Origin - Season Two (19 page)

“Maybe it’s best if I—” Mike began.

But Peter was shaking his head. “It’s probably not. Now let’s go. The sooner we get her on our side the better.”

The Pandora

Wednesday 13 June 2007

1500 EEST

Despite barely being able to walk, Francis had insisted on joining Titov. Every jolt of the helicopter felt like a sucker punch in the gut as it battled through the heavy rain. Luckily the flight was a short one. When they entered the hangar—Francis leaning on Titov for support—Richelle and Heinz were waiting for them.

“Welcome home,” Heinz said. “It’s great to see you in one piece.”

“He’s obviously referring to you,” Francis said, taking his hand from Titov’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” Richelle asked.

“Like a hundred pounds of warm shit,” Francis said. “But I’m not complaining. If it wasn’t for this guy I’d be working for the devil.”

Titov opened his mouth to joke that he wasn’t much better off here, but the look of concern he saw on Richelle’s face stayed his tongue. It was a look he hadn’t seen for a long time.

“I guess we owe you some answers,” Richelle said. “I’d try to give them to you myself, but I think I’ll let Mitch do the explaining.”

Ten minutes later both Francis and Titov were staring at the large screen on the bridge of RP One. To anyone not familiar with the situation they might both have resembled recently lobotomized mental patients.

“Nuts, right?” Mitch smiled.

“Let me get this straight,” Titov said. “You shot down two Mirage fighters with this thing?”

“We didn’t exactly
shoot
them down,” Mitch replied. “We just disabled them.”

“Well, they fell from the sky,” Titov pointed out, “So as far as I’m concerned, you shot them down.”

“And you were tracking us all along?” Francis said.

“From the moment we spotted the boat,” Mitch said. “We stopped once you were across the border.”

“And you’re still tracking the ship?”

Mitch turned to the screen. Francis watched his right hand become a blur above the controls in the arm rest. Then the Beixiang was there, sailing around the tip of Sri Lanka into the Bay of Bengal.

“I’ve put a tracker on it,” Mitch said. “It means we can always go back to it if we need to.”

“Tell them about your little side project,” Richelle said.

When Mitch was finished explaining what was about to happen, Francis could only shake his head in disbelief. Titov wasn’t much better off.

“We thought you might have something to say about it,” Mitch said.

“Me?” Francis said. “I don’t know
what
to say. I thought this place was a little too close to the twilight zone when I first arrived. Now I’m thinking maybe it
is
the twilight zone.”

“What Mitch means,” Richelle began, “is, do
you
think it’s a good idea? My initial reaction was that we shouldn’t risk it, but I’ve been persuaded. I mean, it’s the reason we’re here, after all, as Mitch so poignantly made clear.”

She offered Mitch a sarcastic smile as she said this.

“What exactly are we talking about?” Francis asked.

“What
aren’t
we talking about,” Mitch replied. “Armored suits, medical supplies, rations, weapons, solar charging units, photosynthesis pods, you name it. There are two different robotic systems on the manifest, and that’s just what we’ve found so far. We’ve only identified half the items.”

“Robotic systems? As in—”

“As in fully automated machines that look a bit like people, yes,” Mitch said.

“And you want to what, study them?”

Mitch looked dumbfounded. “Study? What the hell would we want to study them for? I don’t mean to sound condescending, but this is an entirely different situation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Titov demanded.

“It means none of the clichés about stuff like this apply here,” Mitch said. “It’s not like we’ve stumbled onto some fragment in the desert and need to figure out how to harness its mysterious power. We’ve walked into the alien version of Wal-Mart with enough gift vouchers to strip the shelves bare. We don’t
need
to figure out how any of this stuff works. It’s all here. The technical specs, diagrams, instructions. All we need to do is decide how much of it we can use right now and what for.”

This was met with a long silence which only ended when Heinz put in, “He’s right.”

“Thank you,” Mitch said. “It’s the burden I bear.”

Francis found himself first laughing, then grimacing from the pain it caused.

“So it’s settled.” Titov grinned. “Come to think of it, I’ve always wanted my own robot.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Richelle said. “I’m not arguing against it, but let’s be very clear; we need to be careful. I suggest we all meet again and go over the manifest when it’s complete. I know you all think of me as the resident doomsayer around here, but I do it for a reason.”

She turned to Mitch. “You say there are robots on that thing, and I know for a fact that you’re imagining they’ll be just like the ones in the cartoons, all smiles and eager to please. You know what I imagine?”

Mitch smirked. “What?”

“I imagine them blowing all our heads off before we know what the hell is going on. And prudence suggests the truth lies somewhere in between.”

Francis laughed. “So that would mean what, that half of us go down in a hail of bullets, and the other half get a ride back to the bunker?”

“You laugh now,” Richelle said. “I hope you’re still laughing in two weeks.”

Beijing, China

Wednesday 13 June 2007

2130 CST

Duan put the phone down and sat looking at it for a long time. His greatest fear had always been that Project 38 would be compromised before everything was in place, and that fear now seemed to be vindicated.

Jasper Klein had been Duan’s answer to Pok’s insistence that the second phase of the project could not proceed without a highly qualified and experienced engineer of a type that was hard to find. Duan didn’t understand enough to know if the former was true, but the latter certainly was. Of the two indigenous candidates Duan had originally selected, one was already working on a highly classified military project and the other had been blacklisted for subversive activities. He had originally been reluctant to turn to the outside world, and for good reason. Karl Bower, a designer for Germany’s largest manufacturer of rolling stock, had come dangerously close to discovering his plight. Only a drastic last-minute revision of his compensation package had averted the disaster. Jasper had been easier to coax to the negotiating table, possibly because he was already in the process of moving on. In fact, everything had proceeded like clockwork. Until now.

Duan pushed the call button on his intercom and waited impatiently for the knock at the door.

“Come in.”

The young lieutenant stepped inside, came to attention and saluted.

“Get Ensign Liang in here,” Duan said. “Tell her it’s urgent.”

Liang arrived several minutes later. Before she could pay her own respects Duan waved the formality off. “Come, sit down.”

“Is there a problem, sir?” Liang asked.

“There is. And I need it dealt with very discreetly.”

“Of course, sir.”

Duan pushed Jasper’s file across the desk to her. “You are familiar with this one, yes?”

Liang only glanced at the folder for a moment. “Yes, sir. He is onboard the Beixiang.”

Duan shook his head. “Not any more. The ship was boarded by customs at Goa. It appears they were looking for him.”

Liang began to stutter a reply, but Duan cut her off. “I’m not assigning blame to your section. I think it may have been a trap.”

Liang lowered her eyes. “My apologies, sir. Our people assured me he was not followed.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Duan said. “It’s a mistake we won’t make again.
I
gave the order to approach him and I am the person responsible.”

“What would you have me do, sir?”

“There was a man at the dock in Goa. The political officer onboard the Beixiang seems to think he is behind this. He also had the good sense to get a picture of him. Once we receive it you will go there and find him. If Klein is still there we need him back. The other one you can kill. I will make arrangements with the consulate in Mumbai. You’ll have the local help you need.”

“I’ll prepare to leave right away, sir.”

“One more thing,” Duan said. “We need to know who he is working for. Do what you have to.”

Phoenix, Arizona

Wednesday 13 June 2007

1930 MST

Mike was standing at the kitchen window with a beer in one hand and a nervous tic in the other as Peter punctuated whatever he had just said with a comically surprised expression, sending his wife into a fresh fit of laughter. He watched them for a moment longer, then grabbed two cans of Miller from the fridge and walked outside.

The nerves Mike had felt on their drive over had turned into barely-disguised panic as Peter got out of the car and walked to the door without even waiting for him. At first he had thought Wentworth’s one-man advance party intended to simply drop the news on his wife right there on the doorstep. But he had only introduced himself, then flustered Susan with a peck on the cheek for good measure. That had been over three hours ago.

For the purpose of the visit, Peter was an acquaintance of Mike’s from DC who worked for a private law firm that did business with the Bureau from time to time. Only the first of these three claims was actually untrue. Over dinner Peter had offered up one hilarious story after another about his exploits in the capital. At one point Susan was laughing so hard Mike thought she was going to pass out. It was Susan who had insisted he stay for a drink, and so they had moved out onto the patio in the garden. By the time Mike headed back to the house for the third time to get more beer Peter practically had her eating out of his hand. Mike found the whole thing both amusing and a little irritating.

“Cometh the hour, cometh the man,” Peter murmured as Mike handed him another beer.

Susan topped up her glass from the bottle of red wine on the table and looked at Mike with exaggerated surprise. “Did you know Peter used to work for Bill Clinton?”

“We weren’t exactly golf buddies,” Peter said, “I just did some work on his campaign.”

“I quite liked Clinton,” Susan said. “Shame he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Although you only have to take one look at Hillary to understand why he did it.”

Mike looked at her with wide eyes.

“Oh lighten up,” Susan chuckled. “I don’t mean it. Well, I do and I don’t. She strikes me as a little too competitive. I mean, imagine if you came home one day and I said I’d decided to join the CIA.”

Peter seemed to consider this very seriously and said, “Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Joined the CIA?”

Susan burst out laughing again and rolled her eyes at Mike. “Where have you been hiding this guy?”

Peter motioned to the empty chair next to Susan with a subtle nod of his head and Mike sat down.

“Susan,” Peter said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I know it’s none of my business,” Peter said, “But does the nature of Mike’s job ever worry you?”

“Every day,” Susan said without hesitation. “But I’d never ask him to quit as long as it’s what he wants to do.”

“Of course,” Peter agreed. “I admire that.”

“Why?” Susan asked.

Peter took a sip of beer and regarded her for a moment. “What if I told you there are some who think your husband might have a good shot at political office?”

Susan looked from Peter to Mike and back again. “What do you mean?”

“Our firm does a lot of work for the Bureau,” Peter said. “I had lunch with Director Gobain and one of our clients in the Congress a few weeks ago. I don’t quite remember how we got around to talking about your husband, but it was the director himself who suggested Mike would make a good candidate for office.”

“Honey?” Susan looked at Mike. “You never mentioned anything about this.”

“To be fair,” Peter said, “I only brought it up myself on the way over here.”

“What kind of public office are we talking about?” Susan said.

“Well,” Peter said. “Now that you ask, I did actually have something in mind. It’s going to sound a little crazy, I know. But hear me out.”

Susan looked more skeptical than ever.

“As you probably know, Senator Richmond is stepping down at the end of the year. I happen to think—and I’m not alone in this—that Mike could win the seat as an independent.”

Susan glanced at the wine bottle as if this were the most likely explanation for what she couldn’t possibly have heard.

“We can make it happen,” Peter insisted.

“Let me get this straight,” Susan said. “You want
my
husband to run for a seat in the Senate? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “I know it sounds a little nuts.”

“It sounds like someone’s idea of a joke.”

“Perhaps,” Peter shrugged. “All I can say is that there are mitigating circumstances in this particular election that might make it possible to win. I can’t explain exactly what they are, but it’s no joke. You have my word on that.”

“He’s right,” Mike said. “From what I understand I could have a chance.”

Susan looked at her husband and said, “Is this why you said you were thinking of leaving the Bureau?”

Mike shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And this might be the reason I needed.”

“You’re actually serious,” Susan said.

“I am,” Mike said. “I’d like to try. But only if you agree.”

Susan sat there trying to take it all in. When she finally turned to Mike she said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Peter said, “Why don’t you two talk this over. Then drive up and see Will Mason as planned. He’s been in the game a long time. I think he’d be able to answer your questions far better than I can.”

“Will Mason?” Susan repeated. “
The
Will Mason?”