Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  From two rows back, Zach watched the Hardesty mother and son during liftoff and the first twenty minutes of the flight. He had fastened Bobby’s car seat into the chair next to Jill, and the opposite two chairs held bags Zach assumed were various accouterments needed for a two-year-old. Technically, the bags should have been stored for takeoff, but when Zach put them in the seats—after a perfunctory gesture by Jill—he didn’t care to bring up the technicality of bag storage, given her evident opinion of him.

  He sighed. Browbeating the woman had been one of his more distasteful experiences, but he intended to watch out for them wherever they were going.

  He was also glad to be on the way. The last week had been busy. In addition to dealing with the Hardestys, there were other preparations, making secure calls to Jefferson (a newly insignia’d major), attending a couple more meetings with Sinclair, recruiting Willie, and making modifications on the manifest of the plane that would meet them—somewhere.

  Sinclair had given him access to the plane’s cargo manifest. The contents of several pallets had been redacted, but he was given purview over those identified, including one pallet whose contents were intended for security enhancements that were waiting for him to select in consultation with Jefferson. His additions included sensors, satellite radios, and an increase in the site’s arsenal after Sinclair summarized what was already available on site. One thing Zach believed, backed by experience, was that you never had too many guns or too much ammunition.

  Zach also tweaked some of the provisions. One of the manifested pallets consisted entirely of alcohol. Sinclair had said the site was remote, and Zach knew that such situations led people to pay more attention to diversions than otherwise. He personally was a moderate drinker with no firm preferences, but he looked at the contents and wondered what plebeian had ordered the wine. With access to the computerized system and authorization to change items, he substituted freely. The original cases emphasized merlots, white zinfandels, and chardonnay. He called a colleague from service in the army, a sergeant major. Zach was amused that he was getting varietal advice from someone who looked and acted like a hard-bitten drill instructor from the movies. Consequently, the wine list was now heavy on a variety of red and white wines of eight varietals with significantly higher prices.

  “What the hell,” he figured. “All they can do is change the order back, and for what this operation must be costing, a few thousand dollars for some drinkable wine is dust on the budget.” He looked forward to trying some of the vintages.

  As for Ms. Hardesty’s attitude toward him, he didn’t blame her. He’d jerked her from whatever life she had, and he was, at least from her point of view, instrumental in sending her off to God knows what. He would have been ticked off, too. However, it seemed certain from what the general had said that her only alternative to moving to the site was some version of house arrest, which would’ve been far more confining and uncomfortable. This way, she could save good money with no expenses.

  However, Zach doubted the wisdom of the decision to bring a toddler to the site. Still, he guessed that even if things didn’t work out, the mother and the child could always be shipped back to other arrangements if necessary. If he had to serve as the personification of her predicament, he’d had worse attitudes thrust on him.

  Once they reached cruising altitude, and with nothing else to do, Zach reclined his seat, closed his eyes, and within a minute was asleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  LANDS OF ICE AND STONE

  Thule, Greenland

  “Attention, please,” came over the Gulfstream’s passenger compartment speaker, waking Zach.

  “We’ll be arriving within twenty minutes. Secure for landing.”

  Zach brought his chair back upright and looked around. Willie was still asleep, and Sinclair was organizing his papers. The only person who seemed interested in where they were landing was Jill, who had her forehead pressed against the Plexiglass.

  He wondered what she saw and looked out his window. Deep blue ocean, floating icebergs, and a coast of ice and rock.

  This has to be Greenland, he thought. Sinclair hadn’t divulged their destination. Zach looked at his watch and guessed how far they had flown, based on hours and the plane’s estimated speed.

  Thule, he thought. If we’re landing close to this kind of coast, it has to be the U.S. base at Thule. Interesting. Is this our final destination or just a stopover? Maybe to refuel and continue to Europe or Asia? From northern Greenland, the next major land on the same route was Siberia, which he doubted housed a secret American base.

  Jill looked around, her expression a combination of wonder and worry.

  I can only imagine what’s going through her mind right now, Zach thought. When she was told it was a remote location, she may have thought the middle of the Nevada desert or somewhere in the Rockies, but I’ll bet heading for the North Pole hadn’t occurred to her.

  Sinclair rose from his seat and walked to the cockpit door. It opened. Zach couldn’t hear the conversation with the crew. When the general returned, he stashed his papers and folders, turned off his laptop, and leaned back to speak softly toward Zach. “Wake up Willie, and both of you come here.”

  Zach nodded, undid his seat belt, walked over to Willie, and gave him a shake of the shoulder. Willie started, murmured something, then snapped awake.

  “Willie,” said Zach, “the general wants us.”

  Zach sat across from Sinclair, Willie in the adjacent seat. The three men leaned over the small table.

  “Well,” said Sinclair, “that was a nice, smooth, and uneventful flight, but we’re about to come to our first destination, and I need to brief you on what’s going to happen here. We’re meeting another plane that’s already flown in from elsewhere. It’s a cargo plane. We’ll be transferring to that plane and taking off again for a final destination. There will also be four men on the other plane. They’ll be coming with us. I’m sure if you’ve been looking out the window, you can tell we’re north into the Arctic. It’s the airbase at Thule. There’ll be no contact with any ground personnel, and the same for the crews of this plane or the one we’ll transfer to.

  “We’ll be stopping next to a C-17. It beat us here by about an hour and is refueled. Our journey’s next leg is much shorter, and we’ll be there in about half an hour after we take off.”

  “One of the Canadian Arctic islands,” stated Willie. “There’s no other option this far north except open water.”

  “I’m guessing Ellesmere, Axel Heiberg, or Devon Island. They’re large and closest to Thule,” said Zach.

  Sinclair nodded but didn’t specify which island. “I know you have questions about where we’re going. You’ll get answers later. I don’t imagine there’re any more questions that I can answer now, but give it a shot if you want.” He looked back and forth. Neither man responded. “Okay, then.”

  When Sinclair sat back, Bobby took the moment to turn in his seat and wave to the three men across the aisle.

  “Hi,” Bobby said and waved again. Sinclair laughed and waved back. Jill looked expressionlessly at the men and coaxed her son back in his seat before passing him a small sack of goldfish. Bobby busied himself trying to pick individual snacks out of the plastic bag.

  Minutes later, the plane was deep into its descent, giving those interested in looking out the window a closer view of . . . nothing. Icebergs and barely visible pieces of ice floated on white-capped water so blue they felt themselves start to freeze just looking at it. Then they approached flat, white land that looked almost warm compared to the ocean.

  Suddenly, the water was gone, and they were rushing past whiteness with few discernible details. They felt the landing gear deploy, and Jill saw the wing flaps lower.

  They hadn’t seen any evidence of humans, and she became nervous.

  “Is there really an airfield out here?”

  Zach leaned to one side to close the distance between them—Willie had returned to his seat. “We’re land
ing in Thule, Greenland. It’s a major air base used mainly for military purposes.”

  She momentarily forgot to be rude. “I don’t see anything,” she said, her voice slightly trembling.

  “I believe there’s a settlement nearby, but the airfield has been operating for . . . ,” Zach couldn’t remember what he’d read or heard, but Sinclair had overheard and chipped in.

  “Around sixty years, Miss Hardesty. Jets bigger than this one land regularly.” He glanced out the nearest window. “Ah . . . here we go.”

  The first runway markers flashed by. They were closer to the ground than the monotonous snow and ice had led passengers to believe.

  Moments later, they streaked over the end of a runway. The Gulfstream was smaller and lower to the ground than any plane she had flown on before—which gave the impression of more speed as the nearby surface zipped by. She put a hand to her throat and gripped Bobby’s hand firmly enough to elicit a complaint. Within seconds, the wheels touched surface, and the deceleration relaxed her. Jill sighed, eased up on her son’s hand, and glanced around to see Zach watching her, concerned. She frowned, pursed her lips, and looked away.

  Zach gave Willie a wry grin and peered out the windows. Once the plane lost most of its speed, they taxied past buildings, including a terminal with letters proclaiming Thule Air Force Base. Then it was goodbye to the terminal as they taxied off to one side where a large cargo jet was waiting.

  Sinclair unbuckled and stood. “Okay, we won’t be here long. Put on your coats or the ones you were given, gather your things, and go right to the C-17 we’re parked next to.”

  It took less than fifteen minutes from the moment they came to a complete standstill to exit the Gulfstream jet, walk fifty yards to the C-17, and board, along with their gear. The interior of this plane was totally different from the one on the first leg. For Jill, the cavernous interior crowded with pallets of crates, shrink-wrapped boxes, and pieces of equipment was foreboding. A single airman led them to seats at the forward end of the cargo bay, where the men stowed the new passengers’ gear. No words were exchanged, except by the men directing where the new passengers were to sit.

  It was soon apparent that there was no easy way for the crewman to quickly secure Bobby’s car seat. He turned to Zach, who stood nearby.

  “The kid will have to be held. Help get them seated.”

  Jill frowned at the crewman’s back, as he went aft to check pallet restraints and prepare to close the cargo bay ramp.

  “It’s a short flight,” said Zach. “Once we’re in the air, I’d estimate forty minutes, maybe even less. I can hold Bobby if you’d like.”

  “I can do it,” she snapped.

  With a quick clearance, the big plane taxied onto a runway, and the four jet engines revved up, drowning out other sounds. It was Jill’s first experience with an airplane that hadn’t been designed to muffle most engine noise. Then they became airborne with what she thought was an incredibly short takeoff.

  Sinclair noticed her attention and raised his voice above the engines. “Don’t worry, Miss Hardesty. This plane is built for rapid takeoffs, short runways, and is an amazingly rugged plane.”

  Somewhat mollified or at least pleased that someone noticed her concern, she nodded to Sinclair and turned back to keeping Bobby occupied.

  As Zach had told her, the flight was short. It seemed to her they never reached a cruising altitude. One moment the plane was climbing and the next it was descending. She had only momentary views out a small window on the other side of the aircraft, but they left land, flew over water, and were over land again in what seemed like only a few minutes.

  As they crossed over a coast, Zach, who sat three seats away, leaned toward Jill and spoke loud enough to be heard over the engines’ roar.

  “We’re over Ellesmere Island, the northernmost Arctic island of Canada, and well above the Arctic Circle. It’s into spring, so although it’ll be cold, you’ve felt similar weather on Washington’s coldest days. The weather will warm up as the sun stays up longer. Then, for about three to four months, the sun won’t set at all.”

  It occurred to her that must mean there would also be months with nothing but darkness, and how cold must that be? She refrained from asking the agent but prayed she and Bobby would be back in the States before the Arctic winter.

  The men, minus Sinclair, unbuckled and clustered at nearby small windows. They saw snow-covered, rocky terrain interspersed with peaks and glaciers. They didn’t see human signs: no roads, no buildings, nothing that would indicate humans had ever touched the land below.

  Jill knew from past plane trips that everywhere in the continental United States had visible evidence of humans. Even in Nevada’s more remote regions, roads were visible from thirty to forty thousand feet. Here, there was apparently nothing, judging from what she heard the men say. By the time the plane had made several turns and entered the last part of their descent, they might have traveled a hundred miles over land without signs of human presence.

  The crew chief came out of the cockpit and made a circling motion with one raised hand. The standing men returned to the seats and donned headsets hanging above their positions. Jill copied the men.

  “Be sure you’re strapped in. We’ll make one more turn and be down shortly.”

  Three minutes later, the plane tilted 45 degrees. The ground looked alarmingly close—Zach estimated about five hundred feet.

  “Where the hell’s the airport?” said Jason, straining in his seat to look out every window.

  “Jesus,” moaned Ralph, “I don’t see anything! Is that really where we’re going to land?”

  “No problem,” Sinclair piped up. “We fly in and out of here several times a year, and it’s never been an issue. We just had to make a sharp turn because of the short runway and to avoid the mountain ridge west of the runway.”

  Jill held even more tightly onto Bobby, enough that he started to complain again. When the plane touched down, Jill and the Virtual-Reality staffers all felt momentary panic about a crash landing. The plane bounced once, twice, and on the third touch the wheels engaged the ground with a grinding noise. Shudders and bumps continued until the plane slowed into a taxi. Jill remembered to breathe.

  The plane still moved when the crewman walked to the rear and started lowering the ramp. They immediately saw rock slopes with snow and ice tops, with a longer ridgeline in the background. A blast of frigid air hit their unsuspecting lungs. The ramp touched the ground moments after the plane came to a complete stop. A group of people and several vehicles waited.

  Nanook International Airport

  Sinclair rose and gathered their attention.

  “Get on your coats, hats, and gloves that Major Jefferson distributed to you at Thule. We’re lucky with the weather. It’s supposed to be around 30 degrees today. Miss Hardesty, Major Jefferson will get you and Bobby into one of the snowcats. They’re heated inside, so you’ll only be outdoors a minute or so.”

  “Rest of you, gather up what you brought with you and either get inside or look around . . . it’s your choice. The snowcats are pulling wagons, and we’ll be off as soon as the pallets are transferred. The people here have done this before, so it won’t take long.”

  They walked off the plane, stood clustered forty feet to one side, and stared at the surroundings. What passed for the airport facility was a metal shack perhaps fifteen feet on each side and painted on it were the words “Nanook International Airport.”

  “Nanook? Is that Eskimo for ‘freeze your ass off’?” Jason asked.

  “No,” answered Zach.” I think it means ‘polar bear’ and is a play on an old silent documentary, Nanook of the North.”

  “That’s right,” said one of the men passing them on the way to unloading the plane, “but you rarely see a bear on this side of the island. The eastern side has better access to the sea ice where the bears hunt seals and walrus. However, with changing weather patterns, the bears have been ranging farther inland, and two ye
ars ago they found a half-eaten musk ox carcass with bear tracks not far from the site.”

  “Polar bears? Musk ox? Tell me I’m dreaming,” said Ralph. “Or better yet, wake me up from this nightmare. I’m not sure this is what I had in mind when I signed up for this. When’s the next flight out, Andy?”

  “Well, Ralph, for you I think we can find a seat about a year from now,” replied the black officer, whom Jill assumed was Andy.

  “Well, Jesus Christ,” complained Ralph, “I’m not sure I want to know what’s waiting for us when we get to whatever this site is.”

  “Don’t worry, people,” assured Sinclair, “while the site is about as remote as you can get, there have been major efforts to make the conditions as pleasant as possible.”

  This reassurance didn’t seem to go too far with Ralph, who continued glancing around, or with Jill. In comparison, Zach and Willie seemed unperturbed.

  Andrew guided Jill, holding Bobby despite his interest in exploring snow, to the larger snowcat, the first one in line. Harold Nieze went with them.

  When the major returned, he accompanied Sinclair as the general walked to a man standing near a forklift on treads. He shook hands with the man while the forklift driver moved to the plane’s ramp, joined by three other men to assist the crewman. The first pallet was on the way to a wagon bed four minutes after the passengers had left the plane.