Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  “I agree, sir,” Chan responded eagerly. “This was merely an interesting finding—something that popped out of testing our new computer algorithms when we put in all the pieces of information. But then I asked our satellite imagery group for photos of Ellesmere Island. Although our satellites with photographic capability focus on orbits overflying the major nations and population centers, occasionally one or another of them either passes over Ellesmere or at least Ellesmere is in the edges of panoramic images.

  “There are hundreds of thousands of images taken over many years. Our people modified image-processing programs to pick out any images that might show signs of human activity. Most of the images were of relatively poor resolution, taken either with inferior cameras or low-resolution newer cameras. However, there are so few humans living on Ellesmere, they were able to pick out about five thousand images for human examination. After eliminating images near the three known settlements on the island, they identified about two hundred as plausible evidence from this second round of selection. Although most of those two hundred were scattered randomly over the island, seven images clustered in one small area.”

  Chan stopped, reached into his briefcase, and pulled out a folder with a tie-down flap. He opened it and removed a 20- by 28-centimeter photograph and laid it in front of Zhang.

  Rising from his chair, Chan leaned over the table and pointed to the image. “This is a magnification of the original photograph.” He traced what might be a fuzzy but discernible line in the grainy image. “This possible line is what the computer originally flagged. When we look back at the original image, we find this.” Chan placed a second photograph in front of Zhang. This one was less grainy. Chan pointed again, this time to a small line appearing on the image and several fainter lines paralleling the first line. “Here we see what may be a series of lines. Now, of course, this could be an artifact of some natural terrain formations. But General Song requested the command operating the satellites to focus on this location with one of our newer higher-resolution cameras.” Chan laid a third photograph before Zhang. “This one clearly shows five parallel lines with several shorter lines lower on the image. Among the lines, and highly suggestive, though not clear, are what could be two vehicles among the shorter lines.”

  They now had Zhang’s undivided interest. “I assume you believe this shows two vehicles, and I am inclined to agree. But what are the lines, and if there are vehicles, where are the structures?”

  Song answered this time. “Our comrades in the satellite-imaging branch repeated the set of photographs a month later at approximately the same time of day. This far north, the sun’s position changes so quickly that its angle was much lower in the sky on the second run of photographs.” He nodded to Chan, who placed a fourth photograph next to the third one.

  “Ay,” exclaimed Zhang. “What DO we have here?” Where in the previous photograph there were parallel dark lines, now there were additional, fainter lines perpendicular to the ends of the previously visible lines. “Buildings. Several.” Zhang looked up at Chan, “How many buildings?”

  Chan placed yet another photo before Zhang. “This is a computer-enhanced close-up of the same photograph.”

  Where before they saw three anomalies, now there were at least a dozen—five in a row near a larger one and several smaller ones scattered mainly below the larger six. “Given the magnification, we estimate the five larger structures in a row and the sixth one below are all at least two stories. The smaller ones are one story but perhaps of different heights. We also estimate that assuming our size estimates and typical Antarctic stations’ staffing, there are likely somewhere around a hundred people here, with an estimated range of eighty to a hundred and fifty.”

  Song pointed to the previous close-up photograph, “Notice, General, that even with the longer shadows you cannot see a roof. This can only mean careful camouflage. The roofs are either painted to resemble the surrounding terrain, or they used local earth and rocks to cover the roof.”

  “Can we get some higher-resolution pictures?” Zhang asked Song.

  “Not without retasking a satellite orbit to pass more directly over the site. However, if we change an orbit, the Americans will notice the change. I think we would like to keep them from suspecting we are aware of this site—at least, for the time being.”

  Zhang nodded. “Yes, that is reasonable . . . as you say, for the time being.”

  He continued looking at the last two photographs for perhaps a minute. “How are they resupplying and getting back and forth to the site?”

  Chan nodded eagerly. “Yes, exactly what we wondered. But when we examine the photographs, there is no sign of a road. Granted that the terrain is rugged enough in places to support vehicles without a constructed roadway, we do not believe there is any route that could likely lead to a coastal site to dock a ship and transfer personnel, equipment, and supplies.”

  Zhang raised one eyebrow and looked questioningly at Chan. “But if they are so clever with the buildings’ camouflage, could they not have also hidden a roadway?”

  “In theory, yes, but the terrain is a jumble of jagged rock formations, hills and mountains, and flatter areas crisscrossed by melting water, at least some of the year. Some valley bottoms are covered by rocks and boulders up to five feet in diameter, others with just fine gravel. Even humans walking would have a slow time over much of the terrain, much less vehicles capable of transporting major loads of equipment and supplies. No, while we cannot completely rule out a land route from the coast, we believe it most likely all contact is by aircraft.”

  Chan unfolded a map. “Here is a topological map of this part of Ellesmere covering thirty kilometers from the site in all directions.” He pointed to the site with a finger of his right hand, and about two-thirds of the way to the left edge of the map he used his left hand to indicate an apparently smoother area of terrain. “While we cannot see a plausible route to the coast, there is a potential route to this position. We, of course, cannot know the surface details, but this flat area appears lacking in the large rock formations or seasonal watercourses. The Americans have several types of transport aircraft that could land within this area. Again . . . assuming the surface is firm and debris free.”

  Zhang sat back in his chair. “Given that all of this seems plausible, what are the problems? What can you so far not explain?”

  Chan sat back in his chair and faced the two generals squarely. “We see three problems. The first is how they are providing the power to run such an operation of this size. They would have to fly in fuel almost weekly for heating and electricity generation. Second is why this particular place with the isolation and access problems? And finally, why go to all this effort to hide the facility? If it is merely a listening station, why bother hiding it, unless there is something special about either the location or the facility itself? Even such listening posts are almost a thing of the past with the level of technology in American satellites and over-the-horizon surveillance.”

  Zhang shifted to more directly face Chan. “All right. Sum it up for me, Chan. What do we have, and what do you suggest?”

  Chan nervously cleared his throat and look straight at Zhang. “We have a facility built in one of the most remote, inaccessible, and hostile places on Earth. While it might be a listening or radar installation or both, we cannot see the logic of placing it where they have. They have also taken major steps to hide the facility from satellites. All of which leads to the suspicion something is going on that the Americans want to keep secret. I see two possibilities. Either this is simply an example of something with no particular logic, and we are being paranoid, or something is going on that we need more information about.

  “The simplest and most direct action is for us to try and find out more. As a first step, I suggest we direct our agents in America and Canada to carefully look for more information. We know at least one of the Chinese persons working at this site has family living in the United States and China. We should caref
ully explore recruiting this person—although their seclusion at the site makes it difficult. Second, both agents in place and other assets should look further for any information that might be related to this operation—Air Force crews on unexplained flights in the north, other personnel in both the military and civilian workforce with unexplained extended absences, rumors within the U.S. military or political branches, and so on.

  “Finally, and this is something you would need to clear, is to change the planned orbit of our new surveillance satellite with higher-resolution cameras, due to be launched next month. At the moment, it is scheduled to replace a failing older satellite. By shifting the orbit only slightly, we can get an occasional closer overflight of Ellesmere—perhaps once every week. We can spread rumors that the satellite orbit did not quite set up as planned—which the Americans are always eager to believe of our technology. Then . . . we just wait for more information.”

  Chan stopped, and Zhang looked at the wall for several moments before turning to Song in the adjacent chair. “Caiwen, go ahead with the first two actions. Before I suggest changing the satellite orbit, I will give you one month to find out more. I can ask that the launch be delayed that much, but no longer.”

  With that, Zhang rose to his feet, followed quickly by Chan and more slowly by Song. “Thank you, Colonel, for your report. Do not feel disparaged if I tell you I suspect all this is over some coincidental events, and there are likely benign explanations for all this. But that is part of the purpose of your unit—to check out not only the likely but also the unlikely because it’s the latter that tends to rise up and bite us in the ass. I’ll expect an update in no more than four weeks.”

  Twenty minutes later, a car passed through mile after mile of soybeans, grains, and occasionally crops such as beets, sunflowers, and flax. The rich earth of Heilongjiang Province made this region one of the most productive in China. About twenty kilometers southeast of Harbin, the car drove into low hills and tree groves amid the flat and fertile farmland surrounding Harbin. The fields of crops gave way to pastures and grazing dairy cows intermixed with small vegetable patches.

  When they turned off the main road onto the smaller, gravel-covered road, the car hit a pothole and jolted Chan. “Sorry, sir,” said his driver. Chan had been staring into the distance as he sat in the back seat, paying no attention to the surroundings, except when his driver’s monotone noted that they were approaching the Intelligence Center. This brought Chan’s mind back to the moment. The car drove slower over the tree-lined bumpy road, deliberately left in poor condition to deceive casual passersby into believing the road led to nothing of note. They turned left into a stand of trees, then into a clearing and a chain-link fence with razor wire along the top.

  Behind the fence lay manicured gardens surrounding what had been the Monastery of St. Jonah of Manchuria—named for a Russian Orthodox saint of the early twentieth century shortly after the Bolshevik Revolution. Although the complex had been expanded with modern buildings, Chan’s headquarters were within the original main building, which still boasted the onion-like spires of Russian architecture.

  As they passed through the multiple outer security gates and the intervening kiosk, Chan pulled his thoughts back to today’s immediate consequences. He would meet with Major Liang and update him on the meeting with Zhang. Both he and Liang were convinced even more was going on with the Americans and Ellesmere Island than he’d reported to Zhang. He felt it prudent not to prematurely reveal their wilder speculations.

  CHAPTER 16

  ROLES

  Responsibilities

  Sinclair, Huxler, Andrew Jefferson, and Zach Marjek met in Sinclair’s office. Bre brought in a fresh coffee pot, set it on a warmer, smiled, and exited. Sinclair and Andrew helped themselves to a cup; Huxler and Zach demurred. They sat at a small round table and looked at one another for a few moments. Sinclair, with a slight smile and a raised left eyebrow, asked Andrew and Zach, “Well, how are you reacting to all this?”

  Huxler, though, had a blank expression—something of an anomaly, given his usual avuncular manner. Yet his eyes searched the two younger men’s faces.

  Andrew sighed. “I’m still wrapping my head around all this. Part of me wonders if this isn’t some elaborate put-on—a test of some sort. But that doesn’t make any sense. The resources to build this site . . . the staff . . . and the story itself all sound too fantastic not to be true.”

  “All perfectly normal reactions, Major,” encouraged Huxler. “I would be worried if such thoughts weren’t going through your head. But what about you? How does all this affect Andrew Jefferson?”

  Andrew stared into space for a moment, then said, “It’s going to take me some time to process all this—assuming I ever can. What’s certain is nothing will ever be the same for me. I know . . . nothing will ever be the same for any of us, but you’ve asked about me specifically.”

  “And what about you specifically?” Huxler asked.

  “I pretty much had a future for myself laid out. I would be in the army for many more years. I didn’t know how high I would rise, but I honestly thought I had a shot at stars someday. I’m realistic enough to know being black helps, but I thought I could do it on my own.”

  Andrew paused, conscious he had the other three men’s full attention. He assumed Sinclair was assessing his second in command, and Huxler was making mental notes that would go into evaluations of their mental and psychological states.

  Huxler suppressed a smile, certain he knew what Jefferson was thinking, as did Sinclair. Marjek? Huxler doubted he would ever be able to reliably judge what Marjek was thinking.

  “I love the military,” said Andrew. “The order and working for a greater good were something missing where I grew up. It gives me a sense of being part of something greater, something I believe in. But now . . .” Andrew stopped speaking.

  “And now?” urged Huxler.

  Andrew smiled ruefully. “And now I wonder if my clear career path means anything. No . . . that’s not quite it. I guess I wonder what does it mean and how will it fit into a new reality? If this Object is what we all think it is, it may be the single most significant event in human history. My loyalty is to the United States. But this is beyond that. It involves the entire human race—not only now, but perhaps forever into the future. How do I feel, and how do I fit into all this? It’s like the ground shifted under my feet, and I’m not sure what to hold on to. I don’t exactly know how I’m reacting right now. Perhaps part of me is afraid I’ll never feel as certain again as to who and what I am.”

  “And Zach, how about you?” said Huxler.

  Zach grimaced. “Part of me hopes all of you are jack-shit crazy.”

  Huxler laughed, Sinclair smiled, and Andrew raised an eyebrow.

  “And if we’re not?” asked Sinclair.

  “In that case, as Jefferson said, the field I’m playing on has just shifted. Imagine you’re in a football game on a standard field. You’re playing the game, giving it your all. The game is rough, but you know the rules and the size of the playing field. It’s a hundred yards long and fifty-something wide. Suddenly, in the middle of the game, you look around, and there are no more sidelines as far as you can see. You look toward the end zones, and they’re gone, too. What are the goals? When is the game over? How do you win? Maybe you don’t know which direction to go because the yard lines are gone, too. I need to have faith the game is still on, and there are rules even if I don’t understand them yet. I have to try to find out what the rules are, what the goals are.”

  Zach paused, gathering more thoughts. The other three waited for him.

  “As far as what I do, the same applies. The politics and issues driving covert action now seem so trivial. At least as relates to individual countries, including our own. I have to have some greater good to work toward—but if it’s not the U.S. anymore, then it must be everyone—the whole human race.”

  Sinclair nodded in understanding. “Consider what it must be like f
or presidents who first find out.”

  “Speaking of presidents, how much do they know about all this?” asked Andrew.

  “Let’s just say it’s been a rough ride, though the current president knows what’s going on.” He paused, then continued. “Of course, maybe I’m a rogue officer doing all this on my own.”

  “Right,” Andrew said sardonically.

  “Though it’s no consolation, I assure you your responses are completely understandable. As you both indicated, the Earth under our feet has shifted, and it will take some time to adjust. Unfortunately, there is no time off for this. We’re in the middle of it and have jobs to do.”

  Huxler had been silent the last few minutes, but when he spoke, his tone was serious. “I think the two of you understand that what’s happening here has permanent and unknown consequences for the entire human race—both our immediate and long-term future. I don’t think I exaggerate or sound too grandiose when I say the future of the human race may be centered within a few hundred yards of where we sit.”

  Andrew and Zach sat silent, each in his own thoughts.

  “All right,” said Sinclair, “given all this, let’s get to work. One item is a clear understanding of our four roles now that you know the stakes. My own role is obvious. I’m in charge here, and I report to people higher up the food chain. Wilbur here is officially the site shrink. But he’s more than that. Yes, he counsels staff, but he also keeps a finger on anyone or anything that might impact functioning and security. He gives the final okay on all potential new staff, too.”

  “Well, actually, it’s me and my brother who do this,” said Huxler. “He’s also a ‘shrink’ and reviews all prospective staff. He doesn’t know what’s going on here, but he works with a set of guidelines on staff requirements and passes his reports on to me.”