Noble's Quest

by Sally Fernandez

  “Director, may I ask who the prisoner is, and why he requires special handling?”

  “Major, you have your orders.”

  Facing the Colonel, with Max and the Major listening in, Noble directed, “Please detain all prisoners in the brig on the base.” Then, he asked, “Major, what was the total count?”

  “We captured thirty-five prisoners plus the four men who insist they’d been kidnapped.”

  “We have the capacity to detain all prisoners,” the Colonel responded, without hesitation.

  “Hold them without questioning until you hear from me.”

  “Yes, Director.” The Colonel obliged.

  Max chimed in, “What do you want us to do with the encampment?”

  Noble was grateful that Max’s anger had subsided and that she had refocused on the mission. “Major, have your men work with Max to sweep the facility and collect all forensic evidence. I want fingerprints, hair—anything and everything you can lift or swab.” Looking over toward the Colonel, Noble requested, “Do you have a secure location to store whatever evidence they gather?”

  “Director, there is a storage facility next to building number twenty. I’ll give Max the combination to the lock.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “Max, start combing through all the evidence as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Major.” Noble wavered slightly before issuing his next command.

  “Yes, Director.” The Major noticed the hint of hesitation.

  “Once your men have gathered the evidence, all other perishables and any personal belongings not in evidence are to be taken out to the desert and destroyed. Leave each of the ventilation escape hatches intact. While they are somewhat camouflaged, cover them with any vegetation you find in the area. Make all entrances to the facilities impassable, permanently, with the exception of the Desert Mountain entrance. Secure the entrance discovered inside the Desert Mountain facilities. It must be concealed and undetectable. Major, do you understand your orders?”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  As a matter of course, Noble would inform the president privately as to the location of the only accessible entrance to the Presidential Lair—a new notation waiting for the President’s Book of Secrets. But, now, Noble would issue his final and most vital directive. “The underground encampment will officially cease to exist once the evidence is collected and the entrances are sealed.” He paused, giving each of them time to absorb his words. “If the location of the underground facility is ever disclosed by any person, it will be considered an act of treason. This directive comes from the president. Do each of you understand?”

  The Colonel was the first to respond, recalling the president’s earlier edict delivered by Noble. “Yes, Director. You have my assurance.”

  Max looked at the Major, urging his response.

  “Director, you have my word and the word of my men.” The Major glared back at Max and mouthed, “Your turn.”

  “Max,” Noble voiced, waiting for her pledge.

  “Yes, sir. I understand completely,” she replied, while visually rebuffing the Major.

  Noble was thankful military orders were accepted without question. He anticipated, however, that in a private venue Max would grill him on the details. Most important, he was confident each of them understood the seriousness of the presidential mandate. Satisfied, he cautioned, “Major, do not let the prisoner out of your sight. I want him in Supermax within the hour. I suggest you take one of your men to assist in the transport. That’s all. Proceed.” Before removing his IMAC, Noble half-whispered to Max, “I’m heading to Draper to interrogate our prisoner as soon as I alert the president.”

  “Good luck—and we need to talk.”

  “Later, Max.”

  Noble informed President Post that they had captured Mohammed al-Fadl, and that the Special Forces were transporting him by military helicopter to the maximum security prison in Draper. Noble then requested that the president make the necessary arrangements to transport him to GITMO, since it required presidential authority.

  The military base in Guantanamo Bay had remained open against the wishes of the liberal left, and continued to house “enemy combatants,” or, more properly, identified as terrorists of the worse kind. In fact, in 2012, the former president changed his position and signed the National Defense Authorization Act that codified the indefinite detention of terrorist suspects. In addition, it sanctified the military commissions’ role to preside over the trials for these prisoners.

  President Post was acutely aware of the human rights activists who continued to wage their protest against the incarcerations. To appease the outspoken critics, he personally arranged for three senators from the intelligence committee to travel to Utah as special envoys. Their primary role was to be present during interrogations and to ensure the protection of the prisoner’s rights that were often in dispute. Then, they would personally escort the prisoner to the military prison in Cuba.

  Noble needed to reach the Utah State Penitentiary first.

  29

  THE FACEOFF

  Noble stood in the doorway of the poorly lit interrogation room, illuminated only by a single row of lights. Dangling precariously from the ceiling, the lights cast an ominous yellow glow over the sparse furnishings situated below. Centered in the room were the two chairs and the table he had inspected on his earlier visit. Seated comfortably in the chair, bolted to the floor, was Simon Hall, flashing his famous, unnerving Cheshire grin.

  Noble chose to linger in the doorway for a few seconds as his mind flashed rapidly through the surreal events that led him to this reunion. And, while he resisted staring at the grin on the face of his former Harvard classmate, he did notice the subtle telltale signs of aging. Then, he glanced downward to inspect Simon’s hands—shackled to the arms of the chair.

  Hunting down Simon burned through years of Noble’s life. First, he sought him to repay the tuition money Simon had loaned him in his time of need. Then, he set out tenaciously to capture the notorious terrorist and to seal his fate—most probably to face a death sentence.

  “Hey, Noble,” said a voice from the past, instantly ending his reverie. “You’re a little gray around the temples.” Simon chuckled. “But, you’re still the epitome of a computer geek.”

  Hearing his name mouthed by Simon surprisingly irked him. He quipped, “You, however, never appeared the nerdy sort. Perhaps, that should have been my first clue.” Noble forced a constricted smile. Then, he walked to the empty chair and sat down across from his nemesis. While seated, he continued to study intensely the face of someone he once considered a friend.

  “What’s the matter, Noble. You look like you’ve seen the devil.”

  “I have. The devil is you.”

  Taken aback, Simon stiffened in his chair. “What do you mean?” he rebuffed in a flaccid attempt at innocence. His broad smile relaxed as his lips tightened. He appeared aggrieved as he leaned down to cross his heart with his shackled right hand and implored, “I’m just a highly competent computer hacker and a profitable cyber-thief.” Then, he sat upright and, in a harsher voice, he parried, “What do you really know about anything, Noble?”

  Noble had learned ages ago that Simon was a master of psychological manipulation, so he maintained his guard. He was on alert, and proceeded with caution. Fortunately, over the years, the CIA’s resident shrink had coached him on probative techniques, usually before entering into a serious interrogation. Over time, he became quite adept at understanding social behavior. But, Noble continued to remind himself to be wary of Simon. Thus far, he wasn’t buying Simon’s antics.

  Oddly, this was the first time they had been together, where Noble found himself in a one-on-one situation on neutral ground. Of course, there were social events, when they tossed down their share of beers at Jake’s Pub and shared several casual dinners, but always with the other members of the group. The only real time clocked alone with Simon was when N
oble was his most vulnerable. He remembered the time when Simon recovered his computer program that mysteriously disappeared into cyberspace. Then, of course, there was the time the campus hooker approached him, and Simon swooped in to vouch for Noble’s character to the campus security officer. With sadness, he recalled Simon’s kindness when he learned of his parents’ death. Simon had provided him with an airline ticket to return to Kansas to attend the funeral and loaned him the full tuition for his final semester at Harvard. Apparently, Simon did not anticipate repayment. However, it was a debt Noble tried fervently to repay.

  But that was then.

  Now, as he observed him sitting impatiently in the interrogation room, he could easily conceive how Simon had seduced the other members of La Fratellanza. He, too, had fallen into his web. Without question, Simon had successfully manipulated the group to carry out his clandestine plot.

  Using the skills he honed at the CIA, Noble became an accomplished interrogator. He understood the importance of maintaining control of the debriefing, especially when facing someone who was accustomed to being in control. For the moment, he chose to avert the main topic until he had the suspect talking freely.

  With Simon noticeably agitated so early in the session, Noble sensed an advantage and redirected the conversation to La Fratellanza. There would be plenty of time later to edge his way into the more explosive aspects of the plot—a plot he believed was a work in progress and had not yet come to fruition. Besides, he had waited over a decade to hear the answers to specific questions with a more personal dimension.

  “Let’s discuss a topic with which we are both familiar, your study group at Harvard. I was quite amazed at how you were able to convince the others to go along with the game and shape it into a reality.”

  Simon eased back into his chair and began to drum his fingertips on the armrest, an attempt to forestall answering. He thinks by using innocuous statements instead of questions that he will somehow induce me to confess. Suddenly, he shifted closer to the edge of his chair.

  To Noble’s surprise, Simon’s mood had also shifted, and he seemed rather entertained and prepared to respond.

  “Honestly, it took me years to assemble our illustrious group. It was no easy task. First, I had to locate the talent. Then, I screened each of them—including you—through what you might call an assessment phase. I identified each of your personal vulnerabilities. We all have them, you know—even you Noble.” His smug look reverted. Clearly, he was delighted with his personal affront.

  Noble noted Simon’s emphasis on the words assessment phase. And, while they are innocuous words to most, Simon—a master of psychology—knew it was a clinical term to describe the basic manipulative strategy of a psychopath. Simon wasn’t technically a psychopath, but Noble had already discerned that his conduct paralleled psychopathic behavior. He’s toying with me, he mused. Now, let’s see if he follows up the assessment phase with the standard manipulation phase. But, first, Noble decided to try some manipulation techniques of his own. Ignoring the provoking comments, he expertly redirected the conversation back to Simon. “It’s evident that you’ve discovered their weaknesses, but you must admit that these extremely intelligent men also have strong wills of their own. Naturally, they would be more resistant to manipulation than the average person.”

  He took the bait.

  “Noble, I pride myself on being an ardent student of human behavior.” He bragged, and then expounded on, how he tested each of their inner strengths and desires to determine what tactics were likely to be most effective. “Over the course of time, I was able to build a personal relationship with each of them. It wasn’t difficult to entice them to become part of an exclusive group—so I created one. It was a simple matter to appeal to their considerable egos.” Simon watched Noble’s expressionless face and, with slight annoyance, he boasted, “I’m proud to say it took just over a year for us to bond as brothers. Our campus classmates used to refer to us as the Brainy Rat Pack. But, you know all this—you were on the periphery.”

  There was still no reaction from Noble, despite the fact he was repulsed each time Simon invoked his name.

  Simon continued to pontificate as he amplified his eye contact. “I preyed on the one thing all great men have in common—the desire to accomplish the impossible.” Appearing as though he had just given a victorious summation, he beamed with a look of self-satisfaction.

  Noble thought it was a gesture akin to taking a bow, but he continued to ignore Simon’s theatrics and moved the conversation along. “These intellectuals had to have known they would end up flirting with the law and would put themselves and their families in jeopardy,” he countered.

  “No, they didn’t.” Simon denied. “I assured them I’d take all the risks. In the final analysis, avoidance of risk is a common human behavior trait and, when offered, it’s irresistible bait for most people. Actually, I carved out the riskiest assignments for you, specifically. You, however, were a no-show. So, having no choice, I was forced to assume that role.”

  Noble smiled wanly. “You missed the mark, being unable to identify my presumed vulnerability.”

  “But, I did, Noble. It was that your rock solid integrity. The problem at the time was that I couldn’t quite figure out how to exploit it—until recently.” Simon’s grin returned.

  Noble recognized that he had inadvertently opened the door to personal counter plays, but he chose to allow Simon to indulge in his own power game. However, this time he posed a question. “Once you convinced the others to play the game, how did you retain their loyalty for all of those years?”

  Simon, enjoying the stage, gleefully carried on with his dogmatic statements. “Each year, as the technology changed, I’d update La Fratellanza’s pagers. We had a system for sending and receiving messages, and they each knew they had to respond. It was like keeping them on a tether. However, during one of the upgrades, unbeknownst to them, I included a GPS and listening device to monitor their activities,” he admitted with egotistic pride. “I always knew where they were—and what they were saying. I found it great sport to listen in on their conversations. They could never figure out the connection, but it created a touch of paranoia among the group that became a very powerful and extremely useful instrument.” Simon paused as he furrowed his brow. Then, with another complete turnabout in behavior, he said sternly, “It was a terrible blow to discover they were testifying before you at CIA headquarters—and before the game had finished.”

  For the first time, Simon appeared perturbed.

  Or, was he simply feigning anger, trying to lure me to admit to something? Noble rolled around in his mind.

  Steering away from the direct response, Noble inquired calmly, “Simon, you’ve already taken your revenge on our government. Baari did a superb job of damaging the fabric of our society through your maneuverings. Why did you still find it necessary to seek revenge on your brothers, the same people who helped you carry out your plot?”

  Simon maintained his cold expression as he shouted, “Betrayal!”

  Noble was incorrect in his assessment. He learned immediately that Simon was genuinely angry. But, he continued to sit back in his chair with crossed arms and remained complacent.

  “I demanded loyalty!” Then, in a remarkably calmer tone, Simon avowed, “I was loyal to my brothers, and they betrayed me. It’s that simple.”

  Up to that point, Noble’s objectivity had remained in check. But, then, it became a bit more personal, enticing him to open up another line of questioning. “So, you found it fitting to destroy Chase, removing him from his dream job, and to slander Seymour, banishing him from the Washington scene. You only toyed with Hank’s career but, interestingly, you left Paolo’s life intact.”

  Simon confessed freely. “Hank had been a good soldier and still provided utility, but it appears that has changed. As for Paolo,” he paused, “I’m saving him in case I decide to destroy you.” He gloated menacingly.

  As anticipated, Simon had moved t
o the predictable third and final phase of manipulation, that of abandonment. He no longer found La Fratellanza useful in his discourse and, most likely, moved on to find someone else to join him in the master plot. The who would have to wait—for now Noble wanted to know why.

  As Noble glowered, a peculiar stillness set in. Each was trying to gain the advantage, as in a fencing duel. Noble reasoned, however, that it was vital that he be the one to break the eerie silence and maintain control. “The assassination attempts against the French President, the German Chancellor, and the British Prime Minister were intentionally designed by you to fail. We’ve concluded that they were a preliminary test, a veritable dry run.”

  “Perhaps, one could say that.”

  “Is the German Chancellor your next target?”

  “A wild guess, old boy?”

  “Why are you targeting the European leaders?”

  Simon slouched back into his chair. “Noble, you’re boring me with your questions. I expected a more innovative approach coming from you. Please, do tell, what are the rules of engagement?”

  Simon’s attempt to provoke failed.

  “Why did Yakob use beryllium to make the casing for the bomb used in London? Its rarity made it fairly easy to trace.”

  Simon continued to appear blasé but, actually, he was quite impressed with how much Noble had already deciphered. “Well done. You’ve done your homework. Now, to answer your question. First, beryllium was readily available.” That annoying half-smile returned. “Second, at the time Yakob made the bomb, it was inconceivable that you’d be snooping around a desert in the middle of Utah.”

  Noble summarily relaunched. “Is that why you purposely lured me to Lyon?”

  “Wasn’t it obvious?” Simon shook his head. “You were getting too close for comfort and were about to expose the encampment. And, might I add, you cost me dearly in time and money.” He waved his right hand as best he could. “Enough with the inquisition.”