Andrew’s eyebrows scrunched.
“What is it, Major? You spot something?” asked Jason.
Andrew hesitated. He didn’t actually know anything, so there was nothing he knew that he wasn’t supposed to share.
“Come on, Andy. Spill it,” said Ralph.
“That’s Andrew, not Andy,” said Jefferson absentmindedly by reflex while he considered sharing his thoughts.
Oh . . . what the hell, he decided. They’re not going to back out now.
“This base flies C-5s and C-17s. The C-5 takes a serious runway, while the C-17 can use more primitive landing sites, if necessary. Our apparent transportation is a C-17. It could mean we aren’t headed to a major airfield. Of course, it could simply be that there isn’t enough cargo to justify a C-5. Who knows?”
He paused and licked his lips. “The other thing . . . there’s no markings on the plane. No identification, no ‘US Air Force’ or anything else. Why would that be unless there’s an interest in obscuring the origin and the owner of the plane?”
“Almost like it’s a secret?” said Jason sarcastically. “And really? Who else flies the C-17?”
Before the other two spoke, the van pulled up to the three men standing by the loading ramp. An enlisted rank strolled toward the van, but the other two walked away.
“Unload our gear,” said Andrew. “I assume this is the crew chief. I’ll see what he has to say.”
Andrew exited the van and returned a salute.
“Major Jefferson?” asked the man with a series of sleeve stripes and frosted hair.
“I’m Jefferson.” He opened and held out his identification. The man looked at it and nodded.
“I’m the crew chief. I understand none of you four going with us have been on this flight before. I’m to give you a summary of the situation. You will not speak with the cockpit crew and only to myself as pertains to the plane’s cargo and safety. None of us will identify ourselves further, and you will refrain from attempting to learn anything about us or the plane.” He smiled. “This is the routine speech, but take it seriously.”
“All right,” said Andrew, itching to probe but intuiting the enlisted man would be a stone wall. And inquiring when you’ve been told not to was a sure way to trigger unwanted consequences. “What’s next?”
“The loading crew is myself and whatever assistance I ask of you four. It’ll make loading harder, but we need to get going. We’re scheduled to lift off in . . . ,” he looked at his watch, “seventy-one minutes.”
A C-17 cargo plane had a flight crew of only three—the pilot, the copilot, and the crew chief. Andrew and the three Virtual-Reality staff members tried to follow the directions barked out. Andrew wasn’t offended at being cursed at by enlisted personnel—he’d experienced it during the four years at West Point.
There were already several pallets on the plane, and once they loaded and secured the Virtual-Reality pallets, the cargo bay was filled, the loading ramp closed, and the plane began taxiing.
The crew chief directed them to cushioned seats against the cockpit bulkhead, and they strapped in. Andrew glanced at his watch. They made the scheduled lift off with two minutes to spare.
Harold spoke softly but loud enough to be heard over the engines. “So, Major, when do we find out exactly where we’re going?”
Andrew smiled. “All I can tell you right now is that our immediate destination is the Thule Air Force Base in Greenland. There, we’ll pick up some additional personnel, refuel, and then fly on to the project site. We’ll not be staying at Thule more than an hour or two.”
“Greenland!” exclaimed Ralph, “and that’s only a stop on the way? When you said remote, you weren’t kidding!”
“As I told you,” Andrew replied, “the site IS quite remote. However, I’ve been assured by the person in charge that facilities have been designed to make the stay at the site as pleasant as possible.”
“And I suppose once we get there, we’ll learn what the project is?” prompted Jason.
“Yes,” responded Andrew, “we’ll all be getting a detailed set of briefings and all secrets revealed.”
Ralph looked at Andrew queerly. “Just confirming you don’t know what the project is either, do you?”
Andrew smiled. “No, I can honestly say that while I know a little more than you do at this moment, I don’t have any more of an idea what the VR system’s proposed use is than you do.”
The plane moved onto the runway, it was given clearance, and the engines ramped up for takeoff.
During the next few hours, the crew chief spent most of his time in the cockpit, only coming back periodically to check on the cargo. This left Andrew and the others alone with the pallets, both those from Virtual-Reality and other pallets labeled and unlabeled. Andrew explained that they would arrive at the site outside of the regular delivery schedule, and as long as the plane was going and the VR system didn’t fill the cargo bay, they were bringing extra supplies. Andrew didn’t tell them that one of the pallets contained equipment that most of the personnel at the site would hopefully never know about—a selection of weapons that Andrew and Zach had discussed and decided were needed to be on site in the remote chance of a direct threat.
Lynchburg, Virginia
After the first meeting with Sinclair, Zach went about recruiting
Wilbur Larson. It wasn’t that Willie would argue about being called Wilbur, but he only answered to Willie—which caused some interesting “misunderstandings” Zach had witnessed. Zach’s insistence on adding another experienced security member probably wasn’t necessary, but he had three reasons. He always preferred to err on the side of excessive preparation and caution—a major reason he still breathed, considering some missions he had participated in. A second reason was that he “liked” Willie. He hadn’t had many opportunities to either make or maintain friends in the last decade or so, but Zach and Willie had participated in several operations, and Zach found him both competent and trustworthy. The ability to trust anyone in this line of work was priceless. The feelings seemed to be mutual, although you could never be sure from Willie’s taciturn manner.
Actually, Zach thought, Willie has such limited tolerance for bullshit that maybe he does think of me as a friend. Whatever the case, Zach chose to consider Willie a friend. Whether that was real, Zach was unwilling to obsess over it.
Zach’s third reason for recruiting Willie was that he sensed his colleague was adrift after the dustup resulting in Zach’s exile to Homeland Security. While Zach had had enough internal CIA support to keep a position, the others in the botched operation had not fared as well and had been cut loose by the agency, at least temporarily.
He had kept tabs on Willie and had met him for beers one evening.
“Where do you think you’ll head next, Willie?”
“I’ve landed a job working for a nursery company doing greenhouse maintenance and night watchman duties. It’s in Lynchburg, Virginia.”
“Nursery? Why that? Private security firms operating both in the U.S. and overseas would easily hire you, especially with recommendations from me and a few others we’ve worked with in and outside the agency.”
“I think I’d like a quiet life for a change,” Willie had answered brusquely, indicating the end of the discussion on that particular topic.
Zach had let it slide for that moment, but months later, when he accepted Sinclair’s offer, he immediately thought about Willie. He hadn’t been totally honest with Sinclair about knowing Willie’s whereabouts. The next morning, he showed up unannounced as Willie left work.
Zach wasn’t surprised when Willie greeted his visitor as though they’d just seen each other the previous day, instead of several months earlier.
“You wanna beer?” asked Willie.
“Well . . . a little early for me, but I get it that you’re just off work. Any place open near here?”
Willie looked around as if curious about why a bar wouldn’t be open at 6:00 a.m. “Not far. Follow
me.”
Zach tailed the used Ford F-150 pickup three miles to a small shopping center. Wedged between Fung Wa’s Chinese restaurant and an army surplus store was the Blue Flamingo. The garish neon sign flickered, and a quarter of the lettering was dark. Inside, they ordered at the bar and sat at a table in the back.
“So, how do you like watering plants?” Zach asked while waiting for the beers.
“Oh . . . it’s not just watering. I sometimes pull weeds from the pots, clean up the greenhouses, and even help with plantings and pruning. I work mostly after the other people have left. That way, they get double duty from me besides my deterring mischief-makers.”
“What? Break-ins? I’d think greenhouses were pretty quiet.”
“That’s what I thought when I took the job. You wouldn’t think a bunch of plants needed a watchman, but break-ins to steal copper piping are serious and are likely to support opioid addicts. Hell, another worker mentioned a break-in in North Carolina where they hauled off twenty tons of fertilizer and potting soil.”
Willie grimaced. “Not to mention the ‘earth-firsters’ and other tree-huggers who think every company greenhouse ‘must’ contain genetically engineered plants that have to be destroyed.”
Willie laughed. “I hadn’t realized greenhouses full of plants were such a threat to the global ecology. I thought the manager exaggerated or joked when he told me to watch out for greenhouse raiders. Then, a group of them tried to break into a greenhouse of deadly petunias last month.”
Willie let it slide about telling Zach the group of intruders in their twenties had laughed and taunted him, somehow thinking they were immune from consequences. They kept trying to skirt around him and get into the greenhouses to save the world from mutant flowers. That mission ended when his size 14 boot propelled a couple of them face-first onto the surrounding pavement. Willie also picked up a pony-tailed girl by the neck and the crotch and launched her into a compost heap. Bruised and angry, they tried to file assault charges against Willie until the local sheriff advised that if they did, they would be admitting to trespass with intent to destroy—which happened to fall under one of those idiotic, to Willie anyway, Homeland Security definitions of “terrorism.” Thus cautioned, they vanished—presumably to seek out easier means to save the planet. Willie’s boss admonished him against using excessive force and reminded him that his job was to notify the sheriff’s office in such cases and let them handle it. The admonishment lost some of its impact when accompanied by a suggestive smile at the corner of the manager’s mouth and an extra $500 in Willie’s next paycheck.
“Does it pay enough to live on?” asked Zach, after ordering another round of beers.
“Good enough. I’m livin’ small right now. Haven’t drawn on my ‘retirement’ funds. The agency paid well these past years, and there often weren’t places to spend it all.”
“I hear you,” said Zach. “So . . . what do you think, Willie? Is this something you see yourself doing for a while?”
“I originally thought of it as a break . . . but I don’t know. I’m finding I like it better than I expected. Doing it forever? Maybe. Maybe not. The agency’s work was hard at times, but I kept working for them as long as we occasionally made a real difference. I suppose if the chance comes to return, I’ll have to make a decision.”
“Well . . . that’s part of why I’ve come visiting. I don’t know if you’d heard I’ve been hidden over at Homeland Security until things cooled off at Langley.”
“Yeah. I did. I also heard you got to stay on only by the skin of your teeth, instead of being dumped in the street like the rest of us. We all assumed even Admiral Asshole couldn’t discount Zach Marjek’s history with the agency.”
Zach started to speak, but Willie cut him off with a hand wave. “And don’t try to say you’re sorry you couldn’t do anything for me. I’m sure you would have if it was possible.”
“You’re right. I came up against a brick wall. As it is, I came within a hair’s breadth of telling them to go fuck themselves and walking away. I finally thought if I stayed quiet awhile and got back in their good graces, I might be able to bring you and the others back. That’s related to why I’ve looked you up.”
Willie snorted. “As if I didn’t suspect there was some underlying reason for this visit. Spit it out.”
Zach smiled. One thing he liked about Willie: dallying around a subject seldom occurred to him.
“I’ve been pardoned from Homeland Security. I can’t give you more details right now, but I’ve been picked up for a gig with a quasi-military operation where most of the work is by civilians. It’s supposed to last about a year, possibly a little longer, and I’m to be internal security and a backup for external threats. Expectations are it’ll be quiet to the point of boring. Pay will be quite generous, although it’ll involve relative seclusion.
“And before you ask—no, I don’t know where it’s at or exactly what’s going on. However, it seems to be a high priority for certain highly placed people. I told them one condition of my taking the job was bringing along someone I’d worked with before. They didn’t think more people were necessary, but for whatever reason, they went along.
“No promises, but it’s been hinted to me that getting back into the agency will be greased at the end of this job, if that’s what I want. The same could be true for you.
“So, what do you think? Interested in changing this quiet job for another one that pays well and go somewhere blind to work with me?”
Willie’s expression didn’t change . . . not that Zach expected anything different. Seconds passed. A minute.
“I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing a familiar face for a while. If it’s going to be quiet, as you say, I guess I can mull over the future wherever this is, as well as in a greenhouse.”
Two beers later, Zach bid Willie goodbye with instructions for when to meet at Andrews. As he drove away, Zach hoped he had done Willie right by recruiting him for this job.
Willie, in turn, pondered similar thoughts and with mixed feelings. He was reasonably content for the moment, but he knew it was only a temporary situation until he figured out what to do next. He always felt comfortable working with Zach and knew at least part of the reason was because Zach trusted him and valued his input, when he gave it. In reverse, he trusted Zach and realized he missed the man.
Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland
The Gulfstream V accelerated down the runway. This model was the C-37A, a military version of the executive jet intended to transport CEOs, rich people, and high-ranking generals and admirals. This was Zach’s first flight on an executive jet, and he thought he could get used to the lifestyle. The plane sat twelve passengers in relative luxury—seats like first-class on commercial flights but with better upholstery, that swiveled, and that had buttons on the right armrest, most of which Zach had no clue as to function. In addition, eight of the seats were arranged in clusters of four around two tables.
I guess so admirals and generals could plan the next war or war game, Zach thought. Then, chuckling to himself, Or probably play cards.
The total passenger manifest for this flight was five—or four and a half, depending on how you counted the kid. Sinclair sat at one of the table setups, using it to spread out papers and a laptop. The other table setup, across the aisle, was occupied by Jill Hardesty and Bobby.
For her, the last days had been a kaleidoscope of emotions. From moment to moment, she vacillated among anger, bewilderment, panic, and being on the verge of breaking down in tears.
However, Bobby kept her anchored. By concentrating on him, she coped, barely, with everything turning her world upside-down.
Jill felt relief at the takeoff. At least, something was happening. Whenever traveling, she often fantasized about other passengers’ lives and made up what she thought their life stories might be, what their jobs were, what kind of a trip they were going on. It helped her pass the time and satisfied a predilection to look for curiosities, any curiosities
. That was what got her in trouble with the classified file. On this flight, playing her wondering game with the entire passenger list ended up being a short exercise, with only three other people onboard, one of whom was Agent Marks, someone she didn’t want to be curious about.
The passenger sitting across the aisle at the other table was either the person in charge or someone important. Her intuition was supported by the degree of deference shown to him by ground personnel and the other two passengers when everyone boarded. She would lay money he was a high-ranking officer. The final passenger was a large bearded man sitting in the back who hadn’t said a word to anyone. He and the agent seemed to know each other, so Jill prepared herself to also dislike him.
Oh, well, she thought, keeping Bobby occupied will be enough of a challenge without wondering about the other passengers.
After moving her and Bobby to the airbase, the military had put them in effective custody for the following week. She admitted that the quarters were pleasant, and an airwoman ran errands for whatever Jill requested. Still . . . it was being in custody. They were restricted to the small apartment complex on the base and the nearby park, where she could walk and take Bobby to play. She was constantly made aware of the circumstances by the stone-faced MP stationed outside the apartment door who also accompanied them on walks—if walking silently twenty feet behind could be defined as “accompanying.” She still had no idea where they were going. Agent Marks had called her the previous day and told her they would be leaving today. He’d picked her up at the apartment, signed off on something with the MP, loaded their things into the military van, and then drove off to a distant part of the base where they boarded this little jet.
At least, it’s plush inside, and I wonder if they have free movies and drinks? she thought, struggling to find a modicum of humor to help her mood. The chairs were better than any chair she’d ever had in her apartments, and she grudgingly admitted that the agent had helped get Bobby set up, which included getting his seat strapped into place next to hers. Bobby strained to see out the window, as if he didn’t know what to make of this little room they had climbed into, the shaking and the movement, and now what he saw out the window as they rose toward the cloud layer. The agent had indicated it would be a five- to six-hour flight to their destination. Wherever it was, there was supposed to be a community, and she would be able to move around the site freely and do her assigned job.
Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1) Page 9