Read Online Origin - Season One by Nathaniel Dean James - Free Book Online
Authors: Nathaniel Dean James
Tags: Science-Fiction
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himself away until his back was against the bank.
“Yeah, you said that. What I need to know is, who does have it? And just so we’re clear, Mr. Ross, I won’t kill you. I’ll tear your eyes out and break every bone in your body, but you’ll still be alive and I’ll still be asking.”
Gerald believed him. Walter had been right, and coming back here had been the biggest mistake of his life. Although that wasn’t entirely true. Trusting Walter had been the biggest mistake.
“I can tell you who took it,” Gerald said.
“Go on.”
“His name is Walter Scott. He’s the one who broke into the Fed. It was his idea. His plan.”
The man studied him as if trying to decide if this was the truth or just the ramblings of a desperate man. “Some fucking friend you turned out to be. Go on. I’m listening.”
“We’re not friends,” Gerald said. “He paid me. I helped him get around the security system, that’s all.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Something to do with the CIA. He was going to blackmail them. That’s all I know.”
“Where’s your wife?” the man said.
“I don’t know.”
“There,” the man said, as if he’d just spotted something interesting to Gerald’s right.
“What?” Gerald said, looking around.
“You just started lying. Things were going so well, and then you had to go and fuck it all up by lying to me.”
The man stepped forward and reached down with his free hand. Gerald rolled to one side, scrambled to his feet, then turned and ran down the beach. Something exploded behind him. An instant later, a bright light darted past the right side of his head. It sounded like a rocket and gave off an intense wave of heat, burning the right side of his face and singeing all the hair there. Gerald screamed out in pain. A second later, the flare erupted on the beach in front of him in a blinding explosion of red.
The bank to his right receded as Gerald ran until it was only about four feet high. He stopped and began to climb. As he reached the top and pulled himself over, a hand grabbed his foot and started to pull him back down. Gerald kicked out with his free foot, connecting with something soft that gave way under his heel. The man cursed and let go. Gerald stood up and ran toward the house. When he was halfway across the yard, he saw two men come running out of the patio doors.
Gerald dodged to his right, but his foot slipped on the wet grass and he hit the ground. His shoulder joint dislodged with a muffled wet pop and a white-hot bolt of pain ran from his neck to his elbow. He got to his knees and reached across to his right pocket with his left hand, nudging the pistol out with his thumb. Then he picked it up, pulled back the hammer and put the barrel into his mouth.
They saw him and stopped. Gerald heard the man from the beach shout something to them. His voice had a nasal quality that made him sound like he had a bad cold. They stood back, unsure what to do. One of the men who had been waiting in the house took a step forward. Gerald fixed his terrified eyes on him and shook his head.
“Hey, that’s a really bad idea,” the man said. “We don’t want to hurt you, buddy. We just need to ask you a few questions.”
He sounded perfectly reasonable, almost casual.
“What do you say, pal? You put the gun down and we’ll just talk. You can keep it in your hand if you don’t trust us.”
If he hadn’t been almost paralyzed with fear and in such severe pain, Gerald might have laughed. Instead, he closed his eyes and pictured Cynthia standing on the porch of their first home with their baby son in her arms and smiling at him. It was the way he wanted to remember her. Forgive me, he thought, and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 17
Skyline Defense
New York, New York Monday 17 July 2006
2100 EDT
“Gerald Ross is dead,” Rollins said.
Jack walked to the door and locked his office. “What?”
“He’d been warned someone was looking for him.”
“How do you
“Yeah, you said that. What I need to know is, who does have it? And just so we’re clear, Mr. Ross, I won’t kill you. I’ll tear your eyes out and break every bone in your body, but you’ll still be alive and I’ll still be asking.”
Gerald believed him. Walter had been right, and coming back here had been the biggest mistake of his life. Although that wasn’t entirely true. Trusting Walter had been the biggest mistake.
“I can tell you who took it,” Gerald said.
“Go on.”
“His name is Walter Scott. He’s the one who broke into the Fed. It was his idea. His plan.”
The man studied him as if trying to decide if this was the truth or just the ramblings of a desperate man. “Some fucking friend you turned out to be. Go on. I’m listening.”
“We’re not friends,” Gerald said. “He paid me. I helped him get around the security system, that’s all.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Something to do with the CIA. He was going to blackmail them. That’s all I know.”
“Where’s your wife?” the man said.
“I don’t know.”
“There,” the man said, as if he’d just spotted something interesting to Gerald’s right.
“What?” Gerald said, looking around.
“You just started lying. Things were going so well, and then you had to go and fuck it all up by lying to me.”
The man stepped forward and reached down with his free hand. Gerald rolled to one side, scrambled to his feet, then turned and ran down the beach. Something exploded behind him. An instant later, a bright light darted past the right side of his head. It sounded like a rocket and gave off an intense wave of heat, burning the right side of his face and singeing all the hair there. Gerald screamed out in pain. A second later, the flare erupted on the beach in front of him in a blinding explosion of red.
The bank to his right receded as Gerald ran until it was only about four feet high. He stopped and began to climb. As he reached the top and pulled himself over, a hand grabbed his foot and started to pull him back down. Gerald kicked out with his free foot, connecting with something soft that gave way under his heel. The man cursed and let go. Gerald stood up and ran toward the house. When he was halfway across the yard, he saw two men come running out of the patio doors.
Gerald dodged to his right, but his foot slipped on the wet grass and he hit the ground. His shoulder joint dislodged with a muffled wet pop and a white-hot bolt of pain ran from his neck to his elbow. He got to his knees and reached across to his right pocket with his left hand, nudging the pistol out with his thumb. Then he picked it up, pulled back the hammer and put the barrel into his mouth.
They saw him and stopped. Gerald heard the man from the beach shout something to them. His voice had a nasal quality that made him sound like he had a bad cold. They stood back, unsure what to do. One of the men who had been waiting in the house took a step forward. Gerald fixed his terrified eyes on him and shook his head.
“Hey, that’s a really bad idea,” the man said. “We don’t want to hurt you, buddy. We just need to ask you a few questions.”
He sounded perfectly reasonable, almost casual.
“What do you say, pal? You put the gun down and we’ll just talk. You can keep it in your hand if you don’t trust us.”
If he hadn’t been almost paralyzed with fear and in such severe pain, Gerald might have laughed. Instead, he closed his eyes and pictured Cynthia standing on the porch of their first home with their baby son in her arms and smiling at him. It was the way he wanted to remember her. Forgive me, he thought, and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 17
Skyline Defense
New York, New York Monday 17 July 2006
2100 EDT
“Gerald Ross is dead,” Rollins said.
Jack walked to the door and locked his office. “What?”
“He’d been warned someone was looking for him.”
“How do you
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