OPERATION COJACKS
(Title subjected to change)
By: Viopathartic
Disclaimer: Duh, I own it all.
A/N: By and large, the dead aren't very talented. They can't play water polo or lace up their boots, or maximize market share. They can't tell a joke, and they can't dance for beats. There is something dead people excel at. They're very good at handling pain. Especially in car crash dummy tests.
"Stiff" by Mary Roach
"Operation CoJacks was founded in the midst of World War II in 1942. Its founder was a man by the name of Martin Harmon. His family fled from their home in Berlin, Germany, in order to the escape the wrath of Adolf Hitler. They were not Jewish, but were afraid of being punished for not agreeing with Hitler's bylaws. Harmon was born in 1925. He grew up in Oxford, England and later went to attend the University of Oxford under a business major. He married after he graduated at top 20 of his class and had two children. Harmon was involved with many businesses located in many areas of the world. Tokyo, Paris, and Punjab were just a few locations for his many businesses. He sold such things ranging from toilet paper to expensive automobiles. However, along with the profits, Harmon made plenty of enemies," Slit recounted in a solemn tone.
Harry listened intently from his seat opposite Slit. Bill was currently chatting with someone over the communicator.
"What did Harmon do?"
"He ran. Both him and his family. Threw away their old lives and picked up new ones. They had plenty of aliases, but his wife soon got tired of running. It was a decision he was going to regret later. When Harmon was working as Jason Verdez at a car dealership, a bomb was set off at their house in a small town. The body parts of his wife and children were buried together under a single tombstone. As you can tell, Harmon was furious. He lost his family; his life. Soon after, he contacted a friend from the government and they set up a small group of specialized agents. This was the beginning of Operation CoJacks. At first it was a branch of MI6 but soon Operation CoJacks established its own name and went underground. Only a few of today's MI6 know about our headquarters. They're our connections to leading cases."
"But I still don't get it. What does Operation CoJacks really do?"
Slit leaned forward and cleared his throat. Harry could see that the answer was not that simple. "If you think Operation CoJacks is an organization of assassins, you're wrong. If you think we're the bad guys, you're wrong and right. We seek revenge no matter what the cost. And I admit, sometimes we have to kill. But I think of it as ridding the world of a sinner."
Oh Merlin, what am I getting into? What will Hermione and Ron think when-oh shit. Hermione and Ron. They must worried sick about me! And angry to, actually. They'll think I abandoned them and the Horcruxes. Oh, and Voldemort! Damn, I should have thought this through. If I'm going to go train at Operation CoJacks, who will fight Voldemort?
Slit seemed to interpret Harry's worried frown for something else. "You know Potter, we can turn around. You don't have to join us. Granted we want you to but-"
"No," Harry said with force. "I want to join Operation CoJacks but…my friends and family…"
"I thought you said you don't have a family?"
"Not the Dursleys. There are people…my friends, who are very important to me. They need me! They're depending on me."
"For what?" Harry gave Slit a look that clearly said he wasn't going to tell. "Right. Okay…then are you staying or going?"
'Being Harry Potter sucks. Will they understand? Hermione and Ron are my best friends…will they-yes, actually…I think they'll understand. They want what's best for me, right? And training here will probably help me when I have to fight Voldemort again…'
"Staying."
Slit nodded and talked to Bill through his handless walkie-talkie attached to his helmet. "Alright. 45 seconds 'til landing."
Harry sat back with his belt strapped across his waist. He felt the plane tip downward and slowing along the way. Screeching sounds indicted that the jet was on the ground and the wheels turned to a stop. Harry remained in his spot and opened his eyes, deciding that the broom was much better as transportation. Bill's head poked in from up front and he smiled warmly.
"Welcome to the Headquarters of Operation CoJacks."
Harry smiled nervously, following Slit down the stairs. The sun was beginning to rise; the sky was the color of orange with parts of indigo and magenta. The weather was fair; not too cold nor too hot. A brief gale ruffled his perpetually untidy hair, making it stand up at the ends. Slit nodded to his fellow mates and lead the way through the helipad. Different types of aircrafts were parked in orderly lots and some workers were tending to them. These aircrafts reminded Harry of the ones he used to see in Dudley's least favorite movie Top Gun.
Bill had already left Slit and Harry's side and most likely entered the building. "How long has Bill worked for Operation CoJacks?"
"A very long time. Maybe two decades or more. He's a senior agent so he's very experienced in many fields, but Bill has retired from agent work. He said it was too dangerous. So now he's the organization's transporter."
Out of the dozen or so of the aircrafts Harry had seen, only one really captured his attention. He had a frontal view of the plane as he was standing in front of it. It was the biggest by far and even he could tell it was a valuable part of Operation CoJacks. The coating of black appeared newly applied and it was so shiny, Harry could see his reflection in it. The top curved downward as it moved back and the wing span looked like the width of the Dursleys' home in Little Whinging.
"Ah, this baby here is the Lockheed SR-71 or SR-71 Blackbird. It's an advanced, long-range, Mach 3 strategic reconnaissance aircraft developed from the Lockheed YF-12A. It's usually used a spy plane in certain missions. Though it could only fit two people, it can carry 172, 000 pounds. Its wing span is 55 feet and 7 inches. Blackbird's length is 107 feet and 5 inches. It could fly up to 2, 200 miles per hour at 80, 000 feet!" Slit explained, not even hesitating. Harry didn't have to be a genius to know Slit was very fond of the Blackbird.
"Have you ever flown it?"
"I'm not specialized in that area, though I would like to one day. But you still have to learn about them in your classes."
"Classes!" exclaimed Harry. He turned away from the Blackbird and faced Slit.
He looked amused. "Of course. We wouldn't just throw our agents into the real world. You'll have to learn about the safety precautions while on the Blackbird. You need to know the basic types of combats our typical agents use. You'll learn about everything about the world and the organizations that we should look out for."
Harry sighed. He could never escape school and homework.
"C'mon, Potter." Slit saluted to another person, grabbed the handle of a steel door, and entered an unknown area. Harry found himself on the balcony of a stairwell. The walls were painted a dull gray and the steps were the same. The banister felt cold as he let his hand slide down after each step. He wondered why they couldn't just use an elevator; it was a long way down. But he didn't ask and let Slit lead him.
Once he reached the last step, Harry looked over his shoulder and saw that the stairs had disappeared. A sheet of metal acted as a wall. He gave Slit a questioning look.
"Our system automatically covers up the stair once the person has stepped off. The door we just entered through was built with a scan. Each person who passes through has their profile in the system. That way, if an intruder trespasses the security around the helipad, they wouldn't be able to get in at all. When it comes down to the protection of our Headquarters, we are very meticulous of the way we do things."
Slit and Harry came to an automatic sliding door which had a pad attached to the wall. Slit waved his hand over the pad and it lit up the color of green. Harry realized that the system had analyzed their agent by the chip that he was talking about before. The door slid open to let the two pass.
They entered a corridor with a reception desk in the part where four corridors intersected. It felt like being in a science fiction setting. The walls were painted white, the ceiling was the same, and the floor was decorated with a white carpet. Harry looked up, seeing cameras in the corners of the corridors. They followed his direction until he was out of range. He would have bet anything that there were more cameras hidden in odd places. Harry felt uncomfortable in his surroundings. The men and women-the agents-were dressed in tailored suits with a white blouse or shirt beneath. The men were wearing polished loafers and the women had on relatively high heels. Harry walked past them, dressed in his humongous t-shirt (hand-me-downs from Dudley of course) and baggy trousers.
The two reached the reception desk and a woman of Asian background looked up. She gave a wary smile at the sight of Slit, but raised an eyebrow at Harry.
"Agent Panther."
"Hey Slit. Who's he?"
"Trainee. His name is Harry Potter."
"But Slit, our last recruit was two months and three days ago."
"Ah, well…he was a surprise." Agent Panther raised both eyebrows,
"Does Elaine know?" Slit ignored her inquiry and said, "Can you just add him to the list. I spoke with some people yesterday and they said I could bring him in."
Panther shrugged but handed Slit a clipboard. He examined it quickly and turned to the right corridor, moving ahead without a word. Harry had to jog to keep up. He observed that there was a piece of paper and a pen attached to the clipboard and an idea came to mind.
"Wait! I was wondering if I could do something first?" Slit stared at him, but said yes. Harry grabbed the items and hurriedly wrote down a message. Knowing what he was doing, Slit guided him to the letterbox that was built inside the Headquarters. A stack of envelopes were located there too.
"Uh...what's the address?" Slit took the pen out of Harry's grip and scribbled the words to the front of the envelope. Harry looked questionably at the address.
Slit explained, "Obviously we cannot reveal the real address of our Headquarters. We established a make-shift address and any mail sent to and from there goes without notice. On the plus side, the service is fast." He slid the envelope inside the box and they continued on.
"We're heading towards the Authentic Room," said Slit matter-of-factly. Harry wanted to ask what exactly the room was for, but decided to wait until they arrived. They came into another corridor but at its end was huge black door. There was a keypad below the handle and Slit entered the secret combination. The light switched from red to green and a sound like a tire having its air compressed could be heard. It automatically slid open and allowed the two access.
They came into a room with a large mirror built into the wall. The only furniture that could be seen was a mahogany chair in the center. Apart from that, everything was white. It appeared that Operation CoJacks was very fond of white…
"Sit down, Potter. Someone will be here to ask you questions," commanded Slit, still reading the clipboard. "I have to attend the training room. They're practicing gun control and aim." He began to walk away.
"Wait, b-but will I see you again, Slit?" Harry asked fearfully.
Apart from the slight encounter with Panther and Bill, Slit was the only one he knew at Operation CoJacks.
"Don't worry, you'll see me again. Probably in a month or so, but you'll see me," He assured. Then he gave Harry a smile that went away as fast as it came. Harry watched him leave, his apprehension growing larger.
For the last ten years, Operation CoJacks had created a secret research effort to find out when someone was not telling the truth. This wasn't measured with a voice analyzer or polygraph machine like most people presume. Polygraphs only records a person's breathing rate and blood pressure, tracking its changes. Fear could distort the results of the test, and it was found to not be completely accurate. CIA agents, or Central Intelligence Agency, were trained to control their body's subconscious functions, and they could pass the test easily.
However, here, the agents didn't examine the body reactions and language of the person; they observed the brain. The room in which Harry was currently in was nothing but a large MRI chamber. Naturally, the person was not aware of Operation CoJacks' real purpose of the Authentic Room (hence the title). While watching this person's brain as he answered questions, it was possible to see how different sectors of tissue reacted to what was being asked. The scientists and analyzers discovered it was easier to examine the brain; it was more dependable. When a person was lying, his left prefrontal cortex and the anterior cingulate gyrus would light up like green patches of grass in the summer.
Bill sat in front of four 32" televisions, a carton of Chinese noodles on the seat next to him. True to what Slit had said, Bill was the headquarters' transporter. However, he didn't explain the rest. Bill did retire from field work, but was still part of the less precarious and more mentally challenging cases.
The Authentic Room required an experienced agent to work as both the controller and analyzer of the subject. Bill was the perfect candidate.
Observing Harry through one of the television screens reminded him of Slit's first interview. His father was co-president of the major branches in the British government.
His father, his mother, his 16-month-old sister, and he were driving on the highway in their Citroën DS. They were driving Slit to his university when the car began to produce odd noises. They veered onto the side of the road, and Slit decided to step outside and stretch. His father had opened the hood of the car and his mother cradled Amy in her arms. Slit was plenty of feet away, admiring the scenery and revering his college life. Suddenly, a distinct clicking sound could be heard by the father, but before he could utter a sound, the car exploded.
Slit was walking back to the car and was blown back by the explosion. Shards of glass and scraps of metal flew in all direction. Unfortunately, Slit had experienced second and third degree burns all over; his clothes could not beat the ravaging heat from the fire. A strapping of metal embedded the mastoid portion of the temporal bone. The conflagration from the explosion had spread towards a small village and that was what alerted the authorities and Operation CoJacks. The medical team immediately rushed to the site of the accident (but many suspected assassination) and Slit underwent surgery. Today, the red scar remained near Slit's right ear, as a reminder of what had happened.
The accident had partially damaged Slit's hearing but that did not stop his ability to perform missions.
It was evident that his father had had a spot reserved for his son in Operation CoJacks ever since his birth. Slit was expertly trained in self-defensive combat such as Kung Fu, tae kwon doe, and Shaolin Kung Fu. His native tongue was English, but he was also fluent in German, French, and Latin. His other expertises revolved around the art of swords and ballistics.
Slit had dominated the field since the age of 17, the youngest age for a trainee...until now. Instead, Harry would be given the title.
A knock on the door disturbed Bill from his thoughts, but his annoyance was quickly replaced with anticipation. The file of Harry Potter has arrived.
Another senior agent entered the Authentic Room. He was finely built and walked with an air of authority. His once black hair had faded into gray, but that did not say anything about him except his age. The man was also a retired field agent and worked inside the Headquarters. Currently, his hands were tangled behind his back and his eyes were pinned on the boy in the seat. A small earpiece was located in his right ear which allowed communication between him and the analyzer.
Harry gulped, immediately intimidated by him. His shoes echoed from the walls as he came closer to where Harry sat. He stuck out a hand and for a minute there, Harry forgot how to move his arms.
"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Agent Collins. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Sure." Harry sat down once more, wiping his palms on his trousers. Collins walked slowly in a circle around the seat, cogitating his words.
"You were brought to the Headquarters of Operation CoJacks by Agent Tanners, correct?"
"Tanners? Do you mean Slit?"
"Yes." Harry nodded in return. Collins paused in his steps, listening to Bill. "He's telling the truth, George."
"Alright. Can you recount the events that had lead up to your arrival at Headquarters?"
"Yes, sir. Um...at night, I couldn't sleep so I was up in the attic. I saw two men outside in an old car and they appeared to be watching the house. I decided that maybe I was just paranoid so I went back to my bedroom. About fifteen minutes later, I heard my Uncle Vernon yelling so I went to see what was going on. When I came to their room, there was this guy-Slit told me his name was Noman-holding up a gun to my uncle, my aunt, and their son. He told me to sit down so I did and he was pointing the gun at me. I thought I was gonna die but then when I opened my eyes, he was the one dead. Slit had killed him. I was scared so Slit and I ran away from the scene."
Collins listened to the earpiece again, but this time his face was set in stone. Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room.
"Why would he lie about that?"
Bill shook his head, typing on the keyboard while only looking at the screens. A file came up and his eyes scanned the text. Collins waited impatiently, arms crossed and eyes still on Harry in the Authentic Room.
"What does he have to hide? Why not say the truth about how he met Slit?"
"I don't know, George, but this kid is pretty weird." Bill leafed through the stack of files on the boy.
"How?"
"Well first off, do you know where I had to pick them up from?"
"No," said Collins exasperatedly, "Where did you pick them up?"
"Nevada. And it said that at 1AM, they were at the Dursleys' and then at 1:30 Am, they were in Nevada." The man almost fell in shock. That was impossible. Slit was scheduled for his mission on Saturday, August 8 at approximately midnight. Today was August 9, 6:32 A.M. How could Slit and Harry have traveled from England to Nevada in half an hour?
Collins vigorously shook his head. "No, it must be a glitch in the system."
"The system is fine! It's the new recruit who is not. Look, here's the history we have on him. Harry Potter was born on July 31st, 1980 to Lily Evans and James Potter. A year later, he was placed under the care of Vernon and Petunia Evans-Dursley--that's Lily Evans' sister. Harry attended Delmont primary school and was about to go to Delmont Junior High School. Except...except, at age eleven to thirteen, there were no records from Delmont stating his presence at the school. Why is that? He couldn't have just vanished from Earth like that!
Bill was on a roll while Collins gawked. "A month after his thirteenth birthday, he was listed under St. Brutus School for Criminal Boys. But we contacted the institution and no one even heard of him. Our agents were sent to investigate. So technically, he hasn't been in school in 6 years! We must have used an outdated version of the Dursleys' file because Harry Potter was not included in the family for the mission."
Collins wasn't sure if he should be mad at his agents' lack of work ethnics or intrigued by this sudden discovery. "But what about his parents? Why was he sent to live with the Dursleys at the age of one?"
"Lily Evans and James Potter died in a car crash. Harry survived with only that weird scar on his forehead."
"Oh, well that explains it then," Collins said. Bill shook his head once more and slid his chair down to the last computer screen.
"No it doesn't. Lily Evans, sister of Petunia Evans and daughter of Rose Evans and Robert Evans, has the same record as Harry. She attended primary school but disappeared for the next decade or so. And when I searched for James Potter..." Bill typed a series of letters on PeopleSearch and forcefully pressed the ENTER button.
The screen revealed it all. NO SUCH NAME EXISTS IN THE DATABASE.
"James Potter never existed. And George, you know our system. Every single name in the whole world is in this database. It's fool-proof."
Collins had to sit down for a moment. Bill turned from his seat and stared through the mirror-window, descrying the boy with black hair.
There were many mysteries in the world. Harry Potter was one of them.
Once the Ministry of Magic had gotten a hold of a magical field at Little Whinging Drive, they immediately apparated to the scene. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks, Aurors in that department, quickly alerted the Order of Phoenix. Within a half hour, Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, all of the Weasleys (after Ginny and Ron's excessive complains about how they were Harry's friends too), and nearly half of the Hogwarts professors appeared in the Dursleys' home to find Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley cowering in the master bedroom. Shacklebolt had to cast numerous amounts of memory charms to send the Muggle police away. An unknown man lay in a pool of blood near the door. Mrs. Weasley let out a cry at the sight while the rest just stared at the body in shock.
Lupin, though he despised the Dursleys' for the mistreatment towards Harry, was kind and approached the family in small steps. "Erm…Petunia. Petunia, what happened?"
"Don't come near my wife, you f-freak!" growled Vernon as his arms closed around his trembling wife and son.
"We're not here to hurt you. All we need is Harry. Do you know where he is?"
At the mention of his nephew's name, Vernon flinched. "He went with that assassin."
Lupin's face paled at Vernon's answer. Tonks approached her boyfriend, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Assassin?" she whispered in his ear.
"Mr. Dursley, what assassin?"
"H-he shot that man on the floor," Vernon said, pointing at the body but not looking at it. "Then the boy had his w-w-stick thing out and pointed it at his face. He asked if Voldycort had sent him."
"Voldemort?" Lupin asked, not even going try to correct Vernon's use of "the Boy" as a substitute for Harry. The wizards and witches who knew of His name gasped while Vernon continued on, answering with an aggravated sigh. "Yes, whatever. Then the assassin walked out but the boy ran after him. Later, we heard the police cars and now he's gone.
"He must have apparated, Remus!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, both shocked and scared of Harry's dangerous acts. Ginny tugged on her mom's cloak sleeve.
"Mum, he's gone?"
Soon enough the Weasley children attacked their parents and the other Order members with questions.
"Mum, where would Harry go?" asked Ron.
"Whoa, Harry escaped with an assassin?" Fred and George looked at each other and despite the situation exclaimed simultaneously, "Cool!"
Bill had the decency to slap the back of his little brothers' heads before turning to Lupin again. "What happens now?"
The former DADA professor ran a hand through his gray hair. The situation was very odd; why would Harry escape with an assassin. True, he could have done so to escape the Dursleys, but apparition around muggles was a precarious thing to do.
"Nothing, I suppose." At this time, Harry was no where to be found. They would just have to wait until he decided to contact them.
(Not sure of the time, but just after Harry's interview. Remember service is really fast.)
Hermione looked up from her book Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov just in time to see the mailman leaving something in their mailbox. It was Sunday afternoon; a perfect day to just sit around the house and do her favorite thing: read. She was currently on page 133 and was deeply fascinated by the narrator's personality and way of telling his story. Reading almost made her forget about everything that happened in sixth year. Won Won, her fights with Harry, and Dumbledore's death failed to evade her thoughts for 2 hours and 34 minutes.
Her mother and father were currently at work at their dentistry clinic, leaving Hermione alone with her book and Crookshanks. She sat at the windowsill with her knees touching her chest and a cushy pillow to support her back. After seeing the mailman, she put down her book, gave her cat an affectionate pat, and jumped down from her seat. The front door was near so she was outside in a matter of seconds. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, letting the summer sun shine its rays on her cheeks. It was a nice day to go out for a swim. Or play Quidditch. She quickly shook her head, deciding she had spent too much time with her boys, Ron and Harry.
Her flowery skirt flowed with the light breeze as Hermione walked leisurely to her mailbox. She smiled neighborly at the woman across the street. Reaching into the rectangular thing, her hands made contact with a stack of envelopes. She began to sort them out while she made her way back inside.
Ah, bill, bill, unnecessary junk, bill, a letter from Uncle Sylvester, postcard from Aunt Myrna in Florida, and…Harry? Shutting the door, she abandoned the rest of the mail received and checked the manila envelope in her hands. Yes, it said Harry Potter; however the address was different. It was not Privet Drive as Hermione would expect, but a familiar address. Curious, as she always was, she tore the seal and pulled out the piece of parchment inside.