Origin - Season One

by James, Nathaniel Dean

Mike looked at Francis. “She’s got a point, you know.”

  Francis took a sip of ice water and nodded slowly. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. There are two reasons I don’t think it’s a good idea. The first is incredulity. By which I mean, almost nobody will believe it. And the few who do won’t be able to get anyone to believe them. Hell, I still don’t believe it. Jesse made a good point about the Internet being full of stuff like that. It took almost two decades for people to get their heads around the truth behind the mess in Vietnam, and it wasn’t for a lack of whistle-blowers. That’s one reason, but not the main one.”

  “Go on,” Amanda said.

  “Let’s suspend our disbelief for a moment and just assume that what we’ve seen is the truth. There’s a spaceship out there. I hear myself say that and I want to check into Juniper Hill, but let’s say it anyway. If the source Reginald suspects, the Voyager probe, is correct, it was taken 29 years ago. I don’t know if Reginald told you, but there’s a picture of that space probe on the disc.”

  “No, he didn’t tell us that,” Mike said.

  “Well, now you know. But that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is, I look at those pictures and I can’t help but wonder what these people have been doing for the last three decades. Until we know, I think we should keep a low profile, as crazy as that may sound. Your suggestion, Amanda, that we find someone who knows what they’re talking about, still sounds like the best plan to me.”

  She was about to say something when Reginald appeared in the doorway at the back of the house with Jesse beside him.

  “Briefing in five,” he said.

  Mike turned to Francis and smiled. “Semper fi?”

  “Semper fi,” Francis agreed.

  Amanda just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  Image captured by the Jupiter Eye

  Chapter 50

  Somewhere in Virginia

  Saturday 22 July 2006

  0800 EST

  Fairchild arrived just after eight and stopped by the side of the road. The sign nailed to a tree beside the closed gate said Bushmoor Farm. He got out and lit a cigarette, his first in several months, and stood looking down the road.

  The van arrived a few minutes later. It was an old green model Ford, the fading red letters on the side reading Fresh Produce – Delivered Daily. It pulled up to the gate and the man in the passenger seat got out. He nodded at Fairchild and unlocked the gate.

  Fairchild got back in his car and followed the van down the narrow gravel road. After about a quarter-mile the gravel ended in a small field. In one corner stood an old barn. It was intact, but barely. The roof was sagging heavily in several places and from the look of the grass surrounding it, it hadn’t been used in years.

  The van stopped by a side door and both occupants got out. Fairchild watched as they opened the back doors and led Weaver out. He had a cloth sack over his head, and his hands were tied behind his back, but there was no mistaking who it was. They led him inside and closed the door. Fairchild waited a few minutes then got out and went in.

  The place was dark and smelled of rotting wood and old hay. Weaver was sitting in a chair in the middle of the empty barn. When the man cut the rope binding his hands, Weaver reached up, pulled off the sack and sat squinting at his surroundings. Fairchild stepped forward. The surprise on Weaver’s face was almost comical.

  “What’s the matter, Norton?” Fairchild said. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”

  “You’re way out of your depth, Dick. Do you have any idea who I am? You’ll hang for this. You have my word on that.”

  “Will I? I’m not so sure. What do you think the White House is going to say when I tell them you ignored my warning and put the entire agency at risk?”

  Weaver actually laughed. “My god, Dick. If I’d known you were this naïve, I never would have put your name forward for the job. What’s the White House going to say? They’re going to say what I tell them to say. That’s how this works, Dick. Administrations come and go, I’m the guy who stays and makes sure democracy doesn’t fuck everything up. I thought you were smart enough to know that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Weaver shook his head and looked at the man and woman standing behind Fairchild. It took him a moment to recognize them. “What the hell is this?”

  “Don’t bother,” Fairchild said. “They work for me now.”

  “Enough,” Weaver said. “You guys know who I am. Let me go and I’ll consider this a case of poor judgment. As for you, Dick, I suggest you start thinking of a plausible explanation for your resignation.”

  Neither of them moved.

  “What’s on the hard drive?” Fairchild asked. “Or haven’t your friends at Skyline told you?”

  Weaver looked genuinely surprised. “How did you…?” he began to say then stopped. “He called you?”

  When Fairchild didn’t say anything Weaver said, “And you believed him? Jesus, Dick! Whose side are you on here?”

  “My job is to safeguard this country,” Fairchild said. “I’m on whatever side I need to be on to do that.”

  Weaver looked at him with the cynicism of a veteran detective regarding a young rookie cop, full of piss and vinegar and misguided ideals. “Dick, give it a rest. You don’t know anything.”

  “I know enough. I want to know who your contact is at Skyline.”

  “We’re done here,” Weaver said. “If you two want to see this week out alive, you’ll step aside and let me leave.”

  “The contact,” Fairchild said. “Who is it?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Fairchild stepped back and nodded. “I’ll be outside.”

  Chapter 51

  The Pride of Mumbai

  Saturday 22 July 2006

  1600 EDT

  Amanda needed the toilet.

  “If someone doesn’t let us out of here in the next sixty seconds I’m going to piss myself,” she said.

  Francis was standing by the doors, his ear pressed against the steel plate. “I think someone’s coming.”

  They heard footsteps followed by the rattling of a chain. A moment later the door of the container swung open with a loud screech. An Indian man dressed in the uniform of a ship’s captain smiled at them, revealing two rows of pristine white teeth. “I’m sorry it has taken me so long to get down here. We had some trouble with customs.”

  Francis was about to say something when Amanda brushed past him and said, “I need the toilet. Right now!”

  The captain beckoned to a man standing several feet away. “Mohindar, please show this young woman to the water closet. We’ll be in my cabin.”

  When they had left Francis said, “Thank you for this.”

  The captain raised a hand. “Thank me when we get there.”

  They followed him out of the cargo hold and up onto the deck. None of them were quite sure how long they had been at sea. At some point they had heard the engines start and the ISO container had begun to rock from side to side instead of front to back. They each had a single backpack, and Reginald had handed Francis a flashlight when they said their farewells at Port Canaveral. Then he had closed the door and locked the container.

  The captain’s name turned out to be Laxman, a name he informed them was Hindi and meant good luck. He had a spacious cabin aft of the pilothouse with a single window that offered a permanent view of the ship’s wake.

  “I’m afraid this is the best I can do,” Laxman said. “We will be at sea for just over four hours, so at least you won’t have time to get too uncomfortable.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” Francis said. “We’ll keep out of your way.”

  Jesse was standing at the porthole looking out at the water. When Amanda returned she joined him and took his hand. Francis and Mike looked at each other and shared a knowing smile.

  “Feel free to look around,” Laxman said. “I’ve asked my cook to prepare you something to eat. I hope you like Indian food.”

  “I meant to ask,�
�� Francis said. “How does an Indian freighter end up working in this part of the world?”

  Laxman shrugged. “We’re cheap.”

  – – –

  Mike was standing in the pilothouse talking to the captain when the watchman called down to say they were within sight of land. He hurried back down to the cabin and walked in to find Jesse and Amanda kissing on the bed. He quickly closed the door again.

  He found Francis in the armory talking to the master-at-arms. He was studying the barrel of a machine gun sitting in pieces on the bench in front of them.

  “The problem is the oil you’re using,” Francis told the big Indian. “This stuff doesn’t prevent rust. If you can’t get hold of proper gun oil, use three-in-one or WD40.”

  When he saw Mike, Francis said, “Hey, how are things topside?”

  “Laxman says we’ll be in port in twenty minutes.”

  The master-at-arms took the barrel and thanked Francis. They went back up and met Laxman in the hall in front of the cabin.

  “Pilot’s on his way,” the captain said. “You’re sure this man will be there to meet you? I only ask because arriving in Nassau without passports could get us all thrown in jail.”

  “He’ll be there,” Francis said.

  They watched from the deck as the pilot’s boat pulled alongside the freighter and a man in a white naval uniform climbed the rope ladder. Jesse and Amanda joined them a moment later. When Mike turned to look at them, they both flushed.

  “Who’s that?” Amanda asked.

  “He’s the harbor pilot,” Francis said.

  “Meaning?”

  “He’s here to help the captain into port,” Jesse said. “If he’s not familiar with these waters, the pilot will take command of the ship. Otherwise, he’ll just supervise.”

  Francis and Mike looked at each other and nodded their appreciation. Amanda said, “Check you out, mister know-it-all.”

  “I watch a lot of Discovery Channel,” Jesse said.

  As soon as the lines were cast and the gangway in place, a blue Chevy pickup truck marked with the seal of the Nassau Customs Authority pulled up alongside the vessel and two black men in navy whites got out. One of them stopped at the bottom of the gangway while the other boarded the ship. A minute later Laxman arrived with the officer in tow. He looked no older than eighteen, and his uniform seemed at least two sizes too big. He approached Francis and said, “Your passports, please.”

  Francis looked at Laxman, who took a nervous step forward and was about to say something when the officer pointed at Francis’s backpack. “Give me that, please.”

  Francis slid the bag off his shoulder. The officer took it, knelt and began to rummage through it. Mike looked at Francis, his eyes pleading, but Francis only shook his head. The man suddenly stood, pulled his hand out of the bag and held up four dark blue passports with the words Commonwealth of the Bahamas printed in large gold letters below the national crest.

  “Here they are,” he said and handed them to Francis with a wink.

  “Follow me through Customs and wait outside the terminal,” the officer said when they reached the gangway.

  Laxman, who appeared to have been holding his breath, let out a long sigh and ran a sleeve across his forehead as he watched them leave.

  The officer led them into the terminal building and made a show of checking each of their bags, then stamped the passports and handed them back.

  “Five minutes,” he said.

  It took him ten. He was still driving a pickup, but this one was an aging Ford Bronco with at least one bad valve and a paint job that might once have been red, brown or terracotta orange. There was no way to tell.

  The young man had changed out of his uniform and was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans, a faded yellow tank top and sandals. He introduced himself as Joe and offered to take Amanda’s bag. Neither Mike nor Francis missed the look on Jesse’s face. If Jesse hadn’t recently killed a man it might have been amusing.

  They drove inland through the densely populated neighborhoods that occupied most of the small island. The trip took less than twenty minutes. Joe pulled into the driveway of a large single-story house located right on the beach of the island’s southern shore.

  When Joe got out and disappeared into the house, Amanda said, “Do we know who this guy is? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a vacation in the Bahamas, but he seems a little too easygoing.”

  “Stay here,” Francis said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  When Francis came back out he approached Jesse and Amanda.

  “I need to talk to you guys for a minute. Mike, do you mind?”

  He led them around the side of the house and down to the beach. Down by the water line a group of kids were throwing a football back and forth across a small fire while the girls looked on, laughing and drinking canned beer. Francis sat down in the sand and bade them to join him.

  “All right,” Amanda said, “We’re officially intrigued. Now what the hell is going on?”

  “I want you guys to stay here,” Francis said.

  Jesse started to stand, but Francis put a hand on his shoulder. “Hear me out, will you? This is important.”

  Jesse sat back down reluctantly.

  “This is Reginald’s place,” Francis said, looking back at the house. “You’ll be safe here. And before you bring up what happened in Quebec, I’d like to point out that Reginald has people here who’ll look out for you. I might also add that what happened in Quebec was that you came out on top.”

  Francis looked at Jesse as he said this. He knew it had been the right thing to say, especially in front of Amanda, when Jesse relaxed and began to actually pay attention.

  “Getting us here was relatively easy,” Francis continued. “Getting out of here won’t be. The man I need to see is a thousand miles away. That means flying, and I don’t think I need to tell you why that’s not going to work if we stay together. It’s safest if I go alone. It’s also the quickest.”

  “What about Mike?” Jesse asked. “Is he going with you?”

  Francis shook his head. “No. I’m sending Mike somewhere else. I can’t tell you where, but he has a wife and son and that’s where he needs to be. As soon as I know anything, I’ll get word to you through Reginald. Joe will drop by the house when he can and make sure you’re okay. And I’ll leave you plenty of money. All I ask is that you keep a low profile. And whatever you do, don’t try to get in touch with anyone you know. It’s as dangerous for them as it is for you.”

  Francis waited as they took in what he was saying. Amanda leaned her head onto Jesse’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He flushed suddenly and turned away for a moment.

  “We’ll stay,” Amanda said. “I just wish there was something we could do to help.”

  “There is,” Francis said. “Keep your heads down and stay safe. I got you into this mess and I mean to get you out of it. I just need a little more time.”

  “What are you going to do?” Jesse asked.

  Francis shrugged. “What I always do. Move one step at a time until I find what I’m looking for.”

  “A spaceship?” Amanda asked.

  They all laughed, but it was a nervous laughter.

  “I’m trying not to think about that,” Francis said.

  Jesse nodded. “You and me both.”

  “Make that three of us,” Amanda added. “And I think I can cast in Mike’s vote while we’re at it.”

  Francis stood up. “I’m going to talk to Mike. We’ll come back down when we’re done.”

  Francis found Mike standing in the kitchen with Joe. They were both looking at a copy of USA Today. When he saw Francis, Joe headed for the door and said, “I’ll be outside.”

  “Have you seen this?” Mike asked, pointing at a picture of a burning piece of tail section. The headline read: Plane Shot Down by US Air Defenses After Illegal Border Crossing.

  “I found a copy of the New York Times on the boat,” Francis said. �
�Did you know any of the agents who were killed?”

  “No,” Mike said.

  “You might not believe me,” Francis said. “But I do know I’m responsible.”

  Mike shook his head. “No, you’re not. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “Do I?”

  “You should. I know I said some pretty mean things back in New York, but that was before I really understood what was going on. These people are fucking nuts.”

  “I’m going to find them,” Francis said.

  “You? What happened to us?”

  “You’re not coming. There’s somewhere else you need to be.”

  Mike had been looking out the window. Now he turned to Francis. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Francis reached into his bag, pulled out an airline ticket and handed it to Mike. Mike flipped the cover sheet over and said, “Panama? What the fuck am I going to do in Panama?”

  “There’s someone down there I think you’ll want to see. Two someones actually.”

  Mike was about to protest again when the penny dropped.

  “They’re in Panama?”

  Francis nodded. “Not quite. The flight leaves at noon tomorrow. Joe will take you to the airport. Don’t ask me exactly where they are because I don’t know. There’s a restaurant in the town of Nuevo Emperador called La Trona. Leave this on the bar.”

  Francis handed him a silver dollar with the Iwo Jima Memorial printed on one side.

  “Go back at noon on the following day. Someone will be there to meet you. I also suggest you buy some local clothes, shave your head and leave the beard.”

  When Mike said nothing, Francis raised his eyebrows. “What do you say, partner? Sound good?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Tell me,” Mike said. “What happens after that? Once I’m back with my family? We can’t exactly head back to Phoenix or New York, can we?”

  “No. Not for now.”

  “So what? We take up life in some rural farming community and pray that no one mistakes us for a group of Americans who have no business living there at all? Or do we live in the basement of some safe house and pray that word will arrive one day that everything is fine? And what if that word never arrives? What then?”