Harbinger

by S L Shelton

  “I am Harbinger,” he said. “The secret is in my bones.”

  **

  4:15 a.m. Switzerland time—Aboard the CIA Gulfstream Jet

  NICK HORIATIS descended into the hold with Lieutenant Marsh and three other SEALs—Seifert, Egermayer, and “Mac” McIntyre—call signs Majesty, Owl, and Bear respectively.

  “Ever get shot out of the shark’s ass before?” Nick asked Mac as he pulled the hatch closed and latched it.

  He was referring to the hold modification on the Gulfstream that extended a hydraulic dorsal fin at the tail of the jet. The “fin” pushed down in front of a modified hold exit, creating a bubble of negative pressure so that exits could be performed, even at high speeds.

  Mac shot him a worried look and then shook his head.

  “Nothing to worry about, Bear,” Seifert said. “It’s just like being flushed.”

  “Unless you get kicked up into the tail,” Egermayer added.

  Seifert whacked Egermayer in the arm. “Don’t…he’s already nervous,” he muttered.

  They’d started prebreathing pure oxygen thirty-five minutes before the jump to flush the nitrogen from their blood for the HALO.

  Nick sat and watched their masks intermittently fog and then clear as they went through the pre-breathing routine.

  “Use the drones to RECON the facility,” Nick said. “There’s no need to expose yourself until we can get sniper cover on the other ridge.”

  Marsh nodded. “Don’t lose your equipment package,” he said. “I don’t want to be stuck up on the hill with our asses hanging out if you can’t bring it in fast to cover us.”

  “Don’t worry about the equipment package,” Nick said, patting a bundle of equipment next to him. “We’ll find it. We’ve got three markers on it.”

  “If we see a chance to go in before you get in position, should we take it?” Marsh asked.

  “If you see an opening, use your best judgment,” Nick replied. “We’ll be on the ground twenty minutes after your jump—then I’m estimating thirty minutes back to the equipment package and another ten to the opposite ridge.”

  “Are you going to make it before sunrise?” Marsh asked.

  Nick shrugged. “I’m less worried about the sun than I am about Alpnach’s radar,” he replied. “We’ll come in on the south side so the Tangos don’t hear us. Being that close to the base, they’re probably used to hearing choppers in the area anyway. But if we can’t navigate those valleys low enough, we’ll pop up on Alpnach’s radar, and that will bring the Swiss into the game…and we don’t want that.”

  Marsh nodded.

  “I’ll set up a watch and a sniper on the opposite ridge as soon as we hit the ground,” Nick added. “We don’t have any idea where they’re holding Monkey Wrench, so if you can get some indication of where he might be before we bring the chopper and sniper in, you’ll cut down on our assault time.”

  Marsh nodded again. “I’m less worried about assault time than I am being exposed on those rocks. Once we’re above the tree line, we’ll need that spotter and sniper support.”

  “Send the drones out from the trees,” Nick replied. “Hopefully you’ll have a good idea what we’re up against by the time we get to you.”

  “What if I see your giant?” Marsh asked.

  Nick pressed his finger to Marsh’s forehead. “Right there,” he said, grinning behind the mask. “Unless you can get him down on the ground long enough to dose him.”

  “Roger that,” Marsh said.

  “If you can dose him, you’re going to need a horse-sized injection,” Nick added. “Don’t be shy loading him up—that fucker is dangerous as hell.

  Just then, the intercom in the hold blared to life.

  “Coming up on the jump site,” came the pilot’s voice. “I’m extending the fin now.”

  Suddenly, the sound changed in the hold. Where before the roar of the engines was the most notable sound, a slow increase in the sound of turbulent wind around the tail began to intrude. A vibration started to rattle the back of the plane, pushing nerves to an edge.

  Mac looked at Marsh. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “How wide is that fin?”

  Marsh held up his hands, separated about the width of his own shoulders.

  “That’s it?” Mac asked. “My dick is wider than that. I’m gonna get smashed into the tail … I just know it.”

  “Relax,” Egermayer said. “You can stand sideways and just step off.”

  “Says you, you midget bastard,” Mac scoffed. “I don’t shop for my clothes in the kids’ department like you do.”

  “No…don’t just step off,” Seifert said. “If the air catches your feet first, it can slam your head back against the ram fin. It’s better to slide out, feet first.”

  “Well, which is it?” Mac asked, the panic in his voice rising. “Step off or slide out?”

  Marsh laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Follow me out and do like I do…don’t worry. These guys are just fucking with your head.”

  Mac nodded nervously before Marsh looked at Nick. “Are you going to be okay when we depressurize?”

  Nick nodded. “I’m fine…don’t worry about me,” he replied as he began to reduce the pressure in the hold.

  The intercom buzzed again. “Alright, the fin is extended,” the pilot said. “Enjoy your ride through the shark’s ass in twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…”

  Nick nodded toward Seifert, who unsealed and then retracted the hold hatch. The noise in the compartment instantly grew louder as the air rushed and whistled past the extended fin below.

  The sound of the tail hydraulics groaned and hissed, straining to compensate for the fin turbulence.

  “Five…” the captain said through the intercom. “Three, two…”

  “Now get the fuck off my plane,” Nick yelled, grinning behind his oxygen mask.

  First Seifert and then Egermayer sat down at the opening before slipping down the fin as if it were a playground slide. Marsh was next, looking over his shoulder at Mac, who was nervously getting in position. As soon as Marsh left the plane, Mac looked back at Nick.

  “If I die, I’m coming back to kill you,” Mac yelled before folding his arms over his chest and dropping as the others had.

  Nick heard a muted thump, tensing his chest and creating a wave of pain. He looked down through the opening but saw no issues before pressing the button on the intercom and yelling, “Drop one complete,” he said. “Let me know when we’re ready for drop two.”

  “Roger,” the pilot said as Nick maneuvered the heavy equipment bundle to the opening. “Coming up in ten, nine, eight…”

  Nick rechecked the altimeter auto-open on the equipment package chute…three hundred feet. The bundle had more than twenty-five thousand feet to fall before it hit that mark, but it needed to open below the ridgelines.

  “Second drop zone, mark,” the pilot said. “Drop, drop, drop.”

  Nick shoved the heavy lump through the hatch before hitting the auto close on the door. As it slid into place, he reached for the intercom again. “Second drop complete,” he said. “Hatch is closed.”

  “Roger that,” came the voice of the pilot. “Retracting fin.”

  As soon as the plane was back in its normal configuration, Nick re-pressurized the hold. After a few moments, he pulled the mask from his face and returned to the cabin through the upper hatch.

  He plopped down in his seat and looked at the doctor. “Hey, Doc! Wanna give me another one of them magic potion shots?” he said breathlessly. “In fact, make it a double.”

  **

  LIEUTENANT MARSH reached terminal velocity about six seconds after he’d been expelled from the rear of the jet. The wind whipping past was the loudest noise he heard until his radio cracked to life.

  “Arrow, this is Majesty,” Seifert said into his earpiece, his voice muffled by his mask. “Wind speed is higher than we anticipated.”

  “Roger that, Majesty,” Marsh replied.
“Arrow to team. We’ll have to open lower than we planned or this wind is going to make us miss our target site. Acknowledge.”

  “This is Majesty, acknowledged.”

  “Owl…acknowledged.”

  Marsh waited for Mac before repeating.

  “Bear…did you get that?” Marsh asked.

  There was a flash of static in his ear and then silence.

  “Bear, confirm,” he said.

  “...oger…at,” came Mac’s voice, broken and garbled.

  “Am not reading you, Bear,” Marsh said.

  “Roger …at,” Mac said again, more loudly.

  “Lean into it, boys,” Marsh said. “We’ve got to reduce altitude.”

  Marsh tipped forward and became a spear aimed at the ground; the chill of the air was just starting to seep through his jumpsuit, giving him a hint of the cold outside its protective embrace.

  As the white ground raced toward him, his heart started beating faster—they were still coming in off target.

  “I hope you guys are up for a hike,” Egermayer said.

  “Three thousand feet,” Seifert called out, giving a read on their altitude. “Twenty-five hundred…two thousand.”

  “We’re gonna have to pull it in hard to make the ridge, guys,” Marsh said.

  “Fifteen hundred,” Seifert said. “Skipper?”

  “Hold,” Marsh said as the ground rushed toward them. Opening below fifteen hundred would hinder use of the reserve chute if the primary failed. At one thousand feet reserve use was possible, but only if everything else worked perfectly.

  “One thousand,” Seifert said.

  “Not yet,” Marsh said, feeling a twinge for endangering his men. “Still too far out.”

  His breathing and heartbeat increased. Eight hundred was the lowest combat opening height, but coming in on a ridge with a valley another thousand feet below gave them a bit of wiggle room.

  “Pull it!” Marsh yelled at five hundred feet.

  He was jerked hard as the chute opened, pulling him sharply by his harness.

  “Majesty deployed,” Seifert grunted.

  “Deployed,” Egermayer said.

  A blast of static popped in Marsh’s ear. “…ployed,” cracked Mac’s voice.

  “Arrow deployed,” Marsh said last and then, “Cross wind at the ridge. Pull it out of the trees.”

  “Roger.”

  “Roger.”

  Marsh landed hard at the edge of a tree line. His chute threatened to hang in the branches, but at the last second, he released the air brakes on his chute to avoid going off the granite wall. He impacted hard at the tree line.

  “Arrow on the ground,” he said into his radio as he pulled the last rippling bubble from his chute to the ground.

  “Majesty—” Seifert said, followed by a grunt of impact. “Jesus! …I’m on the ground.”

  “Arrow, I’m in the trees,” Egermayer said. “But otherwise, I’m good.”

  “On my way, Owl,” Marsh replied. He waited to hear from Mac.

  After a few seconds of no response, Marsh stopped his forward movement.

  “Bear, this is Arrow,” he said.

  No reply.

  “Bear, respond,” Marsh said through clenched teeth.

  A second’s pause was followed by a static-filled response. “… issed…the…r...dge,” came Mac’s voice. “…too…eavy…for …the…anding.”

  “Say again, Bear,” Marsh replied. “You missed the ridge?”

  “...oger that,” Mac said. “…ee…y…… a…w…urs.”

  “Say again last,” Marsh said. “All after ‘roger that’.”

  Static.

  “Shit,” Marsh muttered.

  “Arrow, I’m still in the tree,” Egermayer said.

  “Roger. On my way,” Marsh said, setting off at a slow, slogging pace through the snow. “Majesty, get the RC fired up…I want to see how far off target we are.”

  “Roger.”

  Off target, one man down, and another in a tree, Marsh thought, shaking his head. So far, business as usual.

  **

  Time unknown—location: Harbinger’s torture chamber

  “John Temple,” I muttered again. My head dropped to my chest, drool running down my mouth to my stomach. I was exhausted, and my back was in agony from the constant flexing. My legs…I could barely feel them anymore. Though I was more aware than I let on, the trauma had taken a serious toll on me.

  “Have you been in contact with Gaines since he escaped?” The man asked…for like the twentieth time.

  I shook my head. More electricity.

  As he came off the electricity, I noticed men running down the hall past the room. The man who had been left to torture me paused his brutality long enough to walk to the doorway.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as they passed.

  Someone stopped and looked toward me before answering Mister Torture. “We just got a schedule confirmation,” he whispered as if my condition made me deaf as well as weak. “We have to go out and fire up the batteries.”

  That’s my opening, I thought.

  Mister Torture nodded and then returned to his seat next to me. “Have you been in contact with Gaines since he escaped?” he asked again.

  “Only at John Temple’s house,” I said, acting more delirious than I was.

  He paused, recognizing the change in answer. “When?”

  “Before it burned down.”

  “Before what burned down?” he asked.

  “Temple’s house.”

  He shocked me again.

  “What did Gaines give the DOJ in exchange for his freedom?” he asked, staying close to the previous questioning, but deviating enough to elicit a different answer if I was dazed enough.

  “The Caymans,” I lied, using my ace in the hole.

  “What about the Caymans?” he asked.

  I shook my head, prompting him to zap me again. I flexed as another painful arch raced through my legs and pelvis.

  “The money,” I muttered, mixing my stories intentionally. “The payoffs. The judges and the congressmen.”

  He left his control board and rushed out the door. A few minutes later, I heard his voice as he walked back toward the room. “…the Cayman accounts after Gaines escaped,” Mister Torture said. “And that he met with Gaines at John Temple’s house before we attacked it.”

  He and Harbinger strode into the room. I left my head down, my chin touching my chest. Harbinger grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head up.

  “When was the last time you saw Gaines?” he asked.

  I let my eyes roll backward into my skull and my mouth hang slack, drooling. “Benning,” I said. “Response team prep.”

  “This isn’t the answer you gave me before,” Harbinger said. “What information did Gaines give the DOJ?”

  “DOJ had the info already,” I lied. “Combine payoffs. Task force… Gaines was bait.”

  “You aren’t making any sense,” he said, shaking my head as if that would clear my response.

  “Sealed indictments,” I rasped through my dry throat. “CIA not taking the lead.”

  “Hit him again,” Harbinger said, which was followed by the strongest pulse of fire through my legs yet.

  I screamed so hard, my voice gave out part way through. When it ended, my entire body was a quivering mass of gelatin.

  “What does the DOJ have?”

  “Congressmen, judges, media,” I said as my head dropped forward again. “Hundreds of them.”

  “How is the CIA transferring this information without using Agency resources?” he asked.

  “Proxies,” I said.

  “What does that mean?” he yelled as he grabbed the back of my chair so hard that he broke the bolts on the front legs that had held it to the floor.

  “Double-blind encrypted drop box,” I said letting my eyes come to blurry contact with his. “We’re using other Agency servers as piggy back.”

  “Whose servers?”

&
nbsp; I smiled a dopey, drunken smile. “Homeland Security doesn’t even know we own all their computers.”

  He shook the chair. “Do you have access to the servers?” he asked.

  “I used to,” I replied. “Until last night…but Gaines should still be tapped in.”

  He dropped the chair forward. “Put him back in his cell,” Harbinger said, and then he lifted my head by my scalp. “It seems he’s been trained better than he let on. We’ll need to start this over after the strike.”

  Strike?!

  He left the room and my tormentor followed him, only to arrive back a moment later accompanied by two other men. They proceeded to cut my restraints and then unceremoniously jerked the blades from my legs. I screamed while maintaining my dazed posture.

  “Take him to his cell,” Mister Torture said.

  The two men dragged me down the hallway. I was careful not to let on I was aware of my surroundings, but as we passed the room with the radio equipment, I couldn’t resist a sideways peek through the doorway. From this direction, I saw, for the first time since the garage in Wiesbaden, the case for the radar repeater the couriers had delivered to Harbinger’s care. There were dozens of wires leading into the case.

  They’re getting ready to use it right now! That’s the strike!

  My mind started racing, trying to figure out what the target could be. As the two men dragged me into my cell and dropped me, the Mister Torture stepped in and threw me a towel.

  “In case you decide you want to clean up,” he said with a cruel grin. My head lulled to the side as one of the men pulled a zip tie tightly across my wrists. I flexed my palms together so there was more play than he had intended to leave, but he seemed not to notice me doing it.

  They left the room, and I heard all three of them walk away.

  Not as worried about me escaping this time, I thought. And you didn’t bind my feet this time either. That should save me a couple of minutes.

  I took a minute to breathe some of the tension out of my chest before sitting upright. The sun was just starting to peek through the window from the east, giving me something I hadn’t felt in several hours…a sense of hope.