Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  Keeping a straight face, Harper said, “I think this is something we can work with. Remember, politically, we cannot seem to be ceding sovereignty to the U.S. Also, it is nonnegotiable that Canada will be fully involved in whatever comes out of the Object and will share in any economic benefit.”

  “Understood.”

  And with that, Chesterton and Harper stood, each moving to the end of the table to shake hands. Thus was born the Canadian/U.S. Far North Defense and Research Command (FANDARC).

  Turnover

  Sinclair’s leg wound had been treated on site. He had declined medical evacuation back to the United States, claiming he was fit for duty. After several weeks of satisfactory progress, his intense pain signaled all was not well. He was ordered back to Andrews Air Force Base for transfer to Walter Reed Hospital in Washington. The day before he left, he had Whitey find Zach and ask him to meet.

  “I hear you’re about to escape this place,” said Zach as soon as he walked into Sinclair’s office.

  “Yeah, and unlikely I’ll be back. Doctor Wilderman thinks my leg problem is going to require surgery, and I would need at least a few months to recuperate. It’s the obvious time to send someone else to run this madhouse. When I was already in place, the powers-that-be were temporarily content to leave me here, but with me out of action for months, they’ve decided to put someone else in charge to oversee the expansion. Nothing I didn’t expect. In fact, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. I imagine they’ll send someone with more political skills than I’m rumored to have.” Sinclair laughed.

  “Well . . . I can’t say it hasn’t been interesting working for you,” said Zach. “However, it won’t hurt my feelings if next time you have such an assignment, you look elsewhere for help.”

  Sinclair shifted his position in the chair, wincing as he moved the problematic leg.

  “Don’t think that’s going to be a problem. If I’m not here, I’m not sure the Pentagon has a place for me or whether I’m interested even if they do. No . . . it’s time for my second retirement. This time, permanent. I still have my house in Florida. I’ve been renting it out since coming here.”

  “Before you leave, any sense of which way the wind is blowing for the rest of us?” asked Zach.

  “That’s one of the reasons I asked to see you, Zach. First off, to thank you for the job you did. We owe you on several accounts.”

  “Is this where we hug?” Zach said, smiling.

  “Fat chance,” said Sinclair, standing up and leaning across his desk. He held out his right hand. The two men shook twice, holding the grip for several extra seconds before releasing, eyes never leaving the other’s face.

  Sinclair sat back with a slight “oomph” when his leg protested.

  “The other reason I asked you to meet before I leave is to pass on several tidbits of information. I leaned on Hardesty to pull some strings for you. I don’t know the details, but you’re reinstated with the CIA. As usual with that house of spooks, there are no formal written orders, so you’re just supposed to show up at Langley.

  “However, before that happens, you’ll have to endure God knows how much debriefing. All Level 3 people will go through it at some point. Those of you not continuing here will go first. That includes you. Several people flew out this morning. I’m told the debriefings will be at different locations for the purely civilian versus military or agency people. For yours, you’ll be near Norfolk. Hardesty arranged for you to be housed at the recreation cottages near the Dams Neck Naval Air Station. My wife and I stayed there once, and it’s a quiet beach location. Should give you time to decompress and do some thinking about the future.”

  “And the civilians?”

  “I don’t know those arrangements, but I assume something pleasant enough to placate our holding onto them a while longer. Among them was Elizabeth Wilkens. She left this morning.”

  “What about Willie and Logan?” asked Zach.

  “Them, too. I’m told Logan’s already at Dam’s Neck after being treated at Walter Reed. You and Willie will leave together in three or four days. Major Jefferson will clue you in.”

  “Who else has already left?” asked Zach.

  “From Level 3, so far, Zooty Wilson, Carolyn Graham, and, of course, Jill and Bobby. I was prepared for Jill to want to leave as soon as possible, but she didn’t seem all that anxious. However, a schedule was laid out, and they left two days ago while you were out with the Seals looking for Chinese stragglers someone thought they’d spotted.”

  Zach’s sigh was a reflex but not demonstrative enough for Sinclair to pick up. There was nothing to be done. He needed to move on.

  “Out of curiosity, how’s Simeon taking everything?” asked Zach. “I’m not the only one wondering what’s going on since there’ve been no virtual-reality sessions the last two weeks. Chunhua says even the audio/monitor sessions have been cut back. Even then, the new people do the interacting or sit in and observe Mueller and Huxler. Those are the only two of the original group still talking to Simeon. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect we’re being cut out. Not a surprise, of course. When a game this big becomes known, every political operator will want a piece of the pie.”

  “There’s definitely a lot of that,” said Sinclair. “I slowed it a bit until now, but I’ll assume once I leave and they bring in someone new to command here . . . well, I leave it to your imagination.”

  “A tooth and nail, no holds barred case of bureaucratic infighting,” said Zach, disgust dripping from each word.

  “Sounds about right,” said Sinclair.

  “Anything you can share about what’s going to happen with Simeon and the Object?

  “Changes. Higher people on the food chain have not been happy with our progress. Now, the attack has forced their hand, and, as we all know, in bureaucracies, shit flows downhill. The obvious solution to bureaucrats is to change personnel. That’s us . . . everybody at Site 23. If it goes as normal, a whole new team will be brought in as the effort expands. I can’t say who, if any, of the original staff will be kept on.”

  “Well, who knows?” said Zach. “New eyes and ideas might be the best thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Sinclair’s words conveyed his assessment.

  Sinclair stood again and held out his hand for the second time. “Zach, best of luck.”

  “You, too, General. Enjoy the second retirement.”

  Three days later, Zach was one of nine people leaving what had been Site 23 and was now FANDARC. He and Willie were the last two to board one of the minibuses flown in via C-17. That he knew the names of only two of the other seven was proof of the rapid changes. He and Willie sat across from Ed Schofield, the chief meteorologist, and May something—he couldn’t remember the maintenance person’s last name.

  “Heading home, huh, Ed?”

  “Not soon enough,” replied Schofield. “I agreed to stay on until the military got their own meteorologists settled in. The new people made it quickly evident I was superfluous. Hey, did Jill Hardesty find you before she left? Seemed anxious to see to you. I don’t think she was pleased that they sprung her leaving on such short notice.”

  “No, I didn’t see her. Probably nothing.”

  Willie grunted, sitting next to him.

  Maybe it’s best this way, thought Zach. She’ll get back in the real world and move on. I’m sorry about Kathy, though. Willie doesn’t show much, but I’ve worked with him long enough to know he’s not taking it well that he missed her before she left.

  The bus’s engine revved up, and they pulled away from the main building, followed by several other minibuses. Zach swiveled only once to look back when they reached a rise a mile from where he had spent the past. So much had happened, so much unexpected, so much that changed his outlook.

  The tolerably smooth road was different from his first arrival on Ellesmere. The new road had been scraped to where the new airfield was being constructed. They passed over permanent bridges spanning melt streams, though
the road would not be paved because of the weather. Neither would the extension being constructed to a planned rudimentary port facility south to the west side of the ten mile-long Blind Fiord—the name pronounced with a short “i” as in “hit,” although jokes were already circulating with references to not seeing straight.

  The flight out was on a C-130 outfitted for passengers. It was one more indication of the changes. Two-thirds of the ninety-two cushioned seats were occupied by people rotating back to the United States from whatever they were doing on Ellesmere Island. They didn’t have window seats, so the last view Zach had was when the loading ramp closed.

  The C-130 stopped to refuel at the Canadian Air Force Base at Goose Bay, Labrador, the aircraft not having quite the range for a nonstop flight. Zach was oblivious to the roar of engines heard within the plane’s unmuffled interior. Even with earphones, conversation with Willie seated next to him was difficult—which suited Zach. He was coming to grips with the past, the present, and what might be his future. The months on Ellesmere had provided the time for contemplation he had previously deferred or deliberately avoided.

  He was not returning to the CIA. Any lingering reservations he might have had vanished after the attack. Years ago, he had slipped into his professional career and persona without having long-term plans. One decision and/or opportunity had led to another. When he was younger, finding out what he was talented at was attractive, as was the recognition from colleagues.

  Maybe it was age loosening what had tied him to his previous life. There were moments when a thought nudged into his consciousness about a particular person. It was a lingering thought best pushed aside to let him focus on a possible future.

  Refueling took two hours, for reasons never explained. Most passengers waited in the terminal building, but Zach spent most of the time walking alone within the base complex. As everyone had previously been alerted, a claxon announced a thirty-minute warning that the flight was about to resume. The cold air had helped clear Zach’s mind, and he slept the rest of the way to Naval Air Station Oceania near Virginia Beach, Virginia.

  Dam Neck, Virginia

  At NAS Oceana, the C-130 taxied to a hanger where passengers were checked in for debriefings, dependent on their roles on Ellesmere and their security clearance levels. Zach and Willie were a group of two. A navy ensign hustled them to a van whose driver never spoke. Five to six miles later, the van drove along a row of beach cottage duplexes, pulled into one of the driveways, and stopped.

  The driver turned to face them. “Sorry, but I’ve orders not to leave the vehicle. You’ll have to get your own bags, and then I’m off.”

  “No problem,” said Zach. “I think we can manage.”

  When they got out, the sea air felt good. He couldn’t see the ocean, but it had to be just over the low dunes behind the cottages. Willie opened the back of the van and handed Zach his one duffel a fractional second before something impacted Zach’s left leg and encircled it around the knee. Zach looked down at a smiling, blue-eyed face located beneath blond hair. He looked so much like his mother.

  “Zach, Zach. Hi, Zach. Suhprize!”

  He was stunned for a second . . . an unusual state for him . . . and then he looked up toward the cottages. The door to the left duplex was open, and Jill stood there. The door of the adjoining unit was also open, but the occupant was on the ground, running to Willie.

  CHAPTER 49

  FANDARC

  Sinclair’s prediction about the future command structure was accurate. Once word of Site 23’s purpose expanded beyond the initially tightly held group, and the intent for dramatic expansion could not be hidden, pressure exerted by the military bureaucracy and the chairmen of several House and Senate committees pushed for a more politically astute commander.

  Chesterton might have prevailed in retaining Sinclair if he had chosen to expend political capital. However, Chesterton had convinced himself that Sinclair and Mueller could have done a better job at getting information out of Simeon.

  Two days after Sinclair flew out, a colonel flew in and assumed command. Within another month, a U.S. Air Force major general arrived—someone more attuned to the military and political hierarchies. He brought his own aides, relegating Andrew to being a liaison between the old staff and the new personnel, who arrived and transformed the facility.

  A dispiriting month later, Andrew found himself on a C-17 back to Washington, where he underwent two weeks of intensive debriefing, followed by two weeks of twiddling his thumbs while the DOD decided what to do with him. Given his history with the Object, he would never again be stationed outside the United States, but the army fulfilled Sinclair’s promise. Orders came for a slot in the next class at the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College (CGSC), Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. After shuffling among make-work positions, three months later he joined the next ten-month-long course. However, he had something else to occupy his attention while he waited. A month before reporting to Fort Leavenworth, he and Bre Huddleston married after a brief but intense courtship. After Andrew graduated from CGSC, they moved to Fort Collins, Colorado, for his assignment as a brigade staff officer with the 4th Infantry Division.

  Back at Ellesmere, the remaining original scientific and VR staff of Level 3 continued to shrink. For those who remained, their roles became more and more marginalized. In contrast, several Level 1 and 2 personnel moved into direct contact with Simeon because of their relevant expertise and awareness of the attack and the existence of Level 3. These included Bjorn Nylander, who worked with Jeff Rotham when, for a reason never explained, Simeon, unprompted, asked Jeff if he was interested in studying an alien language. Despite repeated inquiries, Simeon never explained the voluntary offer, nor would he discuss anything about the alien race, except their language.

  Thule served as the staging area for a train of C-17s flying at Nanook International until the new airstrip was finished. Planes landed and were unloaded as fast as possible to clear the strip for the next flight. Cargo vessels transported materials to Thule, which stored everything in new warehouses in preparation for loading onto C-17s for the 230-mile flight to the new Ellesmere airfield. Among the materials were parts for a permanent hard runway capable of even handling the huge Galaxy cargo planes. After six months, Canada had finished a rudimentary port on the Blind Fjord and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers completed carving a road and bridges connecting the port to the site. This land link was to be operational a projected ten to eleven months of the year. From that point on, the port and the road were used for large equipment, bulk materials, and fuel.

  With the increased activity and with the base’s existence no longer a secret, the FANDARC command chose a more formal name than Site 23. “Rannes FANDARC” acknowledged the Ellesmere peninsula location of the site and encompassed the expanded base, the new airstrip, and the Blind Fiord port.

  Once fuel tanks were installed and filled, American and Canadian helicopters were stationed at the airstrip—ranging from observation and short-range patrol models to the U.S. Navy’s HH-60 Pave Hawk for long-range patrol and rescue. No fixed-wing aircraft were stationed permanently, but an American F-16 flight and a Canadian F-18 flight were on standby alert at Thule and able to scramble and be over the base in twenty to twenty-five minutes.

  The five-man rotating “training” teams that provided elementary ground security for Site 23 were replaced by a two hundred–man mixed company of U.S. Army Rangers and Canadian Special Operations personnel, along with medium arms (heavy machine guns, hand- and vehicle-fired missiles) and Stinger short-range antiaircraft missiles, supplemented by medium-range antimissile and antiaircraft batteries.

  By one year after the attack, the 96-member working staff had ballooned to 2,100 people: security, support, and scientific. It was a small city. The original seventeen structures became seventy-nine. The building whose one section had housed studying the Object was converted entirely and expanded eastward to six times the original Level 3 floor space. Further expansi
on remained a topic of discussion between the United States and Canada, possibly including an increase to ten thousand personnel and an all-weather airfield and hanger facilities.

  The days of individuals directly communicating alone with Simeon were gone. All contact involved multiple staff members and were recorded to the point of absurdity. Additional computing power allowed Simeon to carry out simultaneous VR sessions

  The military and scientific staffs assured the president that now that they had “real” resources and expertise to bear on the Object, further information and technology would be quickly forthcoming.

  The president waited . . . and waited. By the end of the second year, there was no way to hide the reality that if anything, communication rapport with the Object had regressed. Athena had not made another appearance, despite numerous requests. The basic parameters on technology details had not changed. If anything, the exchanges between humans and Simeon had become almost testy. This was easily seen on the human side but was less definitive on Simeon’s part and mainly seemed to manifest by his simply refusing to answer questions. The expanded new staff ignored or was ignorant of previous attempts to cajole more information from Simeon. Thus, staff members attempted to coerce Simeon by not communicating until he answered one of their questions. The rationale was that eventually Simeon might give in. Mueller’s admonition that it wouldn’t work was ignored. After two months, the humans gave in.

  By this time, Mueller was no longer included in most planning sessions, especially after he voiced an opinion asking who was idiotic enough to think they could outwait the Object, which had already waited tens of millions of years? As always, pointing out the shortcomings of authority figures had negative consequences. Mueller found himself relegated to editing reports of progress in a small room by himself. He knew people hoped he would do them a favor and leave. To their disappointment, his level of commitment held firm.