Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  “We had Shining Light not forecast what the Americans would do immediately about trade, but what they would do longer term. The most drastic options, such as actions leading to war or a total breakdown in trade, were rated at the lowest probability. The reality is that our two countries are too important to each other and have too many intertwining interests. For those reasons, Shining Light rejected those long-term outcomes.

  “What scored the 31 percent probability I doubt anyone would have predicted. That option was that the weakening of our currency would tip the balance for America doing what it had considered doing for many years, but never made this a high-enough priority to commit to. And that is to address the problem of rare earths. These elements are mainly from atomic numbers 57 to 70. They are essential to expanding uses for magnets, ceramics, specialty glasses, lasers, plasma screens, semiconductors, and on and on. Despite their name, many of them are relatively abundant but not contained in sufficient concentration in ores to extract.

  “At one point, China produced 95 percent of the world’s rare earths, but more recently, the percentage has dropped to about 80 percent, due to increased production elsewhere. It is thought that we failed at our attempt to punish Japan for an action we did not like by reducing exports of rare earths to them. Instead, our reduction of exports had the unanticipated side effect of alerting other countries not to depend on our exports as much. Since then, we have not made such further threats.

  “Shining Light gave a 31 percent probability that negative consequences for China from weakening our currency would be for America to mount a serious effort to not only become independent of rare earth imports but become a chief competitor to China’s exports. Not enough time has passed for us to fully evaluate the results, but America has recently instituted major increases in government funding of rare earth mines and extraction facilities. Plus, we learned of a formal plan to put even more emphasis on this, with the goal of making as many nations as possible independent of China’s rare earth exports.

  “There are other examples of Shining Light making unexpected predictions that have proved correct or seem to be moving in that direction.”

  Song interrupted before Chan could continue. “This does not mean Shining Light is always correct. There have been failures, if you consider that the option with the highest score did not come to pass. Remember, these are only rough estimates. Sometimes the outcomes that occur do not have the highest score, but so far, they have never been among the lowest.”

  Zhang noticed one of the strangers fidgeting in his chair.

  “Patience, comrades. All this is leading somewhere that I think we are about to arrive at.” He motioned to Chan to continue.

  “Comrade General Zhang is correct. Now I arrive at the end to describe what Shining Light predicts about the American base on Ellesmere Island.

  “The list of options was long, though most had probabilities from 1 to 5 percent. What surprised us was one option rated at 47 percent, one of the highest scores we have ever obtained from Shining Light. Although it may seem contradictory, options from 30 percent to 40 percent have proved correct 76 percent of the time. This is an aspect of the idiosyncrasies of the system and a feature we are working to understand. However, I repeat how surprised we were at the 47 percent.”

  Chan paused briefly. His long presentation had led to this moment, and he was unsure of the reception to his shocking conclusion or the impact on his career.

  “This was also an unusual case because once all the more plausible explanations were rejected as having too low a probability, we were left with a seemingly implausible explanation as almost a certainty. According to Shining Light, the mathematical and technological advances associated with the Ellesmere Island base do not originate with the staff at the base, and the fact that the base is located there is because the source of information, whatever or whoever it is, is restricted to that site.”

  The last words broke the silence of the unidentified audience, and a barrage of questions exploded. Chan spent the most stressful two hours of his life responding to questions and listening to suggestions about his incompetence or sanity. He felt thankful for General Song’s occasional support.

  Zhang sat stoically during the grilling until he called an end to it.

  “Colonel Chan, you are dismissed for now. Please remain in the outer office, in case we want to ask further questions.”

  Chan was more than grateful to escape and spent another three hours sitting, pacing, and forgetting he had not eaten or drunk anything that day. When the meeting room’s door opened, most participants walked out and dispersed without glancing at Chan. Several more minutes passed before Song exited and walked toward Chan, who shot to his feet.

  “You handled yourself well, Colonel. Return to your unit. It may be some time before we hear a response, if any at all.”

  123rd Archive Center, 23 Kilometers from Harbin, China

  Major General Caiwen Song hummed as his driver stopped at the security gate of Colonel Chan’s unit.

  You know, he thought, even with the newer buildings, this still looks like the Russian monastery it once was. I wonder if that was deliberate? If it was, I wonder if the designer of the new buildings had to answer for his capitalist tendencies and lack of commitment to our glorious continuing revolution?

  He couldn’t help himself and laughed. His startled driver glanced over his shoulder, only to be reassured by Song’s hand wave and then drawn back to his window when the guard returned their documents and opened the gate.

  Song looked at the guard as they passed. The appropriately slovenly looking middle-aged man was a retired People’s Marine major with more decorations that most generals. Equally unobtrusive were similar men serving as groundskeepers, clerks, farmers in adjacent plots of land, and men and women in three villages within two kilometers. In addition, enough electricity flowed through the apparently dilapidated fence to fry a water buffalo.

  Song usually visited the site only two or three times a year on well-announced visits. Today was different. It had been two weeks since Chan’s presentation, and Song knew the poor man had had a miserable two weeks, wondering about the outcome. He felt he owed it to his subordinate to pass along the news in person.

  A visibly sweating Chan arrived at a run when he heard that General Song was in his office. He stopped outside the door, took several deep breaths to try to calm himself, and wiped his face with a handkerchief. He had been watching unit members show graphically displayed scenarios dealing with China/Taiwan trade when a nervous woman had found him and passed on the message.

  Song grunted when Chan entered the office. “Relax, Chan. There is no bad news.”

  It didn’t help, and Chan sat nervously facing Song.

  “Well, a decision has finally been made. This went straight to the Central Committee. I know you thought things might not have gone well during your briefing, but I can now tell you that those three men whose identities were never given to you had already read all your reports and had gotten other technical input. Be assured that the work of your unit impressed people all the way to the top. I will also say that the decision to remove more details about the 47 percent rating was wise. It would not have been well received to tell a higher authority that the 47 percent breakdown had extraterrestrial aliens as 19 percent, eccentric scientists who would only work in the most remote locations as 6 percent, and the remaining 22 percent assigned to a dozen scenarios, most of which were even more implausible. The mention of aliens would have led to our report being dismissed.”

  Song paused, possibly gathering his thoughts but causing Chan to suppress a cry just to get to the final point. “What was the decision?”

  “Although the final decision was far above my rank, I believe the chairman himself was involved. When added to work done at other intelligence and economic units, our report points to quantum leaps in American technology that threaten to negate the advances we were projecting for China. Revised models now show that instead
of catching up to and surpassing American technology within fifteen years, we may face dropping relatively further behind for at least the next fifty years. Beyond that, the models are too unreliable, although some people in authority worry it portends China will remain behind as long as a century or more, no matter our efforts.”

  Song paused again, licking his lips. “The decision involves significant risks, but a strike team of sixty elite soldiers will be taken by submarine and landed within thirty kilometers of the American base. They will meet up with the two Eskimos observing the base and launch a surprise raid at morning’s first light—somewhere around the last week in October.”

  Chan’s vocal cords froze. Despite his nearly obsessive wondering about what the response would be to his unit’s work, a direct military action had never occurred to him as an option. He swallowed twice before trying to speak. He failed, coughed, and tried again.

  “But that’s within Canadian territory and is mainly an American base. Their response to such a provocation is bound to be severe.”

  “That’s the grave risk. Although I was not privy to such high-level discussions, I imagine the Central Committee decided the response could be minimized. Everything will be traced back to a hardline general who will be accused of acting alone and without authorization. The Americans might not believe the story, but we think the American response can be managed with enough executions and our overtures of regret.”

  Chan suppressed a shudder, knowing he was a disposable cog in the regime and could be deemed dispensable under the right circumstances.

  “The decision is made, though I have my doubts,” said Song. “If what is happening on Ellesmere is as important as indicated, I personally would not discount any American reaction scenario if they believe China is behind the raid.”

  “But witnesses?” protested Chan. “And the Americans and Canadians will send help as soon as the base radios what is happening.”

  “Satellite, radar, and listening posts will be alert for signs of military movement before our team hits the base. Assuming that is clear, it is estimated that at least five to six hours would pass before help could arrive. There will be time to do intense questioning of the personnel to identify key people, gather records, and assess any personnel or equipment that should be taken back to where the submarine waits.

  “If all goes optimally, there will be no witnesses. The Eskimos have identified a crevasse above an underground stream. Those personnel not to be returned to China will be thrown down the shaft to be swept away. Where to is not known, but if we’re lucky, it will either be to the ocean or trapped underground long enough for their eventual discovery not to matter.

  “The raiding unit will be equipped with Russian weapons, clothing, and other gear. A few items will be ‘accidently’ left behind to implicate our communist comrades to the north. The Americans and Canadians will be faced with no witnesses and with suggestions the Russians were involved.

  “There is also the possibility of sunspot activity in a time window favorable for the raid. If that happens, the team will attempt to launch the raid during maximum solar activity, which could disrupt communications for hours to days. As I have said, it is a risk, but there are contingencies to minimize American reactions.”

  Chan realized that Song wanted to reassure him. While he appreciated the effort, both men knew the outcome could be negative enough that even a major general and a coterie of other officers and officials might not be sufficient scapegoats, in which case no individual and his family was safe.

  CHAPTER 35

  DEATH AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD

  Eskimo Eyes

  They had killed a half-grown musk ox ten miles away. Tupilaq had come with a silenced Russian bolt-action rifle he used on the musk ox—shooting an adult meant more trouble hiding the carcass once all the edible parts were removed. Amaruq never asked to use the rifle. He did not want to touch any tool of the Yupik’s, in case the demon had attached spells to it.

  After butchering the musk ox and cleaning the hide to use it to further conceal the cave’s entrance, they had scattered the bones and other remnants in an effort to simulate the work of wolves. Amaruq did not believe the result was believable, but he admitted Tupilaq was probably right that southern people couldn’t tell the difference.

  Moreover, hand-made snares could catch enough arctic hares, voles, and lemmings for a dozen men at this time of year.

  As long as they were careful to conceal the evidence of their hunting and trapping, they could live off the land indefinitely. Yet when the season shifted to endless night, food would become scarcer, and they would need to insulate their cave dwelling from the winter cold. Both men were accustomed to eating raw or frozen meat, as did their ancestors, though Amaruq was Westernized enough to prefer cooking.

  However, Amaruq did not intend to spend the winter on Ellesmere. Tupilaq believed they would be picked up by another submarine before winter, but Amaruq was not sure whether he and possibly the Yupik might be loose ends better eliminated by the Chinese.

  At their camp, Amaruq had gathered dried grasses and mummified musk ox dung to smoke a week’s worth of meat. He wrapped the results in hare hide and returned to the observation position, where he would take his turn watching the base while Tupilaq returned to their camp.

  The Yupik never took his eyes off the base when Amaruq jumped eight feet to land nearby. The Inuit had done it deliberately to see if he got a reaction—something ill advised, he decided twenty minutes later.

  Amaruq stashed dried meat and a water bladder in rock crevices and joined Tupilaq in observing the base. The two men still had not exchanged words an hour later. Amaruq shifted imperceptibly where he crouched, both to ease a potential cramp and to edge slightly farther away from the Yupik. He did not trust the man he feared was a tuurngaq, an evil spirit who had possessed a human.

  “Hey! Who are you?” exclaimed a voice in English coming from their left. Amaruq, startled, jerked around to look at the intruder. He saw Tupilaq already in motion, running toward a Caucasian man fifteen feet away. The man yelped once before the Yupik drove a knife into his diaphragm, removing any opportunity for him to make another sound.

  The base staffer was flung against a rock upthrust. Tupilaq’s left hand clamped over his victim’s mouth as his right hand twisted and pumped the knife handle, severing blood vessels and cutting internal organs into sections. When he released the man, the lifeless body slid volitionless to the ground. His killer wiped the knife blade on the body’s jacket and turned expressionless to Amaruq.

  “Hide. Hide dead. Hole.”

  The Inuit needed no more complex wording. The man would be missed, perhaps within hours and certainly within days. The body must disappear. Amaruq knew Tupilaq referred to a crevasse leading to an underground stream they had found when searching for observation points.

  Amaruq agreed, but it was more urgent to know whether the attack had been seen from below. He turned to view the base. Four human figures walked between the structures, and a tractor moved a large crate from what they knew to be a storage building toward where the base occupants slept. None of the people’s movements appeared hurried. Amaruq grabbed Tupilaq’s powerful binoculars and surveyed the base. No one looked in their direction. Two women walked out of one of the smaller structures, stopped to face a man carrying a metal toolbox, and apparently engaged him in conversation. No one looked up the slope.

  It was mid-day, too soon for them to risk being seen moving the body. They crouched unspeaking six feet from each other and waited until the base activity subsided as it moved into the sleeping cycle.

  Amaruq felt angry and fearful. The demon was too dangerous to be near. He would wait for an opportunity to disappear. Whatever their employer’s plan for the base, it was sure to change Amaruq’s life forever. His roaming the Arctic regions was accepted by Inuits and the Canadians, but in a flash of intuition he believed those days were over. He needed to get away from the base, from Tupilaq, from Ellesmere
, and disappear into an Alaskan Inuit community near where he was born.

  He had liked Arctic Bay, where a Canadian who also served their employer usually contacted him. The money the man paid him went into a bank account through electronic transfer. Although Amaruq preferred solitude and pitting himself against nature in his ancestors’ lands, he was not above using the accouterments of southern civilization. At age seven, he had even spent months living within the large Inuit community in Ottawa when his father took the family there. When they returned north, Amaruq remembered the experience—the good and the bad. The good he had resolved to use when it suited him, as long as he could live as he wished. Now, it was time to find an existence somewhere between the two worlds.

  Missing

  Zach handed Jimmy of the maintenance crew a requested socket wrench, while Zach helped overhaul one of the Hagglunds, the all-terrain, tracked snowcats. He liked working on vehicles and found a few hours of dealing with metal and grease to be therapeutic—almost meditative. Today’s work involved both men lying under the jacked-up vehicle. Unfortunately, the mood was dispelled when Jose Avila, the senior radar man on site, found him in the garage.

  “Zach, can I interrupt for a moment? We may have a problem.”

  Zach extricated himself from the transmission, rolled out from under the vehicle, and found a rag to clean the grime off his hands.

  “What’s the problem, Jose?”

  “It’s Eddie Wilcox. He was due to start a radar shift at 8:00 a.m. this morning, along with Pedro Laporta. Pedro called me at about 9:00 a.m. to say that Eddie hadn’t shown up. I assumed he’d overslept or something, although he’s never missed a shift before. I went to his room but got no answer to my knocking. Hank let me into Eddie’s room—Hank manages Dorm 1. Eddie wasn’t there, and the bed didn’t appear to be slept in. Then I checked the infirmary, the dining hall, and made a quick run around the site, asking if anyone had seen him. No one has. That’s when I thought I’d better alert you.”