Noble ignored Hank’s outburst and refocused the group’s attention, sensing he was gaining ground. “What was the purpose of the study?”
“It was to determine how long it would take the country to recover from a national disaster and be able to sustain our country and its resources.”
“And what were your findings?” Noble asked, masking how he truly felt.
Chase, resuming his straight-ahead stare and absent eye contact, stated, “It would require years to recover with permanent damage to the economy and our infrastructure. It would be—unsustainable.”
Everyone froze. It was as if an Arctic wind had swept through the room. As the thaw set in, the members of La Fratellanza once again began to fidget.
Noble had his confirmation. I have to stop Simon, a thought that only added more dread. “Chase, what was Baari’s response when you delivered the final report?”
“He shook my hand, thanked me, and then reminded me that I was sworn to secrecy. I said I understood and I left. It was the last time I set foot in the White House,” Chase paused and looked at Noble, and then said, “Until today. Please make it the last.”
Noble always thought Chase was a bit of a sook, but he had sympathy for him and no more so than he did at that moment. “I hope it will be the last time I will have to call any of you.”
As Noble was about to wrap it up, Hank reemerged from his snit and said, “I have no idea if this is important, but one of Baari’s last appointments was the Secretary of Homeland Security, who in turn replaced the head of FEMA.”
Noble was all ears, but he gave no indication of its possible importance. Then without further reponses emanating from the former president’s men, Noble said, “Once again, many thanks for appearing with little notice to help me with the investigation. The information you’ve provided has been invaluable.”
The members of the now defunct La Fratellanza began to ease themselves out of their chairs, uncertain as to how they helped Noble’s case. Then each of them shook Noble’s hand warmly and left the conference room.
Max was waiting in the reception area for their departure.
13
DAY TWENTY-NINE
He had memorized the different twists and turns through the dark alleyway. One more left and he would be there. Up ahead, he noticed the dilapidated building with the four steps leading down to a basement apartment. He rang the buzzer three times as required.
“Who’s there?” spoke the voice on the intercom.
“A customer.”
“Do you have any ID?”
“What?”
A man opened the door and chuckled. “Everyone falls for that line.”
“I fail to see the humor.”
The two of them walked into the back room.
“As I said on the phone, I need a set of photos for driver’s licenses and passports.”
“Can do. May I see the documents?”
He opened his duffle bag and presented only a driver’s license. “Take care of this first.”1
“Aren’t we being careful,” the shop owner said, noting the tape over the name.
The first photo was taken and the license was properly prepared and returned.
“Would you step out of the room for a moment?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re the customer!” The counterfeiter obliged and waited patiently outside the door. Seconds later he heard a voice say, “Come back in.”
“As I said before, aren’t we being careful.” The counterfeiter had seen a lot, but the changes were miraculous. No one could tell he was same person.
“Just take the photo. Here, it goes on these.”
The counterfeiter snapped the camera and produced another photo for another license and a passport. He noted again the tape covering the names. “I know, I know.” He stepped out of the room one more time and waited.
“Ready,” he heard minutes later. Again, he was taken aback by yet another masterful disguise. He followed the same steps as before, but this time he held the license and passport firmly in his grip. “As we agreed on the phone, payment up front.” He held out his other hand in a give-me motion. Then he counted as the one hundred dollar bills were peeled off and placed in his palm. With a satisfied smile on his face, the counterfeiter said, “Here you go sir. It’s a pleasure doing business.”
“One more thing.”
“Oh, man, come ‘on.”
“Give.”
Reluctantly, the counterfeiter clicked open the compartment on his camera and handed over the memory card.
The last sound heard was the front door creaking, then closing shut.
14
ASPIRATION VERSUS DESPERATION
You look like it’s the end of the world.
What the hell happened?” she asked impatiently. “Baari was preparing for a national disaster to preserve his own sustainability, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
“What!”
“And if it had occurred—it would have been unsustainable.” Noble then proceeded to fill Max in on the rest of the revelations he obtained from the former president’s men.
“Don’t tell me you think Simon picked up the cudgels—where Baari left off?”
“It appears that’s where our loose ends meet.” Noble answered with caution. “Hank said that the Superstation was getting some pushback from various opposing factions, so the construction phase continued under wraps without public fanfare. There was little transparency so it was easy to keep the project under the radar.”
Noble continued to explain that according to Hank, Baari assumed with the onslaught of scandals, in particular the NSA surveillance scandal, that the U.S. citizens were on edge. He believed they were questioning the overreach of governmental power and the growing cavalcade of presidential executive orders.
“So it made it difficult to sell the Superstation at the time,” Max conjectured.
“Yes, and Hank said Baari was cognizant of the public’s increasing energy savvy and that it was greater than ever. He alleged Baari’s plan was to create a national emergency. Perhaps, if the power grids shutdown, Baari would be forced to sign an executive order, ostensibly to cut through the red tape, which would give the Superstation a green light.”
“With a thankful public at his feet!” Max opined with a hint of sarcasm. She did not expect Noble to respond and did not hesitate to add, “On another point, I checked with Immigration and there is no record of Abner Baari or Hussein Tarishi, either leaving or entering the country. And with Libya in perpetual turmoil, I wasn’t able to confirm whether Baari still had a seat in the Parliament. Given that, I venture to say either the senator received a call from Baari in Libya or she was lying. I’m still waiting for the phone records.” Max shifted the focus. “On the good news front, we might be getting closer to finding out Simon’s tactics to execute his plot. I had an encouraging conversation with Stanton.”
“Please, give me something to bolster my spirits.”
“Stanton was putting one of the prisoners through another round of interrogation. He said there was something about one person that didn’t compute. The prisoner swears he was recruited to install the command center in the encampment and set up a virtual private network, a VPN, in a cloud. All communication was to be undetectable and secured.” Max sniggered, “Guess whose satellite he chose to attach it to?”
Noble offered a curious response. “I give.”
“The SIA. You have to love the irony. In addition, he has no clue as to the words of the mantra repeated by the other suspects. Stanton happened to mention the guy’s IQ appeared to be off the charts.” Max dangled a carrot. “He’s a Harvard grad.”
“What year?”
“1997, the same year you graduated.”
“Do you have a name or a photo?”
“Give me a minute.” Max rapidly tapped the screen on her xPhad texting Stanton, asking him to send her the recruit’s record. Within minutes
, she received a response.
“Here he is. Check this out.”
Noble was shocked. “I know this guy.” He filled Max in on the particulars, at least those he could recall. “Go to Dugway. I want you to interrogate him in person.”
Max grunted at the idea of another trip, and reluctantly texted Stanton again. Stand down major. I’ll handle this one. Be there at 1700 hours. “Done!” she said as she looked up from her touch pad. Then unexpectedly, she flashed a huge grin as she realized she had taken a big bite out of the major’s ego.
Noble sat back amused. He suspected what she was thinking.
About ten minutes into the continuation of their earlier conversation, his xPhad vibrated. It was Paolo. “Give me a sec.”
“What’s up?” he asked, curious as to the timing.
“We need to talk.”
“You could’ve stayed behind. We could’ve talked here.”
“Not in the White House. Can you meet me at the usual place? Noble, this is important,” he pleaded.
Noble glanced at his watch. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. Give me an hour.”
“Thanks.”
“What was that all about?” Max probed.
“I’m about to find out.” Saying nothing more on the subject, he took a moment to review certain aspects of the case when a second interruption arose.
“Director Deputy Ford,” Max responded to the caller. Yes—When?—Why wasn’t I alerted before?—Thank you. Please call if there is any other unusual activity—I will—Goodbye.”
“What was that all about?” It was Noble’s turn to inquire.
“That was the FERC chairman. After he called the director at the control center in Taylor, Texas, the director went through his logs going back a few months and evidently, there was a security breach to their operating system. It occurred on the sixth of January. The system was only down for about ten minutes. They notified the DOE and followed the protocol. The incident was then reported to Homeland Security’s National Cyber Security Division. A techie was sent to investigate and it all proved to be nothing.”
“Has the chairman heard anything from the other centers?”
Max nodded. “Zilch. I’ll follow up with him again, before I leave for the Beehive State. I’m on the two o’clock flight.”
“Report in as soon as you finish grilling my fellow alumnus,” Noble ordered. “With any luck, we’ll get a lead. Simon didn’t fall off the face of the earth!” In a calmer tone he said, “I have a few things of my own to tie up.”
“Like sanctioning an immunity agreement?”
“The senator has a few more days. She’ll capitulate.” “I surrender.” Max headed for the door as she waved her typical backhanded high-fiver.
15
FAMILY TIES
Noble walked into the Blackfinn Saloon and waved to Paolo as he walked over to their usual booth in the back corner.
“What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me earlier?”
“Ciao fratello, would you like to sit down first?” Paolo asked in a curt manner.
Noble unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat.
“You’re going after Simon again?” Paolo asked, although he was aware Noble could not talk about it, but his reaction was enough.
“What’s so important?” Noble repeated.
Paolo took it slow. “During our little reunion this morning, Hank mentioned the Godfather and the Financier. He appeared to be unaware of their identity. Admittedly, at the time, none of us were aware. But Hank was the last man standing, so I was surprised to find out he was clueless.”
“What’s your point?
“Ho il maleocchio. I am cursed. The point is—I discovered who they are. When I did, I wasn’t taking any chances, so I resigned. Baari was way over his head and I didn’t want to be any part of the fraud I thought was happening.”
“Paolo, you’re not making sense. Who are they?”
“Aspetta, hold on, first things first. A while back, Baari was scheduled to speak to an environmental group. He asked me to write a speech on the benefits of cap-and-trade. You know me, I research my subject matter thoroughly for every speech or communications directive I release. I discovered some interesting facts along the way. Have you heard of the Chicago Climate Exchange or CCX?
“Vaguely, something about carbon trading in an effort to reduce greenhouse gasses.”
“You’re correct. Companies that produce clean renewable energy emit less greenhouse gasses or GHG as they call them, and earn credits. Then they can sell those credits to companies that produce too much GHG, essentially the polluters. It is akin to selling your frequent flyer airline miles to infrequent travelers.”
“Which is the basis for cap-and-trade?”
“Yes, to limit or cap the amount of emissions a company can produce. Then it allowed them to market any surplus emission to companies that need to produce more than their allotted share.”
“Something that can only function in a global warming frenzy!” Noble exclaimed.
“Bravo, but it’s more complicated. The Exchange was a viable entity with over four hundred members, including major corporations, universities, and unions. Its startup cost came from the Joyce Foundation, a philanthropic group that provided over a million dollars for the initial funding for CCX. While their mission was to provide grants for improving the quality of life for those in the Great Lakes area, that specific grant was diverted to Dr. Richard Sandor, an economist at Northwestern University. The grant was to determine the feasibility of a cap-and-trade market.”
“Paolo, where is this leading?” Noble was already working on overload after the meeting with La Fratellanza and had reached his limit of speculation for one day.
Paolo ignored Noble’s impatience and eased back with a slight smirk. “Get this. A young senator from Chicago sat on the foundation’s board during that time.”
“That young senator didn’t happen to become a U.S. president?” Noble did not expect an answer. He simply shook his head.
Paolo continued. “In 2003, Dr. Sandor founded CCX and trading operations commenced. The predicted gross annual income was ten trillion dollars. It was heavily predicated on the passing of capand-trade legislation in Congress. In 2004, former Vice President Al Gore and former Goldman Sachs executive David Blood founded Generation Investment Management, or GIM, based in London. Both GIM and Goldman Sachs jumped on the bandwagon and became two of the largest investors in CCX.”
“So that’s why Baari pushed so hard for a cap-and-trade bill. It was essential to the success of CCX.”
“But that wasn’t the only obstacle. Remember the server that was hacked at the University of East Anglia? That event, plus the cap-and-trade legislation that had stalled in the Senate, caused CCX to virtually collapse.”
“Virtually, I don’t understand?”
“These are smart guys. In 2005, they launched the European Climate Exchange and the Climate Futures Exchange. Then in 2006, they established the parent company Climate Exchange PLC to operate all of these entities. Dr. Richard Sandor was Chairman. Following?”
“I’m still waiting to see how they virtually collapsed,” Noble interrupted.
“Fratello, here it is—hanno vinto la lotteria! They hit the lottery. In 2010, the Intercontinental Exchange in London, an international clearinghouse for multi-asset based companies, acquired the Climate Exchange PLC for over six hundred and four million dollars, based on the currency rate at the time. Records showed that Sandor made ninety million dollars on the sale for his sixteen percent share. GIM and Goldman Sachs each owned ten percent.”
“So, which one of these smart guys is the Godfather? I assume that’s where you’re leading.”
“None of them.”
Noble’s face was a mixture of confusion and frustration.
Paolo noted and picked up the pace. “The man who propelled the global warming movement, referred to as the ‘Godfather of the Kyoto Protocol,’ the international treaty that s
ets a binding obligation by country to reduce gas emissions—is one of the insiders who sat on the board of CCX and admits to being the one who helped Sandor set up the company from the beginning.”
“He is also referred to as the Godfather of the Environmental Movement?” Noble was incredulous.
“Yes, and it is possible he may have met Baari during his community organizing days.”
“That far back?”
“Si, but Hank never told us. It became evident over time that someone else was pushing the presidential agenda and it was not the president’s staff. After Simon disappeared, we concluded we were no longer in control. Interestingly, global warming was never a subject in any of our theses at Harvard when it all began. It was clearly Baari’s obsession.”
“This is amazing.” Noble shook his head, lacking any other means of expression, as the web of players spun in his mind. “Whether or not one believes in global warming, the fact remains these people have turned a prominent public issue into a cottage industry. Whoever entered the game early made billions of dollars to line their own pockets.”
Paolo agreed. “They adopted a holier-than-thou demeanor as they cashed in. This is hardly a Walden Pond support group. Coincidently, if you look at many of the player’s personal investment portfolios, for example Al Gore’s GIM, you’ll find essentially no green companies, but plenty of profits.”
“Who is he, the Environmental Dr. Strangelove?” For the first time, Noble started to realize the absurdity. Then on a more serious point, he stated, “The Superstation was vitally important in the push for renewable energy. That could explain Baari’s agenda in wanting to find a way to railroad it through.”
Paolo sighed. “All said and done, you can see why I needed to distance myself. I couldn’t keep writing speeches promoting an issue where the American people had no influence. Therefore, I resigned. I should have done it sooner as you and Natalie had suggested.”
Noble left Paolo alone to cogitate. Nevertheless, he was still curious about the second part of his story. “Who’s the Financier?” he asked. Unexpectedly and ill timed, his xPhad vibrated. It was a text message from Max. It read: breach at folsom - simon. Noble texted back, in 10 my office. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the info, it could be helpful.”
The Ultimate Revenge Page 11