Element 94

by Kleiner Jeffries

  “What if it were underground? What if a blast were underground”, Ben continued to think out loud, “and resulted in an elevation of surface temperature?”

  Sheila began tapping the keys in front of her one more time

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Sh”. Sheila silenced her colleague and continued her input. After a brief pause, a new thermal image appeared on the screen, this time fairly consistently covered in blue.

  “What’s that?” Ben asked.

  “The same image, an hour earlier.” Ben noted the clock on the screen. Sheila hit a few more keys, and the clock began moving forward, slowly at first and then faster, as Sheila sped up the feed.

  “There”, she said, and paused the image. The screen read 2:40 AM. A small orange dot appeared. She forwarded the image some more, the hot spot increased in size.

  “Ben, I think you’re right”

  “Let’s be certain now”, Ben said, playing devil’s advocate. “Could that just be a gust of warm air?”

  “Not likely”, Sheila responded confidently. “Not with such a large juxtaposition to cooler air, not appearing seemingly from nowhere. No, we would have seen an anomalous gust of warm air coming. Ben, I’d have to review this a bit more, check out the meteorological information for the area, but I’m pretty sure you’re right about this one - right about 20 to three AM Washington time”

  The timing seemed right to Ben, a 20 minute delay or so before triggering a quake.

  “Okay, let’s assume it was an explosion. Can you tell how much energy, how big an explosion?”

  Ben worked on the assumption of worst-case scenario. That was an unwritten rule among the analysts. But the data one could derive from a satellite image was limited.

  “Not accurately, not without knowing the depth, if it was indeed an underground blast”, Sheila explained.

  “How about radioactivity?” Ben knew the satellite was equipped with the newly devised radiodetection system

  “Like I told you this morning, can’t be anything significant”

  “Just check again”, Ben snapped, then added apologetically, “please”

  Sheila again worked her magic on the keyboard. A new image came up.

  “Nothing Ben”. At 2:40 AM, any weapons-grade mass would have registered on the screen. Thank goodness, Ben thought. They were not looking at a nuke. But what exactly had then happened that night in the Sahara? Ben proceeded to pick up the phone.

  “Who’re you calling?” Sheila asked.

  “Someone who I think can help”. Then, speaking into the receiver, “Dr. Miller please”

  "Speaking", a tired voice answered

  "Dr. Miller, Ben Goldberg. So sorry to bother you at home". It was pretty clear Ben had awakened the seismologist.

  "No bother. What’s up?" He was relieved the good doctor picked up the phone, and happier still he was such a good sport.

  “Doctor, how long after a subterranean disruption would you expect a quake?”

  “Tough to tell really, that’s dependent on so many factors. But anywhere up to an hour is possible”

  Okay then, Ben thought, the 20-minute delay was consistent.

  "What would you say if I told you it was a blast after all, an explosion of some sort, short of nuclear”, Ben emphasized, “that triggered your quake”

  "I'd say you were out of your mind", the seismologist replied frankly.

  “But didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “Forget what I said earlier. I ran some calculations. The force required to trigger that quake, well, tough to tell exactly. But, at any reasonable depth, given the sturdiness of the rock formation in that region, the energy required to cause such a geological perturbation has got to be enormous"

  “How enormous?” Ben could feel his heart racing

  "A megaton"

  "A meg?" Ben repeated, as he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

  "Minimum", said the voice on the other end of the line

  “Can’t be”

  "Then it wasn’t an explosion ”, Miller said confidently.

  But it was an explosion, thought Ben, wondering if this was in any way tied to the investigation that was foremost on the Agency’s agenda. He needed to review the satellite data again. He finished up with the seismologist.

  “Okay Doctor, thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Let me know if you need anything else”

  “Sure”. Ben hung up the phone, looked at Sheila, a blank expression on his face. “Let’s go over those thermals again.”

  Bill Kelly was wired. He hadn’t slept more than 4 hours a night over the past couple of months, subsisting on a steady diet of caffeine and adrenaline. The element 94 affair was consuming him. Moreover, he couldn’t spread the burden within much of the agency. He suspected a mole within the unit, and just couldn’t trust anyone until he resolved where the leak was. He had put together the terrorism unit, and it was up to him to sift through the personnel and ferret out the person or persons who might be sabotaging their efforts. He reviewed the case to date, his car steering itself over Arlington Memorial Bridge, on the way to the nation’s capital. The analysts were clean. He narrowed it down to someone in operations. Of the men in the field, well, he knew them all and couldn’t imagine any one of them playing for the other side. But how else could his adversaries have been a step ahead of him on this one? He just couldn’t be sure, and until he could figure it out, he was flying virtually solo on this one.

  While he contemplated the various scenarios of the previous weeks, his thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his pager. He recognized the extension - it was Goldie. Now there was a good man, he thought. He read the message.

  911

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  North America

  3 Months Earlier

  The air was musty, a mixture of cigarette smoke combined with sweat, pheromones, and various other odors emanating from the multiple bodies crammed within the confines of the ship’s sleeping quarters. It was an environment totally foreign and repulsive to any human being not used to wallowing in filth. Unfortunately, this did not apply to much of the world, those peoples in developing countries subjected to poor living conditions, substandard sanitation, disease and hunger. To them survival was the supremely dominant factor governing daily life. But Rafik Salaam was different - a Pakistani who lived in relative comfort, he just couldn’t take it any longer. His companions were used to the austere conditions of the commercial shipping vessel, but he was glad his journey was nearing an end. In particular, the frequent undulations of the rough open seas had been wreaking havoc on Salaam's equilibrium since the day they departed. The sailors had a good source of comedic relief at his obvious discomfort, but were clueless as to the price they would ultimately pay. For Salaam was no ordinary stowaway, looking for a ride to a better life in the rich lands of the West. More - much, much more - lurked beneath that banal facade than anyone on board the ship could ever imagine.

  Salaam made his way out onto the deck of the vessel for some fresh air. He hoped for some relief from his incessant queasiness, and was pleased at the temporary respite found under the clear cool sky. A gentle breeze quieted his stomach until the ship was struck by a series of large waves. The vessel began to rock back and forth, causing Salaam to grasp the railing for support. But there was little he could do to maintain internal equilibrium, as his stomach rumbled with yet another wave of nausea. Greenish liquid poured forth from his mouth as his stomach contracted rhythmically, violently at first and then in milder, sporadic spasms.

  How much longer did he have to endure this? Salaam thought, his mind now clearing after the swell of seasickness subsided. The choppy seas were not kind to the heretofore-landlocked terrorist. He never imagined fate - and Allah - would bring him across the Atlantic Ocean by way of boat. But he had a job to see through, and see it through he would - to its bitter, apocalyptic end. The prophet Ra’ed had sunk his teeth into the will of the w
iry, determined man. He, Rafik Salaam, had been chosen for this most auspicious of moments. After years of quiet waiting, the chance to shine in the name of Jihad and the Muslim world was upon him.

  Salaam was glad to be bringing this fight to the shores of his enemy. Attempts to extricate the non-believers from their sacred Muslim lands were futile. Now he would finally bring with him devastation on a scale never before seen on US shores. The small-minded Osama Bin-laden had dreamed of such an epochal moment years before, but his attempts were ultimately thwarted following his limited success on nineeleven. That fateful day was not a victory, and undertaken against the will of god as spoken by Ra’ed, the prophet. True they had a common enemy, the elements of the West as embodied by the occupiers of Palestine and its staunchest supporter, the United states of America; but Bin-Laden - the former face of Islamic extremism - had acted impulsively and without the proper authority. This monumentally calamitous act had ultimately arrested years of furtive progress on the part of Sayf Udeen as the forces of the Western world aligned against the Islamic brotherhood. Bin-Laden was clever, but lacked that supreme quality required to overwhelm the nations of the West - patience. He had brought near-total destruction upon them all, and his demise was secretly applauded by the one true voice of Allah on this earth, the leader Ra’ed Al Abbas – the Lion.

  But time had passed, and a new dawn was to emerge - one bearing the signature of a grisly new weapon of war. America would arise to a new reality, one in which it was held hostage to the will of the disciples of the holy imam Ra’ed. And he, Rafik Salam, was to deliver this golden dagger into the belly of the infidel.

  Bill Kelly couldn’t believe his luck. There it was again, a blinking red light projected onto a map in a screen in front of him. He was zeroing in on the location of his target. Satellites looming overhead would be his eyes, and the best-trained, best-equipped fighters in the world would be his sword. This was one more battle the head of the counter-terrorism unit of the CIA planned to win.

  The focus on the screen was the culmination of years of scientific progress. That the project remained clandestine, away from the ever-present eyes of the media, and more importantly, the worldwide network of spies and criminals rendered the system ever more potent. A physics major in college, Kelly always appreciated the preeminent role of technology in upgrading the country’s spy capability. But even he couldn’t have predicted the monumental revolution mesoelectronics brought to the community. The science of creating complex devices on what was close to a molecular scale had rendered much of the former intelligence-gathering modalities anachronistic. Other agencies, from Israel's vaunted Mossad, Russia’s newly reorganized but ever-potent KGB, to even other factions within his own nation’s security services at defense, FBI, homeland security and elsewhere, could only dream about such successes as he had achieved of late.

  Kelly used his assets effectively, without hesitation. His modus operandi, indeed that of the government he served, was to be proactive in all matters of national security, no matter the geopolitical consequences. This had rendered the United States somewhat of a pariah on the international landscape, but so be it. This was about survival, plain and simple. But the system was not foolproof.

  The background noise coming into Langley had reached dramatic highs of late. Out of that cacophony, his best analysts were able to decipher only one verifiable fact - that a cataclysmic event was to befall the most populous city on the eastern seaboard, New York. Was this to be deja-vu all over again? Besides this piece of intel, he had been mystified for the better part of a month, as vague reports began to seep in from the field. The agency had neither a pinpoint on location nor timing, and that meant, essentially, they didn’t have a clue. It was eerily reminiscent of days of old. All that could be prepared were responsive forces.

  And so it was that Bill Kelly established himself in a mobile central command center in Northern New Jersey, in proximity to the city he was to defend yet again. He was already in government service at the time of the collapse of the twin towers in New York City, ashamed of his failure to thwart the attack despite the fact that no personal guilt could possibly be attributed to his action, or inaction as the case had been. But guilt was what he felt nonetheless, and preventing a repeat of such a catastrophe was his life’s work. It was the legacy he owed to himself, his family, and most importantly, his country.

  The euphoria of his early successes had long since dwindled, replaced by the tension, the helplessness of the past few months. But then out of the murky darkness of vague intelligence reports and speculation, the flashing signal from the microscopic chip illuminated the threat before them. Kelly breathed a sigh of relief. He keyed in on the target, accessing the live satellite feed overhead. As sophisticated as the technology had become, the several-second’s wait still bothered him. One day those seconds might make a difference, he thought. But not this day, he concluded, as the coordinates on the screen appeared. Unlike the visual satellite feed, the global positioning transmission was extraordinarily efficient, the latitudinal and longitudinal data appearing before him virtually instantaneously. His target was over 100 miles off the coast in the Atlantic – time yet for a well-planned strike. He focused the lenses on the vessel before him, amplified the signal, and zoomed in close. His Trojan horse was on board. A Trojan horse of sorts, but not exactly, for this horse had no idea what lay inside, the host an unwitting accomplice to his own demise.

  Using the satellite hookup, Kelly scanned the ship for thermal and radioactive emissions but found none. He quickly combined data from the Hermes system to the mainframe at headquarters, the software seamlessly integrating the coordinates to guide the lenses overhead. Named after the Greek messenger god, the Hermes initiative was the massive project designed to trace people – more precisely criminals, terrorists and would be terrorists - of special importance. Designed by Dr. Dean Alivastos, formerly of Cal-Tech and now a full timer within the agency, the successful implementation of the project heralded a new era within the vaunted spy agency. Kelly decided to maintain the electronics pioneer on the payroll to govern the ongoing maintenance of the system as well as initiate an internal group to focus on other budding, orphan technologies that might be of future interest. The Unit, which mushroomed exponentially since its inception, was dubbed the Science and Technology Anti-Terror Group, or STAT (the acronym “stat”, Kelly felt, aptly representing the urgency of the counter-terror effort). Constraints on the new unit were few, and the search for new and existing technologies that could be adapted for purposes of national security was robust.

  With Hermes fully operational, the amalgamation of the signal from the chip and the spy satellite orbiting above now enabled Kelly to image his prey in real-time. The plasma display before him revealed the face of Rafik Salaam. Perched across the railing of the vessel, the terrorist seemed to be staring blankly out onto the empty vastness of the surrounding seas. Kelly wondered what the man was thinking at this moment. How nice it would be to get inside his head. He would get the opportunity soon, Kelly told himself. He wasn’t quite sure what Salaam was up to, but there was no doubt he could successfully interrogate the terrorist once he was in custody. Much had been learned since the initial capture and questioning of the hundreds of Al-Qaeda and Taliban in the post nine-eleven era. Various methods tended to yield differing results depending upon the mental and physical constitution of the captive, but an efficient algorithm was in place. Salaam would be broken.

  Kelly could see a man approach the suspect. His face remained hidden from the cameras, but his complexion was paler – this man was not of middle-eastern descent. The second man handed Salaam something which Kelly couldn’t make out. After a brief pause, the two began walking together, disappearing from view as they went around a large container and then below deck. The feed was recorded and would be scrutinized carefully by his analysts. Kelly didn’t doubt the identity of this second man would soon be available. The ship and its crew would be closely monitored from here on
out.

  Kelly thought about turning on the thermal sensors and continuing to track the men below deck, but decided it was pointless. What he really needed was acoustic data, which was simply not available. Not with this particular system, anyhow. Eavesdropping capability was just now becoming incorporated into Hermes with a new, next-generation device in the testing phase. For now, Kelly would have to rely solely on the visual feed. It should be enough, he figured. That, along with his gut instinct, that crude but surprisingly reliable asset which he had honed over the years.

  Kelly contacted Langley, the file on the suspect now stored conveniently within his terminal. He quickly reviewed the data. Salaam, a 38 year old former Taliban and Qaeda fighter, had virtually disappeared from their intelligence radar since his release from captivity. One of the earliest detainees in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, following the demise of the ruling Taliban party in Afghanistan, Salam was directly linked to the now defunct Al Qaeda network, the organization responsible for the nineeleven attacks. While he would divulge nothing to the authorities, it seemed his allegiance to those responsible for the rash of attacks across the globe in the early millennial years was beginning to wane. Salaam was not one of the innocents caught in the maelstrom of the early days of the conflict, but had certainly appeared to grow increasingly disenchanted with the radical Islamic elements for which he had sacrificed. That he was unwilling to comply with the authorities seemed counterintuitive, almost paradoxical. But this was not altogether surprising, the Middle-Eastern mentality often being befuddling. It was simply an abstruse mind-set to the Western world. Salaam, it was concluded, represented a relatively low risk, and was slated to be among the early detainees released from Guantanamo’s camp Delta. But not before a nearly microscopic device was placed within the gluteal muscle of the unsuspecting captive.