Origin - Season One (14 page)

1600 EDT

Mike was on his way out of the office when the assistant director caught up to him and asked him to follow her.

“What’s going on?” Mike asked.

“I wanted you to hear this from me before you figure it out yourself and do something you’ll regret.”

“Hear what?”

“Five people were killed last night in a small town in upstate Vermont. Four of them were apparently pretending to be US marshals. The fifth was a woman named Cynthia Ross.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Mike said.

“Her husband’s name is Gerald Ross. He wasn’t on the list you drew up, but I think it would have been if you’d had a little more time to dig around. He’s a retired security systems engineer. One of the best in the business.”

“And where is he?” Mike asked.

“Missing. No one has seen him since yesterday afternoon.”

Mike ran his hands through his hair and let out a long sigh. “Well, at least we know those crazy fucks haven’t wasted any time screwing things up.”

“Actually, from what I hear the White House is livid.”

“You believe that? They lie, you know. It’s what they do.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so. What I need to know from you is that you’re going to be professional about this.”

“Oh, I know the routine well enough.”

“Good. That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Mike stood. “I’m going home. I haven’t slept in two days.”

“That’s a good idea. Tell me, is Rainey going to be a problem?”

“He’s a smart kid. He’ll put this together, you can count on that.”

“Then I’m trusting you to make sure he understands the situation. Can I do that?”

“I’ll call him.”

“Good. I tell you what, take a couple of days off. Come back in on Thursday or Friday. We’ll talk then.”

“All right.”

– – –

Mike got back to his apartment just after six. The light on his answering machine indicated he had two messages. He walked into the kitchen and hit the play button on his way by.

“You have two new messages. Message one. Hey, Mike. It’s Mitch. I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re happy with my report. Give me a call when you get this. I’ll be in the office till seven. – Message two. All right, Mike. What the hell is going on? I called and left three messages yesterday, which you obviously decided to ignore and now I’m asking myself if that’s even the kind of person I want to be married to. Josh is fine, by the way, and so am I. Thanks for asking. I called the office and spoke to some woman, she gave me the usual ‘out saving the world’ bullshit and I told her to piss off. You can apologize to her, it was meant to be a message for you. She sounds really nice, by the way. Okay, well I’ve got to take Josh to baseball practice. Give me a call. I know that wasn’t covered specifically in the vows you made, but I’m pretty sure love and honor covers phone calls. – You have no more messages.”

Mike found himself smiling. Susan was the queen of sarcasm when you got her back up. And there had been no mention of the ‘D’ word, so that was good at least. He debated which call to return first and decided that saving his marriage might afford him the clarity of vision to pursue the other big thing on his mind. He made himself a cup of coffee and sat down on the floor in the hallway with his back to the wall and dialed the number from memory.

“Banner residence.”

“Hey, Suze.”

“Mike, you bastard! Where have you been?”

“Actually, I’ve been out on a case.”

“Don’t tell me, you were investigating the mysterious disappearance of every phone in New York, right?”

“Very funny. Look, I walked straight into a big case. That’s the truth.”

“You better not be bullshitting me, Mike.”

“Susan, I got home at midnight on Friday and was back downtown by noon on Saturday. It’s been non-stop since then.”

“Fine. But you still should have called.”

“You’re right, I should have. Although I did think we weren’t speaking.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“No. It’s mine.”

“You see that it’s bullshit now, right? All that crap you said about New York.”

“Yes.”

“Then say it.”

“Okay. New York is a shithole. Are you happy?”

“So we’re going to try and find a place in Nassau?”

“We’re going to try, yes.”

“You know my parents said they’d help.”

“I know. Listen, Suze, I’ve got an idea. Ask Barbara if Josh can stay at Max’s for the next couple of days and come over. I’ll find a cheap flight. We’ll have a look around together.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I didn’t mean any of that stuff I left on your machine,” Susan said.

“Sure you did. And I deserved it.”

“I really did tell that woman in your office to piss off. I’m so embarrassed now.”

“I’m sure she’ll live.”

“I do want this to work, Mike. I know Josh hates you right now, but he’ll come around.”

“He’s a good kid. He’ll be fine. Listen, Suze, I’m beat and I need to take a shower. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll arrange the weekend. What d’you say?”

“All right, darling. I’d better go upstairs and check on Josh. Max is spending the night and I’ve already caught them trying to change the content filter on the Internet connection.”

Mike laughed. “All right, darling.”

“Mike?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Suze. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

Mike checked his watch. It was half past six. He called the FBI’s central switchboard in Washington and asked for the Office of System Development. A moment later Mitch picked up the phone.

“Rainey, OSD.”

“Mitch, it’s Mike.”

“Hey, I thought you’d never call.”

“Can you talk?”

“Sure, I’m the only one here.”

“Listen, Mitch. I need to talk to you about the Fed investigation. I just spoke to the assistant director –”

“Mike, let me just stop you for a second. Before you say anything else, I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“You know you told me not to check on Jessops?”

“Yes, I was quite adamant as I recall.”

“Mike?”

“Yes, Mitch.”

“I did it anyway.”

“Ah, Mitch! What the fuck did you do?”

“I just had a little look around, that’s all. Banking records, DMV, maybe a few personal e-mails.”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“I think you do.”

“Before you say anything, is this line even secure?” Mike asked. “I mean, is this being recorded by the Bureau? They can do that now, you know.”

“Take it easy. We don’t record our own calls. And I’m monitoring it anyway. It’s called self-preservation, and I’m definitely a member of that society. If I see anything suspect, I’ll run through the ingredients to my mom’s famous meatloaf, starting in the middle. Happy?”

“No.”

“Duly noted, boss. Here it goes. Jessops and his wife have three accounts with Citigroup and another with Bank of America –”

“Mitch, Mitch, stop. I can’t listen to this.”

“Mike, just bear with me for a moment. They’re all fine. The accounts are nothing suspect. The wife’s sitting on some money, but that could be inheritance or something, it’s not a lot. But they also have a trust set up for the kids. Trusts are a pain in the ass from the IRS’s point of view because it’s almost impossible to get any information on them. And if they’re sitting offshore, it’s even harder. Unless you know what you’re doing, of course, and then it’s actually quite easy.”

“Mitch, where is this going?”

“Hold on, I’m getting to the good part. So they have a trust set up for the kids and it’s nestled offshore in the Caymans. It’s a little odd, but not unusual. Anyway, it took me a while to untangle the thing, but the long and short of it is that it holds just over two million dollars.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. And that’s not all. The bank has a cell phone contract with AT&T tied to the trust. I’ve never heard of anything like it, but it makes sense in a way. Anyway, I ran the phone records, and guess who Jessops called this morning?”

“Who?”

“Well, in addition to receiving two calls from a number in New York, he also called the CIA station chief in Vermont, who happened to be in the town of Morisson.”

“The shootings,” Mike said.

“That’s what I thought. Now get this. The name of the woman who was killed is Cynthia Ross.”

“I know, Mitch. It’s why I’m calling.”

“Then you’ll know that her husband hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon. The cops have been looking everywhere for him.”

“Yeah, I know. What’s your point?”

“He’s a retired security systems engineer, one of the best in the business.”

“Mitch, I know.”

“Fine. But what you don’t know is that the money in Jessop’s trust is arriving in monthly installments through a British biotech research company called Avalon.”

“And?”

“Avalon is owned by a fund in Zurich called the Karl Gustav Foundation. To find the connection I had to use two eggs. It just makes it so much more succulent. And dice the onions, don’t just chop them up.”

For a moment Mike had a total brain freeze and the line went silent for several seconds. Then he said, “Hold on. I’m just writing all this down. It says here I shouldn’t use tinfoil.”

“No, definitely use tinfoil!” Mitch said. “Bake it uncovered and you’ll just end up with something that looks and tastes more like a giant dog turd.”

“Listen, I really appreciate your help, Mitch. Maybe one of these days you can take a trip back up here and show me how it’s really done.”

“I’m looking forward to it already.”

“All right buddy, I’ll catch you later.”

“Night, Mike.”

When Mike put the phone down his heart was beating so fast he could feel his pulse in his ears. He looked at the receiver in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. Mitch’s change of subject had been so seamless and unexpected, he’d very nearly fucked the whole thing up for both of them.

He went into the hall and locked the front door, thought about going to the window and looking down, then considered how that would look from the outside. He hoped like hell that Mitch had just misread something on whatever he had been using to monitor the call. Or someone might have walked in on him while he was talking. But it was hard to believe after what he had just heard.

Mike tried to call Mitch on his cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Unsure what to do, he turned the TV on and spent the next ten minutes watching the NBC news feed. The shootings in Vermont were the top story. He thought about calling the assistant director and then cursed Mitch for not listening to him.

What he settled on was the bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label in the cupboard beneath the sink. He found a teacup and took the bottle into the living room, filled it to the brim and drank half of it down in one gulp. It ran down his throat like liquid fire and quickly spread to his limbs.

His nerves a little steadier, he picked up his cell phone and scrolled down to the assistant director’s number, almost hit dial, then didn’t. What the hell was he going to say? That he had uncovered evidence a member of the FBI was a paid informant? All he knew for sure was that whatever he said would most likely cost both him and Mitch their jobs. That made him think of Susan and Josh.

In the end, he did nothing. An hour later, exhausted and still no closer to figuring out what to do, he fell asleep on the couch with the TV remote in one hand and his service weapon in the other.

– – –

Half a block from the apartment building, sitting behind the wheel of a semi-retired Chevy Blazer, a local private detective by the name of Shaun Denton picked up the cellphone on the dashboard and dialed the number written on the back of his hand. “It’s Denton. He’s still inside. You want me to stay on him?”

Washington DC

Tuesday 18 July 2006

1830 EDT

Mitch put the phone down and looked around the room like a kid who’d just been caught doing the nasty, as his mother had been fond of saying. He turned back to the monitor, moved the mouse pointer over a button marked
trace intercept
and double-clicked. Row after row of numbers began to move down the screen. When it stopped, the final line read:
Intercept trace failed. Line contains multiple source values
He opened a command line interface and typed:
List all source values

When he pushed enter four lines appeared:
1: 22034-09774-09884

2: 48895-83793-83739

3: 47838-37398-39838

4: 45084-39893-30838

He typed:

Trace 1

The response read:

22034-09774-09884 – Invalid source value
He repeated the process for the second line and got the same result. When he ran the third the line that appeared said:
47838-37398-39838 – Valid source value
He typed:

Identify

The line that followed read:

47838-37396-39838 source value is classification 2 restricted
Mitch wrote down the number, closed the program and locked the terminal.

He walked out of the office and down the hall to the elevator. When it arrived he got in and pushed the button for the basement archive. By the time the doors opened again he was sweating.

The archive was little more than a large bare room with a cage wall running end-to-end in front of several hundred square yards of government-issue shelving. Mitch approached the rectangular window in the wall and leaned in.

A casually dressed young man was sitting with his feet up on a desk and his back to Mitch, bobbing his head to the music in his earphones. Mitch took a sheet from the notepad on the counter, rolled it up and threw it at him. The man jumped and turned around. “Jesus, buddy, use the buzzer. I almost shit myself.”

“Sorry,” Mitch said. “It’s my first time down here.”

“What department you with?”

“OSD.”

“That’ll be why, then. You lost?”

“No. I wanted to pull something from the archive.”