Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  Ralph Markakis

  On the last day of his former life, Ralph Markakis awoke at 7:43 a.m., which was when he happened to wake up. He never used an alarm clock but simply slept until he awoke. Yesterday it had been 5:51, the day before it was 8:03. One day last week, he awoke at 10:33 after nearly twelve hours of sleep. Worrying about sleep patterns was not part of Ralph’s world-view. He slept when he was tired and quit sleeping when he would rather be doing something else.

  He stretched, then hesitated to throw off the covers while he tried to recall why he anticipated today being interesting. Suddenly, he remembered. Andy’s urgent meeting.

  “Hot damn!” he exclaimed and leaped out of bed. The room and the rest of his large apartment were surprisingly spartan for someone with his bank account. He’d been designing video games for fourteen years, well before he finished high school. Companies paid handsomely for his work.

  The clock displayed that he had at least an hour and a half before he needed to leave for the company. He took forty minutes for little chores that he continually put off: paying bills, answering e-mails from relatives, and making a halfhearted effort to straighten out the apartment.

  He glanced at the clock. Time to eat his usual breakfast of cereal with fruit. Exactly what kind of cereal and fruit varied with the seasons and the vagaries of his shopping habits. He opened the cabinet door and saw that today he had a choice of Cocoa Puffs or Rice Krispies. He tried but failed to remember the previous day’s breakfast. It never occurred to him to think it odd he could remember the minutest details of video processing development but couldn’t remember yesterday’s breakfast.

  He made a decision. Rice Krispies. He glanced at a bunch of bananas on the counter. Wonder when I bought those? While eating, he used his laptop to answer e-mails from his parents and brother, who currently lived in Honduras doing something that Ralph couldn’t remember.

  Probably finding himself, thought Ralph. That seems to be the main focus of his life.

  After a few cursory attempts at straightening the kitchen, he decided not to take a lunch but to hold out the possibility of a celebratory lunch after the meeting. He left the apartment, got into his Audi R8 convertible, his only real luxury and evidence of his bank account, and started off on the fifteen-minute drive to Virtual-Reality.

  CHAPTER 7

  JILL HARDESTY

  On the last day of her former life, Jill Hardesty began the day as she had the previous eight months since Bobby’s father had abandoned them to pursue personal opportunities in California. She awoke, and her first conscious act was to listen for sounds from Bobby’s room. She could have put his bed in her room, but when Kevin lived there, it gave them some privacy, at least for those moments when they were not arguing. After Kevin left and if Bobby wasn’t awake, early mornings were her alone time, along with the minutes before she fell asleep in the evening.

  Today she heard no sounds from Bobby. She smiled, looking at the ceiling. He was such a good little boy. Even when first teething, he wanted to be held more than indulge in fussing.

  Her thoughts wandered to the coming day. If Bobby was not already awake, she would rouse him soon for breakfast, make their lunches, dress for work, take him to Marcie’s across the courtyard, and head off to work herself. The thought of work brought her attention back to the perplexing problem she had struggled with, beginning three days ago.

  ***

  On that day, she had worked a few minutes past 5:00 p.m., the formal end of her workday. She had lost track of time, and it would be a close call to make her usual train. As she packed up, a young man popped into the room. He was military, but damn if she knew what type—even after six months, she hadn’t sorted out the different uniforms and ranks. He was also in a rush—but didn’t that seem to be the norm here, where the atmosphere engendered a sense of urgency?

  “J. Hardesty,” the man barked out from the doorway—eyes darting among the six workers in the Pentagon Tours office. Because Jill was the only one who looked up, he zeroed in on her and rushed over.

  “File delivery. You put in your login and password,” he said, pushing out the keypad linked to a serious-looking briefcase with a small red light near the handle.

  “What is it?” Jill asked.

  His expression turned incredulous. “How would I know? Just input to confirm identity.”

  Her exasperated glance at the clock above the entrance showed Jill’s chances of making the train were diminishing by the second. She punched in her login and password—not a trivial task because the keypad jostled as the courier almost danced on his toes in anticipation of getting this delivery over with.

  Wait . . . did I do the password right, and did I use my work or home login for email?

  It was her first occasion to use the login and password, something issued to all office employees. None of the other workers knew why those were needed, and none had ever been used. They shrugged it off as one of the quirks of the military bureaucracy.

  Before she could utter a word, the courier pulled back the keypad, did something with the keys, and the red light on the briefcase turned green. A solid “thrunk” came from the case.

  “You’re good.” He opened the case, withdrew a sealed brown envelope, thrust it into her hands, and without another word was out the door.

  Now what was that all about? she thought. Oh, shit, look at the time.

  Marcie was great at taking care of Bobby, but Jill couldn’t be late TOO often. She zipped open her tote, jammed in the folder, and did a good imitation of the courier’s disappearance.

  Getting to the train platform took twenty minutes. Fortunately, the tour office was near the Pentagon’s Metro entrance—the single building was supposed to have almost eighteen miles of corridors. But close to the station or not, by the time she got there, she made the train literally by the thread of her coat, almost caught by the closing door.

  Naturally, there were no seats, but she managed to hold onto one of the metal poles as the car picked up speed and swayed from side to side. One advantage of commuting at this time of day was you couldn’t fall because people were packed so tight. It was one of those times when the “good old days” of men giving up their seats to ladies would have been nice. Oh, well, she thought.

  Her tote bag was full, as usual. Included in its contents were the remains of her lunch, work shoes (sneakers being looked down on), a book (in case she lucked out and got a seat either going or coming}, and gym clothes (in case she made time either at noon or after work two or three times a week). She sometimes wondered whether she got more exercise carrying the clothes around than using them.

  As the car rocked between stations, she mentally checked off the coming evening: retrieve Bobby at Marcie’s apartment that doubled as a daycare; pick up the mail on the way to their second-story apartment; play with Bobby; feed and bathe him; read to him until he goes to sleep. He loved being read to, although he did not yet understand the stories.

  The lurching of the car brought her back as it braked into the next station—not where she got off. The Morgen station was hers, the next-to-last stop on the blue line. She needed to stay alert and not slip into daydreaming, which would lead to missing her station. The sixteen-minute walk to the apartment complex was always soothing, both for the feeling of being separated from work and in anticipation of seeing Bobby.

  As she approached Marcie’s bottom-floor apartment, there was Bobby, his nose pressed to the window. Somehow, he seemed to know when it was time for her to arrive. He waved and disappeared, leaving nose and hand smears on the window. She knocked on the door, entered, and was attacked by a laughing 32-inch-tall blond biped. She dropped her bag, scooped him up, and the routine hugs and kisses ensued. Then it was pick up his bag (clothes, lunch remnants), her backpack, and, fully loaded, say goodbye to Marcie and cross the courtyard to home—that being wherever she and Bobby were together.

  Once in their apartment, she unpacked their belongings, setting the envelope on the kitche
n counter. During the next two days, she resisted opening it.

  ***

  Noises from Bobby’s room brought her back to the present morning. She looked at the folder sitting on the kitchen counter. Last night, during her personal quiet time, curiosity had defeated her, and she slit open the seal and pulled out a sealed folder, which she also opened. By chance, she had not noticed the security warning on one side until much later. Inside were four text pages with the title “Evaluation of Site 23 Progress and Recommendation for Expansion.”

  Site 23? What is this? she wondered as she read aloud and turned pages. She was halfway through the second page before she stopped after seeing repeated references to “the object.”

  The object? What’s the object?

  “Virtual reality system sufficiently operational to apply to the project.”

  Project? What project?

  “Expansion of personnel at Site 23 and concomitant security risks justified by potential breakthrough utilizing multi-input virtual reality.”

  Site 23? Security risks? Virtual reality? What is all this?

  Then, as someone does when reading with her mind not fully attentive, Jill started back at the beginning. By the time she’d finished the third page, her pulse had begun to race. She stopped reading and dropped the pages on the table is if they were hot.

  I shouldn’t be reading this. It sounds like something secret and surely highly classified. But if so, why was it delivered to me? Wait. Maybe this is someone’s joke. She mulled over the thought for some moments but couldn’t think of a perpetrator.

  Maybe it was a joke meant for someone else and accidentally delivered to me. No. The courier, deliveryman, or whatever you call him, specifically asked for me and took my login before giving it to me.

  Jill sat back. Either it’s a joke, or it’s real. No, I don’t think it’s a joke. Then the file must be real. In that case, it’s something that should not have come to me and not something I should be reading. But now what do I do? I’ve already read it.

  Jill sipped her morning coffee, staring out the window.

  Probably I should find someone to turn this back in to.

  She didn’t see how she could be in trouble if it was delivered to her by accident. However, the Pentagon job was good, and she couldn’t afford to be out of work. Uncertain about a course of action, she still had to get ready for work. She would decide what to do later.

  She rose from the table and went to Bobby’s bedroom. In the next forty minutes, all the workday morning ritual tasks were accomplished. She was making a last mental check when she was interrupted by a loud knock on the apartment door. Her first thought was Marcie. A couple of times, Marcie had been ill or there was an emergency, and she had to cancel the daycare on those days. Once Jill had stayed home that day, calling in sick to work. Another time she had taken Bobby to a Pentagon daycare center, but the cost was too high to make that a regular option.

  She went to the window and looked onto the balcony. She could see a man and a woman. A third person was only partly in sight. Leaving the chain latch fastened, she opened the door enough to ask, “Yes, who is it?”

  A medium-height man of about forty, wearing a dark suit and a blue tie, said, “Is this the residence of Jill Hardesty, and are you she?” As he spoke, he held up an open identification wallet showing on one side a metallic badge and on the other flap an ID behind plastic. Jill matched the man with the photo and read that he was an FBI agent. The woman wore the same type of dark suit, minus the tie, and held up a similar identification.

  “Miss Hardesty, we need to speak to you. May we come in?”

  “What is this about?” Jill asked.

  “Please, Miss Hardesty, I’m afraid we must insist on speaking with you.”

  Jill unlatched and opened the door, then stepped aside to allow the three people to enter the apartment. The third person had not yet spoken. He was about six feet tall, a solid build, perhaps late thirties or early forties, and wearing a brown suit and a mottled green tie that didn’t match his outfit. He was deeply tanned, as if he’d spent most of his time under the sun—very different from the two identified FBI agents. Obviously, this person was not FBI; at least, he didn’t go to the same tailor. Jill had a sinking feeling in her stomach that the visit was connected to the file. Could she be in trouble?

  Maybe they’re just here to retrieve the file, she thought hopefully.

  The FBI man asked Jill, “Miss Hardesty, did you in the last week remove a file from the Pentagon?”

  Oh, shit, thought Jill, that is what this is about.

  She hesitated, then blurted out, “I didn’t know what it was, some courier or messenger or whatever came in at work just as I was about to leave for the day and thrust it at me. I didn’t know what it was,” she reiterated nervously. “I pretty much forgot about it for a couple of days, and then—”

  The woman FBI agent interrupted. “Please, Miss Hardesty, all agent Harmon and I are here to do is to verify that you did remove a security document from the Pentagon. Now that that is confirmed, the remainder of the interview will be taken over by Agent Marks from Homeland Security.” She nodded to the second man. “Agent Harmon and I will wait outside.” With that, the two FBI agents left the apartment.

  Jill felt clammy, and her breathing came in quick, shallow gasps. First the FBI, and now Homeland Security. She didn’t understand much of what she had read in the file, but it must be something serious. She trembled and quickly sat in the living room chair. Her incipient panic was magnified by Agent Marks standing in front of her, arms crossed, and staring sternly.

  “Miss Hardesty, this is a serious matter. The file you removed from the Pentagon relates to a matter of the highest national security. An investigation is ongoing as to exactly how it came into your possession and why you removed it from the Pentagon.”

  Jill interrupted him. “But I told you! I didn’t know what it was. Some guy in a uniform gave it to me. He even had me give my login and password to confirm it was meant for me. It’s not my fault that somebody else made a mistake.”

  “That may well be the case, Miss Hardesty, but it’s something we are still investigating. Yet even if what you say is true, the matter is at such a level of sensitivity that there are going to be long-lasting consequences of your contact with this file.”

  Jill rushed on. “But I didn’t even read the whole thing. And what I read I don’t understand. Just something having to do with—”

  Well, hell, thought Zach as she rattled on. She opened it and read it. God damn. I’d hoped I’d find it unopened.

  He felt more than a smidgen of guilt as the young blonde woman spoke.

  He stopped her with a wave of a hand. “Miss Hardesty, I don’t know what’s in that file, and I’m not cleared to know anything about it. For the sake of argument, let’s say that I believe you that your contact with this file is none of your doing. I’m afraid even in that circumstance, you will find yourself in major legal entanglements.”

  “What do you mean by legal entanglements?” Jill sat back, irritation gaining her a measure of composure at Agent Marks’s tone.

  “This matter is serious enough that it normally requires you being taken into custody by the FBI agents waiting outside. You would remain in custody for an unspecified time while this entire situation is investigated.”

  “Arrested?” she squeaked. “I can’t be arrested. I didn’t do anything wrong. And what about Bobby? I have a two-year-old son!”

  “I imagine your son would be placed in children’s protective services until everything can be worked out.”

  Jill careened from fright to anger and back. “And how long would this investigation take?”

  “From what I understand of the nature of the issue, which is not much, I wouldn’t be surprised if a thorough investigation took at least six months.”

  “Six months! I could be in some jail for six months and Bobby fostered to some strangers? That’s ridiculous. How could this be happening?
” Her voice rose higher as she edged into panic.

  At this moment, Bobby tottered into view. He had been playing happily in his room but came to investigate the rising level of voices. He saw a strange man, stopped, and with a big grin waved with both hands. “Hi.”

  “Hello, Bobby,” said Zach in a friendly voice but without changing the stern expression on his face. Bobby then continued on to Jill and climbed into her lap. She hugged him, perhaps a little too tight, and tears ran down her cheeks. “This can’t be happening. It just can’t. What am I going to do?”

  “Miss Hardesty, I have been given certain leeway in how to proceed. Under my discretion, we can arrange your custody not to be formal confinement but being removed to a facility engaged in matters related to the file’s contents. It is still mandated that you be separated from the general population while the investigation is ongoing. Under this alternative, Bobby would accompany you. You would be assuming a staff position and would carry out some duties at this site. I understand that the salary would be substantially higher than what you’re earning now. When the investigation is completed, and if it is determined that you had no participation in the violation of this file’s security level, then you would be returned to normal life, with the caution that any revelation of these events would have serious permanent legal consequences for yourself and Bobby.”

  Jill took a few moments to compose herself. “So what you are saying,” Jill spoke slowly, “is that my choice is being arrested by those FBI agents waiting outside the apartment and having Bobby put into foster care for some unknown number of months, or I can move to whatever place you were talking about until the investigation is over? Where is this place?”

  She paused. “Site? Is that the place referred to in the file?”

  He held up both hands. “Please, Miss Hardesty. As I said, don’t tell me anything about the file. I’m not cleared for this. All I can say is that you would be placed in a job at a remote site with limited contact to the outside world. My understanding is that there are some one hundred people at the site, of mixed genders, and that you would be required to stay there for some unspecified period of time.”