Origin - Season Two (30 page)

“You think it could be that simple?” Naoko asked.

“I doubt it’s simple,” Francis said. “These things never are. The fact that the Chinese are collaborating with Pyongyang on this scale means they must already have a fair bit of say-so in what goes on. In fact, I wouldn’t discount their involvement in the recent change in leadership either.”

“You think
they
killed him?” Mitch said.

“Would it surprise you?” Francis said. “I can tell you from firsthand experience that people who get in the way of more ambitious men come to regret it each and every day. As for what I believe, there used to be a time when my assumptions and the truth enjoyed at least a healthy balance, but those days appear to be gone for good.”

“And what do you suggest we do?” Watkins asked.

“What
can
we do?” Francis said.

“We could blow the lid,” Mitch suggested.

“To what end?” Francis said.

“So you suggest we just sit back and let it happen?” Watkins said.

“I’m certainly not suggesting we sit back,” Francis said. “I could always be wrong. What I suggest is that we make use of every advantage we have to find out what we can.”

Sinuiju, North Korea

Wednesday 20 June 2007

1200 KST

General Rhee picked up the binoculars and scanned the far bank again for any sign of the convoy. He was standing inside the guard tower at the end of the aptly-named Sino-Korean Friendship Bridge over the Yalu River. The call had come over an hour ago and Rhee was beginning to think something was wrong when he saw the headlights. A moment later the phone on the wall of the guardroom rang.

“Sir, the Chinese have arrived.”

“Then raise the goddamned gate and let them through,” Rhee said.

As the first of the trucks made its way onto the bridge Rhee was suddenly filled with a deep sense of excitement.

“Sir, the convoy is here.”

Rhee turned from his thoughts to the road outside where all six trucks had now come to a stop at the gate. Commander Duan, dressed in the uniform of an army general, was ordering the drivers to disembark and walk back across the bridge. Rhee took a deep breath and stepped outside.

“General,” Duan said when he saw him, “At last the day has come. I have to admit, I feel a lot more comfortable now that we’re on this side of the river.”

“Is everything okay?” Rhee said.

“Fine. Better than fine, in fact. Are your drivers ready?”

Rhee called over one of the soldiers by the gate. “Tell the captain we are ready.”

A moment later six men in civilian clothes came running over.

“Take it nice and steady,” Rhee said. “The cargo is fragile.”

Duan smiled as the men climbed into the trucks. “Your men?”

“Local party members,” Rhee said. “I made them an offer none could turn down.”

“Promotion?” Duan suggested.

“A portrait of the new leader,” Rhee said.

Duan laughed, “We use portraits to get things done, too. Although ours are usually of Chairman Mao, and generally have numbers on them.”

“Come,” Rhee said. “My car is waiting. It’s a six-hour drive to Nampo.”

Phoenix, Arizona

Tuesday 19 June 2007

2200 MST

If only half the people who had warned Mike about the physical demands of running a state-wide campaign had been there to point out how much they hated to tell him they’d said so, he could probably have held another campaign rally right there in the office. Between interviews—TV
and
radio—speeches, meet-and-greets, briefings, photo sessions, strategy talks, travel and the occasional autograph, Mike was getting roughly four hours of sleep a day, and even that sometimes arrived in installments.

He was sitting in the back of the tour bus about to take advantage of one of those rare moments when a cacophony of excited voices erupted somewhere at the front of the bus. Beth came running up the isle waving a sheet of paper and talking at a speed that Mike’s overtaxed mind had no hope of keeping up with. When she handed him the sheet and stood back to wait for a reaction Mike handed it back. “Go on, just tell me what it says.”

“You’ve just overtaken Redman in the polls,” Beth announced.

That woke him up a little.

“It was the CNN interview,” Beth said. “We knew you’d hit a home run, but this—this is unbelievable.”

“And Ortega?” Mike said.

“He’s still ahead by a wide margin,” Beth said. “But who gives a shit, right?”

As soon as the words were out she put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Mike said. “I was thinking more or less the same thing. Listen, I don’t want to put a damper on the mood, but if I don’t get some sleep, none of this will make much difference because I’ll be dead long before November.”

“Of course,” Beth said. “Sorry. We’ll be in Tucson in about three hours, but the interview isn’t until nine. We’ll keep the noise down.”

She turned to leave when Mike said, “Hey, Beth.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Her response to this was two very enthusiastic thumbs up and a little dance that would have made him laugh if he’d had the energy. When she was gone Mike laid his head back and closed his eyes.

He thought of Susan and what she had said about his having a chance at pulling the campaign off on his own. The irony was that he was beginning to think she might have been right. It made the whole idea of exposing Redman and Ortega seem like both a blessing and a curse. Wentworth had said the story would break at the beginning of October, just enough time to put the opposition out of action while leaving them little chance to regroup. If he was anywhere near Ortega by that time, perhaps it wouldn’t matter so much. As his thoughts crossed the threshold into the random and incoherent jumble of sleep, he pictured himself on the eve of the election, surrounded by an enthusiastic throng of fans and well-wishers, all cheering him on as he made his way to the podium.

He fell asleep with a wide grin on his face.

The Isle of Dragons

Thursday 21 June 2007

0130 EEST

To say the atmosphere was tense would have been putting it mildly. Erik’s insistence that the drop site be changed—the ensuing argument had brought his relationship with Heinz to a new low—had necessitated a hasty and somewhat chaotic demolition of the old hangar, which now lay scattered in several large piles of debris at the periphery of the old foundation. To make matters worse, news of the impending arrival had spread quickly, and almost everyone at Aurora was determined to witness it. To Francis the scene resembled some ancient pagan ritual in which the loyal followers of an ancient god were now gathered around the object of their devotion—in this case an unremarkable platform of rectangular concrete which had once been home to a certain helicopter Francis would not soon forget.

“I don’t think I even felt this nervous on the night RP One arrived,” Richelle said.

“Feel free to hold my hand again if you need to,” Francis said.

It was intended to be funny, but Richelle didn’t laugh. This was only due in part to the fact that she
was
more nervous this time. The truth was—and she was finally beginning to admit it to herself—she
did
want to reach over and take his hand. She kept thinking back to her conversation with Mitch. His insinuation had angered her because it was a little too close to home for comfort. She was also haunted by her memory of Jack Fielding. Francis was nothing like Jack, nothing at all. But then
Jack
was nothing like Jack either when the two of them had begun their short and turbulent affair, much to the consternation of her father.

“You okay?” Francis said.

“I’d be a lot more okay if this crowd stopped moving forward,” she replied. “At this rate they’ll be underneath the damn thing when it lands.”

“That’s assuming it lands where it’s supposed to.”

Richelle looked at him apprehensively. “That’s what worries me.”

“Relax,” Francis said. “I was kidding.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Perhaps. But I’m with Mitch on this one.”

“Meaning?”

“He told me we should stop thinking of this technology in terms of our own,” Francis said. “I’ll tell you what, if this thing doesn’t appear exactly when it’s supposed to we’ll get everyone back another fifty feet.”

As if summoned by this reference to himself, Mitch’s voice came crackling over the radio in Francis’s hand. “Two minutes, guys.”

Mitch and Naoko, who had volunteered to stay on RP One, were monitoring the link to the orbiting dropship. The next hundred and twenty seconds seemed to drag on for an eternity. Then someone in the crowd pointed to the sky and shouted, “There.”

Francis saw it a moment later, a faint orange glow in a sky full of white stars. It grew brighter for only a few seconds, then disappeared. Another minute went by in complete silence as they all strained to see some sign of the approaching object. An excited cry pierced the silence, followed by another. Then, like popcorn in a microwave, they were all doing it. Francis could just about make out three faint circles directly above them. These grew larger as the shape suspended beneath the parachutes came into view, a perfect circle of black.

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

Suddenly, and without warning, the crowd on one side of the landing zone began to run. Francis tensed as he realized what was happening. The shape, not so much falling now, but dropping out of the sky, was way off course and hurtling directly toward the panic-stricken crowd. Richelle could only watch, paralyzed.

“Oh my God,” Francis said.

Then a bright jet of blue flame suddenly burst out of the side of the container, propelling it back on course as if the hand of God himself had reached down and nudged it. This was followed by several smaller bursts at various other points. There was a violent tremor that sent several people stumbling to their knees as the container hit the ground, right on schedule, and exactly where it was supposed to be.

For a moment there was complete silence, then someone began to clap and the crowd on one side slowly joined as the rest stopped running and turned around.

Francis looked down at his hand, now firmly clasped in Richelle’s. When he looked up at her face he saw her eyes were closed.

“You can look now,” he said. “It’s over.”

Richelle opened her eyes and peered around as if waking up from a bad dream. A few who had stopped celebrating were now cautiously approaching the container, which looked a bit like a round black mausoleum with no entrance.

“Where did the parachutes go?” Francis asked, looking around.

Richelle did the same, but there was no sign of them anywhere.

“For a moment there I thought—” Richelle began.

“Yeah, me too,” Francis said. “I better keep these guys back just in case.”

When she made no reply Francis looked down at her hand and said, “I’m going to need that back if you’re done with it.”

“Oh, sorry,” Richelle said, letting go.

Francis walked over to the half-dozen people now only a few feet from the container. “Listen, guys, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get too close right now.”

Before Francis could stop him one of them picked up a rock and threw it. There was no hollow metallic clang, just a dull thud, as if the container were a solid mass.

“Not clever,” Francis said. “Come on, let’s move it back, folks. Everyone will get a chance to have a good look when we know it’s safe. For now I suggest we either stay back or head home. This thing’s not going anywhere.”

There were a couple of murmurs of protest at this, but everyone moved back. A few people even began to return to the research station. When you spent most of your time scrutinizing the handiwork of an alien civilization few things amazed you for long.

Within an hour the crowd was down to a few stragglers. Erik, never one to waste time, was already directing several of his crew to clear the ground around the container. Francis looked down and saw the concrete beneath it had been pulverized into powder in most places. Erik joined them a moment later.

“What’s the plan?” Francis said.

“We’ve brought up some netting,” Erik said. “If we can, I’d like to cover it as soon as possible. As for the longer term, I think our best bet is just to rebuild the hangar around it. It’ll only take a couple of weeks if I put most of my guys on it.”

Richelle saw Heinz standing near the container and waved him over. When it was obvious he had no intention of joining them while Erik was still there she walked over and grabbed him by the arm. “I think this stand-off has gone on long enough, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Heinz said.

She walked him over to where Erik and Francis were standing and gave them both the same stern look of disapproval. “Listen guys, there’s way too much going on right now for you two to be acting like teenagers. I want you both to apologize to each other and shake hands.”

When neither man volunteered to be the first Richelle said, “Oh for God’s sake. Is it really so hard? If it’s about
this
thing, I’m the one who made the final call. So if you both want to be mad at me, that’s fine. It’s why I’m here. But I can’t have two of my most important people ignoring each other indefinitely.”

Erik was the first to give in. He stepped forward and held out his hand to Heinz. “I guess I could have been a little more civil.”

Heinz looked at the hand for a moment, then gave it a brief and lifeless shake. “I’ll try to bear in mind that even the trivial details are important to those who deal with them.”

Francis tried to stifle a laugh, but he only partially succeeded.

“You guys are pathetic, you know that?” Richelle said.

Heinz murmured something that none of them could make out.

“What’s that?” Richelle said.

“I said I’m not the one being pathetic,” Heinz said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richelle asked.

“Ask him,” Heinz nodded to Erik.

When they all turned to look, Erik seemed taken aback. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”