The Ultimate Revenge

by Sally Fernandez

  “Now that we’re in agreement, would you like to join the major and me?”

  “One more thing first, the FERC chairman spoke with each of the directors from the control centers. The Birmingham facility was the only one to report any kind of unusual activity. According to protocol, the director of the control center called the Department of Energy. The DOE sent in someone from their geek squad to check it out. Everything proved to be okay. It was just a blip. Nothing has occurred at the Superstation; their computer system has not gone live yet. Evidently, they have internal measures for testing the system.” Max had something else to spring on Noble, but she wanted to hear what Stanton had to say first. She took a deep breath, put a smile on her face, and said, “May we go?”

  Max, looking unnerved, followed Noble into the conference room. “Hi Major, nice to see you again,” she greeted, and then took her place on the opposite side of the table.

  Noble took the lead. “Before you arrived, the major explained that all of the hundred and nine detainees had been interviewed. However, several had been cordoned off from the others, and held for further interrogation.”

  “By the way Director, I want to confirm how long the captives can be detained if it’s determined that they are enemy combatants?” Stanton asked.

  “I’m sure you are aware that the National Defense Authorization Act was signed by the president, during the prior administration. Therefore, it does not run out until December of this year. The controversial provision regarding Counter-Terrorism is still in effect.”

  “So if we suspect our prisoners are involved in terrorism, they can be detained indefinitely in military detention?”

  “Correct.”

  “And that would include U.S. citizens arrested on American soil.”

  “Yes, Major.” Noble was curious as to why the major should need clarification. Certainly he understood the law.

  “All detainees are American citizens,” Stanton reported.

  “What!” Max exclaimed, interrupting the conversation. “How is it possible Simon was able to round up that many young Americans to fight for the jihadi cause?” She remembered seeing the Special Forces capturing the prisoners in the encampment. Many were young women.

  “That’s what’s confusing, as well as alarming. It’s apparent from the documents and manuals we recovered, along with the evidence from the encampment, that the training was geared toward terrorist techniques.” Stanton continued to explain that in the absence of any identification, they processed the detainees utilizing retina scans and fingerprinting. Then he had them confined to their cells, while awaiting identification.

  “Meanwhile, as we waited for their records, my men and I conducted a cursory interrogation with each individual detainee. All we were able to ascertain was the mumblings of a mantra. It was the same chant repeatedly. It was as though they were giving their name, rank, and serial number—and nothing more.”

  “What exactly did they say?” Noble inquired.

  “Whew, I heard it so many times I can repeat it verbatim…”

  I start from where the world is,

  as it is, not as I would like it to be.

  That we accept the world as it is,

  does not in any sense weaken our desire

  to change it into what we believe it should be.

  Max wide-eyed, blurted out, “They quoted Saul Alinsky!”

  “It gets stranger. Once we identified each of them, we conducted a second round of interrogation.” Stanton explained that they elicited bits and pieces from each detainee. “But whenever we asked them about their mission, they repeated that damn mantra.” He looked over toward Max, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Max had calmed down. It was obvious he was mocking her.

  Both Stanton and Noble knew her sarcasm could rival theirs any day.

  “Major, no offense taken. But what did you derive from your interrogations?”

  “Each detainee reported receiving hoards of rap music over the Internet, either through their social networks or by direct mailings. It was political rap promoting social revolution. They mentioned names like Grandmaster, Public Enemy, 2 Live Crew, 2pac, et cetera. I listened to a few of their songs. Pretty heavy stuff.”

  “I’m more interested in the effect you think it had on the prisoners.” Max asked in a serious tone.

  “They took to it. That was the point. It’s the same technique al-Qaeda used first to grab the interest of potential recruits. They call it ‘Jihadi Cool,’ utilizing pop culture to inspire. It is the first step to radicalization when recruiting for the cause. They would use other media as well, video games, comic strips, et cetera, anything. In al-Qaeda’s case, it would portray a positive spin on Islamic fundamentalism.” Stanton shook his head. “You won’t believe their number one rapper. He has received over twelve million hits on YouTube and it has been downloaded to millions of computers worldwide. Listen to this crap.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and read the lyrics.

  Peace to Hamas and the Hezbollah,

  OBL pulled me like a shiny star,

  like the way we destroyed them two towers ha-ha.

  In disgust, Stanton crunched the paper in his fist and tossed it into the trash receptacle nearby. “It’s called ‘Dirty Kuffar’ by Sheikh Terra. Kuffar means nonbeliever.”

  “Is the political rap you listened to as horrendous?” Max asked, a bit wary of the answer.

  “Let’s just say if you wanted to start a social revolution—it’s the way to go.”

  Noble had remained silent listening to Stanton, but at that point he was perplexed. “What about in this case in particular? How were our detainees recruited?”

  “It’s unclear. They reported that they had been invited into various chat rooms and blogs, but thus far, they have not been forthcoming as to which ones. Director, information-gathering is a slow process given the lack of interrogation techniques at our disposal.”

  Noble chose not to react and urged him to continue.

  “These methods allow the recruiter to observe the activity of the recruits, watching their comments in a forum of like-minded individuals. Once they’re engaged and identifying with the ideology, the recruiter moves on to the next and final phase, the weeding out process, identifying the willing and able. It appears from what information we’ve derived, the al-Qaeda ‘handbook for recruiting’ was followed to a tee.”

  Max chimed in, “I remember a report generated by the New York City Police Department that studied how terrorists utilized the Internet to recruit. I recall specifically a statement referring to these online arenas as ‘virtual echo chambers that act as an accelerant to radicalization.’”

  “Scary thought,” Stanton observed.

  “Where do we stand now?” Noble asked.

  “Director, I need more time. I lie awake at night with the damn chant in my head. That’s all they keep repeating. It would appear they are following instructions given to them on the off chance they were captured. But whatever their mission is—they haven’t given the info up.”

  “So what’s your next step?” Max took an opportunity to cut to the chase, as usual.

  “Many of the recruits are from low-income homes, dysfunctional families, or just your textbook misfits. They are the perfect candidates to suck into a cause. But there’s another group that didn’t fit the profile. They’re college educated, articulate, with stable families and jobs. But their responses are identical—that damn mantra.” Stanton looked Max’s way and smiled. “Like I said, I need more time.” At last, he displayed discouragement at his current lack of success to obtain more information.

  “Did that handful of ‘brainiacs’ happen to include our four cyclists?” Max inquired.

  “Yes, along with a group of techies. I also think we’ve identified those responsible for the deaths in the Dead Zone. But as I said, I need more time to clarify this hodgepodge.”

  “And Agent Darrow’s murder?” Max asked.

  “Yes.”

>   Noble’s brow furrowed a trifle upon hearing the Dead Zone mentioned. The name he had given to the location of his investigation centered in Utah months earlier, although it seemed like a lifetime ago. The mysterious deaths at several abandoned mines south of the Dugway Proving Ground were still fresh in his mind. In particular, the murder of Agent Darrow that led them to the underground encampment and the capture of Simon was especially prominent. In the beginning, the cases appeared totally unrelated, as the pursuit of Simon had become cold. Once again, Noble found himself embroiled in another investigation pursuing Simon, which ultimately proved to be nothing but a stalled continuation of the first pursuit.

  Noble cast a glance in Stanton’s direction and stated, “Major, I have no clue as to how much time we have. Simon has disappeared, but he has not evaporated. Of that I’m positive.” It was evident he was disturbed by the paucity of information. “We need to start processing the detainees and bringing in counsel to represent them. First, put all of them through another round of intense interrogation. Use whatever means necessary. Find out what the hell Simon has planned.”

  Max glared toward Noble at the mention of the words “whatever means” and guessed, he is referring to waterboarding.

  Noble caught her eye. “Max, do you have anything relevant to add to the case?”

  “Nothing pertinent,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

  Noble stood. Stanton took the cue.

  As they shook hands, Noble stated, “I’ll need your answer on the other matter we discussed by the end of the week.”

  “Yes, Director.”

  Stanton walked out of the conference room.

  Noble remained behind and flagged Max to do the same. “There’s something I need you to do.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you!” she retorted.

  Noble ignored her wordplay for the moment and asked, “Find out everything you can about this, pronto.” He handed her a cocktail napkin. Written on the napkin was the word, Agenda, followed by the number 21.

  “You think this connects to Simon?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “It’s a long shot, or it may have more to do with my source’s agenda. Just find out what you can.”

  Noticing a name imprinted in the lower left hand corner of the napkin, Max inquisitively asked, “Oh, is this where you had dinner the other night?”

  “Jealous?” Noble smirked, cocked his head, and noted, “Yeah, great restaurant.” He knew she was prying and allowed, “I met my source later in the evening after my dinner guests had left.” I don’t think that raises to the level of a white lie, he reflected. “Now, what do you need to tell me?”

  “Agent Burke found the Ford Escape. It was abandoned just outside Newcastle, California, about sixteen miles from Folsom. The car had been torched, but thanks to a torrential downpour that must have occurred shortly thereafter, they were able to pull some fingerprints.”

  Baffled, Noble noted. “You could’ve discussed that in front of Stanton.”

  Max shook her head and said, “No—I couldn’t. Burke ran the prints.”

  “Whose prints? Simon’s?”

  “Nope—the former first lady, Senator Maryann Townsend.”

  Noble reacted, “She’s been lying through her teeth!”

  “They found prints on the glove compartment and on the underside of the latch in the trunk,” Max explained. “The only other thing they found was a partially scorched CD that was still in the player with Simon’s print. Evidently, he’s an admirer of Bach.”

  “So she was in the car with Simon?”

  “Either that, or she was careless wiping down the car before leaving it for him outside the prison. It wasn’t a rental, because we know it was registered to Hal Simmons. Burke is trying to trace its origin to find out where it was purchased. Are you planning to respectfully request a meeting or haul her back in?”

  Noble thought for a moment and then without answering, asked, “Did you receive the surveillance tape from the hotel?”

  “Yes, it arrived this afternoon, but I haven’t had an opportunity to run through it.”

  “Review both that video and the one from the airport. Then meet me first thing in the morning, and I’ll answer your question. Remember, I have the meeting with Kramer at eleven.”

  Max pouted. “Another nighttime assignment.”

  “Don’t worry Max; I have my own homework assignment. By the way, I proposed to Amanda.”

  “You what?”

  Noble smiled. He knew she hungered for the details, but he abruptly did an about face and left for his office.

  8

  GOTCHA

  Noble enjoyed arriving at his office early, pre-Doris. It gave him an opportunity to make a pot of coffee and ease into the day before she began nagging about his schedule. Although, on the nights Amanda slept over, he preferred to share his first caffeine fix of the day with her, but that was not the case last night. In fact, she had not stayed over since the night he proposed. She is giving me a wide berth. It is now in her best interest that I capture Simon, as soon as possible, he calculated.

  He ventured to the kitchen next to his conference room, filled the pot with water, and hit the button. While waiting for the drip, drip, drip of java, he noticed an illumination from under the door. Thinking the cleaning crew had left the light on the night before, he opened the door and reached for the light switch. “Max, when did you arrive?”

  Startled by his announcement, she whipped her head around and quickly glanced his way. Her hair was mussed and her wardrobe appeared to be identical to the one she had worn the day before.

  Noble grinned.

  “It’s not what you think! I’ve been here all night. I slept on the sofa.” In a milder, less defensive tone she said, “Noble, you’re not going to believe what I uncovered.”

  “One minute.” He thrust his hand in the air to halt her exposé.

  Moments later, Noble returned with two cups of eye-opening coffee and sat down across from her at the table. “Now, what’s so unbelievable?”

  “We’ve got her!” Max exclaimed. She reviewed in general terms what she had discovered on the surveillance tape sent by the hotel. It revealed exactly as the secret service agent had described. On the video, she was able to view Maryann arriving at the hotel and checking into her suite at 2:45 in the afternoon. “That squares with her arriving at the airport at one fifty p.m. and driving a half hour to the hotel. I fast forwarded the video to nine o’clock, when we know she was at the prison based on the sign-in log.”

  “And?”

  “The senator never left her hotel room.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  “I asked the same question. The single conceivable explanation is she actually arrived at the hotel after she saw Simon.” It was clear Max had Noble’s attention. While he sipped his coffee, she continued. “I went back and reviewed the video when the senator was at the airport, before she left with her security detail and drove away in the black sedan.”

  “Watch this!” Max queued the video showing the scene on the large display and they both sat back and watched the video for the second time. As before, Maryann walked down a long corridor with her security close behind. Then she stopped and made a trip to the Ladies’ Room. Four minutes later, she walked out and continued down the corridor and out of the building.

  “That’s what we saw before,” Noble stated, but with increased impatience. From Max’s demeanor alone, he deduced she was on to something.

  “Watch this. I’ll slow it down.”

  Again, they watched Maryann walk down the corridor, enter the Ladies’ Room, and then return to the corridor.

  Max paused the tape. “Look right there.” She pointed toward the senator’s feet.

  Noble studied the screen. “Back it up—stop—I still don’t get it!”

  “The senator walked into the Ladies’ Room with her signature pair of one-inch-square heeled shoes, peering from under her pant legs. Her dec
oy walked out wearing a pair of two-inch spiked heels appearing below the hems of identical pant legs.”

  “Un-be-liev-a-ble!” Noble let loose. “The change of the shoes compensated for their difference in height.”

  “Brilliant deduction my dear Watson.” Max snickered. She was openly proud of her discovery, but puzzled as to the senator’s carelessness. “Surprisingly, the senator forgot to specify the specific shoe style!”

  They both focused at the monitor in silence as they watched the decoy walk down the corridor with the former first lady’s security detail in procession.

  Noble took a deep breath, followed by a sigh, and asked, “So where did our senator skip off to?”

  “I went back to the original surveillance videos from the airport that I had spliced together to follow the senator’s trail. I watched beyond the point when the decoy reentered the corridor. Moments later, the senator emerged from the Ladies’ Room wearing identical clothes, including a pair of square-heeled shoes. She then exited the airport and hailed a taxi.”

  “Were you able to get the name of the car service or a license plate number?”

  “Naturally, I have both.” It was obvious that Max was delighted with her investigative prowess, one aspect of the job she most enjoyed. She related to Noble how she had been on the phone all morning, tracking down the senator’s trail. “The taxi made two stops, first to Mail Boxes Etc., and then to a used car lot. The taxi driver said she was only inside Mail Boxes Etc. for a few minutes, and then returned with a large envelope.”

  Noble was about to ask about the second stop but held back and smiled. Max of course would have the answer.

  She predicted his thought and grinned as well. “I got off the phone with the owner of the car lot an hour ago. A woman arrived wearing the clothes I described from the video, but she had long red hair and she was wearing sunglasses. He said she was there to pick up the car she had purchased. He didn’t recognize her as the woman who originally paid for the car, but she had the key and the registration. So he released it to her.”