Origin - Season One (31 page)

Jesse shook his head slowly. “Not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn’t safe there when we left. How do we know anything has changed?”

Amanda had no response to that. Jesse raised his left hand and stroked her face. She leaned her head forward and closed her eyes.

“Who do you think we were running from?” he asked. “And doesn’t it strike you as strange that no one here has even asked us where we have been?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, frowning. “You think these people are part of it?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said. “But if the police were a safe bet, why did we run when we could have just gone to the sheriff’s office?”

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?” Amanda said.

Jesse looked down at the tube running into his arm. “I can’t do anything. But you can.”

The look on her face was a mixture of shock and anger. She shook her head. “If you think I’m going to leave you here, you’ve lost your mind, Jesse Corbin.”

“We’re not safe here,” he said. “If they can find us in the middle of nowhere, don’t you think they’ll find us here?”

She stood up and turned away. When she turned back there were tears in her eyes. “Stop saying that! I don’t want to fucking hear it. I’m not going anywhere and you can’t make me.”

Before Jesse could say anything else, the police captain returned. He saw Amanda and stopped. “I’ve arrived in a bad moment. Please excuse me. But I’m afraid we must go. Your plane is waiting.”

Two more officers came into the room behind him. One was pushing a wheelchair, the other still had the backpack.

They helped Jesse out of the bed and into the chair. One of the officers pulled the IV bag off its hook, and Amanda stepped forward to take it. When they emerged from the building into the cool night air, the captain took one of his officers aside and spoke to him in guarded tones. The man nodded and walked to one of the two police cars parked next to an ambulance just outside the doors. The other officer put the backpack down and went back inside. He returned with a stack of folded sheets and walked to the back of the ambulance. The captain was talking to the paramedic by the driver’s door. They seemed to be having a heated discussion about something. The captain raised his voice and shouted something at the paramedic, who turned around and got in behind the wheel. The officer with the sheets climbed into the back of the ambulance and began stacking them in bundles on the gurney. When he had spread them evenly he took the last one, unfolded it and spread it on top of the rest. Amanda and Jesse watched this bizarre chain of events unfold with puzzled amusement.

The officer who had done the trick with the sheets jumped out and closed the back doors, then pushed Jesse’s wheelchair past the ambulance to the back door of the other police car. The captain joined them and opened it.

“We must go,” he said. “I will explain on the way.”

The two officers helped Jesse into the back of the car and Amanda climbed in next to him. The captain got in on the passenger’s side.

Once they were on the road, the captain called someone on his cell phone and spoke to them briefly in French. A few minutes later, they passed the local airport and saw what looked like a helicopter hovering above the runway. The captain looked up and said something to the driver. Amanda couldn’t understand the words but he sounded incredulous. She looked out the back window and watched as the helicopter rose into the air, then they rounded a corner and it disappeared from view.

“This is a precaution,” the captain said, turning back to look at them. “The plane taking you home is at Trois-Rivieres, about two hours down this road. The one waiting for you here is, how do you say, a decoy?”

– – –

Jesse was asleep when they arrived. A security guard waved the car through the gate and they drove past the small terminal building straight onto the runway. A white executive jet sat at the end of it. As they got closer, they could hear the engines were already turning over.

A man was standing at the top of the airstair. He wore jeans, a blue denim shirt and a cowboy hat as white, and almost as big, as the plane. He descended the steps, took a cigar from his breast pocket and lit it with a Zippo lighter, turning it in his hand and sucking to get it going. The captain got out and the two men spoke for a moment, then the captain signaled for the driver to get out. The man in the hat stepped aside and let them carry Jesse up the steps. He took the cigar out of his mouth, spat a strand of tobacco onto the ground and winked at Amanda.

“How do, ma’am?” he asked in a thick Texas drawl.

“You’re with the State Department?” she asked.

His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Hell, no!”

“Then who are you?”

“My instructions are to say that Maurice sent me. I don’t know no Maurice, but I have it on good authority that he’s the one paying the bill.”

At the sound of that name Amanda felt a weight lift from her heart. She smiled and moved a step closer. “So what are you? Some kind of mercenary?”

He laughed and took a long drag on his cigar. “I’ve been called worse, but not by anyone quite as purty as yourself. Come on, time’s a wastin’ and this thing drinks fuel like a burning oil well.”

He stubbed the cigar out on the heel of his boot and Amanda followed him up the steps.

“You got a name, Mister?” she asked.

“Name’s George. But you can just call me Captain.”

The inside of the plane was lavishly decorated in white and cream. There were several large chairs upholstered in tan leather that Amanda thought looked more comfortable than La-Z-Boys. The police captain and his deputy had helped Jesse into one of them, but the junior man was stuck holding the IV bag. Amanda took it and the police captain shooed him out.

“I should be getting back,” he said.

Amanda considered asking him who had ordered him to take them here, but didn’t. She had a sneaking suspicion this man wasn’t a collaborator at all, but someone who might very well be out of a job by the time the sun came up.

“Thank you for your help,” she said.

“Not at all. It’s my pleasure,” he said and walked back to the door. “Perhaps you put in a good word for me, yes?”

She gave him a smile and a little wave. “I will.”

“Bon voyage!”

George came out of the cockpit and pushed a button beside the door. A motor whirred and the door started closing. He looked over and saw Amanda’s predicament.

“Just a sec,” he said and disappeared back into the cockpit. He returned with two bungee cords and improvised a support for the IV bag above Jesse’s head.

“Thanks,” Jesse said. “Mandy tells me you’re one of the good guys.”

“Does she now? Well, that’s very sweet of her.” George said. “But you may want to save the ticker tape parade for the man who’s footing the bill.”

“Maurice?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, Maurice. You guys must have been in a real jam.”

“So you’re a gun for hire.” Jesse said.

“Son, I’m a pilot for hire. If you can find a gun on this plane you can shoot me with it. As a god-fearing man, I’m all for charitable deeds, but this is a thirty-five million dollar airplane and I’ve already broken the law twice getting here.”

“Jesus,” Jesse said.

“Nope. General Dynamics. But I reckon if Noah had been told to build an executive jet instead of an ark, it would have looked a lot like this one. Best damn plane I’ve ever flown. Now if you kids don’t mind, I need to get us out of here before the Canuck air guard shows up.”

They were airborne in less than five minutes. Jesse was asleep before the landing gear had retracted. Amanda found a towel in the small bathroom at the back of the plane and cleaned his face, then sat holding his hand and looking out into the darkness through the window. By the time they crossed the border into the United States she was asleep herself.

She woke to find George standing over her with a can of Coke in his hand. She looked up the aisle then down at the door of the cockpit.

“Auto-pilot,” George said, “Don’t worry, we’re in good hands”

He handed her the can. “Thought you might be thirsty. I’ve also got food if you’re hungry.”

Amanda took the can. “Where are we going?”

“Merritt Island,” George said as if that might actually mean anything to her.

“Okay. Which is?”

“It’s about a stone’s throw from Disney World.”

“We’re going to Florida?”

“That was the deal.”

“Is Maurice there?”

“Little lady, I don’t ask too many questions. I find the less I know, the better. But
someone
will be there. I ain’t about to just drop you off and leave.”

“How long will it take to get there?” she asked.

“Another three hours, give or take.”

In the seat beside her, Jesse stirred and opened his eyes.

“Hey, mister sleepyhead,” she said. “You’ll never guess where we’re going.”

Churchton, Maryland

Saturday 22 July 2006

0200 EDT

Norton Weaver put the phone down and adjusted the blanket over his legs. Beyond the trees at the back of the garden the Chesapeake Bay sparkled beneath a cloudless, moonlit sky. The porch door opened and Edith, his wife of thirty-six years, dressed only in her bathrobe, walked out with a tray in her hands. She put it down on the table beside him. “Norton, you should come inside, dear. You’ll catch a cold.”

She put a hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his own.

“I won’t be long,” he said. “Go ahead. I’ll be in in a minute.”

When she was gone he took a sip of tea and looked back down at the paper in his lap.

The message had arrived just after midnight. It was a copy of a wire from the State Department containing an initial and sketchy outline of the events in La Tuque. The missing pieces weren’t hard to fill in.

The Zimmerman brothers, two of the best operatives Norton had ever seen, were both dead. He didn’t need the camera footage from the airport to know Baruch had been the one who crashed the party and hijacked the plane. The reason didn’t require a great deal of deduction either. Although how things had gone so wrong so quickly beggared belief. The real bitch of it was, he needed them now more than ever. The loss of Princip had done little to moderate the appetite of the Whitehouse for an in-house laundry crew, willing and able to remove obstacles no one else could. And Norton had all but sold them on the idea of bringing his little side project in to meet the demand. Explaining what had happened was going to be hard enough without having to also renege on his promises.

When the phone began to ring, Norton sighed and slowly reached for the receiver.

“Weaver.”

“Sir, the plane is down.”

“Good. We need to recover the bodies before the NTSB arrives. What about the helicopter?”

“No sign of it so far. We’ll keep looking. There’s something else.”

“What?”

“The local police captain is claiming that Jesse Corbin and the Hinsdale girl weren’t on the plane.”

“What do you mean?”

“He says he received a call from the State Department asking him to take them to another airfield down the road in Three Rivers. Says he took them down there himself.”

“What fucking plane?”

“We don’t know. Air traffic control has no records of a flight to or from the area. Looks like it sneaked in under the ceiling.”

“Jesus Christ,” Weaver said. “Of all the fucking people on earth, why did it have to be the Canadians? Call whoever you need to. Just find that plane. And get someone out there to pick up the idiot who drove them down there.”

“I’m on it, boss. What do you want to do about Fielding?”

“Find him. I want to know what was taken out of that vault.”

“And Fairchild?”

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll deal with Fairchild.”

Weaver set the phone back down and saw his wife standing behind the screen door.

“Is everything okay, darling?” she asked.

“Everything’s fine. Go to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Orlando, Florida

Saturday 22 July 2006

0330 EDT

Reginald put the phone down and looked at Mike and Francis. “Bird’s in the air.”

Francis breathed a sigh of relief and patted Mike on the back. “Looks like my two heads theory is working out.”

“You mean three heads,” Mike said, looking at Reginald.

“No, I mean two,” Francis said. “It was your idea and Reginald here made it work.”

Reginald wrote something down and handed the paper to Francis along with a folded Florida state road map. “They’ll be landing at Merritt Island Airport. I’ve circled it. It’s about an hour east of here. You need to use the freight entrance and show them this at the gate.”

He handed Francis a white tag the size of a playing card. “Ask for directions to the maintenance hangar and park inside. If anyone asks what you’re doing, hand them that and say nothing. The pilot’s name is George. He’ll taxi to the hangar. The tail number is on the paper. When you’ve got the kids, hand him this.”

Reginald gave Francis a thick brown envelope.

“You know I’m good for this, right?” Francis said.

“I know. He won’t count it. Tell him Bob sends his regards then get the hell out of there.”

“Have I met George before?” Francis asked.

“No. He’s not Ivy League. Strictly homegrown.”

Francis picked up the keys from the coffee table and handed Mike the CD. “You guys may want to take a look at this while I’m gone.”

Mike took the disc and felt a shiver run up his spine. It was hard to imagine that something so seemingly innocuous could be at the center of everything that had happened. Stored on that disc was a secret that at least ten people had already died for.

They watched through the window until the car disappeared from view. Reginald walked over to the fireplace and picked up his pipe. “Your family is safe.”

“I want to believe that,” Mike said. “But Francis also seemed to think those kids were safe.”

“The kids were unprotected. Your wife and boy aren’t. I can vouch for the people taking care of them.”