Noble's Quest

by Sally Fernandez

  “Mama mia, What are you looking for—Atlantis?” Enzo jested.

  “You might say that,” Noble replied in a more serious demeanor. “So, can you help me out? I just need it for a day. Oh, I also need it retrofitted for an Apache helicopter.”

  “And, I assume there will be a limited number of people who will know about this?” Enzo inquired in a dubious tone.

  Noble sensed he had won Enzo over and assured him, “Only a highly select group with top security clearance credentials will be engaged. Please arrange to have it sent to the base commander at the Dugway Proving Ground in Utah. I’ll give him a heads up.”

  “Noble, it’s Friday night. The best I can do is to get it there on Monday.” Then, with no hint of capitulation, he ordered, “I want it back in my possession no later than next Wednesday. Capito?”

  “I understand. I owe you one,” he stated, clearly relieved.

  “You’re right. You owe me big time! By the way, does this request come with the president’s authorization?” Enzo quizzed with a degree of skepticism.

  “Umm, not yet. I’m scheduled to give him an update in a few hours.” He impulsively added, “Don’t worry, he’ll concur. Besides, I’m putting my career on the line for this case.”

  “You and me both, my friend. Mind telling me what’s happening, Noble?” Enzo had been in the business long enough to know everything functioned on a need-to-know basis. Trying to snoop on a pro got you nowhere. Absent a response from Noble, he added apologetically, “I thought I’d try.”

  “Would you like to tell me what’s happening with your case, Enzo? Noble was itching to know the results of his findings, especially whether there were any definitive links to Simon.

  “I had planned to review the case with you tomorrow, but I guess now is as good a time as any. First, I have to call my wife to let her know I’ll be late, again. I’ll most likely end up with cold pasta and warm wine thanks to you.” He chuckled. “I also need to set up the video conference. Give me about ten minutes.”

  “Fine, I’ll get set up on this end. Ciao for now.” Noble hung up the phone.

  Noble collected his file folders, walked into his conference room, turned on his monitor, and waited for Enzo’s call. Meanwhile, he scribbled a few notes to prepare for his meeting with the president. After all, he had already taken it upon himself to authorize valuable resources, followed by the request to bring in top secret technology from another country under the radar—all based on logic, but nonetheless conjecture. Even the dumping of Agent Darrow’s body in the middle of the Dead Zone could simply be an unbelievable coincidence. And, based to a large degree on inconclusive evidence, his sensors still told him that Simon was behind the events in Utah and in Europe. The thumbprint was the giveaway making the link. He also needed to speak with Paolo, his brother-in-law, the former president’s communications director and speechwriter—and he needed his hands on the flash drive Max was hopefully able to recover. Things are moving too fast, he admitted to himself.

  Without warning, a beeping sound emitted from the phone system built into the video monitor.

  Noble walked over and hit the button.

  Enzo appeared on the screen.

  “That was quick,” Noble responded as he sat back down in his chair. His computer was poised to record the facts.

  “I’m anxious to go home. The wife was none too happy.”

  Noble could see the sparkle in Enzo’s eyes, suggesting he was just as anxious to fill him in on the results of his findings. Directly behind him, Noble could see the two massive touch-screens, already displaying some of the evidence from the New Year’s Eve bombings. He loved the state-of-the-art technology and, with his video monitor, he felt as though he was in the same room as Enzo. For a moment, it caused him to recall fondly the exhilaration he felt the first time he reviewed the evidence of the European investigations during his visit to Lyon.

  “Where do you want to start?” Enzo asked.

  Noble could see vividly the still shot of the limo in flames on the left-hand screen. On the right-hand screen was the photo of Chancellor Mauer lying on the ground behind the podium. “Let’s start with Paris.”

  Enzo walked over and stood next to the screen on the left. “We rechecked the forensic evidence from the bomb fragments and everything stands as before. P-E-T-N was used as the explosive and it was meant to implode—not explode as you previously observed.”

  “What about the truck?” Noble asked eagerly.

  “I was just getting to that. I took your advice, and we were able to focus in on the face peering out the driver’s side of the unmarked white van.” Enzo explained how they were able to take a digital photo and capture about three quarters of his face, but the resolution was extremely low. “However, using face hallucination technology to produce a super-resolution of the image, we were able to run the photo through our Facial Recognition System. And we produced a match.”

  “Okay, so who is he?” Noble’s impatience was coming to the fore.

  “His name is Said Ahmed and he is a French citizen of Moroccan descent. He was one of the profiles SAVIOR placed in the Hot Spot. We have not been able to locate him yet, but we were able to ascertain that he has made at least three trips to Pakistan in the last four years. Currently, we have him on our watch list.”

  “But what is his connection to the explosion?”

  “We showed the photo to the guards at the Elysée Palace, and one of them remembered him being at the palace on New Year’s Eve.”

  “What caused them to remember him on an evening when hundreds of people must have been coming and going through the palace gates?”

  “According to the guard, Ahmed pulled up to the palace entrance in a florist truck to deliver a large flower arrangement. The guard remembered telling him that he had to make his delivery through the rear gate. Evidently, Ahmed explained that he had only one arrangement to deliver and he was running late for his next delivery.”

  “So the guard allowed him to leave the flowers at the front entrance.” Noble leaped to an obvious conclusion.

  “Yes, but when Ahmed returned to his truck it wouldn’t start. After several attempts, he explained to the guard that he would have to call the florist shop and arrange to have the truck towed away. He then told the guard that he would wait at the entrance for his colleague to arrive.”

  “That still doesn’t explain the unmarked van and how he knew about the decoy limo,” Noble insisted.

  “Wait a minute. It gets better. First, we tracked down Ahmed’s brother-in-law who works in a garage—at none-other-than the Elysée Palace. We have him in custody, and I suspect he is about to give up the whereabouts of Ahmed.”

  “So, he knew about the decoy limo and informed Ahmed? He must have also told him which florists were on the approved list.”

  “Exactly! We also have surveillance tapes showing Ahmed entering an unmarked, white van outside the palace gates. In addition, we contacted the owner of the florist shop and discovered there is no record of a Said Ahmed working for his company. The owner insists that their truck had been stolen on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, which he had reported.”

  “Good job. So, we now know the bomb was attached to the car, most probably by the brother-in-law, and Ahmed was able to separate the president’s limo from the decoy limo. It allowed sufficient time for the implosion, creating the impression it was an assassination attempt without actually killing the president. But is there any connection to Simon?”

  “The only connection SAVIOR made was that Ahmed and Simon had both traveled to Pakistan in the same time period.”

  Noble then glanced at the horrific sight on the screen to the right. The German Chancellor was lying on the ground with two police officers over her body to shield her from the rapid fire of bullets. “Let’s go over the Berlin shootings,” he urged.

  “In this case, I ignored your advice.” Enzo’s broad smile was clearly visible to Noble on the monitor. “We placed the podium in t
he upright position and we were able to determine that the trajectory of bullets had originated from the Ritz Carlton Hotel at Potsdamer Platz 3.”

  “Wasn’t it reported that there were unusually high winds that evening? I recall there was even concern for the fireworks display.”

  “The reports were slightly exaggerated. But using calculations for windage, the bullets appeared to come from either the fifteenth or sixteenth floor. We searched all the rooms on both floors that faced the Tiergarten, located west of the Brandenburg Gate.”

  “Did you find any shell casings?”

  “Not only shell casings, but a fingerprint on one of the casings,” Enzo bragged. “I have to give credit to SAVIOR, though, for first identifying the suspect.”

  “The suspense is killing me.” Noble raised his hands to let Enzo know he was impatiently waiting for that link to Simon.

  “The print belongs to a Syrian national named Badi al-Diri, who spent time at the same training camp as Simon, or rather Mohammed al-Fadl, near Kursu in Srinagar. We picked him up at the Berlin Brandenburg Airport as he was boarding a 12:55 flight on Qatar Airways heading for Karachi.”

  “I knew it!” Noble exclaimed, barely audible, but loud enough for Enzo to hear. “Good work, but how did he know precisely when the chancellor would end her speech?”

  “We interviewed her entire staff, except for one person who worked in the copy room. The clerk never returned to work after New Year’s Eve. Thus far, we have been unable to track him down. He lives alone, and with no apparent family that we were able to contact. Basically, he’s a loner. I’m dubious as to whether he has ties to Simon or our sharpshooter. Chances are he was paid off simply to deliver an advance copy of the speech to the plotters. We still plan on bringing him in for questioning, as soon as we locate him.”

  “That leaves us with the London bombing.” Noble urged him on.

  “You’re aware that we identified the bomb fragments, and it was a simple design using ammonium nitrate and an electronic detonator, but we discovered two additional clues.” Observing Noble’s eagerness, Enzo spoke more rapidly. “The bomb in Paris had a magnetic casing, and attached easily under the carriage of the limo, but the bomb in London was attached with half-inch screws to the table where the Prime Minister would have been sitting.”

  “So, that means the bomb was brought in with the table and not placed there afterwards.”

  “You’re quite right. That’s why we interviewed the supervisor from the Event Hire Company, who delivered the tables and chairs. His name is Karim Yakob, an American-born Saudi, and his print matches the partial print we found on one shard of the detonator.” He paused and, then with disappointment, stated, “Sorry, in this case there is no obvious link to Simon, according to SAVIOR.” Enzo could see Noble’s discouraged face looking out from the video monitor and, in an attempt to lift his spirits, proceeded. “There were some additional findings the forensic team happened upon.”

  “Continue,” Noble responded, not in the mood for delay.

  “We retraced our steps and compared both of the bombs from Paris and London to see if we could find any similarities. None were found, but the dissimilarities are what caught our attention.”

  Enzo caught the look on Noble’s face. It was evident he had his attention. “As you know, a typical bomb, for this purpose, is made with three basic components: the detonator, a high explosive charge, and a metal casing.”

  “Right, so we know the detonators were different. The explosives were different. One bomb was in a magnetic casing and the other was a metal casing attached to the table with screws. So how does the fact that they are different lead you to a conclusion?” Noble was obviously perplexed.

  “Not a conclusion—necessarily—but a puzzling clue.”

  “That’s helpful.”

  Enzo ignored his snide remark and continued. “The bomb in Paris was made out of simple materials, easily obtainable. However, the London bomb was encased in a metal that is not only rare, but extremely expensive—not a material your average terrorist would stockpile!” he emphasized. “The detonator used a metal wire, point-eight-five millimeters in diameter and point-zero-five meters in length. One reel costs over five hundred dollars.” Enzo caught sight of Noble’s gaze. “Wait, it gets even crazier. The bomb casing was lined with a metal foil, point-two-five millimeters in thickness and twenty-nine millimeters in diameter. One disc costs over fourteen hundred dollars. Using that metal to build a bomb doesn’t make any sense!”

  Before Noble had the opportunity to interrupt, Enzo added, “Allegedly, the properties of this metal are designed to increase the force of the explosion. It is also used as one of the components in nuclear weapons.”

  Noble, an ocean away, sat in disbelief.

  For Enzo, it seemed as though he were sitting directly across from him. “Are you all right?” His concern was noticeable.

  “We have our connection to Simon—it’s beryllium!” Noble blurted out, then quickly regained his composure.

  “How did you know?” Enzo asked, also visibly stunned.

  “I’ll call you when the WAASP arrives. Now, Enzo, go home to your wife.”

  The video monitor went blank.

  20

  THE FORGOTTEN LAIR

  Any chance I can get in to see him now?” Noble requested.

  “He should be finished with his meeting momentarily, but then he’s expected in the Press Briefing Room in fifteen minutes,” explained the officious voice on the other end of the line.

  “I only need ten,” he pleaded.

  “Why do you always do this to me, Noble? Get down here now, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You’re a doll, thanks! Am I allowed to say doll?”

  “Only to me, sweetie.”

  He smiled as he heard the click on the phone.

  After the inauguration, and at the request of the newly elected President Randall Post, Noble’s office moved from the ground floor of the West Wing up to the second floor. The move also elevated his stature among his colleagues. However, his staff was still scattered among the undisclosed buildings around Washington, where covert greets you at the front door. Luckily for him, he was still just a stairway from the president and could scoot down the stairs to the Oval Office.

  “He’s waiting for you.” She winked.

  As Noble entered the Oval Office, the president stood up from behind his desk chair, walked over to Noble, and motioned him toward the sofa.

  “Mr. President, thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  “Make it quick, Noble. I’ve only a few minutes, but I gather this is urgent,” he surmised, as he sat down across from him on an identical sofa.

  “Sir, you are aware that the mysterious deaths in Utah have been declared homicides.”

  “Yes.”

  Noble proceeded cautiously. He filled him in on the death of Agent Darrow, the discovery of the tunnel, the underground facility, and the explosion causing the death of two soldiers. He provided an overview of the evidence Enzo had uncovered as it related to the bombings in Europe. He informed the president that it was highly probable Mohammed al-Fadl was involved in each of the events. Moreover, he admitted to borrowing the top-secret WAASP from Interpol.

  The president listened patiently, showing no emotion. Then he unleashed. “So you believe there is an underground training camp organized for the purpose of recruiting and training terrorists? That in some way it is connected to the New Year’s Eve bombings. And, a head of state may have been an actual target to be replaced by a mole waiting in the wings? And you believe al-Fadl is orchestrating all of this?” the president challenged.

  “Yes, sir,” Noble responded. “We now know that the election of Abner Baari was merely a dry run for an even broader plot coordinated by al-Fadl, masquerading as Simon Hall. It provided him the opportunity to test his ability to infiltrate the top levels of our government and its most confidential components.”

  “How can we be sure he is connected
to both events in Utah and in Europe? Do you have actionable intelligence?”

  Noble, self-assuredly, explained, “Before the explosion, Max Ford, my deputy director, came upon a flash drive. I am positive it’s Simon’s, or as you referred to him, al-Fadl. Max is combing through the debris trying to locate the drive that was lost during the blast. We’re hoping to be able to analyze it shortly. I’m confident it will provide us with vital information. And, of course, there was the London bomb, made with beryllium components, which I described earlier.” Noble stopped suddenly, and on impulse changed his tone to an even more serious demeanor. “Sir, with all due respect, we need to move swiftly. If Simon is operating from an underground facility, we need to find him before he can execute any part of his plan.”

  “A plan you’re not even sure exists?”

  “Yes, sir,” Noble allowed.

  The president, in a more conciliatory tone, prompted, “You have faith that with the capabilities of the WAASP you can identify the underground camp, the one you suspect is located somewhere under a mountain in Utah?”

  “Mr. President, the WAASP will narrow down the amount of ground we’d have to cover. We need to know what we are dealing with before we proceed further and, most important, we need to seal off any possible exits.” Noble was beginning to feel a sense of support.

  The president glanced at the clock resting on the fireplace mantel on the north side of the room. He realized he had only a few minutes more. “Show me exactly the territory you are talking about.” He reached over and picked up the remote control device on the coffee table. Instantly, a large touch-screen monitor lowered from the ceiling, stopping in front of the fireplace.

  Noble, on cue, stood up, walked over to the monitor, and selected the electronic map app. After he tapped the screen several times, he zoomed in on the state of Utah. Then, as the president watched, he typed in the coordinates. On the top of the screen, the president viewed the following numbers and letters: 39°40’12.71775” N-112° 35’43.5973” W.