Noble could hear her soft voice trail off as she hung up the phone. After a moment of reflection, he realized that the receiver was still in his hand. He reached over to establish a dial tone and placed his last call.
“Hello.”
“Warden Lowell?”
“Yes, who am I speaking with?” he asked brusquely.
“I am SIA Director Bishop, and I’m in need of your assistance.”
“Yes, Director. I just spoke with Colonel Evans. How can I help?” His tone softened a tad.
“We’re about to move in on a high-impact suspect. If all goes according to plan, he will be in our custody within the week. With the assistance of the base commander at Dugway, the detainee will be transferred to your prison by helicopter. I want him held in Supermax.”
“I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
Noble sensed his ambivalence. Evidently, the warden was not a man accustomed to taking orders, but that was not his concern. “My instructions are no visitors other than me, and he is not to speak to the other inmates. I want him placed in twenty-four hour solitary confinement. Soon after, I will arrive and conduct the interrogation.”
“What crime has been committed?”
“Warden, I’m sorry, but for reasons of national security I can’t share anything more at the moment. Please just make sure he’s confined to his cell.”
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
“I’ll be arriving in Salt Lake City tomorrow morning, and I’ll want to inspect the facilities before I drive to Dugway. Please arrange for my admittance to the prison at eleven thirty.”
“I’ll see you then, Director.”
“Thank you, Warden. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Noble placed the receiver back in its cradle. He sat in his chair for a moment longer and for the first time that day his body told him he was totally spent. He collected his papers, grabbed his xPhad, and headed out the door.
26
THE ACCOMMODATION
As the plane was about to make its approach, Noble could see the Great Salt Lake and the Bonneville Salt Flats set off to the west. Strange, one of my boyhood ambitions was to become a geologist, a passing thought that crossed his mind as he observed the unusual landscape. “Look at me now,” he mumbled, before noticing the awkward gaze from the woman in the next seat. Fortunately, the speaker system began to blare as the voice on the other end prepared the passengers for landing.
It was exactly 10:30 a.m. when Delta flight 1681 touched down at the Salt Lake City International Airport and promptly pulled up to the jetway. As Noble grabbed his carryon and shuffled through the aisle, he noticed he had plenty of time to get to his appointment. The base commander had offered to send a driver to escort him to the prison and then to Dugway, but Noble declined. He enjoyed driving and looked forward to the solitude, giving him the time to contemplate and prepare for his next move. Besides, a helicopter was available at the base if time were of the essence. So, all that was necessary was to pick up the leased car and arrive at the Utah State Penitentiary in Draper by 11:30.
Entering I-15 South from I-80 was a little tricky with its veins of highways twisting and turning, but once he veered onto I-15, known as the Veterans Memorial Highway, it was a straight shot to the prison. The drive itself was quite unimpressive, with tractors, trailers, and containers dotting each side of the highway. It didn’t resemble anything as beautiful as he had viewed from the air, but gradually the landscape improved. Approximately two-thirds of the way toward his destination, the droning voice from the GPS directed him to stay in the right-hand lane. Following the instruction, he saw a Ramada Inn out of the corner of his eye. From his estimate, he was about ten minutes away from the prison. He would keep the hotel in mind should the interrogation extend past one day.
Noble glanced again at his watch as he was about to swing onto Prison Road. “Perfect. Eleven thirty on the dot.” Moments later, he pulled into the prison parking lot and headed toward the guard tower next to the entrance gate. Standing directly outside the gate, he spotted a stocky man in an ill-fitting business suit, obviously waiting for someone. “That has to be the warden,” he presumed. Of course, not sporting a uniform was a telltale sign.
As Noble walked toward the man, he was astonished by the gorgeous backdrop behind the six hundred and eighty acre prison that lay in the shadow of the Wasatch Mountains. The scenery improved even more dramatically from his earlier sightings. From this vantage point, he could view the vast Point of the Mountain in the eastern section of the Traverse Range with its peaks and crevices overflowing with glistening white snow. Immediately, he felt more invigorated. When he greeted the warden, it was with a hardy, but officious handshake, effortlessly assuming his director mode.
Warden Lowell, to Noble’s surprise, seemed rather congenial compared to his unctuous tone on the phone the day before—a stark contrast from his earlier demeanor. However, his personality was of little consequence. He had complied with all of Noble’s demands, which were of greater significance.
After receiving his visitor’s pass, Noble hopped into a jeep with the warden and they headed to one of the outer buildings. Led by the warden, Noble entered Uinta 1, a building named after the Uintah Indian tribe. It was one of two buildings that housed the Supermax prisoners. Each building, divided into four units, contained twelve cells per section. The two buildings combined contained ninety-six of the most dangerous offenders.
Continuing to follow the warden, Noble walked down a wide corridor and, after passing through several gates, each closing behind them, they entered one large rectangular room. Off to the right, was a row of six steel doors. At the end of the row was a metal staircase that led up one flight to another identical row of doors. Each door had a panel that could be opened from the outside, allowing the guards to look through the heavy glass and view the occupants. Another smaller door, referred to as the cuff port, was large enough for a prisoner’s hands to slide through to be handcuffed. The cuff port had other graphic names such as bean slot or chuck hole because it was also used to pass the meal tray. Across from what looked like a cheap motel was a two-story glass wall. On the upper level was the guard station with a clear view of all of the cells.
Standing in the bleak rectangular room between the guard station and the cells, Noble found the dank, musty air to be offensive, unlike the air-conditioned corridors. His fine-tuned senses also made him conscious of an eerie din that echoed from within the small chambers. He assumed the prisoners were talking to themselves, considering they were in solitary confinement and separated from the others by an impregnable cement wall.
Noble was surprised at how unsettling it was to experience such a toxic environment, despite the fact that throughout his career he had visited various prisons—including a few tours at Gitmo—which seemed luxurious by comparison. Even more disturbing was an odd sense of apprehension that began to overtake him—maybe because he knew Supermax was occupied by the meanest and the vilest, or perhaps it was that one of those cells had been prepared for Simon.
“Where will my prisoner be housed?”
The warden pointed to the cell on the far-right end of the row on the bottom tier. “As you requested,” he acknowledged. Then he explained that the guards use a computer system to open and close the cell doors. “Of course, there is a failsafe,” he mentioned. “When essential, a guard can use a master key.” Using a talking device on his wristband, the warden communicated to the guard in the upper-level station and ordered him to open cell number six.
Walking over to inspect the cell, Noble found it only necessary to peer in to view the six by twelve foot chamber with a stainless steel sink and toilet opposite a hard bed topped with a thin mattress. Without commenting on the accommodation, he turned back to the warden and asked, “Where is the interrogation room?”
“Follow me, Director.”
Noble shadowed the warden, retracing their footsteps down the long corridor. At the end, they passed another guard station, also behind a glas
s wall. Several feet ahead, the warden opened a steel door and gestured for Noble to enter first.
The room was barren, except for the steel table in the center of the room and a chair on either side. Interestingly, the chair on the far side was bolted to the floor. The only illumination in the room came from a single row of lights that hung over the table. Satisfied, Noble turned to exit the room and eyed a video camera in the upper left corner close to the ceiling, which appeared to operate on a motion sensor.
“Is a guard always posted at the station?” Noble questioned, pointing to the desk about ten feet from where they stood.
“At all times. Anyone visiting a prisoner must first sign in and then be escorted by a guard.” The warden then pointed in the opposite direction and noted, “There are three other rooms down that corridor that we also use to interrogate prisoners, but I thought you would prefer this one.” He beamed, seeming more amused for anticipating Noble’s preference.
Noble, noting the warden’s self-approval, concurred. “It appears to provide the shortest distance between the prisoner’s cell and the interrogation room. There’s less of a chance for a mistake to occur.”
The warden grimaced faintly at Noble’s use of the word mistake. He then began slowly to wind down the visit. “I trust the accommodation is satisfactory?”
Noble concluded that Supermax was more than adequate, and that the warden understood the importance of twenty-four hour confinement. It was also apparent that the warden had a clear understanding that the prisoner, under no circumstance, was to be processed in Uinta 5. That specific facility is used to receive, orient, and classify all new prisoners. Simon was no ordinary prisoner and the warden grasped the distinction.
“All appears to be in order,” Noble confirmed. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch as soon as we have our man in custody.”
They shook hands and Noble left to begin his hour and a half drive to Dugway.
27
OPERATION NOMIS
During the drive to the Proving Ground, Noble passed by terrain that resembled the Utah he had envisioned. Aside from the few towns he drove through, most of the stretch of roads was barren, surrounded by mountains—some craggy, some majestic. The sparsely vegetated area was dotted with juniper brush and pickle weed interspersed with salt flats. In spite of the breathtaking scenery, he began to feel a bit logy. About forty minutes into his drive, and sensing the effects of traveling, he rolled down his windows to invite in a refreshing breeze. Notwithstanding the radiating sun, the outdoor temperature was in the low twenties. But within a short time, the frigid air had revived him and raised him from the doldrums.
Finally, feeling revitalized, he began to think about what lay ahead. Every mile is a mile closer to Simon, he ruminated. To his surprise, the rest of his trip passed by quickly, and before he realized, he had turned onto Stark Road and was approaching the security entrance to the Dugway Proving Ground.
“I’m Director Bishop here to see Colonel Evans,” Noble announced as he passed the soldier his credentials through the open window.
“Yes, sir. The Colonel is expecting you.” The soldier returned the I.D. card and directed Noble to the Colonel’s headquarters. The route was straightforward, and he arrived in short order. As he pulled up to the building, he was pleased to see a familiar figure standing outside, notwithstanding the slight bruises.
“Hey, boss,” Max shouted as she waved, wearing a huge smile.
Now standing next to her, he gently touched her forehead and, in a rare moment of intimacy, he said, “You look like hell.”
“It’s great to see you, too,” she teased. Then, turning sharply, she instructed, “This way, sir,” accentuating the word sir as she entered the building.
“Spending too much time on the base?” he needled as he followed her down the wide corridor. Then the jiving stopped, and his tenor changed. “Did the WAASP arrive?”
“Early this morning. In fact, it’s now on a plane heading back to France. I called Director Borgini to let him know the arrival time.”
“Did you speak with anyone else?”
“No, I spoke with Enzo,” she reacted speedily, and then challenged, “Why are you so uptight?”
“Sorry, I’m eager for this to all come to an end,” he admitted, as he thought, where is Simon now? He instantly refocused. “Did the WAASP give us what we need to know?”
“Yes, it confirmed that the underground bunker exists—which I suspected you already knew.”
Noble didn’t respond to her assumption. “Are we ready to enter the encampment?”
“We’re set to go, but first I need to bring you up to date on some additional information we’ve uncovered.” She spoke rapidly, matching his tempo.
“Max, are you nervous?”
“Yes,” she affirmed, throwing a beady-eyed look in his direction. Then, she turned left sharply to enter the Colonel’s reception area.
The sergeant seated behind the desk directed, “Max, go in. The Colonel is waiting.” Then, he promptly stood up to stand at attention and clasped his hands behind his back. “Director,” he greeted, followed by a respectful nod.
Noble followed behind Max as they walked past the Colonel’s office and headed straight to his conference room.
“I have the command post set up in here.”
Noble gestured for her to walk in first.
When he entered the room, he observed a long conference table. Around the table stood three men, all wearing various attire, but it was obvious to Noble who was who.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce SIA Director Bishop. He will take charge of the mission,” Max announced and then proceeded to introduce each member of the group. First, she presented Colonel Evans. He was wearing his fatigues, having just returned from the testing grounds, but the fabric nametag attached to the right side of his chest was a giveaway.
Then, she coolly presented Major Stanton, the leader of the B Team, who was standing to the left of the Colonel. He was also wearing fatigue pants, but he was topped with a black tee shirt. Protruding from his shirt were bulging biceps and a neck almost equal in diameter to his head. Despite his formidable physique, his cropped blond hair and blue eyes softened his hard-edged features. He was the perfect poster boy for the U.S. Army Special Forces.
Agent Burke, standing on the opposite side of the table next to Noble, interrupted Max and formally introduced himself.
In spite of the fact they had spoken on the phone earlier, Noble spotted him the moment he first entered the room. Seemingly, the agent enjoyed working solo and traded in his Mad Men suit for jeans and a shirt with an open collar.
Having made the cordial rounds, Noble headed back to the front of the room and the others sat down in their chairs. All eyes were now focused on him as he announced, “We are about to commence Operation NOMIS, a top-secret mission sanctioned by the president. Everything you hear in this room—including any assumptions you make—are classified.” As Noble was about to take his seat and turn the session over to Max, the Colonel interjected.
“By the way, Director, what does NOMIS stand for?”
“Netting Operation with Military Intelligence and Surveillance,” Noble answered, without hesitation. He scanned the faces of the men in front of him, noting each seemed pleased with his answer. From their smiles, they must have concluded that it was in recognition of the roles they would play in the mission. Noble also smiled inwardly because he knew that NOMIS was not an acronym, but a personal reminder of the reversal of fortune Simon was about to encounter. Satisfied with his retort, he walked back to the table and took his seat.
Max picked up the cue and swiftly moved to the front of the room. Standing at the podium, using the virtual keyboard, she began to type. As she pecked away, the Colonel once again interrupted.
Focusing his attention directly on Noble, the Colonel announced, “Director, before Max begins, I have information that may be pertinent.”
“Go ahead, Colonel.”
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br /> He proceeded to tell Noble that when Max reported that the furnishings and equipment in the underground facility appeared to be military issue, it brought to mind an investigation he initiated in 2012 when he assumed the command at Dugway. He explained that his first order of business was to meet with each of his officers individually. “When I met with my supply officer, we reviewed the current inventory, along with prior monthly reports and all outstanding requisitions. It became evident to me from the reports that there were an unacceptable number of variances.”
“How were they explained?” Noble asked, as others listened with interest.
“Each discrepancy, on the surface, had a plausible explanation, but in the totality, something seemed out of balance. I conducted an investigation which revealed that a vast amount of office furniture and equipment inventoried was, in fact, missing.”
“What happened to the supply officer?”
“He was suspended from duty and confined to the base, pending further investigation. I needed more time to evaluate the case to determine how to proceed.” The Colonel paused, let out a shallow breath, and then continued in a tone seemingly out of character. “It’s never an easy decision for a commander to initiate Article 15 under the Uniform Code of Military Justice. However…”
Max, ignoring the Colonel’s moment of earnestness—and impatient to move the conversation—chimed in, “As I recall, the article permits the commander to file for non-judicial punishment, according to the UCMJ. What was the outcome?”
The Colonel, slightly irked by her interruption, was also impressed with Max’s acumen. He calmly reverted to his earlier demeanor and announced, “As I was about to say, the decision was no longer mine to make. Two days after the officer was suspended, he went AWOL.”
Noble followed the conversation closely. It seemed evident that the supply officer was the one responsible for provisioning the underground facility. There has to be a connection to Simon, he pondered. Without a pause, it was his turn to interrupt the Colonel—but with an unrelated question. “Do you inventory rare metals at the base?”
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