Origin - Season Two (35 page)

All three men stared at Titov.

“If it’s any consolation,” Titov said. “I had no idea there was a jailbreak on the cards.”

“You can’t get out of here,” the older of the agents said.

“But
you
can,” Titov said. “You in charge?”

“I’m Special Agent in Charge Fisk, the head of station. I strongly advise you—”

“Jasper,” Titov said, ignoring Fisk. “Relieve these men of their weapons and escort the boss here to the back door.”

Jasper came around the corner holding the snub-nosed pistol in both hands. When none of them made any effort to disarm Titov pulled back the hammer on his pistol. “Last man with a gun gets a bullet in the calf.”

The security guard pulled the .38 Special from his belt holster and dropped it to the floor. The other two hesitated for a moment, then apparently decided they both liked their calves and did the same.

“Raise your pant legs,” Titov said.

Fisk had only socks around his ankles, but the other man was wearing an ankle holster.

“Looks like you lost,” Titov said, and pointed the gun down at his legs.

“Please don’t,” the man said.

When Titov made no reply the man knelt, removed the pistol and put it on the floor.

“So far so good,” Titov said. “You two, into the cell. And take your fallen friend with you. Pick anyone you like.”

The security guard and the junior agent picked up Oliver and dragged him into the closest cell.

Titov turned to Fisk and said, “Close the cells, then walk back there and unlock the door. I know it’s a knock to your pride, but it’s got to be better than getting shot.”

Fisk walked to the control panel by the desk and locked the cell door. There was no click, just a brief hum as the current engaged the magnetic lock.

“Check it,” Titov said.

Jasper did. “It’s locked.”

Titov walked Fisk to the back door and waited for him to enter the code. Fisk dully punched in six numbers, but the door didn’t open.

“I told you,” Fisk said. “You’ll never get out of—”

Before he could finish the sentence the alarm went off. Titov put his right hand around Fisk’s neck, pushed him against the door and almost lifted him off his feet, then pressed the barrel of the pistol against his temple.

“You won’t believe this,” Titov said, “but I’m actually a pretty nice guy when you get to know me. The problem is, I know things I’m willing to die to protect, which means I’m also willing to kill for them. So you decide right now how it’s going to be. If you don’t open that door I’m going to shoot every man and woman that comes running in here to find you until there’s only one bullet left. Is that a price you’re willing to pay?”

Stan, who was on the phone to Ronny when the alarm went off, listened to this ultimatum in horror and said, “Don’t kill him, man. Don’t fucking do it.”

Fisk tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. Titov let go of his neck, but didn’t drop the pistol.

“You won’t get out of here,” Fisk repeated. “Every police officer and agent in—”

“You let
me
worry about that,” Titov said, then lowered the pistol and pushed Fisk in front of the door.

This time it opened.

“Smart move,” Titov said. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

Titov brought his hands together and pressed them into the top of his chest, then brought his right elbow up in an arc that connected squarely with Fisk’s jaw. Fisk’s legs gave out and he sank to his knees. For a moment Titov thought he was going to have to follow the first shot up with a second. Fisk looked up at him, his eyes rolling, then he fell forward. Titov caught him before his face hit the ground and pushed him inside.

They were standing in a wide alley that opened onto busy streets at both ends.

“So?” Titov asked Stan, “what’s the plan now?”

“Plan?” Stan said incredulously, “there’s no plan anymore.”

“You don’t have a getaway car?” Titov said.

Before Stan could reply a car turned into the alley behind them. The driver was honking his horn and barely seemed to be in control. Titov grabbed Stan by one arm and began to run.

“Wait,” Stan shouted. “It’s alright. It’s my wife.”

Titov stopped and looked back. The car was a Buick station wagon of almost, but not quite, classical age. Every panel was a collage of fading green paint and rust. The man in the driver’s seat looked about seventy-five. He could barely see above the wheel.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Ronny shouted from the passenger door. “Get in!”

Stan ran over and squeezed in beside her and Titov and Jasper got in the back.

“In the back,” Ronny said. “Both of you climb into the back and cover yourselves with the blankets.”

They were only halfway there when the old Buick started moving. When Titov hit the floor the shocks groaned in protest and the rear bumper hit the road in a clang of sparks before rising again by only a couple of inches. Ronny reached over and ripped Stan’s mustache off his face in a single tug, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Put this on,” She said, handing her husband a sweater that looked like it was covered in vomit, shit, and a number of other unrecognizable dried fluids. By the time they reached the end of the alley and turned onto the street Jasper and Titov had covered themselves in blankets that looked a lot like the sweater Stan was wearing, and smelled just as bad.

They had travelled less than two blocks before the first police car came flying in the opposite direction. This was followed by two fire engines and an ambulance.

“You guys okay back there?” Ronny said.

“Not really,” Titov said. “But we’ll live. I hope you’re not planning to go too far. There will be roadblocks on every route out of here within half an hour.”

“Don’t worry,” Ronny said. “We’re only going a couple of miles. My friend here has agreed to put us up for a couple of days. Isn’t that right, Shooter?”

Shooter turned to her and smiled, revealing a total of three remaining teeth. The moment he took his eye off the road Ronny had to reach over and bring the Buick back across the central line.

“My wife and I’ll be glad to have you,” Shooter said, although it came out only a decibel or two below a shout.

“Well we sure do appreciate it,” Stan said.

“Come again?” Shooter said.

“I said we really
appreciate
you letting us stay,” Stan said.

“Stay?” Shooter repeated. “Stay where?”

Ronny put a hand on her husband’s leg and whispered, “He’s not all there.”

“Oh, I see,” Stan said. “Where the hell did you find him?”

“Walking around the parking lot at Walgreens,” Ronny said. “He was looking for his wife.”

“His wife?”

“Yeah.”

“So where
is
she?”

Ronny smiled and said, “I’m right here.”

It took a moment for Stan to understand. When he did he said, “So are you planning on consummating this union?”

“Just be happy he came along when he did,” Ronny replied.

Stan was beginning to worry that Shooter had also forgotten where he lived when the car finally slowed down and turned onto a dirt track that ran almost a half-mile through thick woodland before ending in front of a house that would have made any horror film set designer proud.

“You can come out now,” Ronny said.

Titov climbed out, squinting at the sunlight as he stretched his legs. Shooter, his memory loss apparently highly selective, took Ronny by the hand and led her toward the house.

“Sorry about your wife,” Titov said. “Look on the bright side, if she outlives him you’ll get this place all to yourselves.”

“Very funny,” Stan said.

“So what are you?” Titov said. “You’re clearly not with the FBI.”

“I’m an actor,” Stan said.

Titov smiled and said, “I should have known. And who put you up to this idiotic idea?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Stan said.

“I guess it did,” Titov said. “So far anyway. Was it Francis?”

“Who’s Francis?” Stan said.

“Never mind,” Titov said. “I think I know.”

“Charles Wentworth,” Stan said.

Titov nodded. “You got a phone? I’d like to give him a call if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Stan said, handing over his phone. “And tell him we’re doubling our fee.”

Nampo, North Korea

Saturday 23 June 2007

0930 KST

General Rhee was standing in front of the map in the administrative building of the Project 38 compound. It had been taken off the tables and mounted to the wall for the benefit of Pok, who was now sitting in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank strapped to one side.

“So? Pok said. “Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

Rhee picked up a pin and stuck it onto the map inside the Seoul suburb of Daehwa.

“They’ve won the contract?” Pok asked.

“They have,” Rhee nodded.

“Well thank God for that.”

“They were always going to win it,” Rhee said. “Their final bid is millions below the projected cost.”

“How long before they begin construction?”

“A month,” Rhee said. “Maybe less.”

“And how long—”

Pok stopped mid-sentence and reached for the oxygen mask. He put it over his mouth and began to breathe deeply.

“Are you okay?” Rhee said.

Pok nodded, but he didn’t look okay. His face had gone ashen. When he finally removed the mask he said, “I think I need to lie down for a bit.”

Rhee grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and steered it toward the door.

Pok had a modest little room at one end of the ground floor. It contained only a bed and a dresser covered in photographs of his late wife and two sons, both now in the army. Of the great leader there were no pictures.

Rhee helped Pok to his bed and took a seat on the chair beside it.

“You going to read me a bedtime story?” Pok snickered.

Rhee smiled. “I doubt I know any you haven’t heard.”

“Then tell me what’s troubling you,” Pok said. “And don’t say ‘nothing’. I know you too well, Seo-jun.”

“Not as well as you think,” Rhee said.

Pok looked up at him in surprise.

“We all have our demons,” Rhee reflected.

“Indeed,” Pok said, “And yours plague you, do they?”

Rhee didn’t answer the question for a long time. He sat looking at his hands, curling them into fists, then opening them again. When he spoke it was in the emotionless tone of the forgotten dead. “Do you know what happened to my mother and sister?”

Pok only shook his head, too wary of the sudden change in Rhee to say anything.

Rhee took the picture from his pocket and held it up for Pok to see. “They were both killed. Raped and shot in the back of the head. My sister was only eight.”

“The Americans are pigs,” Pok said. “Animals, every one of them.”

Rhee looked at him like a righteous preacher hearing some unimaginable blasphemy. The hatred in those eyes was enough to force Pok to reach for his oxygen mask and take a long, deep breath.

“Not Americans,” Rhee said. “Chinese. Sent to liberate us from the great Satan in the West. And here they come again, no less determined to ruin any chance we might have of freedom.”

Recognition slowly dawned in Pok’s eyes. He looked at Rhee, pleading, and said, “General, please listen to me. This is not the time for retribution. Whatever you feel you deserve, know that many more will suffer if you take matters into your own hands.”

Rhee seemed not to hear him. He stood up and adjusted the jacket of his uniform.

“General?”

“You’re tired, old man” Rhee said. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

Rhee turned to the wheelchair. He placed a hand on the valve of the oxygen bottle and slowly began to turn it off. If this bothered Pok, he didn’t show it. He only smiled sadly and said, “So you’ve made up your mind then? You wish to commit suicide.”

When it was closed Rhee kept forcing the valve until the veins were standing out on his arm.

“You flatter me,” Pok said. “Why not just shoot me? Or are you a coward as well as a lunatic?”

Ignoring the provocation, Rhee walked to the door and opened it. “Goodbye, old friend.”

Pok only lay down and closed his eyes. When it was clear he had nothing more to say, Rhee stepped out into the hall and locked the door.

Aurora

Sunday 24 June 2007

1800 EEST

Titov and Jasper arrived on the island a full forty-eight hours after their escape. Everyone agreed that all protocols would have to be suspended for the operation. Wentworth had called in every favor he could and chartered a private plane from the Roanoke-Blacksburg regional airport directly to the Baltic coast. Richelle had originally insisted they arrive by the same route that now served the research station. This was the Kärdla Airport on the island of Hiiumaa where Yoshi picked up visitors for the final leg. The idea had been vetoed by Francis, and it was decided they would arrive at the Kuressaare Airport on the neighboring island of Saaremaa to the south instead. From there they had taken a local bus to the town of Karala on the east coast, where Yoshi had picked them up shortly after midnight from a remote stretch of beach several miles away.

Only Francis and Richelle were waiting for them when they arrived. When Richelle extended an awkward hand Titov ignored it, picked her up in a bear hug and spun her around in a full circle. “You guys don’t know how good it is to be back here.”

Between the infectious good nature of the big Russian and the look of surprise on Richelle’s face Francis couldn’t help but laugh. When Titov put Richelle down and looked at him Francis said, “Careful big guy, I’m still not fit for purpose.”

“Actually…” Titov looked him over. “You look good, my friend. When I left you had less color in your face than a snowman.”

“It’s probably the berry bombs I’ve been eating,” Francis said.

“The what?”

“Never mind,” Francis chuckled. “It’s good to have you back.”

Throughout this exchange Jasper only stood there, looking both out of place and very confused.

“So,” Richelle said. “
This
is the man who almost cost us everything.”