It was late. Once again, Noble began to wind down the grilling, although, as he shuffled through his notes, he looked over in Simon’s direction and hurled one more question. “How did you learn about the underground bunker in Utah?”
Simon’s mood took a complete turnabout yet again.
Noble found it perplexing to witness those instant transformations.
This time, Simon reverted from an adversary to a docile witness. Aside from the fact that the interrogation had spanned more than five hours, he appeared astonishingly energetic and quite happy to continue their discussion.
“Pure luck!” He grinned, and then continued to enlighten. “During Baari’s first days in the Oval Office, while he was in the midst of learning protocol—and before he learned to keep his mouth shut—he blathered to Hank about some President’s Book of Secrets. He described a hush-hush underground hideout known only to the U.S. presidents. Hank, of course, told me. It was the perfect solution to one of my dilemmas. Consequently, I instructed him to get a copy of the blueprint with the location.”
“So how did Hank manage to get the blueprint?”
“Easy. A week later, Baari was reading the book when Hank entered the Oval Office. A few moments later, the First Lady called to speak with Baari. He excused himself and took the call in his study. While he was out of the room, Hank simply ripped the page out of the book,” Simon explained passively, without giving any recognition as to the enormity of the violation.
On the other hand, Noble was aghast at the thought of Hank desecrating a national treasure. Not giving Simon time to comment, he asked, “How did you secure the location?”
“Land grabs. And, of course, the cancellation of drilling leases in that area. Hank took care of the details.”
“So, Hank knows the whereabouts of the underground bunker?”
“Only in general terms. He never made a copy of the map; that’s not his M-O. And, I never told him about my plans—and he knew not to ask.”
“So Hank and the other members of La Fratellanza were simply puppets being manipulated?”
“Bingo!” Simon leaned back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. Then, abruptly, he returned to an upright position.
For a split second, Noble feared that Simon would leap over the table and grab his throat, forgetting that his wrists were shackled to the bolted-down chair.
“You got me! And, in the fullness of time you’ll know everything,” he trumpeted.
However, knowing Simon, Noble correctly discerned it wasn’t quite that simple—there had to be more.
The hour was now late, and Simon had finally worn him to a frazzle. Noble finally decided to end the questioning and continue in the morning. He needed to be sharp throughout the rest of the interrogation. “I’m finished with you now, but I will be back early tomorrow. And, you will answer the remaining questions,” Noble cautioned, then quickly called for the guard.
During the next few moments, Simon tried to engage Noble in small talk, but he resisted any attempt, as he feigned taking notes, disregarding him in the process. Fortunately, the guard arrived promptly, and personally escorted Simon back to his cell.
As Simon walked out the door, he couldn’t resist looking back at Noble to flash his Cheshire grin.
Noble ignored him and ruminated, it’s imperative I uncover Simon’s overall plan. Especially before the President’s special envoys arrive.
He left the interrogation room and stopped at the guard’s desk.
“I’d like the digital feed from the video, please,” Noble requested.
“Director, I’d first have to get permission from the warden.”
Noble gave him an icy look. “It won’t be a problem.”
The guard complied.
30
THE SCORPION
Noble checked into the Ramada Inn and proceeded to his room. After removing his jacket and tie, he poured himself a glass of mediocre wine from the mini-bar and prepared for a late night. He needed to update Max. He prayed that she had some invaluable evidence, something he could use during his second round with Simon. But, first, he felt compelled to review the interrogation.
Noble opened his xPhad and retrieved the video to revisit his last six and half hours. At first, he fast-forwarded, periodically pausing at random scenes. Ironically, he seemed to stop at points where Simon had assumed control. The agitation resurfaced instantaneously.
Who is Simon Hall? A question he could not escape.
Noble hit the Pause button again.
“What do you really know about anything,” rang out from his speaker system.
He couldn’t help but stare at the man he had called the devil. Shaking his head, he hit the Fast Forward button, and then instinctively paused at the part where they discussed the killings in the Dead Zone. Simon claimed the murders had been unfortunate collateral damage. Eerily, he seemed sincere. Why is it so hard for me to believe he’s a killer? He tried to envision the possibility.
He froze the scene again, just after he heard Simon’s voice ask, “Did you ever question why or how your parents died?” The monster on the screen was staring back. Strangely, that statement caused Noble to think back to the time when Hamilton had answered his question with a question, as if to say, how could you think I’m culpable? Could Simon possibly be challenging the question—one he knew I must have asked myself time and time again? Is it possible he was not responsible for their deaths? Stay focused, Noble reminded himself.
Moving the video along, he hit the Play button.
Simon was in the midst of asking, “Do you ever examine your own theories? Allow your thinking to evolve beyond your initial premise?”
Noble hit Fast Forward again, then Play.
“First, when using syllogistic logic, your operating premise must hold true, otherwise your theory will not be valid.”
He hit Fast Forward, then Play.
“Osama, on the other hand, sanctioned my plan, a plan that is much broader in scope and goes far beyond religion.”
Punching the Stop button on the tablet, Noble shouted in frustration, “Who the hell is Simon Hall?”
He marched over to the mini bar and, reluctantly, traded in his wine glass for a pot of black coffee. It was going to be a long night. It was eight o’clock, and he anticipated Max was impatiently sitting by the phone, waiting for his update. But, before he made the call, there was one more source which might provide the answer to that nagging question.
Seated back at the desk, he synchronized his keyboard to his tablet and logged into SAVIOR.
In 2009, the only connection made between Simon Hall and Mohammed al-Fadl was from a fingerprint retrieved from the apartment in Menlo Park. Noble first ran the print through IAFIS, the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, but it returned a No Match. Then fortunately, Interpol was able to match that fingerprint with a fingerprint taken from a bomb fragment used in the bombing of the embassy in Nairobi in 1988. After making the connection, Noble ran Mohammed al-Fadl’s name through SAVIOR, retrieving a complete profile. In 2009, it seemed immaterial to run Simon Hall through the system, because the fingerprint match identified them as the same person. This time, however, he sensed it was vital to run Simon through SAVIOR.
Now logged into the system, Noble pressed the Ctrl and Q keys simultaneously and entered option D for Case Profile. Then, he entered “Simon Hall” for the Name of Suspect, followed by B for Profile without an Alias. The next question prompted Additional Identification, producing a list of options. Noble selected F for Fingerprint and quickly cut and pasted Simon’s fingerprint from the NOMIS file to SAVIOR’s Answer box. Rapidly, the system produced a dossier for Simon Hall. He saved the file and then duplicated the steps, except for the answer to Name of Suspect. This time, he entered Mohammed al-Fadl. Then, he displayed each profile side by side on the split screen and began to scrutinize the data.
Noble was dumbfounded.
“Max.”
“I’ve been waitin
g hours for your call. How did it go?” Her eagerness was apparent.
“Open your xPhad and let’s conference.”
Max obliged, and hit the webcam. “You look as if you’ve had a hair-raising day!”
Noble eyed the concern on her face and teased, “Speaking of hair, nice,” in an effort to deflect her angst. Even with her hair mussed and without makeup, she was still extremely attractive. Certainly, she was a pleasant diversion from the face he had been studying for the past six hours—a face clearly etched in his mind.
“Give me a break, boss. I’ve been in this damn room all day combing through documents and pouring through boxes of evidence, looking for something—anything—we might have missed,” she protested. Gradually, her pout converted to a pleasant smile. “How did it feel after all those years of tracking down Simon to finally be able to question him face-to-face? It must have been exhilarating. Tell me what happened?”
“First, there is something I have to share with you.”
Noble explained how he ran Simon’s name and al-Fadl’s name separately through SAVIOR and discovered some discrepancies along with additional background information on Simon. He let it drop that SAVIOR was originally designed to consolidate profiles from the various agencies. Evidently, it was not programmed to highlight any inconsistencies within each of the files.
“So, SAVIOR isn’t perfect.” She winced, afraid Noble would take her words personally.
“No, I’m not perfect. And, if Simon had designed the system, he most likely would not have made that programming error.”
She ignored his momentary wallowing and moved the discussion back on point. “What did you uncover that is so shocking?”
“Simon and al-Fadl were both born on November 16, 1966.”
“Of course, they are the same person.” She agreed, and then mocked, “How appropriate, Simon was born under the sign of Scorpio.”
“Hold on. The records show Simon was reared in Irvine, California, and homeschooled until the age of sixteen. In 1982, he entered the University of California at Irvine and majored in computer science.”
“That, we already know.” Max was becoming increasingly impatient.
“Max, please, hear me out. What we didn’t know is that, the following year, he began to attend a study group at the Islamic Society of Orange County. There are reports that he obtained a ‘certificate of Islam’, an informal means to become a Muslim. And, he took the name Mohammed al-Fadl when he converted to Islam. But, there is no official record of a legal name change to al-Fadl.” He continued to elaborate on Simon’s dossier and explained that he dropped out of school in 1984 and, on September 1 of the same year, he flew from Los Angeles to Paris. From there, he seemed to have vanished for the time being. “What’s most interesting, is that on September 2, 1984, Mohammed al-Fadl arrived in Karachi, Pakistan and began to support jihadi causes.”
“So, Simon was working with al-Qaeda. We assume that to be true.” Max shrugged her shoulders. She was no longer edgy, but seemingly a bit confused.
“Officially, al-Qaeda had not formally established until 1988. But, although it was in its infancy, al-Fadl became embroiled in Osama bin-Laden’s organization, and he moved up the ranks at a rapid pace. He was personally responsible for developing the wire-transfer system to move funds undetected between Hawalas in the U.S. During the interrogation, Simon admitted he had trained with al-Qaeda, but he denies being part of their organization today.”
“And you believe him?” Max asked, somewhat doubtful.
“He ranted at length about the greatness of Sharia Law and supports al-Qaeda’s attempt to create a new worldwide Islamic nation. But, he decries their characteristic technique of using suicide attacks and finds it difficult to accept the fact that the killings are religiously sanctioned.”
“I repeat.… And you believe him?
Noble saw the doubt continue to wash across Max’s face. “Honestly, I’m not convinced that Simon is a killer, but I keep wrestling with the notion.” He then carried on and explained that, in 1986, Mohammed al-Fadl reportedly disengaged from bin-Laden and disappeared. The same month, Simon resurfaced and began to attend classes at the University of California, this time at Berkeley. In 1987, he received his BS in computer science and, in 1989, he received his master’s degree in psychology.”
“Wait a minute. In 1988, he was responsible for bombing the U.S. embassies in Nairobi and Tanzania. He couldn’t have been in both places,” Max concluded.
“The fingerprint in the Interpol file came from a bomb fragment found in the debris at the Nairobi embassy.” Noble determined that the bomb was either used by al-Fadl or was simply assembled by him earlier and used later by another person. “From the bank and credit card statements, Simon was actually leading a busy life in Berkeley. And, there is no record of his leaving the U.S.”
“How do you know he didn’t fabricate the data? We know he has the capability.”
Max had not yet bought into Noble’s presumptions.
He noticed her skepticism, and attempted to convince her. “His spending patterns mirror those I uncovered from his statements while living in Menlo Park, and before he disappeared during the banking crisis. I don’t believe he was in Africa in 1988.”
Max raised her eyebrows.
Not wanting to regret any assumptions he was about to make, he proceeded, choosing his words with care. “The way Simon spoke about his time with bin-Laden, I came away with a sense that when he traveled to Pakistan in 1984, he had converted to Islam. Conceivably, it started out as a social experiment.”
“What, akin to joining a cult in the sixties?
“Yes. But, all the while, Simon continued to utilize both identities interchangeably to suit his own needs. I believe he was being truthful when he said no longer worked in tandem with al-Qaeda.”
“Isn’t that a huge leap in conjecture, especially for you?”
“Max, let’s get back to 1989. We know Simon was still attending classes at Berkeley but, after graduation, he disappeared again. According to the testimonies of the members of La Fratellanza, he spent the majority of his time in Florence, Italy. However, in 1993 he returned to the states and established a freelance consultancy. It was in 1994 when Simon befriended Hal Simmons. We already knew Simmons had converted to Islam and changed his name to Karim Yakob, and shortly thereafter he joined al-Qaeda. That must have been when Simon stole Hal Simmons’ identity, but in name only.”
“Why would he need another identity?” Max asked, perplexed.
“He needed a scapegoat should his illegal activities be exposed. Remember, it wasn’t until 2009 when Hamilton and I made the connection between Simon, Simmons, and al-Fadl, that Hamilton placed all names on the Terrorist Watch List, sealing Simon’s fate, and forcing him—literally and figuratively—underground. Up until that point, Simon Hall’s record was clean.”
“So, he used Hal Simmons’ identity to establish bank accounts, obtain credit cards, and to rent the apartment in Cambridge?”
“Precisely, and all the while Simon Hall was attending Harvard. Can you guess who paid the bills?”
“Uncle Rob—the affectionate name he gave his ill-gotten gains. Okay, so he siphoned funds from various banks and transferred the money to bank accounts registered under the name of Hal Simmons.”
“Yes, and while Hamilton was tracking the elusive hacker Hal Simmons, he unknowingly was tracking Simon. And, a further strange twist is that, sometime between 2009 and 2016, Simon located and recruited his friend from the past, Karim Yakob, to work for his cause. Yes, the one, and the real, Hal Simmons.”
Max interrupted, “He’s quite brazen. But, Noble, what does this have to do with Simon’s plot? A plot that to this day is still gauzy.” She was thoroughly uncertain as to where he was leading.
“Max, when I went back and traced Simon’s trail and the various roles he occupied over the years, it gives validity to what he admitted in the interrogation. What you don’t know is that, in October
of 2001, Simon traveled to Kursu as al-Fadl, and secretly met with Osama bin-Laden. He said that he implored bin-Laden to stop al-Qaeda from bombing the U.S. He claims to have told bin-Laden that his autonomous mission was well under way and would have a greater effect without al-Qaeda’s intrusion. According to Simon, bin-Laden died a month later. Presumably, he didn’t pass along Simon’s message and the terrorist strategy continued.”
“What? bin-Laden was killed in 2011.”
“Not according to Simon. He claims it was an illusion perpetrated by the Baari Administration.”
“Unbelievable. So in what way does his grand plan depart from that of bin-Laden or al-Qaeda?”
“That’s the question we keep asking, and it’s still unanswered. But, I’m convinced Simon has his own agenda and is working alone, separate from al-Qaeda.”
“That could make him even more dangerous. Did you discover anything during the interrogation, anything that would lead us to understand what he’s really up to?”
“No. Frankly, it was maddening. I couldn’t break him. He hasn’t forgotten any of the lessons on interrogation techniques and the related psychology he’d learned over the years. In fact, he’s wilier than ever. To start, I had exacting control over the interview, and then I intentionally let him think he was in control. I’m embarrassed to say that, at times, he actually wrested control briefly. It was parry and thrust all day.”
Max saw the unease on Noble’s face, but chose to ignore his sense of disappointment. She let him continue without interruption.
“I tried to bait him with abject impartiality, but then he’d revert to a reverse irk mode trying to agitate me. After a while, I switched tactics again and played strictly to his ego, which provided a large target. Nothing worked.” Noble’s frustration was brewing. “I tried every interview technique I could muster and Simon reacted tangentially. When that guy was created, they threw away the mold.”
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