Noble's Quest

by Sally Fernandez

  “Very well. To the office, please,” Enzo instructed his driver.

  During the thirty-minute drive, they restrained themselves from delving into the investigation at any great length. They were both in agreement that it was best to wait until they had all the information at their disposal. Consequently, they spent the half-hour chatting informally, starting with addressing each other on a first name basis. Not surprisingly, they moved on to the topic of Hamilton.

  “He told me you had maintained a friendship long after your collaboration in Florence.” Noble, purposely vague, was not sure to what degree Hamilton had discussed their relationship or the details surrounding Simon.

  Enzo, however, was forthcoming. “Simon’s escape certainly left a stain on my early career.” He confessed. “But at the same time, it forged a remarkable relationship with a man who had taught me so much.”

  Noble listened as Enzo waxed on and noticed that as he became more animated his tone became more melodic. The accent was familiar and reminded Noble of Hamilton’s caretaker, Aldo, and the time he had spent in Florence with both of them on those last few precious days.

  “You know my family is from Florence?”

  “Si,” Noble replied.

  “Bravo, you know my language?”

  “No, just a few words I picked up when I visited your enchanting city.” Noble smiled at his failed attempt.

  “Ah, well fortunately, each time I visited my family, I was always able to set aside a special time to spend with Hamilton.” Enzo slowed his speech and sighed, “He was a great loss.”

  “For me, it was like losing a father.”

  Enzo felt it appropriate to change the subject to a less personal topic, and warmly stated, “Thank you for rearranging your schedule to come so quickly. I do believe you will be instrumental in helping us with this investigation. If Simon is behind this, you know him better than anyone.” Enzo cut his statement short and announced, “We’ve arrived,” as the car pulled up in front of a massive glass and concrete structure resting on the bank of the Rhone River.

  Noticing the expression on Noble’s face, Enzo explained, “Interpol headquarters house approximately six hundred staff members representing more than eighty-four countries.”

  “Impressive.”

  Enzo beamed proudly. “Perhaps you would prefer to leave your luggage in the car. The same car will return you to your hotel.”

  Noble agreed and stepped out of the car with only his briefcase in hand. He followed Enzo into the crystal palace, then through the metal detection system, and prepared for the physical search. After Noble received his visitor’s badge, the two of them proceeded to Enzo’s office.

  “This is even more impressive!” Noble gaped, as he craned his neck to take in the stately room, focusing on the executive desk in front of a large window with a river view.

  “Follow me; we’re all set up in here.” Enzo gestured toward another door.

  Noble walked in to what looked like a war room. He was aghast.

  There was a long conference table positioned in the center of the room. Noble scanned the number of chairs. He estimated that it could seat forty. Against the wall, parallel to the table, was a row of computer stations, each equipped with multiple flat screens and keyboards. On the wall at the far end of the conference table hung two massive multi-touch screens, similar to his, although twice the size and with triple the apps.

  “Please be seated.” Enzo pointed to the chair across from him at the end of the table closest to the touch screens. “I’ll run through what our forensics team has concluded thus far.”

  Noble took his seat, prepared to focus.

  “Let’s begin with the attack on President Grimaud.”

  On the screen mounted on the left side of the wall was a photo of what appeared to be a limo in flames. In the background, one could see the Obelisk of Luxor decorated with hieroglyphics lauding the pharaoh Ramses II. The obelisk, a gift from the Egyptian government to the French, stood tall in the center of Place de la Concorde between the two famous Hittorff fountains. The screen mounted on the right side played a video taken by a partygoer, filming what he thought was the arrival of the president.

  Noble studied the photo of the limo and simultaneously watched the video as he listened judiciously to Enzo’s report. As usual, Noble was multi-tasking.

  “We know that an explosive device was installed under the frame of the car in the center, just behind the front seats. We found traces of residue at that location from the initial blast. The explosive used was P-E-T-N, or Pentaerythritol Tetranitrate, and from the evidence it was detonated remotely.” He paused for a moment as he watched Noble scrutinize the video with complete concentration.

  Sensing the delay, Noble looked in Enzo’s direction and urged, “I’m following; please continue.”

  Enzo took his cue. “From the size of the explosion, and the damage the car sustained—not to overlook the death of the driver—it was determined that less than one-sixteenth of an ounce of P-E-T-N had been used. We know that it would take only eight ounces of P-E-T-N to penetrate five inches of metal, easily blowing a sizeable hole in the side of a plane.” Enzo paused again, expecting an assessment from Noble any time. He guessed correctly.

  Noble spoke in a measured cadence as he deduced, “Based on the size of the detonation we can assume that it was not a terrorist attack per se, one that would do maximum damage. On the surface, however, it does appear to be an assassination attempt on the president.”

  “That was my conclusion as well. That leaves two remaining questions. Who had the ability to plant the bomb? And who knew what time the president planned to arrive at the Place de la Concorde?

  “Actually, there is a third question. Didn’t you say the explosion was detonated at exactly midnight, at the exact same time the fireworks began?” Noble questioned.

  “Yes, but the president was late due to a stalled truck in the intersection. He was scheduled to arrive at 11:53, give his speech at 11:55, end with the words bonne année, and then the fireworks would begin.”

  Noble interjected, “The third question is—who was driving the truck? Play the video again.”

  Enzo, extremely curious, walked to the monitor, restarted the video, and watched along with Noble.

  “Pause right there,” Noble called out. “Look at the reflection on the rear door of the second limo—the one where the president is seated. It’s the reflection of a white truck heading in the opposite direction. Let’s have a technician from your forensic team zoom in on the driver. If he can enhance the image, you might be able to get a clearer picture.”

  “So, if you believe there was someone working on the inside, at the Elysée Palace, with access to the car, and that someone else drove the truck and another person detonated the bomb—then we are looking for three people,” Enzo concluded, answering his own questions.

  “Perhaps they are all one and the same.” Noble gave Enzo time to consider his premise, and then continued, “There has been something gnawing at me ever since you forwarded Simon’s message. Simon doesn’t make mistakes, and if these assassination attempts were designed to fail, then what is his motive?”

  “What are you driving at?” Enzo was openly mystified.

  “Let’s consider a new scenario as we review each case. Examine the events by focusing on the precision with which the attacks appeared to be intentionally foiled.”

  Enzo continued to be a trifle baffled, so Noble attempted to clarify his point. “First, Simon wouldn’t run the risk of three individuals being involved—too much room for error. Let’s assume someone works in the palace. That person was privy to information and knew the president had arranged for a decoy limo. Simon’s accomplice attaches the explosive to the undercarriage of that car. The associate then drives a truck out of the palace gates and purposely stalls at the intersection, separating the two limos.”

  Noble stopped for a moment to study Enzo’s perplexed expression.

  “I see whe
re you’re heading. Please continue.”

  “According to protocol, Simon expected the driver of the limo to step out of the car and scan the crowd for any impending threats. He then should have walked around to the other side of the car and, in this case, make it appear as though he was opening the door for the president. The driver’s one miscalculation was that he remained in the car.”

  “A deadly one at that,” Enzo interposed.

  “The accomplice driving the truck then pulled into the Place de la Concorde, several car lengths behind the first limo. When the second limo arrived shepherding the president, the accomplice detonated the bomb. He carefully used a miniscule amount of P-E-T-N to do minimal damage. Notice the photo.”

  Noble pointed to the photo on the left monitor, displaying a car that had imploded into a flaming mass of metal. “It did not explode!” he underscored, “spewing thousands of pieces of metal into the air, possibly killing others standing nearby. And had the limo driver followed protocol, he would not have died in the flames. He may have suffered some burns to the body, but there would have been no casualties.” Noble ended his summation.

  “Okay, then if Simon didn’t want to kill the president, I’ll ask your question: what was his motive?”

  “It is important to hold that question until we delve further.”

  Enzo played along.

  “Now, let’s move on to Chancellor Mauer. Again, assuming the attack was intended to fail,” Noble theorized calmly.

  Enzo tapped the display on the right side, replacing the video with the photo of the stage at the Brandenburg Gate. The photo showed the chancellor lying on the ground behind the podium with her bodyguards positioned protectively over her. The backdrop for this tragic scene was the stage lighting illuminating the dark blue sky. The light also cast through the pillars of the gate and one could see the Unter den Linden, the renowned boulevard lined with linden trees.

  Again, as Enzo proceeded, Noble studied the photo closely.

  “The case of the German Chancellor was more straightforward. Shots rang out from the crowd at midnight, just as the fireworks display began. The cheering crowd and the blasts from the sky muted the sound of the shots.”

  “Didn’t one of the partygoers testify that he heard the shots just as the chancellor wished the crowd ‘a slide into the New Year’, seconds before the fireworks began?”

  “Yes, we searched the area which the local polizei suspected was the source of the shots and didn’t find any shell casings. We scoured the rest of the plaza and came up empty.”

  “Shooting from within a crowd of people, all pushing and shoving one another in excitement, doesn’t allow for exactitude,” Noble pointed out. “The eyewitness was wrong. The shots had to have come from a precision rifle with a telescopic scope—a sniper rifle. Remember our premise—the goal was not to assassinate the chancellor.”

  “That would make sense. The bullet recovered from the officer’s body, the hero and unintended victim, was a point-four-zero-eight Chey Tac. As you know, the Cheyenne Tactical cartridge is light, which translates into more cartridges per unit weight. This cartridge is designed specifically to be able to hit a target selectively, at a long range.”

  Noble jumped back in. “That would lead us to conclude that the shell casings could have been dislodged at a high point, in potentially any of the tall structures around the square. If time is spent trying to determine the trajectory in an effort to identify the location of the shooter, most likely it won’t get us any closer to uncovering Simon’s motive. But that’s your call,” Noble conceded, and then reminded Enzo, “I’m here only in an advisory capacity, but if you discover any evidence useful to my investigation, I ask that you pass it on to me. Simon Hall is still an open case.”

  “Deal, as long as we respect each other’s turf,” Enzo teased with a smile.

  “Agreed, but right now we need to drive the investigation in a direction that will lead us closer to Simon’s objective.” Noble insisted.

  “Did you retrieve any other bullets, other than the one from the body of the police officer?”

  “We found two other bullets lodged in the podium, same caliber, fired from the same gun. On one of the bullets there’s a partial fingerprint,” Enzo replied, as he studied the expression on Noble’s face. “What are you thinking?”

  “The podium is lying on its side.”

  “It probably fell over when the police officer rushed to protect the chancellor,” Enzo concluded, still curious as to where this was leading.

  Noble took another moment to gaze at the view of the stage. “The podium was the intended target.”

  “What? Simon tried to assassinate a podium?” Enzo snickered.

  Noble laughed. “The sniper knew the chancellor was scheduled to leave the stage immediately after her speech. He must have known that she also had received a warning threat earlier that day, just as President Grimaud had received. The sniper also knew the entire speech was radiocast. Therefore, when he heard the words Einen guten Rutsch ins neue Jahr, he shot at the podium—not once, but twice. The third time was also meant for the podium, except the police officer seeing the first bullet meet its target pushed the podium over unexpectedly when he rushed to the chancellor’s side.”

  “Okay, so Simon’s sniper fired shots toward the chancellor, purposely missing seconds before midnight, and before the fireworks began—his only window of opportunity,” Enzo surmised.

  “Exactly. He knew she would then be rushed off the stage. Someone also had to know exactly what words she would use to end her speech. She didn’t just begin the aerial display. She unknowingly cued the beginning of the sniper fire!” Noble explained excitedly. “Again, as in France, someone’s working from the inside.”

  Sensing the momentum building, Enzo asked, “Shall we move on to London?” He assumed the obvious. He tapped the monitor on the left and replaced the photo of the limo in flames. Promptly, the view of a street appeared. It was filled with debris, and a large Ferris wheel rotated off in the distance.

  Enzo proceeded. “We found bomb fragments near where a table had been stationed before the blast, the exact table where the British Prime Minister and the American Ambassador were seated. We also found pieces of a detonator and a partial print on one shard. From the evidence, the bomb was a fairly simply designed explosive device made of ammonium nitrate with an electronic detonator used to set off the bomb—exactly at midnight.”

  “Exactly is the operative word!” Noble exclaimed. “It was the time when the bomber knew everyone would have been evacuated. The bomber had to assume that the attacks, which occurred an hour earlier in France and Germany, would have been broadcast to all heads of government throughout Europe and Great Britain, including the British Prime Minister.”

  Silence filled the room as they both paused and stared at the sight on the screen, thinking about what could have been a horrific outcome.

  “You’ve gathered a lot of evidence from all three attacks,” Noble acknowledged. “Now we need to make the link between our perpetrators and our prime suspect, Simon. We need to determine his ultimate motive—one I’m afraid may be even more complex than anyone could imagine.” Noble shook his head, thinking, here I go again.

  Enzo determined the time was more than appropriate to make the formal request. First, he granted, “From all the evidence, it appears you are correct. All attacks were enacted with such precision to ensure they would fail.”

  Noble sensed what was to follow.

  “Now—you need to give me access to SAVIOR so we can make that link to Simon.”

  Noble looked toward him and flashed a smile. “I surrender.”

  Enzo continued with a slight jeer, “We all know your government negotiated hard on your behalf to keep you from being prosecuted for breaking into Interpol’s database.” Then, he softened his tone, flashed a wink, and allowed, “Personally, I’m thrilled to have another investigative tool to add to my arsenal, thanks to the generosity of your government.
”

  Noble flushed. “I’m glad we could be of service, despite the unorthodox means to get there.” Then, regaining his stride, he asked, “You are aware of the agreement between our two governments?”

  Enzo cocked his head. “Yes.”

  “Then you know you’ll be able to download information on a specific suspect, but only if that suspect has a valid record in the Interpol database. Otherwise, you’ll be limited to the suspect’s name and a photo. After all, the privacy of American citizens must be protected.”

  “I understand, but what if our perpetrators are linked to Simon and they only have a record in the FBI or CIA databases and not in Interpol? How can I make that link to Simon without complete access?”

  Noble had anticipated the request. He was convinced Simon orchestrated the bombings in Europe and needed Enzo’s help to prove it. “I want you to know that I’m putting my career on the line—and again for SAVIOR!” he bemoaned. “I’ll program your password to give you complete access—temporarily.”

  Enzo smiled at his partial victory.

  But before his smile had a chance to recede, Noble announced, “Hold on. Once the case at hand is solved, your password will be changed and restrictions will be placed on future access.” Softening his tone, he added, “Naturally, you have the right to ask our government for additional information on forthcoming cases. I’m sure our agencies will cooperate within reason.”

  Enzo chose not to push his luck. He raised his hands and said, “Agreed.” He was satisfied that, for at least the moment, his needs would be met.

  After their mini détente, they mutually decided it was late, and that the lessons on the use of SAVIOR could wait until morning. Expecting an update from Max, Noble declined Enzo’s dinner invitation and returned to the hotel.

  9

  THE POSTMORTEM

  Noble entered his hotel room at Mercure Grand Hotel and, before he had the opportunity to notice the opulence, his eye caught the flashing red light on the desk phone. He quickly hit the lower, right-hand button to retrieve his messages. There was only one. It was from Max, asking him to call as soon as possible. He hurriedly pulled off his jacket and tie, ordered room service, and then prepared to place the call. Sitting at the desk, he unfolded his tablet and tapped on Max’s photo, instantly dialing her phone number. While he waited for the call to connect, he tapped on the Notes App and primed himself for anything.