Origin - Season One
Copyright © 2014 Nathaniel Dean James
Nathaniel Dean James is the pen name of author Jonathan Ronnquist, whose right to be identified as the author of this work under that name has been asserted by him in accordance with all relevant copyright laws.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2014 by Millennium Birdhouse Ltd.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored electronically, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities between the characters in this book and any real person, living or deceased, or other fictional characters, is purely coincidental. All references to actual persons, places and events appear strictly for the sake of general reference, and are not to be construed as accurate for any other purpose.
All rights reserved.
Kindle Edition
ISBN: 978 0 992 8446 08
Millennium Birdhouse Ltd.
Bognor Regis
West Sussex
PO22 8HN
United Kingdom
Chapter 1:
Federal Reserve Bank
Chapter 3:
Federal Reserve Bank
Chapter 4:
Federal Reserve Bank
Chapter 6:
Federal Reserve Bank
Chapter 8:
Federal Reserve Bank
Chapter 14:
Wellfleet Town Pier
Chapter 15:
Boston, Massachusetts
Chapter 16:
Ipswich Bay, Massachusetts
Chapter 19:
Interstate 91, Vermont
Chapter 23:
Sainte Eulalie, Quebec
Chapter 27:
Lake Commissaires, Quebec
Chapter 29:
Chemin des Gagnon, Quebec
Chapter 30:
Penn Hills, Pennsylvania
Chapter 33:
Interstate 91, Vermont
Chapter 34:
Concord, New Hampshire
Chapter 35:
Vermont – Quebec Border
Chapter 37:
Lake Commissaires, Quebec
Chapter 40:
Lake Commissaires, Quebec
Chapter 41:
Times Square, New York
Chapter 42:
Lake Commissaires, Quebec
Chapter 44:
Lake Commissaires, Quebec
Chapter 46:
Churchton, Maryland
Chapter 49:
Merritt Island, Florida
Chapter 50:
Somewhere in Virginia
Chapter 51:
The Pride of Mumbai
Chapter 58:
Zurich, Switzerland
Chapter 60:
Zurich, Switzerland
Chapter 62:
Zurich, Switzerland
Chapter 72:
Zurich, Switzerland
Chapter 78:
Zurich, Switzerland
Appendix A: Cast in Order of Appearance
Appendix B: Names, Places and Objects of Significance
For Nichola
The adventure you are about to embark upon is an expansive one. Like many stories born of humble beginnings and modest ambition, this one has since taken on a life of its own, a life that can no longer be said to rest entirely in the hands of the author, if I am honest. My best guess is that by the time all is said and done, it may well reach ten volumes, and possibly more. While this is good news for those who, like myself, savor the prospect of a journey into the realms of infinite possibility, it also presents a number of challenges that we would do well to overcome here at the outset. I am referring primarily to the cast, which, by necessity, is a large one. Many of the people you will meet in this first volume will be with us for the long haul, while others are incidental to the particular events in question. To assist you in this regard I have included two appendixes at the end of the book.
The first is a list of characters in order of appearance and a short description of each. My only advice to those using it would be not to stray near those you have yet to encounter as this may reveal details best left to their rightful moment. The second is a list of objects and places vital to the story should one or more of these escape you as we go forward.
Federal Reserve Bank
New York, New York
Friday 14 July 2006
1600 EDT
Gert Dekker wiped the sweat from his brow with the palm of his hand and took another step toward the curb. The nervous tic in his right eye gave him the odd appearance of a man staring at a flashing disco ball. His attention was fixed on the intersection of Nassau and Liberty Street, where the motley parade of afternoon traffic continued to inch forward under the pitiless sun of a Manhattan summer. Now slowly suffocating inside his wool suit, he had resolved to turn and go back inside when he saw the car.
It was hard to miss.
Unlike most embassies in post 9/11 New York, some still thought it was a good idea to fly the national flag on their cars. The white S-Class Mercedes pulled to a stop at the curb, and a young man in a chauffeur’s uniform got out to open the door for his passenger.
The man who emerged from the car was blacker than the history of Europe and towered a full eight inches above Dekker. He wore a navy suit and a white shirt with a blood-red tie. His hair was cropped in a flattop that made him look more like an action figure than a diplomat.
“Mr. Ambassador, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Dekker said.
The ambassador flashed him a shark’s grin, but ignored Dekker’s outstretched hand. He stepped aside to let his assistant out, a thin, bespectacled man carrying a dark brown alligator-skin briefcase.
“Right this way, Ambassador,” Dekker said.
Two guards joined them inside the lobby and Dekker led the small procession toward a row of polished brass elevator doors at the end of the hall. One of the guards took a key-card from his breast pocket and inserted it into the slot below the buttons on the panel. A moment later the radio on his hip squawked. “You’re clear for Sub Two.”
“Gentlemen,” Dekker said, “I’ll have to ask you to wait here until we’ve opened the vault. I’ll be back to escort you down as soon as we’re ready.”
The ambassador clearly didn’t like the idea of waiting but voiced no protest.
The sub-level antechamber was a narrow room about twenty feet wide. Four marble pillars ran up the corners to a domed ceiling decorated in a series of murals of Greek or Roman origin. It gave the room the eerie feel of a mausoleum. In contrast, the vault doors were modern. Not the round steel doors you might expect to find in one of the oldest banks in the country, but square and made of brushed titanium. The seam between the frame and the doors was barely a millimeter wide, and there were no visible hinges.
Dekker removed a chain from his neck and inserted a small toothless key into the panel beside the door.
“Allied Bishop Control, go ahead.”
“Vice President Gert Dekker. I need access to 2-A, please,” Dekker said.
“Please scan in, sir.”
Dekker placed his thumb onto the small rectangle next to the screen.
“Thank you, Mr. Dekker.”
Somewhere inside the wall an electric motor began to turn, and the entire door moved out of its frame as if levitating. It extended about a foot, then began to rise, revealing two large hydraulic arms that pushed the heavy door up from the inside.
As both men watched the door rise the indifference on their faces gave way to a look of stupid incomprehension. They leaned forward like a well-practiced double act, then straightened again as the door ascended to eye level and finally came to a stop several inches above the opening.
Dekker walked toward the open door the way a man might approach a sleeping creature of unknown temperament. He glanced back at the guard. “Get the chairman down here.”
When the guard didn’t move, Dekker shouted, “Do it. Now! And get rid of the ambassador.”
The guard ran back to the elevator. Dekker stepped into the vault, his eyes still fixed on the wall. Something toppled over beneath his foot and rolled across the room. Dekker’s eyes followed it. It hit the far wall with a soft clang, and he saw it was a spray can. Several feet above it, written in two rows of large clumsy red letters were the words:
SED QUIS CUSTODIET IPSOS CUSTODES
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