration.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Francis said.

  “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” Richelle said.

  Francis grabbed her by the shoulder and said, “Please calm down and tell me what’s happening.”

  “Titov’s been arrested,” Richelle said. “Him and that treacherous no-good piece of shit Klein.”

  “Where are they?” Francis said.

  “They were taken to the FBI field office in Richmond.”

  “Was that Wentworth?”

  Richelle nodded. “He says there’s nothing he can do. Jasper’s picture is all over the news. They know he was in Dubai. They even think he was responsible for hijacking the boat.”

  Francis looked puzzled. “That’s what they’re saying?”

  “I think so,” Richelle said.

  Francis saw her anger was about to spill over into unadulterated rage.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Francis said. “You hear me? We’ll figure something out. I’m going to call Wentworth back and find out exactly what he knows.”

  “Sure,” Richelle said.

  Francis lifted his hands to her face. “Listen to me, Richelle. Something like this was going to happen sooner or later. What we need to do now is focus on what can be done. If you don’t keep it together and take control of what’s going on everything beneath you will start to come apart.”

  She nodded, but said nothing.

  “Alright,” Francis said. “Take five. I’m going to call Wentworth. When you’re ready, come inside.”

  “Okay,” Richelle said.

  “Good. I’ll see you inside.”

  She watched him go and raised a hand to the place on her cheek where his thumb had been only a moment ago. She stood there for a moment, taking deep breaths. When she had herself under at least some control she headed for the research center.

  Chapter 81

  Beijing, China

  Thursday 21 June 2007

  2300 CST

  Duan had only just returned to his apartment when he received a message by courier from his office. He took the small brown envelope, thanked the sergeant, then handed him a hundred yuan note. When the soldier hesitated, Duan smiled and said, “It’s not a bribe, sergeant. I’m simply expressing my gratitude for a job well done.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the sergeant said. “But I must humbly decline.”

  Duan regarded him for a moment and said, “I don’t know whether to be offended or impressed.”

  “I mean no disrespect, sir,” the sergeant said.

  “Are you a wealthy man, sergeant?” Duan asked.

  “My pay is fair, sir. I have no complaints.”

  Duan frowned and said, “What is your name?”

  “Xu, sir. Xu Enlai.”

  “In that case, Sergeant Xu, I hereby order you to inform your commanding officer that Commander Shen Duan has ordered you to report to the personnel department of the Navy Special Intelligence Directorate for evaluation and possible reassignment.”

  The man’s eyes grew wide at this. “Of course, sir. Thank you.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening, sergeant. Perhaps I’ll see you again soon.”

  The sergeant stood to attention and saluted before walking away. When the door was closed and safely locked Duan opened the envelope and read the short message inside: Contact Iris. />
  Duan walked to the living room, picked up the decorative cigar lighter from the coffee table and burned the note, taking care to crush the charred remains. That done, he went to his bedroom closet and opened the safe in the back wall. Inside there were several small stacks of bills in both local and foreign currency, a large-caliber vintage revolver of American manufacture, and two satellite phones. He removed the smaller of these and turned it on, then waited for it to make a connection to one of only two designated satellites.

  Duan had no idea who they belonged to, only that they provided a connection that could not be intercepted by his own government, or that of any other country that he was aware of. The device had no keypad, only two buttons: one to make a call, and one to end it. Duan pushed the first, then sat down and waited.

  “Commander, how are you this evening?” said the familiar voice.

  “I can’t complain,” Duan said.

  “I trust everything went well?”

  “It did. I passed your message on to General Rhee. He was very humbled.”

  “That’s good to know. But it’s not the reason I asked you to get in touch.”

  “I didn’t think it was,” Duan said. “Is there a problem?”

  “Quite the contrary. Have you seen the news coverage of Jasper Klein?”

  “I have. Very impressive.”

  “Thank you. I thought you might be glad to know he was apprehended this morning.”

  Duan suddenly sat up in his chair. “In Goa?”

  “In the United States.”

  “He’s back in the United States?” Duan said, not quite able to believe it.

  “He is. He was arrested with an accomplice. A man no one seems to know very much about.”

  “I fail to see how this can possibly be good news,” Duan said. “If our government is implicated—”

  “Commander, I thought you would have more faith in us than that. Jasper Klein will not get a chance to implicate anyone. My only question for you is, do you still need him or would you prefer that he be silenced permanently?”

  For a moment Duan was lost for words.

  “The choice is yours. But you’ll need to make it quickly.”

  Duan thought about everything that had already happened and was tempted to say that Klein was better off gone for good. The problem was, that wasn’t exactly true. They had needed him for a good reason, and that reason was now more pressing than ever.

  “He would still prove useful,” Duan said.

  “Very well. I’ll be back in touch soon.”

  “What about the other man?” Duan said. “Do you think he knows who is behind this?”

  “You let us worry about him. If he has anything relevant to say I’ll be sure to pass it on.”

  Duan was about to ask how they planned to get the men out of FBI custody when the call ended. He sat looking at the phone for a long time, as if concentration alone might reveal something more. When it didn’t he put it back in the safe, walked to the window and stood looking out at the city. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized just how worried he had really been. When he finally faded away it was into the first dreamless sleep he had enjoyed in days.

  Chapter 82

  Bethesda, Maryland Friday 22 June 2007

  0500 EDT

  As anyone who has ever had a plan would undoubtedly agree, the process would be a lot smoother if you could first consult the mind of God or whatever power brings chaos and order to the universe. Lacking this vital resource, a plan is really no more than a best case scenario. Charles Wentworth learned this lesson—and not for the first time—while standing in the shower of his Bethesda home watching the early morning news on the waterproof screen he had installed as a time-saving measure only weeks before.

  It was not until the reporter stepped aside and the camera angled in on the face of Javier Ortega that he realized what was going on. Ortega was being led in handcuffs by two sheriff’s deputies down the front steps of his home in Phoenix. It was dark and the constant flicker of cameras made it hard to focus on the screen. There was no defiance in the would-be senator, just the downcast gloom of resignation.

  Wentworth slipped and almost knocked himself out as he scrambled to grab a towel and a phone. When he got to the bedroom he turned on the TV and saw a repeat performance in which Paul Redman was now in the starring role. He looked at his watch and thanked the stars it was only five o’clock. Before he had a chance to pick up his cell phone it began to ring. It was Peter Drake.

  “You seeing this, boss?” Peter asked.

  “I am,” Wentworth said. “I need you to get to Phoenix as fast as you can. I’m going to call Mike and let him know you’re on your way.”

  “You think it was Chandler?” Peter said. “I’m only asking because if he jumped the gun and went to the Feds they’ll find out about the money.”

  “Does it matter?” Wentworth said.

  “Only if they put him on the stand,” Peter said.

  “The election will be over long before these assholes get their day in court,” Wentworth said. “If it is Chandler we’ll deal with it then. For now we need to make sure Mike knows what he needs to do.”

  “Alright. I’ll call you when I get there,” Peter said.

  Wentworth ended the call and dialed Mike’s home number. When a very groggy Susan informed him Mike was in Tucson he made his apologies and tried his cell instead.

  “Banner.”

  “Mike, it’s Charles.”

  “What time is it?” Mike said.

  “Quarter past five,” Wentworth said, then realized Mike would be two hours behind and said, “Make that quarter past three. Listen, I’m sorry to be calling so early, but we have a situation. Redman and Ortega were arrested last night. I don’t know who broke the story, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m sending Peter over to give you a hand. In the meantime I need you to get Geraldine up and in front of a TV. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Are we—is this going to—”

  “No,” Wentworth said. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Okay,” Mike said. “She’s in the room next door. I’ll go wake her up.”

  “Call me as soon as you’ve had a chat with her,” Wentworth said.

  “I will.”

  Chapter 83

  Aurora

  Friday 22 June 2007

  1230 EEST

  Francis and Richelle were in her office. Neither of them had slept for almost two days, a fact that only added to the frustration both were now feeling.

  Francis’s brief conversation with Wentworth had confirmed his worst fears. Titov and Jasper were indeed in FBI custody, but that was only part of the problem. With the exception of a short and very vague piece in a local paper, news of the arrest was nowhere to be found. Francis was only too well aware what that meant.

  There were plenty of agencies and even private individuals in America who could lean on the press and expect at least some cooperation, but a complete blackout was another thing entirely. It brought home to him for the first time since his arrival just how much the world he had left behind was still there. The only difference was that Francis had lost almost all connection to it. Even Fairchild was now retired, and Reginald Styles was lying in a hospital bed somewhere in the Florida Keys with a cancerous tumor in his spine. As for his contacts in the underworld, his long absence would be treated with caution at best and outright suspicion at worst, assuming any of the numbers he still had were even valid anymore. He had thought—had forced himself to believe—that Gandalf would make up for this shortfall in time, and it still might, but as things stood even the all-seeing eye of the Saishans was of little immediate use.

  When the phone rang Richelle only looked at it until Francis reached over and picked it up. It was Mitch.

  “Hey, Mitch. What’s up?” Francis said.

  “Seriously, just get over here as fast as you can.”

  “You going to at least tell me why?”

  “I thi
nk it would be best if you just came over.”

  “Fine,” Francis said. “I’ll have to get Yoshi out of bed. I’ll be there in forty-five.” He hung up the phone and turned to Richelle. “I better get over there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Richelle said.

  “You sure?”

  “You said it yourself, I’m the boss. Besides, I’d rather be dealing with a problem we can actually do something about than sitting around here.”

  When they reached the helipad above the research station Yoshi was already strapped in and waiting. He pushed the Lynx to max torque the moment the door slid shut, sending Francis stumbling to his seat.

  “Did I ever mention how much I hate this ride?” Francis said.

  “At every opportunity you get,” Richelle said. “I don’t suppose Mitch told you what’s going on.”

  “Only that it was urgent,” Francis said.

  Much to Francis’s frustration, Yoshi managed to cut the fifteen minute trip down to ten, punctuating it with a landing that almost cost the helicopter a tire. By the time they stepped onto the bridge of RP One both Francis and Richelle looked slightly seasick.

  “This better be important,” Richelle said.

  “They’ve got a nuke,” Mitch said.

  “Come again?” Francis said.

  “A bomb,” Mitch said. “Come take a look.”

  The view on the screen looked like night-vision, only instead of a mix of blue and purple it was now orange and red. It showed three of the warehouses inside the compound at Nampo. At the far end of the middle building there was a bright yellow circle in one corner.

  “I wasn’t even looking for it,” Mitch said. “We were finalizing the list of filter options when we came across this one. It’s a radiation sensor. We’ve done a little bit of math based on the intensity of the readings and I can tell you that what they have there is a bomb with a yield of over a megaton.”

  “Oh Jesus Christ,” Richelle said. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Do we know where it came from?” Francis said.

  Mitch shook his head. “Afraid not. All I can tell you is that it didn’t arrive by sea. I’ve been keeping an eye on the port.”