Origin - Season Two (22 page)

Had there been any way to observe the lumbering giant in the immediate period that followed, the viewer would have seen only a momentary flash of light as one of the thrusters in the bow fired a single time and the ship slowly turned its nose toward the Earth some 387 million miles away. At the end of the launch tube, which ran almost the full twelve-mile length of the ship, a generator began to spool up, charging the two dozen coils inside until they throbbed with more energy than most nuclear power plants generate in their operational lifetime. When the dropship was finally catapulted from the barrel it was traveling at just under 304,000 miles per hour, a mere fraction of the speed of light, but still over a hundred times faster than a large caliber bullet. Within an hour the ship had accelerated to three times that speed, which it would maintain for the next 332 days, slowing only as it approached the Earth and prepared to drop its cargo of not one, but fifteen containers.

Beijing, China

Saturday 16 June 2007

0500 CST

The unmarked Xian-H6 twin propeller transport set down on the military airfield on the outskirts of the capital at just after five in the morning. A very agitated Duan stepped off the plane as soon as it came to a stop and got into the back seat of the waiting car before the driver had a chance to open the door for him.

“Home, sir?” the driver asked.

“The Peixin Hotel,” Duan said.

“Yes, sir.”

The drive took only half an hour, traffic at this time being all but non-existent. When they were stopped at a checkpoint crossing the Tonghui River despite the diplomatic plates on the car, Duan got out, approached the senior police officer present and threatened to have him reassigned to the coal mining region of the Mongolian interior.

The driver pulled into the hotel entrance and found an empty parking space in the corner of the lot.

“Twenty minutes,” Duan said.

“Yes, sir.”

Duan showed his identification to the woman at the reception counter who directed him to the elevators. When he reached the sixth floor, he walked to the end of the hall, took the stairs down to the fourth and found Room 413. The man who opened the door was a tall Caucasian with a receding hairline. He was still dressed in his hotel bathrobe.

“Commander, how nice to see you again,” the man said. “I trust you’ve been well?”

Duan, visibly apprehensive, nodded. “Please assure our friends that what has happened is in no way a threat to our plans.”

The man offered him a joyless smile. “You wouldn’t be here if anyone believed it was.”

“Of course,” Duan said.

“That said, the situation poses certain questions. What do you know about this man, Mohindar?”

“Very little at this point,” Duan said. “He was an operative for the Indian Intelligence Bureau prior to 2002. Since then he has become a security consultant to several western companies, most of them American or German.”

“Are any of them connected to the former employer of Jasper Klein?” the man asked.

Duan shook his head. “Not that we’ve been able to establish, no.”

“Yet you think that he knew Klein was on board the ship. Why?”

“According to the political officer’s report,” Duan said, “Mohindar was posing as a state official when they spoke.”

The man raised his eyebrows at this. “And he knew Jasper been taken on board at Dubai.”

“It would seem so.”

“And have the Americans said anything?”

Duan shook his head. “Nothing.”

The man considered this for a moment. “Very well. We will deal with this matter ourselves. In the meantime I suggest you do everything you can do to get back into the good graces of the council.”

“Of course,” Duan said.

The man walked to the window and stood looking out at the city below for a long time. When he turned back to Duan he said, “I hear the council has approved the transfer of the assets at Qingdao.”

Duan, as he always did when this man—Duan knew him only by the codename Iris—demonstrated just how much he knew, felt a sudden shiver run up his spine.

“They have,” Duan said.

“That’s good to hear. General Rhee appears to have things under control, would you agree?”

“I do,” Duan said. “Rhee is a competent man. And a loyal friend.”

“I’m glad you think so. If we proceed now, there will be no turning back. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Duan said.

“Good. I would advise you to deliver the merchandise before you meet the council again. Once the weapons are in the North your position will be considerably strengthened.”

“It will be a welcome change,” Duan said. “I don’t trust Minister Yew. The order to apprehend Klein came from him. Something he has conveniently forgotten.”

This time the man’s smile was more genuine. “Yew is an idiot. If all goes well, we should be ready by the end of the year. Goa aside, you’ve done well, commander. Keep up the good work and I can assure you your efforts will not go unrewarded.”

“Thank you,” Duan said.

“Now if you don’t mind, I need to get some sleep. I have an early flight in the morning.”

“Of course,” Duan said, moving to the door.

“One more thing, commander.”

“Yes?”

“Assure General Rhee that he will be playing a considerably bigger role in the new order than he might have imagined. We need him motivated.”

“I’ll pass the message on.”

“Good.”

Nampo, North Korea
Saturday 15 June 2007

1000 KST

General Rhee was standing in the entrance to the number two warehouse when the first truck arrived. He watched as Pok waved his arms furiously at the guards to open the inner gates, then directed the driver in Rhee’s direction. The truck lumbered forward in a cloud of blue diesel smoke and stopped outside the open door. Two forklifts quickly unloaded the pallets and stacked them inside. As soon as it was empty the truck turned around and drove out of the compound as the next was let inside. Once the cargo had been safely stored, the doors were closed. Pok—now walking with the aid of a cane—approached Rhee.

“Two days late,” Pok said, pointing his cane up at the sky as if God himself were to blame.

“Hardly a disaster,” Rhee replied.

“Perhaps not,” Pok observed, “but they add up. Two days here, one day there, and before you know it you’re a month behind.”

“I’ll have a word,” Rhee said, intending to do no such thing.

They walked down the row of warehouses, half of them now alive with the sound of men and machinery. When they reached the last one Rhee opened the door and held it for Pok.

Sitting in the middle of the warehouse beneath bright floodlights was a bizarre frame made entirely of aluminum tubing. It consisted of six upright cylinders welded into a floral pattern that made it look a little bit like a speed-loader for a giant six-shooter revolver. Each of the empty cylinders had a lid that was secured in place by a dozen threaded clamps. As they watched, several men guided it into position on the train wagon that had been made to carry it while another handled the electric pulley mounted to a rail beneath the rafters above.

“A perfect fit,” Pok said.

“Impressive,” Rhee agreed.

“When can we expect the cargo?” Pok asked.

“In a week.”

“Even better.”

Washington DC

Saturday 16 June 2007

0900 EDT

Wentworth put the phone down and nodded to Caroline. “It’s done. I’ll have someone from the office in Montreal pick Jasper up and drive him down as soon as he arrives.”

“And the feds?” Caroline said.

“All they know is that he was last seen in Dubai. They’ve already been through his apartment and the office. Richard has told them everything he knows, which is nothing at all. But he can’t stay here. You know that, right?”

“So what the hell are we going to do with him?” Caroline asked.

Wentworth shrugged. “There’s only one thing you
can
do. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that what you were doing in the first place?”

“There’s no way Richelle will take him,” Caroline said. “Not after this. That’s assuming he would even agree.”

“Then I guess you’ve got your work cut out for you. Because I’ll tell you this, he can’t go back to Wisconsin. He may not know anything about us, but he knows enough to give the Chinese a very good reason to either take him again or shut him up permanently.”

“I know,” Caroline said.

“Are we any closer to figuring out what he was doing on that ship in the first place?”

“Not really. And if I’m honest, I’m not sure I even want to. The Foundation is about to take a thirty percent hit across the boards, and that’s a best case scenario. Mitchell says the Emirates are going to pull out of the deal with Albion when the hammer falls. Half our stock portfolio has already stopped paying dividends, and it’s only a matter of time before the rest follow suit. Christ, our Asian operations are going to be the only productive assets we’ve got left.”

“You could always short the market,” Wentworth suggested. “There’s still time. Use the cash to pick up a few bargains from the wreckage?”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.”

“And?”

Caroline sighed. “When dad asked me to take over the foundation he told me that breaking the rules because everybody else does would probably make us twice the money in half the time. And he was right. He also said that when you join that club, you have to join it completely, whether you like it or not. I’m pretty sure he was right about that too. If we start meddling in this shit now, we’ll be up to our ears in it before we know it.”

“Wise words,” Wentworth said. “It’s a shame more people don’t think that way.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Caroline said. “I’ll speak to Richelle as soon as I’m back in Zurich. In the meantime, don’t let the little shit out of your sight.”

“It’s a deal,” Wentworth said. “Just don’t leave it too long. I won’t be of much use to you if I’m in jail for kidnapping.”

Tesuque, New Mexico

Saturday 16 June 2007

1230 MDT

By the time they drove through the gate and onto the dirt track that led to the Mason family ranch, Susan was a bundle of nerves. On this occasion her anxiety actually helped to calm Mike’s own nerves.

Will Mason was a native of the Land of Enchantment. He could trace his family line back to 1910, when New Mexico had been a territory rather than a state. He stood a full six foot three—six seven if you added in the Stetson that rarely left his head when he wasn’t at work—and had the shoulders to make it mean something. He was standing halfway up the road as they approached, leaning against the white rail fence and stroking the muzzle of a large black and white Appaloosa mare.

When Mike stopped the car Mason tipped his hat and said, “Welcome to Blueridge, Mike. I see you’ve brought your better half. How do you do, Mrs. Banner?”

At first it seemed Susan would be unable to compose herself long enough to respond. Mike nudged her with his elbow and whispered, “Should I tell him you’re mute?”

Susan elbowed him back and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Senator.”

“We’ll have none of that here,” Mason said. “You call me Will. Go on up to the house. Jessica’s in the kitchen getting dinner ready. Make yourselves at home. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When they were out of earshot Mike laughed and said, “I’m not sure I can even remember the last time you looked at
me
like that.”

“What?”

“So you’re denying it?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Susan said.

Mike laughed again.

“Fuck off, Mike,” she said, but she was smiling.

Jessica Mason turned out to be
Miss
Mason, a pretty young girl of twenty-five with a mane of dark blonde hair. When she saw their confusion she laughed and said, “My father is an amateur comedian, if you haven’t guessed yet. I’m Jessica. He didn’t exactly lie; my mother’s name was Jessica too.”

“She’s—” Susan began.

“She passed away when I was ten,” Jessica said.

“I’m sorry,” Susan said.

“Thank you.”

Jessica put down the knife she was using to cut steaks off a huge slab of rib-eye and washed her hands.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Jessica said, holding out a hand to both of them. “Dad doesn’t invite many people here. It’s a shame, really; we used to have guests all the time.”

“I would have thought your father had more friends than he could count,” Mike said.

“Well, that all depends,” Jessica said. “If you mean in Washington, I’m not sure he has any.”

“That’s because they’re all a bunch of self-righteous thieves,” Susan said.

Mike turned to her, his mouth open in astonishment, but Jessica only laughed and said, “You two will get along just fine. Now how do you like your steak?”

“Raw please, sweetheart.”

As soon as Mike turned around Mason had his hand in a death grip. “It’s good to see you again, Mike.
Mi casa es su casa
isn’t just a hollow phrase in these parts. People actually say it, and they
mean
it. You make yourselves at home while I go get out of these rags.”

By the time Mason returned both Mike and Susan were busy helping in the kitchen. Mike had taken over the job of slicing steaks, something he’d never done in his life.

“That’s a fine piece of meat,” Mason said. “Thirty-two days on the hook. Neighbors brought it over this morning. I hope you’re both hungry.”

“We’re starving,” Susan said.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Mason said.

Dinner lasted almost two hours. In all that time Mason didn’t make a single reference to his job or Mike’s plans. He talked about his childhood, growing up on the ranch, his daughter, and when asked by Susan, the year during which his wife had fought a harrowing but ultimately futile battle with ovarian cancer. And he asked as many questions as he answered, seeming to prefer listening to talking.

When they were done Susan had expected Mason to excuse himself and make off for some corner of the house with Mike to talk shop, but that didn’t happen. He invited them both out into the back yard with a six-pack of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other and sat them down at a large picnic table near the brick barbeque pit. Mason took a seat across from them, offered them each a can before opening his own and said, “So, you two ready to run for public office?”