The seated officer was about middle fifties with short, military-cut grizzled hair, direct but squinting eyes that radiated competence, and just a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. On the desk in front of him sat a folder three or four inches thick. Zach had seen the same folder before. It was hard not to recognize, especially with a partial coffee cup stain on the cover and several sheets of fading paper sticking out from the other contents.
My CIA personnel folder? I thought those were restricted access and never out of the agency’s hands. And I thought I’d heard they’d switched to digital.
“Zach Marjek,” the man said in a tone of voice making a statement, not a question.
Zach was tempted to say, What a coincidence, my name is Zach Marjek, too. However, some instinct told him not to be too cheeky with this guy until he knew more about what was going on.
“Yes, I’m Marjek.”
“I’m Sinclair. Please have a seat.” The man seemed pleasant, but Zach was experienced enough not to be fooled. It was more like an amiable request from someone you should not fuck with.
Since he spied only one empty chair in the room, Zach deduced the general wanted him to sit in the folding chair and not on the floor or in his lap. Zach took the seat and waited. The general opened the folder and quickly scanned the top sheets as if he were merely refreshing his memory. He ignored Zach while he flipped the pages. Zach knew the value of patience and waited until Sinclair was ready.
Finally, Sinclair looked up at Zach and said, “I am Major General Lionel Sinclair. Here’s identification.” He laid an open ID flap on the table facing Zach. Zach looked at the photo and ID information without actually seeing it.
The general waited for Zach to finish. Zach looked up after a time that seemed appropriate for a thorough inspection of Sinclair’s ID. He pulled out his own identification and laid it next to Sinclair’s. Sinclair glanced at it as perfunctorily as Zach had his, did something that suggested a little smile again, and focused again on the open folder.
“Zachary Marjek. Goes by Zach. Often uses the last name Marks. Six years service U.S. Army. Staff sergeant. Two tours in Afghanistan with the 82nd Airborne. Several commendations. At the end of a second tour in Afghanistan, was recruited by the CIA, released from formal military service, underwent intensive six-month course at various CIA training facilities followed by ten years of service with the agency. Several more commendations, most of which fall under the CIA’s covert operations protocols, meaning never to be made public. Special commendation and supervisor acknowledgments for operation in southern Ethiopia.”
The mention of Ethiopia forced Zach to interrupt, “But that’s supposed to be a highly classified piece of information, and I can’t continue talking with you about it unless I know you have the appropriate security clearance. And a need to know.”
The general glanced up at Zach and said, “For all practical purposes, there is no upper limit to my security clearance.” He turned back to the folder. “Doesn’t matter though. Details of that operation are of no immediate interest.”
Zach could feel the small hairs on his back rise. Whatever was going on, his instincts told him it was about to move from the “this is curious” category into a “this must be some serious shit.”
The general continued. “Bright. Tends to project a devil-may-care attitude that obscures a keen analytical mind and an intuitive sense of situations and interconnections. With a different personality, might be expected to rise high in the CIA analysis division. Not likely to happen due to manner, which tends to be insubordinate and impatient with incompetence. One of the best field operatives in the agency. Known to interact well with subordinates and indigenous personnel during field operations. In appropriate situations would be considered extremely dangerous to opponents, highly trustworthy in carrying out mission objectives, assuming he understands and agrees with the objectives, and not likely to be subject to personal manipulation.”
The general closed the folder, pushed it aside, and raised his head to look straight at Zach. “Mr. Marjek. I see that the operation directorate in the CIA thinks highly of your capabilities. However, their attempt to hide you in Homeland Security while a certain political appointee forgets about you has not proved successful. Unbeknownst to you, Homeland Security is about to forward a negative report on your competence and conduct back to the CIA. Under normal circumstances, this report would come to the attention of that certain person whom we need not name.
“Fortunately for you, I intercepted this report, and there is an opportunity to assign you to yet another project that would keep you out of the sight of your ‘friend’ in the CIA for at least a year, possibly two. By this time, any problems you had would be forgotten enough that, should you desire, you could be re-integrated back into the agency.
“This particular project is headed by myself. What it is exactly will have to be explained later. At this moment, all you need to know is it will entail an assignment to a remote site outside of the United States. You will report directly to me and a second man you will shortly meet if you agree to this assignment. The remote site will include both military and civilian personnel. It has a very high classification, arguably a higher level than any previous operation you’ve participated in. Your overt role at this site will be as a safety officer supervising aspects of the site operations. It will be a not-so-hidden secret that you also function in some capacity as security. That is so most of the people on site, who will number somewhere around a hundred, will believe they understand your role and will not be aware of even higher classified duties.”
The general paused. “Do you have any questions at this point?”
Well, shit no, Zach thought. Why should I have any questions?
“When you say remote, how remote is remote?”
“For the moment, let’s just say that anything personal you want to take with you had better fit into a couple of bags and that you shouldn’t expect access to stores for the foreseeable future. Once on site, everything else you need will be provided.”
“How soon would this assignment begin?”
“As soon as you say yes.”
Zach sat back a little farther in his chair. “I assume this is a highly classified situation intended to be kept as far from normal channels as possible. Also, given my background, the possibility of hostile activity is high. I also infer that in a worst-case scenario, there would be little opportunity for backup.”
The smile flickered again on the general’s face. “Your analysis is basically correct, with one exception. I will tell you that any hostile action is an extremely low probability, but, as you’re aware, the level of caution with any operation is a function of both the importance of the operation and the likelihood of unforeseen events. Should the unlikely happen, the security of the operation and the prevention of exposure, either to the U.S. public or any other party, overrides all other considerations.”
Sinclair’s statement was another red flag, this one big enough to cover a football field. When mission objectives overrode all other considerations, the implication was that lives were secondary. “Hold to the last man” was one version tossed about in movies, but intuition told Zach this was not an officer who casually dredged up such phrases.
“When would I find out more details about the operation?”
Sinclair sat back in his chair. “Once you agree to accept the assignment and fill out both the normal security forms you’ve seen many times before and some you haven’t, you’ll meet again with me and the military second in command of the operation. At that point, you’ll find out a few more details. However, full disclosure of the scope of the operation will await your arriving at the site.”
“How long do I have to decide?” Zach said.
“You have sixty seconds.” With that comment, the general pulled back his coat sleeve and started looking at his watch.
Well, Christ, Zach thought. This guy doesn’t fuck around, does he? But then again, do I really have a
whole lot of choice? If what he says is true about the report the Homeland Security dickhead was sending back to the CIA, I’m screwed. Even if Sinclair somehow diverted the report, it’s liable to reappear.
And Zach was curious about the assignment. Uncertainty about his interest in ever returning to fieldwork had built over the last months. Maybe this was a way to shake himself loose from Homeland Security, stay out of sight a little longer, and give himself more time to think about the rest of his life.
“Okay, General Sinclair, I’m your man. What’s next?”
“Be back here at three o’clock. The second in command of the operation will join us, and we’ll go over some immediate details.”
The general rose, leaned across the desk, and held out his hand. “Welcome to the project, and I hope it will be an action-free experience for someone of your background. However, I can assure you that it will hold your interest.”
Zach shook the firm grip, nodded, and left.
He walked down the endless halls—they actually were endless because they looped completely around the five-sided Pentagon’s shape. Zach pondered his meeting with Sinclair. It wasn’t that he was unused to assignments where he initially knew little, if anything, of the ultimate objectives, but somehow he sensed there were deep waters here. A man could drown in such waters.
He glanced at his watch—1:33 p.m.? Somehow the meeting with Sinclair had lasted less than thirty minutes, but by its impact he felt as if it had been several hours.
Zach made an effort to spend at least a little time in the museums around the Mall whenever he got to D.C., but there was no time today—maybe later after the follow-up meeting. For now, he picked up a sandwich and water from a Pentagon café in the basement, walked toward the Potomac River, and found a bench facing Columbia Island across the lagoon from the river. He ate, pushed his thoughts away from what he didn’t know, enjoyed the spring sun, and watched people seeking respite from whatever they did inside the Pentagon.
CHAPTER 5
ANDREW JEFFERSON
Washington, D.C.
On the last day of his former life, Andrew Jefferson took time to reflect on the previous eventful week. The day after emailing his encrypted reports from VR Inc., he received a reply: an order to begin wrapping up his personal affairs in Santa Clara, make plans for moving the VR systems, and consider how he would convince the three critical staff members to make the move—all without divulging any such intentions—and fly to D.C. for a meeting with Sinclair. The company had arranged the travel—which had the advantage that it seldom flinched at paying higher rates to secure last-minute seating on preferred flights. Were it not for federal restrictions, the company would have put him in first class. However, some bureaucrat, somewhere, sometime, had ruled that even if a non-federal entity paid, federal employees must travel by the cheapest seats available. Bean counters lived for such decisions.
At least, the company booked him into Reagan National Airport, instead of Dulles, so that getting to a hotel near the Pentagon took fewer than ten minutes, instead of forty. Even so, it had been nearly 2 a.m. the previous day when he got to sleep. Fortunately, he possessed the soldier’s ability to sleep wherever and whenever time opportuned. With a noon meeting, he had slept until 9:45 a.m.—to be woken by room service knocking at the door. He had set the alarm for 10 a.m. just in case. Then the ritual three S’s, shit, shower, and shave, followed by a late breakfast and review of his report and a thirty-minute walk to the Pentagon.
Andrew had been in the building several times and had met with Sinclair once before when he was first assigned to the virtual reality project in California. He had no trouble finding his way to the small bare office where he had first met Sinclair. The room remained exactly the same as before, a small first room, probably designed for a secretary or an aide, leading to a slightly larger room—both bare, except for minimal furniture.
As Andrew entered the outer door, Sinclair’s voice echoed from the farther room. “Come on in, Captain.”
Andrew strode into the room, came to attention in front of a desk, and delivered a picture-perfect salute. Although saluting was typically not carried out indoors, custom required it when formally reporting to a superior. Andrew figured today fell under that category. To Andrew’s surprise, the general not only returned his salute smartly but came to his feet first. From Andrew’s experience, most superior officers would remain seated and give a perfunctory return salute.
Score one for Sinclair, Andrew thought.
“At ease and take a seat,” said Sinclair as he scanned what was obviously a copy of Andrew’s report—liberally marked up in blue ink. “Good report. To the point, well organized, and no extraneous information. Well . . . no more than the minimal bureaucratic bullshit.”
Sinclair sat back, closed the folder, and looked at Andrew. “We’ll go over it in some detail later, but give me your summary report again. Is the system stable enough to be deployed in a remote location? Not that it’s perfectly finished, but do you confirm it can begin to be used and modified under field conditions?”
“Sir, without knowing exactly what field conditions entail, I can only say that given sufficient technical support and the same informatics equipment used at VR Inc., then it is functional. As with any such system, bugs will continue to arise as it is used. I would assume that once whatever application it’s intended for is brought into play, it will require modifications of the system.”
“So,” said Sinclair, “if we can move the computer system in its entirety to another location, it is supported by a capable informatics electronic staff, and the core personnel involved in its development accompany the system, then you believe we are ready to move into another phase?”
“Yes, sir,” responded Andrew, “that is my conclusion.”
“Good,” said Sinclair. “I concur and passed the conclusion up the line.”
Sinclair didn’t share the identities of the figures above himself. As curious as Andrew was, there was no way to ask.
Sinclair paused as if gathering his thoughts. “We pulled you from your company command about six months early for this special assignment. I appreciate both your willingness to take this on and the way you performed doing it. Naturally, as is protocol within the military, reward for doing a tough job is to get one tougher. Or perhaps in this case, a next assignment that’s not the one hoped for. To start off, paperwork will be coming through, but I can tell you as of the first of next month, you will be Major Jefferson.”
Andrew felt a surge of elation at the news. The step from captain to major marked a significant milestone because it signaled moving into a staff training position and the potential for attending the Army Command and Staff College in Fort Leavenworth Kansas, as required training for even higher ranks. But the pleasure of the promotion was quickly tempered when he noted that Sinclair referenced more news to come.
“Thank you, sir,” Andrew responded with a dubious tone. “And just what is my next assignment?”
“Not what you’re hoping, Major,” said Sinclair. “And yes, I’ll be referring to you as a major, even though the details aren’t finalized. Normally, this promotion would move you into a battalion staff position to support the commander, and you would train to eventually be a battalion commander yourself. This entails a shot at the college. Those are still in the hopper for you, but it’s going to be put off for at least a year.”
Andrew hid his disappointment. Delay in moving through the military’s defined steps in grade often led to permanent derailment from future promotion. Andrew considered his last six months with this strange virtual reality project as sidelining his career. To add a year or more could result in severe and permanent consequences for advancement.
“Excuse me, sir, but I’m sure you appreciate I have reservations.”
Sinclair nodded. “I certainly understand your concern, Major, and in your situation I would feel exactly the same.” Sinclair paused. “What is your goal in the army, Major? Yes, I know it’s
a career and you’re looking to advance as far as possible, but let’s move past that. What do you hope to accomplish in your career? Not what looks good on some mission statement or to parrot back at some superior, but what accomplishments do YOU want to look back on in thirty or forty years? What makes this career meaningful?”
Andrew knew the usual cliché answers to such questions, but he intuited that Sinclair neither wanted nor would be satisfied with rote responses.
Andrew sat expressionless for almost a minute, while Sinclair imitated a sphinx.
“Sir,” Andrew finally said, “I want to be ninety years old, have children, grandchildren, and maybe great-grandchildren, but also to look back on what I accomplished for not only this country but for the world. That I performed an essential function I can be proud of. There are many ways someone could do this, but for me the military seems most compatible.
“The world can be a dangerous place. I would hope someday there’s a world without the need for military, but until such a day comes, then those countries that, at least to me, have the best chance of helping that eventual day come are worth fighting for. Naturally, I’m from the U.S., so I think the U.S. has a critical role in the future of the human race. While, through circumstance or my own abilities, I may not be able to make earth-shattering contributions, I want to be able to say I did make some contribution for that future day.” Andrew stopped and wondered how Sinclair would respond to what he had never verbally said to another superior.
Sinclair’s expression became almost placid, as if he’d just sunk into a hot tub after a difficult day. “Thank you, Major. I appreciate the honesty. I think that is a goal more humans need to share.” Sinclair smiled. “Which leads me into our next discussion. We are deploying the VR system and its critical staff to a remote location to be part of an extremely important project. I can’t go into details at the moment, but I can honestly say that from my perspective, there is literally no other service in the U.S. military more important than this project.
Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1) Page 5
