The multiple screens went dark. The room lit up. Colonel Werner noticed Jeff’s head hanging low and Jeff looked very sad. Colonel Werner addressed him. “Young man, the director could not acknowledge you as, technically, we aren't here. Look at me, boy.”
Jeff looked up. “They already know what we know. In fact, they have intelligence we do not have. The director and the intelligence community wanted to thank you personally for your help so far. You cannot imagine what it cost the American taxpayers to pull all those agencies together.”
Captain Parrish walked over to Jeff. She placed her hand on his chin and lifted it up while smiling.
“The part of the director’s message that dealt with people making mistakes and being allowed rare opportunities to correct them, that was specifically for you, Jeff. You can fix this. You can make things right, Jeff. What else do you know?”
Chapter Seventeen — Secretary Bird/Roble
Jeff was daydreaming. This was a coping mechanism he deployed to handle enemy interrogation. Jeff visualized the face of the African Burkina Faso village chief that told the story of the elderly man in a Lobi village who had renounced the ancestral spirits in favor of Islam. He had discarded the very beliefs in spirits and mystical inanimate objects that held their society together for more than three centuries. Jeff saw and heard the chief telling the story again and again.
Jeff realized that his allegiance was still to his family and America. His recent experience with the United States Army interrogators revealed to him that he was intensely conflicted in his faith. He remembered the village chief telling him and Kyle the point of the story, “Sometimes, the old ways will not give you up.”
Colonel Werner snapped at Jeff, “I need you here now. What else do you have?”
Jeff glanced worriedly at Colonel Werner and held his head down.
“Son, look at me. You have nothing to fear now. We are all Americans here. We need to help each other. We need your help and we need it now.”
“Well, our cell-leader was unknown. We only knew that he or she resided in the western United States…somewhere.”
J.R. rudely interrupted Jeff. “Dude, Kyle was your handler, I am sorry, your cell-leader.”
Captain Parrish made a point. “Jeff, our intel shows that there is a cell-phone number that interceptors would catch entering the United States at a location in Charleston. They never could pin the number down, as the person changed SIM cards after each call. In the old days, when all cell-phones were analog and easier to clone, people brought burner phones. Now you just change the SIM card. I mention this because Kyle had a handler, too. They might have told you the western United States but the handler isn’t local. The handler’s reach was international.”
Jeff looked puzzled. “No wonder I never spoke to the handler. Kyle always did.”
Captain Parrish then asked Jeff questions meant to trigger meaningful patterns, trends, or conversations. “Jeff, there is a name that keeps popping up. I admit that we do not have a clue. The FBI deployed a secretive technology called Stingray. They would spoof a legitimate cell- tower in order to trick nearby mobile phones and other wireless communication devices to connect to the stingray instead of a phone carrier’s legitimate tower. When devices connected, stingray saw and recorded their unique ID numbers and traffic data, as well as information that points to the device’s location. Yesterday, we began our surveillance of Kyle’s girlfriend’s cell phone and Jameela’s hotel room at the Palmer House. We began receiving conversations, text messages, and voicemail pass codes from several cities in the UK and Africa. The conversations were routed to our language specialists for translation at Langley. The code name of Secretary Bird kept coming up. We have sent this intel to the FBI's next-generation identification system, which houses over 100 million photographs, to see if we can get a digital footprint match.”
Jeff looked amazed…and downright stunned.
Daniel noticed. “What is it, little brother?”
“Be afraid, big brother,” said Jeff in a high-pitched tone, “the secretary bird is a bird of prey from Djibouti. These birds are tall; they have much longer legs than other birds of prey. They run through the grass, attacking prey with their feet and wings. They are true terrorists, waiting near brush fires, eating anything that tries to escape. They can catch prey either by striking with their bills or stamping on their prey until it is rendered unconscious enough to swallow. It is admired in Africa for its stunning appearance and ability to kill pests and snakes. Africans sometimes call it 'the devil’s horse.'
J.R. snapped at Jeff, “We do not have time for these ‘Khumbaya stories.’”
Daniel smiles and quietly said, “J.R., let the boy finish.”
Jeff glared at J.R. and continued, “The secretary bird appears on the coats of arms of Sudan and South Africa. Long ago, secretaries wrote and copied letters by hand. They would stick quill pens behind their ears when they weren’t using them. The black plumes of this bird reminded people of quill pens. Hence the name, 'Secretary Bird.' Our chief intelligence officer Roble has a fascination with this bird of prey. He is also a high commander in Genesis. Roble uses this name as his code name in all stealth communications and missions. The description fits Roble. He is loyal, intelligent, and he will kill you on Genesis’ command. This is a man you must fear.”
As J.R., Colonel Werner and Daniel looked on with great interest, Captain Parrish continued probing.
“I was stationed in Somalia five years ago and briefly met a Somali whose name was Roble. He was an operative for British intelligence. He worked for the Government Communications Headquarters but had direct access to MI5’s director general in Thames House in London. MI5 is a major customer for intelligence produced by GCHQ. Roble was brilliant, tall, and skinny. He had quite an air of confidence. When he meets you for the first time, he tells the story of the meaning of his name. He would tell you it means he was born during the rains or rainy season. ‘Must have been a long season’ he always says, with laughter. Roble, you say. Pronounced like 'cobble.'”
“Yeah, if Jameela didn't check in with him at regular intervals, the missions were escalated.”
J.R. piped in, “How often?”
Jeff answered angrily, “How often? How am I supposed to know? This is not some entertaining spy-novel for you to get your thrills out of while you…”
“Cut it out, Jeff,” warned Daniel. “J.R. is thinking what I'm thinking, that Jameela is dead and has not checked in.”
J.R. frowned, “Exactly.”
Jeff countered with, “This mission has been dark for years, guys. We went dark about a year and a half ago. No checking in. The event is the only verification and validation point.”
Jeff looked at J.R. in contempt, “I would love to see your face on the missing children bulletin boards in Wal-Mart.”
J.R. laughed, “Whatever, dude.”
Captain Parrish shouted, “Would you two cut it out!”
Jeff ignored J.R. and Daniel and began to talk directly to Captain Parrish. “Roble is the director of intelligence. We were told that several years ago on a warm October day, Somali tribesmen shot down U.S. helicopters, killing eighteen and wounding seventy-three. Years later, it would be learned that those Somali tribesmen had received help from al-Qaeda. Several of the sons of these tribesmen are leaders in Genesis. Roble is related to these guys. Roble’s family controls the Hawala finance system in the Horn of Africa with a strong presence in the United Kingdom and the United States.”
Captain Parrish got up and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and handed one to Jeff. She poured the sugar into Jeff’s coffee. She made sure he saw her pour the same sugar in hers.
What is she doing? thought J.R.
Captain Parrish smiled at Jeff. She patted him on his hand.
It is good to feel a gentle hand again, thought Jeff.
“Jeff, I think we are talking about the same person. Roble is as intelligent as he is handsome. Although he is Sunni Muslim he spea
ks Somali, Arabic, Italian, and English fluently. You are correct. His family is tied into the money laundering operations in Djibouti. To show you how much money Roble has at his disposal, his daddy is working with Saudi investors, including Tarek bin Laden, half-brother of Osama bin Laden, to link the Horn of Africa with the Arabian Peninsula via an 18-mile long over-sea bridge that will be referred to as the Bridge of the Horns.”
J.R. strategically asked a question. “So how does this Roble help us locate the bombs or detonators?”
Captain Parrish nicely said, “Captain Russell, your patience, if you have any left, would be greatly appreciated.” Captain Parrish gave Jeff her undivided attention. “Jeff, I was a naval intelligence officer on a black op in Mogadishu. I cannot discuss the nature of the op, but we were pulled away to handle the ever-growing piracy situation that had developed in the region. Someone got the idea that smuggling drugs and white slavery were too risky so let’s seize ships. They were right. This piracy made billions.”
Jeff burst out in laughter.
“Did I say something funny?”
“No, I am thinking how the United States Navy almost got their asses kicked by four teenage Somali pirates between 17 and 19 years old who had hijacked a container ship. The Maersk Alabama. It took you guys several days, an Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer, an Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate, a Wasp-class amphibious assault ship and a team of Navy SEALs to contain four teenagers. In embarrassment, you killed all teenagers except one. He is serving 30 years or so in Guantanamo North at the expense of American taxpayers.”
J.R. shouted, “Hey, we responded to a dire situation in international waters. We did not know what the situation was. Americans were in trouble. Yes…we sent everything we had. We would do it for you.”
“So…where is this Guantanamo North?” asked Daniel.
Colonel Werner explained, “Daniel, he is referring to the Federal Correctional Complex in Terre Haute, Indiana. Because of its reputation for housing some of the country’s biggest security threats, it’s been nicknamed 'Guantanamo North.'”
Captain Parrish stayed laser-focused on the probing. “NSA interceptors from the National Data Center revealed that the Somali pirates attacking shipping in the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean were directed to their targets using intelligence obtained from a consultant team in London. The intercepts revealed the team and the pirates remained in contact by satellite telephone. British intelligence discovered that the pirate groups had well-placed informers in London who were in regular contact with control centers in Somalia where decisions were made on which vessels to attack. These London-based consultants helped the pirates select targets and provided information on the ships’ cargoes and courses. The United States naval and British intelligence picked up transmissions that confirmed the pirates remained in contact with their London informants from hijacked ships. For months, we were alarmed that pirate groups had access to data that allowed them to study their targets in advance. This allowed them to staff up and train teams for specific hijackings.”
“What type of data, Captain Parrish?” asked Daniel.
“Layouts, knowledge of the cargo, nationality, and ports of call,” answered Captain Parrish.
J.R. added, “So you were infested with moles?”
Captain Parrish a took a sip of her coffee. “Yes, one mole in the British Government. Intensive digging through back channels found the mole at Government Communications Headquarters. GCHQ is one of the three UK intelligence agencies and a part of the UK’s national intelligence machinery. It was Roble who had worked for British intelligence, as one of their main operatives for Somalian intelligence. He operated out of the impressively state-of-the-art building at Benhall in Cheltenham, referred to locally as the Doughnut. This is the British version of the Pentagon. GCHQ has two important missions. Signals intelligence and information assurance. The first feed vital information to support government policy-making and operations in the fields of national security, military operations, law enforcement, and economic well-being. The second mission is to protect government data such as communications and information systems from hackers and other threats. Roble had masterminded a pirate information network that extended to Yemen, Dubai, and the Suez Canal. This network set his family in a powerful political position with terrorist groups and dictators across all of Africa. GCHQ now knew where the mole was tunneling. They sent MI5 agents on a worldwide manhunt to shut down Roble’s operation. In the process, GCHQ jailed over 200 people involved.”
Jeff, who was really paying attention at this point, asked, “So where is Roble?”
“Jeff, we thought you could tell us. You see, very much like the secretary bird, when pursued, Roble relies on speed to escape. If pursued, the African secretary bird relies on the speed of its legs but may spread its wings to aid the running. Intel indicated that Roble escaped by private jet. Secretary Bird’s whereabouts currently are unknown.” Sara smiled at Jeff, “Roble disappeared. Until now. Can you help us?”
There was dead silence. Colonel Werner stared at Jeff. J.R. and Daniel stared at each other as if they knew what the other was thinking. Captain Parrish just smiled at Jeff. And after what seemed to be an eternity, Jeff helped them out.
“There is a warehouse near the container port of Djibouti in Africa.” He bent over and whispered the address to Captain Parrish.
J.R. sarcastically asked, “Why are you whispering?”
Colonel Werner winked at J.R. and Daniel. “At ease, captain. At ease.”
Captain Parrish quickly left the room. As quickly as she left, she returned. She nodded approval to Colonel Werner, who looked at his watch. “It is almost morning and we have our mission in front of us. The intelligence agencies, the president, and National Security Council have given us our priorities. First, we must find Roble immediately. Second, we must get the Tablets with Apophis in our hands. Third, we must locate and bring the four missing ships and tankers to a dead stop, out in open ocean if we can. Fourth, we must determine the expected time of the event.”
Suddenly, they heard Jeff clearing his voice. “The event that will be the accelerant for the sixth extinction will occur on July 4 at 7:04 p.m.”
Sara replied in a nervous voice, “Jeff, you have been under a lot of stress over the last 48 hours. Think for me. Think hard…are you sure?”
Jeff grimly responded, “I am sure. We have about thirty-two days. The event will occur on July 4 at 7:04 p.m. Our Independence Day celebration will be done and the sound of the “Star-Spangled Banner” will still be ringing in their ears as Americans prepare our children for bed…then, boom. Those that wake up the next day will do so in a new normal.”
Captain Parrish looked at Jeff. “You realized you just said, ‘our independence’ and ‘our children’?”
Jeff reflected and with a peaceful smile answered, “I guess I did.”
Colonel Werner ended the meeting. “Let’s get a few hours’ sleep. We will reconvene at 0900 hours.”
Meanwhile, halfway around the world in Djibouti, which was on Eastern Africa Time and eight hours ahead of Savannah, it was about 3 p.m. In a warehouse near the container port of Djibouti, Roble woke up out of a deep sleep. He remembered relaxing in his warehouse office chair waiting for Genesis operatives to pick up several loaded Tractomas TR ten-by-ten tractor trailers. Roble’s family’s companies owned several of these super-tractor-trailers, which were capable of pulling a road-train weighing 535 tons. One tractor-trailer carried British and American currency. These pallets of super-notes were worth almost a billion dollars.
The other tractor-trailer carried goods and merchandise that were worth millions of dollars traceable to Somalian piracy. Roble fell asleep with no worries as this well-hidden warehouse was heavily guarded and equipped with advanced surveillance equipment. Roble’s eyes came into focus as he saw two people standing over him. He realized that they were not his men. He felt a nagging headache coming on. Roble looked out the corner of his eyes
and saw a shiny gold bucket holding what looked like a severed human ankle and foot in a large clear plastic bag. The severed limb appeared to be sitting on ice. Roble felt pain in his right leg. He tried to get up. He couldn’t.
“Guards!” yelled Roble.
“Stop your whining; no one can hear you. I am Nigel. You are in the good hands of Interpol’s Fugitive Investigation Service. We have been looking for you for a very long time. You, sir, are on our red notice alerts and Britain has issued a warrant for your arrest.”
Roble screamed, “I will have you bastards slaughtered. This is my country, not yours. My men…”
Roble suddenly heard another voice. “I am Adriana. Your men are dead, all of them.” She looked down at his foot and said, “Lucky you.”
Roble groaned, “You cut off my foot. I will kill everyone you know.”
Nigel remarked, “That may be so, but not today.” He bent over and looked Roble in the eye. “You have a very bad reputation for living up to your moniker. When a secretary bird is pursued, it relies on the speed of its legs to flee. We needed insurance this wouldn't happen again.”
Roble spat in Nigel’s face. “You will get nothing here. I will die for Allah.”
Adriana picked up the surgical knife and said, “We wrapped the severed part in a clean, damp cloth, placed it in a sealed plastic bag, placed the bag in ice cold water and then put ice under that nice shiny bucket of yours, which I will keep when this is done.”
Accelerant- Sixth Extinction Page 17