Origin - Season Two (20 page)

“The one and only,” Peter said. “He’s a client of ours. The senator’s also a big fan of your husband’s.”

“He is?” Mike said.

When Peter announced he had to catch an early flight back to DC, Mike called him a taxi and joined him on the front lawn to wait for it.

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Mike said, “you’re one hell of a smooth operator.”

Peter frowned and said, “All bullshit aside, Mike, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think this was a good idea. I may work for Charles Wentworth, but I’m not a yes-man. You’ve got a real shot here.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mike said.

“Then I suggest you go back in there and work this thing out properly. I’ve done this a few times, so I can tell you that running an election is no walk in the park. It can destroy a marriage, Mike. I’ve seen it happen. She needs to be behind you all the way.”

“That could take some doing,” Mike said.

Mumbai, India

Thursday 14 June 2007

1130 IST

Mohindar Bhatti was a careful man at the best of times. In the wake of his encounter with Francis and Titov, and with Jasper still in his charge, he had tightened security arrangements even further. Two dozen men had been assigned to guard the house, and Mohindar was now using a small apartment on the outskirts of the city instead of his own downtown. Yet for all that, he failed to see the taxi pull out behind him, and the woman crouched down in the back seat.

Oblivious to his impending doom, Mohindar parked several blocks away and made his way on foot through the afternoon commuter traffic. Taking only a cursory look around, he ducked into the alley of the ramshackle apartment building and made his way to the back. When he heard the door open behind him, Mohindar turned and saw a frail elderly woman carrying two heavy bags full of fruit and vegetables. A Muslim like Mohindar himself, she wore a niqab, covering all but her eyes. Mohindar greeted her and offered to carry the bags to her door. She refused at first, but relented when he insisted.

When they reached her apartment on the second floor Mohindar put the bags on the floor and walked down the hall to his own door. He had just put the key in the lock when he felt a sudden jolt in his lower back. He tried to reach for the handle, but his arms had gone numb. A moment later his legs gave out too. The arms that caught him were not those of an old woman, but strong and vital. When he tried to turn his head there came another jolt, this one to the back of his neck. He saw her eyes then, not the round eyes of an Indian woman, but the narrow slits of an Oriental. He was dragged into his apartment, half conscious, and dropped onto the floor. By the time the feeling began to return to his limbs, his arms and legs were bound.

Liang removed the
niqab
, then walked to the window and signaled to someone on the street below. A minute later she opened the door to let him inside. The newcomer was unusually tall for a Chinese man. He regarded Mohindar for a moment and said something to Liang in Chinese. She nodded and turned to Mohindar.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Liang said in fluent English.

“Whoever you think I am—” Mohindar began to say.

“I’m not here to debate your identity,” Liang interrupted. “Tell me where we can find the American and you’ll be released.”

“I don’t know what—”

Liang kicked him in the rib cage, then knelt beside him and said, “Tell me where you are hiding the American.”

Mohindar grimaced and turned away. When he looked back up Liang was holding the Taser she had used on him earlier to the side of his neck.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time,” she said. “Where is the American?”

“He’s gone,” Mohindar said. “I took him to the airport this morning.”

“Wrong answer,” Liang said and touched the Taser to the side of his neck.

When she turned it on Mohindar’s whole body began to convulse wildly, as if he were having an epileptic seizure.

“Let’s try it again, shall we?” Liang said.

She was about to zap him one more time when Mohindar said, “He’s here! In Mumbai.”

“That’s much better,” Liang said. “Where exactly?”

“A house—near the Hanging Gardens.”

Liang stood up and put the Taser in her pocket. “You’re going to take us there.”

The man untied Mohindar’s legs and pulled him to his feet.

“The house is inside a guarded compound. The remote for the gate is in the top drawer.” Mohindar motioned toward the cabinet by the window.

Liang studied him for a moment, then said something to the other man. He walked to the cabinet, opened the drawer and stopped. Liang watched in frozen horror as the pin sprang from the drawer and bounced to the floor at his feet. She had just enough time to notice there were at least a dozen grenades inside before the first one exploded.

Aurora

Thursday 14 June 2007

1500 EEST

Richelle and Francis were standing at the window of the research center. From its perch on the cliff edge the building offered an unobstructed view of the Baltic Sea. In the distance, over a mile away, the Pandora was little more than a blemish on the horizon. Below them, the other member of the their small fleet, the Karl Gustav, was being unloaded on the new dock.

The tunnel completed, the research center could now be accessed directly from the facility below, a situation that offered a considerable advantage.

“You’ve got to hand it to him,” Francis said, “Erik has done a hell of a job getting this place up and running as fast as he did. How’s he getting on below?”

“He seems to think they could have it finished in nine months if we can get the materials here in time,” Richelle said. “Although Caroline is worried about the costs.”

“And you?” Francis said.

“What?”

“Are you worried about the costs?”

Richelle laughed. “I
spend
the money. Caroline is in charge of making it. And she wastes no time reminding me of that at every opportunity. Things aren’t looking good at the moment. The foundation isn’t suffering as much as most, but we’re still taking losses. Luckily our investments are spread out, but it’s going to be a problem. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about right here. Add in the recent turmoil in Asia and it makes you wonder if all of this is coming too late.”

“You don’t mean that,” Francis said.

“I don’t?” Richelle said. “Most people I speak to around here these days seem convinced the world is about to go to hell. I’d like to disagree with them, but they make a pretty strong case. Caroline says the US and European economies are in a state of structural and irreversible decline. Her words. Manufacturing, food production, energy, it’s all shrinking, she says, and within a system built on the idea that everything can carry on growing indefinitely. And the world population is growing bigger and older in equal measure. As far as she’s concerned, it’s only a matter of time before it all comes to a head.”

“And what do people propose?” Francis asked.

“You really want to know?”

“Try me.”

“Some of them think we should batten down the hatches and kiss the world goodbye. Some even think we should concentrate on finding a way to get out of here before it’s too late.”

Francis looked at her as if she’d just grown a second head. “Out of here?”

“Yeah.”

“As in…?”

“As in, save who we can and take our chances out there,” Richelle said, pointing up.

“That’s nuts.”

“Is it?” Richelle said. “Six months ago I would have agreed with you. Now I’m not so sure. I’m not saying it’s the
only
thing we should be concentrating on, but I think we’d be crazy not to consider it an option. If things begin to fall apart, we may not have the time if we’re not ready.”

“You’re actually serious.”

Richelle looked around to make sure no one was in earshot and said, “Before my father died he told Heinz that we needed to be ready for every possible eventuality. I dismissed it at the time. He lived in perpetual fear of Origin falling into the wrong hands. As it turns out, he was just being realistic. He understood that the world was growing increasingly volatile, even back then. He had always dreamt that he might actually see Origin one day, actually go there and see the ship for himself. It seemed ridiculous then, but now it looks like it might actually be possible. Both Mitch and Heinz are convinced it’s only a matter of time. So is Watkins. If it
does
turn out to be possible, we’ll have no choice but to try. And who knows what will happen then.”

Francis looked out at the sea, momentarily lost in his own thoughts. “I can’t quite believe I’m actually saying this, but I’ve started to believe that we might be able to do something with all this.”

Richelle looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“I know I’ve probably been one of the more pessimistic people around here since I arrived, but the more I see of what’s going on, and the people you’ve managed to bring together here, the more I want to believe that we might stand a chance.”

“Now this
is
intriguing,” Richelle said.

“Very funny,” Francis said. “I’m just saying that we’re in a position no one has ever been in before. The things Mitch is doing out there with…”

“Gandalf?” Richelle suggested.

“Yes. The things it can do level the playing field in ways I think many people around here don’t fully appreciate. In the wrong hands it would create a serious problem. Your father had that figured out perfectly. But it stands to reason that in the right hands it might be just what we need.”

“
Your
hands?” Richelle said.

“Maybe.”

“And what exactly would you propose we do?”

“I’m not saying I’ve thought it through, exactly. But using it to stay one step ahead would seem like a good start. Getting the right information into the right hands would also make a very big difference.”

“People like Mike Banner?” Richelle said.

“For example, yes. I know I said it was a bad idea when you proposed it.”

“As I recall, you said it was
idiotic
,” she said.

“I did,” Francis agreed. “And I meant it at the time. Between you and me, I’ve never had much of an imagination. In my defense, that was before you explained who Wentworth was. Anyway, my point is, whatever information Wentworth has access to through his contacts over there would be chump change compared to what we could provide him using—using
the system
on RP One.”

“Gandalf,” Richelle said, smiling.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to call it that. But yes. It would have to be done very carefully, obviously. Contrary to what many people might think, exposing too much corruption at one time can be self-defeating, if not outright dangerous.”

“Go on,” Richelle said. “This is truly fascinating stuff.”

“Fuck off.”

“Sorry. It’s just that you’ve been here for over a year now, and this is the first time—the
only
time—you’ve taken an interest in the bigger picture.”

“I’ve been brooding on my own misfortunes,” Francis said, smiling.

“And now you’ve seen the light?”

“Your meager people skills notwithstanding, yes, I guess you could say that.”

“My people skills?”

Francis sighed. “You’re not exactly the easiest person to approach, if you know what I mean. And I admit, I can be pretty obstinate myself sometimes.”

Richelle laughed. “And there I was, thinking you just didn’t like me very much.”

Francis was about to reply when Titov suddenly appeared, looking worried.

“What is it?” Richelle asked.

“Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Francis sighed. “Go on.”

“Mohindar is dead.”

Beijing, China

Friday 15 June 2007

0600 CST

Duan was asleep when the call came. The senior intelligence officer at the Chinese consulate in Mumbai had few details, save for the fact that Liang had been killed in an explosion on the outskirts of the city along with the officer he had assigned to her. The Indian news networks were reporting that it was a suspected gas leak, and that none of the three bodies found had been identified yet.

Cursing, he slammed the phone down and sat up. Before he could so much as organize a coherent thought the phone rang again.

“What the hell is going on?” the voice on the other end demanded.

It took Duan a moment to place it.

“I don’t know, sir,” Duan said.

“Is it true that one of the people involved was from your office?”

“Yes, sir. I believe so.”

“You’ve made no mention of an operation in India to the council.”

Duan, who had had no intention of
ever
reporting what had happened with Jasper Klein to the council, said, “I’m terribly sorry, sir. We were responding to an emergency. I had hoped to brief you once the matter was in hand.”

“What matter?”

“The man we recruited in the United States was captured when the Beixiang docked at Goa.”

“Captured? By who?”

“We don’t know, sir. That’s what we were trying to establish.”

Duan could almost see his future withering away in the long silence that followed.

“I hope—for your sake, commander—that this does not develop into an international incident.”

Duan could think of no reply to this. He considered offering his assurance that it would not, but thought that would only make things worse if it turned out to be a hollow promise.

“Commander?”

“Yes, sir. I’m on my way to the office now. I’ll have a full report ready within the hour.”

“Make sure you do.”

Duan called his driver, then dressed quickly. On his way to the office he woke up several of his staff and ordered them in right away. By the deadline they had a preliminary report on the incident intercepted by the embassy in New Delhi. Duan let out a long sigh of relief when he saw that only one of the bodies had been intact enough to identify. It was an Indian male, aged between thirty-five and forty-five.