Origin - Season Two (18 page)

Titov gave Francis a surprised look. “He’s quick, you have to give him that.”

“Who are you?” Jasper said.

“For your purposes,” Francis said, “we’re just a couple of concerned citizens out for justice and all things fair.”

“Sure. And what you did was push me into a trap.”

Francis smiled and shook his head. “For someone touted to be a genius, you come across as a tad on the dull side. If we
were
who we claimed to be, you’d still be on your way to China. Luckily for you, the Beixiang had to refuel. Now what we’re interested in is what happened on the ship before you were found.”

“I was locked in a cabin,” Jasper said. “That’s what happened. Then I was put in a fridge and almost froze to death.”

“No one spoke to you?” Francis asked. “No one made any effort to explain what you were doing there?”

Jasper shook his head. “No.”

“Maybe you overheard a conversation?”

“None in English,” Jasper said.

When it was clear Jasper was going to be of no use, Francis asked Mohindar to take him back to his room.

“All that for nothing,” Francis said.

Titov finished his beer and stood up. “Richelle wants us back as soon as possible. Apparently we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands.”

“What’s happened?”

“No idea.”

When Mohindar returned, he was holding two passports and two airline tickets. He handed one of each to them. “Your flight leaves at three in the morning. There are no direct routes to Tallinn so you’ll have to stop over in Frankfurt. I’ve also made arrangements to keep Mr. Klein here until you decide what you want to do with him.”

“You don’t seem too curious,” Francis said.

Mohindar held up his hands. “Curiosity is an expensive habit in my line of work. And I can’t tell anyone what I don’t know, can I?”

“I suppose not,” Francis said.

“The staff have prepared dinner. I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.”

When Mohindar was gone Francis asked Titov to call Richelle. Based on what he could glean from their conversation Francis had expected her to be in one of her characteristic bad moods, but she sounded perfectly calm.

“It’s great to hear you’re okay,” Richelle said.

“It’s great to
be
okay,” Francis told her. “How are things there?”

“Fine.”

“Titov seemed to think you were all running for cover.”

“We had a little scare with RP One, that’s all. False alarm. What do you propose to do about the situation there?”

“Well, any chance of using Jasper to track these people down is gone. I didn’t want to discuss it with Mohindar, but it’s not safe for him to leave here yet.”

“Mohindar is a good man,” Richelle said. “He’ll do what he needs to.”

“As for the culprit,” Francis said, “I think we’re dealing with a classic case of state-sponsored kidnapping. It’s a bit of an outdated tactic, but then so are the Chinese in many respects.”

“So we just let it go?”

“I suppose we could always send an anonymous letter of protest to Beijing.”

“Very funny,” Richelle said.

“If you want to pursue it, we could wait a couple of months and put Jasper back in the picture under surveillance. There’s a good chance they’ll come looking for him.”

“You want to use him as bait?”

“What other option do we have? Unless you’ve got someone working for the Foundation inside the Chinese clandestine services, that is.”

“I’m afraid not,” Richelle said.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll be back in forty-eight hours, although I’m not going to be of much use to anyone for the next couple of weeks.”

“I’m sorry about what happened in Iran. The whole thing was my idea.”

“Water under the bridge,” Francis said.

“I’ll see you back here, then. Have a safe trip.”

Phoenix, Arizona

Tuesday 12 June 2007

1030 MST

Mike Banner watched his section chiefs file out of the conference room with a sense of deep trepidation. He opened the folder on the desk in front of him and removed a communiqué marked for his eyes only. It was a brief summary of the situation in Asia.

His new friend in the Senate—there was another crazy idea for you—had called earlier that morning to say events on the Hill would mean a cancelation of their weekend plans. That was good, because try as he might to gather the resolve, he still hadn’t told Susan about his own big change of plans. Which was to say, he had tried, she just hadn’t listened.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Wentworth had already rented a small office downtown to act as a temporary campaign headquarters and announced with considerable lack of fanfare that his firm was lending the campaign a hundred thousand dollars to get the ball rolling.

It all made Mike feel as if he’d stepped into a pressure cooker in some previously unknown dimension of the universe. A dimension where probability was of little import and the walls got closer the longer you stood in one place. He glanced at his phone and considered calling Susan there and then. Perhaps not being able to see the expression on her face would give him the nerve he needed to overcome her incredulity.

“Mr. Banner?”

Mike looked up to see his secretary standing in the doorway. “Sir, you have a visitor.”

“I do?”

“He’s waiting in your office.”

Mike was about to ask her who the visitor was when she cupped a hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “It’s the governor.”

Sure that she had either made a mistake, or that he was losing his mind, Mike walked into his office and found the governor standing by the window. As soon as he saw Mike he walked over and extended a hand. Mike took it hesitantly.

“Mike, I just wanted to stop by and let you know you have my full support. We independents have to stick together after all.”

“How did you—”

“Senator Mason and I go way back,” the governor said. “I think it’s a damn shame Richmond’s stepping down, but I’m glad we’ve got someone running for his seat that he’s happy to endorse.”

“Richmond is going to endorse me?”

The governor looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “You didn’t know?”

Mike shook his head.

“Well he is,” the governor said. “And you’ve got Will Mason to thank for it. He says you’re going up to see him next week.”

“He’s invited Susan and me to dinner at his ranch.”

“Well, you listen to what he has to say. Will Mason has been on the Hill longer than most, and he’s a damn fine Senator. Anyway, I better get going. You need anything, you just give my office a call, Mike.”

Mike only stood there, his face as void of expression as two dots and a line on an otherwise blank canvas.

Nampo, North Korea

Wednesday 13 June 2007

0900 KST

Rhee looked down from the window of the elevated office cubicle above the workshop floor with a genuine sense of excitement. Having lain dormant for over fourteen months, the place had suddenly come to life again.

Directly below him sat ten train carriages in miniature. Anyone unfamiliar with the finer details of Project 38 might well assume they were destined for a children’s amusement park. Each carriage was about eight yards long and three wide. Seven of the ten each contained two rows of seats facing away from each other that ran the full length of the carriage. Of the remaining three, one was clearly the locomotive, and one just a flatbed, presumably for carrying cargo of some kind. Only the final carriage had no obvious purpose. Unlike the rest, which had only four wheels each, this one had sixteen. Several welders were busy constructing a frame on top of it with a large circle in the center that protruded several feet beyond the base on both sides.

Rhee watched as one of the supervisors, a Caucasian man with short-cropped red hair, explained something to two Korean mechanics. They were standing beside a large electric motor sitting on a pallet beside the locomotive.

“They arrived this morning,” Pok said, pointing at the other crate near the main doors.

“And the batteries?” Rhee said.

“Offloaded in Dubai a week ago. According to the timetable they should arrive on the Beixiang.”

Rhee looked at the man still busy instructing the two mechanics and chuckled. “Mr. Bower looks happy to be back at work.”

Pok smiled and said, “The only thing an engineer hates more than being
forced
to work is not working at all.”

Rhee glanced at him, amused.

“I’m serious,” Pok said. “I have no doubt he’d run away if given the chance—I’m
sure
he would—but take away that option and sooner or later the urge to do something becomes hard to resist. It just takes a while.”

Rhee considered pointing out the absurdity of this logic, but the more he looked at Bower, the harder it was to deny the truth of it.

Karl Bower had been abducted outside his home in Frankfurt over two years ago and smuggled into the country onboard another Chinese ship. He had refused to cooperate for several months, holding on to the vain hope that some miracle of diplomacy would eventually see him liberated. It was only after Rhee had threatened to have his wife join him that Karl had finally accepted his fate and begun working on the plans for the little train.

“General?”

The man behind Rhee was holding out the phone to him.

“Who is it?” Rhee demanded.

“You have a call on the satellite link, sir.”

Rhee took the phone and ordered the man out. “This is Rhee.”

“General, it’s Duan. I have good news. The committee has authorized the final delivery.”

“That
is
good news,” Rhee said.

“I’ll be escorting it personally. I plan to be in position within the week.”

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements right away.”

“I take it everything else is proceeding to plan?”

“It is,” Rhee said. “Although the weapons will be of little use without the engineer you promised.”

Duan hesitated for a moment and said, “I’m working on it.”

When Rhee ended the call Pok was looking at him with a wry smile. “Did he give you a date?”

“What do you want me to do? Order him?”

“No, just impress the urgency of the situation on him.”

“Why don’t you let me deal with the personnel side of things,” Rhee said. “You have more than enough to worry about as it is.”

Phoenix, Arizona

Tuesday 12 June 2007

1730 MST

Mike left work an hour early and programmed the address Wentworth had given him into the GPS. The office was only fifteen minutes away, nestled between a coffee shop and a copy center in a small strip mall in North Mountain. Mike was instantly overtaken by the unshakable certainty that he was about to put the final nail in his marital coffin.

A young man came out to meet him. “Mr. Banner?”

“Call me Mike.”

“I’m Peter Drake,” the man said, “Mr. Wentworth sent me to get the ball rolling before the rest of the team get here. I hope you like the office.”

Mike had expected to find a largely empty office with a desk or two, and maybe a dying plant left by the previous owner. What he walked into looked more like NASA’s mission control. There were enough desks—all matching and very fancy—to seat at least twenty people. Each had a phone and a brand new large-screen Apple Mac computer on it. A narrow work surface ran all the way down both walls, above which hung at least a dozen empty poster frames. There were shelves, file cabinets, a stationery cupboard and even a large safe at one end of the room.

There was a knock at the door. They turned to see a woman in a dark grey suit looking back at them. Her hair was done up in a bun at the back and she wore a pair of thin steel-frame designer glasses.

“And here she is,” Peter said. “Beth will be your office manager. We’ve used her before. She’s one of the best in the business.”

Beth introduced herself and asked Mike what he thought of the office.

“Looks great,” Mike said.

Before the conversation could go any further, two identical white vans pulled up outside. Both drivers appeared to be in their late teens. They came to the door laughing and walked straight in, stopping only when they saw three people rather than the one they clearly expected.

“This is my brother Lewis and his friend Kevin,” Beth said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve hired them to drive.”

Introductions were made all around. When the boys left, the room settled into an awkward silence.

“Well,” Beth said, “I’ve got to get to a meeting downtown with one of the printers I’ve been looking at. I checked out the place next door but they can’t handle anywhere near the volume we need. We can use them for some stuff, you know, to get them behind us, but the flyers and posters will have to come from somewhere else.”

Beth handed Mike a set of keys and headed for the door. When she got there she turned and said, “Mr. Banner—Mike—I just wanted to tell you how excited I am to be working with you. I was a volunteer for Clinton in ’92, and I ran the local office for the Al Gore campaign. I have a really good feeling about this.”

“That’s great,” Mike said. “I’m glad you’re on board.”

When she was gone Peter sat down at one of the desks and leaned back in the chair. “Will your wife be joining us?”

“She’s busy,” Mike said. “Really busy.”

“Too busy to come and see where you’ll be sleeping most nights from now on?”

Mike put a hand to his forehead and grimaced. “Yeah, I’ll try and get her out here at some point.”

“You haven’t told her, have you?” Peter asked.

“I’ve tried,” Mike said. “It’s just that—oh, shit, I don’t know—Susan’s not great when it comes to change. She’s—”

“Mike,” Peter said, “She’s your wife. If you don’t get her onside we’re doomed.” He stood up and pointed at the door. “Come on, we’re going.”

“Where?”

“Where do you think?”

“Yeah…” Mike hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. She doesn’t even know you.”

“This is what I do,” Peter said, “Besides, it looks like you’re going to need all the help you can get.”