Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  HARBINGER

  BY

  OLAN THORENSEN

  Copyright 2020

  All rights reserved

  This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people and places is coincidental.

  BOOKS BY OLAN THORENSEN

  Destiny’s Crucible

  Yozef Kolsko Thread

  Cast Under and Alien Sun

  The Pen and the Sword

  Heavier Than a Mountain

  Forged in Fire

  Tales of Anyar (anthology)

  Passages

  Other Threads

  An Ancient Enemy (novella)

  Paladins of Distant Suns

  A Tangled Road to Justice

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  INTERSECTING TRAJECTORIES

  REALITIES

  NEXT PHASE

  ZACH MARJEK

  ANDREW JEFFERSON

  CALIFORNIA LAST DAYS

  JILL HARDESTY

  TRANSPORT

  LANDS OF ICE AND STONE

  SITE 23

  FIRST DAY IN NEVERLAND

  THE OBJECT

  DISCOVERY

  COMMUNICATIONS

  SUSPICIONS

  ROLES

  DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

  SETTLING IN

  PASSING THE BUCK

  VR

  WHO IS INTERVIEWING WHOM?

  LANGUAGES AND FOSSILS

  P VERSUS NP

  ZOMBIE SCENARIOS

  ALIEN SCENARIOS

  SECRETS

  A CONFLUENCE OF CLUES

  A DAY UNDER THE MIDNIGHT SUN

  MARJEK AND JEFFERSON

  BOBBY AND SIMEON

  OBSERVED

  LONG, LONG AGO AND NOT FAR AWAY

  EVERYONE LIKES A HAPPY GENERAL

  FATEFUL CALCULATION

  DEATH AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD

  THE COMING NIGHT

  CONVERGENCE

  IMPROBABLE OR NOT

  ALERT

  HERE THEY COME

  FOR YOUR LIVES

  SURVIVORS

  LOSSES

  PURSUIT

  AFTERMATH

  AFTERMATH - 2

  PRESIDENT AND PRIME MINISTER

  CHANGES

  FANDARC

  THIRTY MONTHS LATER

  THE CALL

  Harbinger (Merriam-Webster):

  A: Something that foreshadows a future event: something that gives an anticipatory sign of what is to come.

  B: One that initiates a major change: a person or thing that originates or helps open up a new activity, method, or technology.

  CHARACTERS

  New Arrivals to Site 23

  Federal Agents

  Zach Marjek

  Willie Larsen

  Virtual-Reality, Inc.

  Ralph Markakis

  Harold Nieze

  Jason Cain

  Involuntary

  Jill and Bobby Hardesty

  Site 23, Level 1

  Richard Lindskold – Manager

  Bre Huttleston – Assistant Manager

  Logan Porter – Federal Agent

  Harry Houdin (Houdini) – Fed. Agent

  Emily Wilderman – Doctor

  Juliet Smythe – Nurse

  Marylou Stebbins – Dentist

  Kathy Zerlang – Cook

  Sally Ingersoll – Cook

  Ed Scofield – Head Meteorologist

  Luc Moulard – Nuclear Engineer

  Chris Ellard – Nuclear Engineer

  Eddie Wilcox – Radar

  Bjorn Nylander – Anthropology

  Nontechnical Military Staff

  General Lionel (Leo) Sinclair

  Major Andrew Jefferson

  Sergeant Timothy (Whitey) Kolzlowski

  Level 2

  Eyvan Korski – Russia

  Ying (Helen) Lin – China

  Sandra Chu – IT

  Jeremy Wingate – Canadian Agent

  Level 3

  Wilbur Huxler – Counselor

  Howard Mueller – Physics

  Charles Adams – Physics

  Klaus Christiansen – Physics

  Jeff Rotham – Linguistics

  Chunhua Ciminoni – Comp. Languages

  Rachel Munoz – Linguistics

  Elizabeth Wilkens – Biology

  Freddie Hoyle – Mathematics

  Zooty Wilson – IT

  Carolyn Graham – IT

  Washington, D.C.

  President James Chesterton

  General Justin Hardesty

  Temporary

  Lieutenant Ramon Montero

  Sergeant Casey Shalton

  Sergeant Saul Shipley

  Sergeant Marquis Harris

  Sergeant Brian Schmidt

  Eskimo

  Amaruq – Inuit

  Tuipilaq – Yupik

  Chinese

  Lieutenant General Youxia Zhang

  Major General Caiwen Song

  Colonel Kwan Chan

  Major Jun Peng

  PROLOGUE

  The Object waited. Plant life cycled around it, but not too close. The planet endlessly circled its sun, which in turn kept its place in the galaxy’s rotation. Glaciers came and went. Forests grew and disappeared. The Object watched animal life walk, crawl, slither, and fly. Their forms slowly changed, some lines disappearing, others enduring, new ones emerging. It waited and watched for evolution to produce curiosity, self-awareness, and more complex problem solving. Early in its vigil, a small creature with grasping appendages foreshadowed why the Object waited. Although it witnessed only the surroundings of where it rested, it knew its patience would eventually be rewarded. Finally, a creature approached wearing coverings not of its own body and carrying fashioned implements to extend its capabilities—signs of technology but still not sufficient to trigger the next level of the Object’s awareness. It waited until a being approached that passed a required threshold. Long dormant capabilities wakened. The Object reached out and waited for a response. Then, when first probed with artificial means, it reached out again, but this time it shouted, and the Object’s full potential awoke.

  CHAPTER 1

  INTERSECTING TRAJECTORIES

  Many life paths: distinct, unconnected, each person oblivious to what was to unfold.

  Greenbelt, Maryland, Pine Valley Apartments, #231

  Zach Marjek woke with a start and sat upright, eyes darting in all directions, looking for a nonexistent threat. He wasn’t in the Baba Mountains, a western extension of the Hindu Kush between Kabul and the Iranian border. Instead, he was in his bedroom, far from that land of endless war. He sighed as he looked at the digital clock: 1:37 a.m.

  “Well, almost three hours,” he said and threw off the remaining covers. The room was cool, but his skin glistened with sweat. The dreams came often enough for him to know he hadn’t left behind his time as a CIA contractor. It was often the same dream. His last mission.

  He shook his head as if to shake off unpleasant thoughts. It was a too common routine. He would shower and shave for the coming workday, grab a quick bite of whatever was available in the kitchenette, then lie back down for a couple of hours of sleep. He padded naked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water warmed, he quickly shaved the brown stubble, not looking too deeply at the face in the mirror. He didn’t realize it, but it was an involuntary tactic to avoid memories. At least, the dreaming this night wasn’t as vivid as some.

  Washington, D.C., Fort Totten Ward, Springhill Apartments, #179

  Jill Hardesty woke four minutes after Marjek but not from dreaming. She thought she heard Bobby cry out. Pushing aside blonde locks, she slipped f
rom under the covers and crept to his room. His two-year-old form lay sprawled, head facing the opposite direction from when she’d tucked him in after reading a story and singing a lullaby. He murmured something unintelligible and twitched. She assumed he was dreaming. He sometimes vocalized enough to worry her, but a pediatrician assured her it was a perfectly normal phase.

  She draped his favorite blanket over his body and went back to her bed. Satisfied he was all right, she dropped back to sleep within moments. She would get a full night’s sleep for work the next morning. Then she would join a “pack,” of commuters on the Metro line. It was an easy job. She liked the people at work, most customers were pleasant, and it was more interesting than anticipated to be so near the corridors of power, even though she was not a participant.

  Santa Clara, California, Riverview Apartments, #314

  Captain Andrew Jefferson had been asleep for twenty minutes and would sleep soundly until the alarm woke him eight hours later. He seldom experienced disturbing dreams, an exception being during his first month at West Point when he feared he wouldn’t fit in or be able to handle the enforced regimentation and discipline. His accepting the appointment had not been without doubts. He knew he would not be the only black cadet in the Corps and that black Americans had been past cadet leaders and a three-star general served as superintendent. Andrew’s worries faded by the end of the second month, accompanied by the conviction he had found what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

  After graduation, his career took customary tracks until a year ago when he was given his current assignment as Pentagon liaison to a hi-tech project. Why the army chose him remained unexplained, and he could not shake his concern that the interruption to his expected career path might have permanent consequences for rank advancement.

  Nevertheless, it was his assignment and, he admitted, an assignment more interesting than anticipated. Tomorrow would be taxing. For that reason, he needed a full night’s sleep. The next morning, he would engage in exhausting hours of action that would keep his nerves on edge and adrenaline pumping. He expected to feel drained when it ended, even though he would have moved fewer than two feet.

  Ellesmere Island, Queen Elizabeth Islands, Northern Canada, 720 miles north of the Arctic Circle

  Alpha moved in a four-legged lope down the hill, leading the pack. The wolves fanned out quickly to surround the musk ox herd. It had formed a defensive circle as soon as the oxen saw the wolves. The wolf leader took his turn rushing the herd, picking out a not-quite-full-grown male to see if its inexperience could be exploited. Backed by massive shoulder and neck muscles, the wicked points of the animals’ horns were deadly.

  Sleet fell heavily as the wind picked up. A few weeks ago, it would have been snow. But now the temperature was hovering at the freezing point, and sleet fell in sheets. Worse than snow, sleet penetrated the coats of both wolf and musk ox.

  Then, in the twilight, cold, and sleet, Alpha’s son stopped, turned north, and focused his ears. The rest of the pack copied the son—all eight wolves stiff-legged, heads facing the same direction. A low rumble slowly approached. They recognized the rock creatures and the others who rode in and on the noisy beings. They were dangerous, even more than the occasional white bear wandering from the island’s eastern shore.

  With a firm growl, Alpha took command of the pack, and they gave up the hunt despite their hunger. Back up the long slope they retreated. Back to the den, hungry pups, and gnawing bellies. They would hunt another day.

  The snowcat ride was relatively smooth this time of year. The treads moved easily over the snow, the sleet having formed an icy crust. It was different over this part of the trip once the snow melted. Then the ride was one jolt after another, as snowcat treads bounced over and through scattered rubble. However, when the weather was warmer, they could open the windows to feel fresh air, brisk even in mid-summer. Sinclair once read that the far Canadian Arctic had the purest air in the world because so few humans lived within a thousand miles, and no industry contributed noise and pollution.

  “Look, General! Over there to the left,” exclaimed Whitey, the snowcat driver. “A herd of them musk ox! Must be twenty-five or thirty of ’em. I haven’t been this close to any of ’em since last year. Usually, there’s only maybe ten or fifteen in a group.”

  “They gather into bigger groups in the winter,” Sinclair said. “That way, they can protect each other better from the wolves. In summer, the wolves eat mainly arctic hares, lemmings, and voles—you’ve seen how these valleys teem with them when the vegetation peaks. But when the real winter comes, the wolves’ main food is musk ox and caribou.”

  “Wow, General, check out the big Kahuna lookin’ us over! He must be the honcho for that herd. Christ! I bet he goes six or seven hundred pounds.”

  “More like eight hundred.”

  “You don’t want to mess with him,” said Whitey. “As clumsy as they look, I hear they can run damn fast.”

  “Appears like they may have had some company,” the general said quietly. “Look at the tracks surrounding the herd.”

  Whitey slowed his snowcat to a crawl so he could lean out the side window. “Wolves,” Whitey whistled in appreciation. “Yuh know, I bet we scared ’em off. Too bad for the wolves, but good for the ox.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be back. This time of the year they must be getting pretty hungry. I don’t think I’ve seen wolves more than two, maybe three times in the two years I’ve been up here. Last time was just about dusk six months ago. We caught a glimpse of a whole pack in the distance. I understand they’re seen more often farther north.”

  Whitey pushed the throttle forward, and the snowcat moved back to its normal 20 mph winter pace. In summer, they would be doing good to make 10 miles an hour, while threatening passengers’ spinal columns.

  Magadan, Kolyma Region, Russia

  Tuipilaq stood over the bodies of two Russian guards. When he had pantomimed the need to piss, the guards, not wanting him to soil their vehicle, pulled over and removed the chain fastening his feet to the floor. It had been a fatal mistake. Even shackled, hands and feet, he’d ended their lives before unlocking the restraints and urinating on their bodies.

  He looked in both directions. The road ran north from the Sea of Okhotsk port of Magadan to the airport twenty-five kilometers away. No other vehicles were within sight or hearing. He needed to move. He was the only Yupik Eskimo within two thousand kilometers, and they would anticipate him trying to return home to the Chukotka Peninsula. No . . . he would not do what they expected.

  Hunan Island, People’s Republic of China

  Captain Jun Peng excoriated his four platoon leaders, berating their men’s performance during the day’s exercise—an air and sea attack on an enemy’s intelligence facility. In fact, he thought his company was better than most and the men superior. Nevertheless, he wanted them to be the best company in the People’s Republic Marines.

  They would repeat the same exercise the next day, and he would grudgingly admit an improvement—assuming they performed no worse than this day. Then there would be a day of rest before they moved to a different scenario set up near a secure base on the coast of southern China. He did not know who designed the training, but he jokingly told his father that if aliens from another planet ever kidnapped the president, his company would already have trained in that specific rescue scenario.

  White House Oval Office, Washington, D.C.

  The president of the United States shook hands and thanked the two senators invited to meet with him after the Los Angeles fundraiser. He needed every opportunity to lobby support for his infrastructure initiative. He smiled warmly, touched each senator on the shoulder, and watched the door close before cursing.

  “Jesus. How many times will I have to stroke the egos of these jackasses?”

  “As many times as necessary, Mr. President,” said his chief of staff. “You knew it was going to be a big part of getting anything done.”

  “Yea
h, but the same nonsense over and over? Christ. I don’t wish for a war or anything, but I feel as if all I do is spend time like this evening—raising money, soothing egos, and glad-handing. I hope it’s not all going to be like this. I’d occasionally like to be engaged in something a little more interesting.”

  He would come to feel nostalgia for such evenings.

  CHAPTER 2

  REALITIES

  Although the driving rain stopped for the moment, the wind still roared in the overhead canopy hundreds of feet above. On the forest floor, the wind was more subdued, but the foliage moved uneasily.

  For reasons unknown, he had the urge to tell someone, “It was a dark and stormy night.” He forced down a giggle. There was no one else.

  Why am I thinking that? Dimitar wondered.

  He paused, momentarily confused. The words seemed out of place, inane. It nagged at him . . . as if he needed to be somewhere else very different. Never mind. He would think about it later.

  He slowly turned his head, focusing to extend his senses. A sound that stood out from the rustling leaves and branches came and went—like cloth sliding over cloth—or, in this case, Dimitar thought, like an animal’s hide brushing against plants. Was it the target? Again the sound. He slowly swiveled his head to the right, unconsciously tensing the muscles around his ears, willing them to be more sensitive. Suddenly—

  Yes. There. Again. The same faint swishing to his right, that or his imagination straining, longing to tell him he was the predator and not the prey. The Bulgarian’s ears focused on any sensation, any whisper. Yes, again. The target must be just inside the dark mass of foliage alongside the narrow path.