“Sir, excuse me sir. That will be ten dollars and eighty cents.”
“Sorry.” Noble handed the cashier a twenty. He grabbed his change and his goodies and headed for a table in the corner. After a few sips of espresso he felt much more alert, and the sandwich calmed his stomach. As he looked around the room, he could not remember the last time he had ventured out of his office with no destination in mind. It felt good, until he thought, playtime over. Having disposed of his empty cup and wrappers, he headed back to the White House ready to tackle the code once again.
“Max called while you were out,” Doris announced.
“Why didn’t she call me on my xPhad?”
“She did.” Doris raised her right hand and waved his phone in the air. “It took me a while to follow the ring.”
“I can’t remember the last time I left without my phone.” He shook his head thinking, this day is not going well. “What did she want?”
“She said something about how the code was a permutation.”
“What?”
“Max said you’d know more about that stuff. She was running to catch her flight and she’d see you in few hours.”
“Great.” Noble looked at his watch; it was 4:15. He anticipated another late night once Max arrived. “Doris, I’m going to head home for a quick nap, a shower, and some clean clothes. I’ll be back at six o’clock. Go ahead and lock up, but leave a note for Max.
“Noble.”
“What?”
“Your phone.” “Thanks, Doris.”
Invigorated after a shower and a clean set of clothes, Noble was ready to tackle the code. As he entered his reception area, he was happy to see the light on in the conference room. Max had returned.
“Hey, Boss. You won’t believe the story I have to tell.”
“Hold on, I know the date that will trigger the national blackout.”
“We already know it’s July fifth.”
“No it’s not. Look.” Noble pointed to the large screen display. “What do you see?”
Birmingham
11/4/2016 309
Taylor
1/6/2017 6
Folsom
3/7/2017 66
St. Paul
5/9/2017 129
Carmel
5/13/2017 133
Mississauga
7/5/2017 186
“It’s a list of the control centers and the dates that were or will be breached. But what are the numbers on the end?”
“Remember the numbers scribbled in the upper right-hand corner of the electric grids you found in the encampment?”
She studied the numbers for a moment and then exclaimed, “Yes! Seeing them in that format—they are Julian dates! The actual number of days elapsed in a given year. For example, the Taylor breach was on January sixth, the sixth day of the year. 3-0-9 is the largest number because it was toward the end of the prior year.” With that, she took a deep bow.
“Well done, except technically they are ordinal dates. A Julian date is calculated within a Julian Period in chronological intervals of seven-thousand-nine-hundred and eighty years beginning in the year 4713 BC. Granted, outside of a historical or astronomical context, the date is referred to as the Julian date in today’s pop culture.”
“Thank you professor, but that just proves the blackout is set for July fifth, the day after our Independence Day?”
“You’re forgetting there was another number, also scribbled in the upper right-hand corner of an organization chart, the one with the director of FEMA circled in red. The number was 2-1-4. It was not a reference number as we first thought. Notice the other numbers are multiples of three. I think Simon randomly selected the dates. But 2-1-4 is a positive composite number. The pattern must have been broken for a specific reason.”
While Noble was explaining his logic, Max was tapping away on her xPhad. She looked up from the screen. “Give me a moment—I don’t believe it—the two hundred and fourteenth day of the year is August second. It is the anniversary of the actual day of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. What does it have to do with FEMA?—unless of course—it was the day they were to be prepared for a national emergency to occur. That would mean someone else is part of Simon’s plan.” Her expression turned quizzical.
“Max—hold on—according to my history books, on the same day in nineteen thirty-four—Hitler took over as Führer of Germany.”
“You’re giving me the creeps, Noble. If I have it right, you think Baari’s reasoning for wanting to create a national emergency was to induce the public to demand a third term. Then he could rise up out of the ashes like a Phoenix—and when reelected he would have become the commander-in-chief of a new America.” She still was not totally convinced that was a reality, but acknowledged, “You have to admire the irony.”
Noble raised his hands. “And now it’s conveniently timed to occur under President Post’s watch.” His frustration was evident. “Talk to me about Simon. What did you find out from his mother?”
Max filled him in on the details of Annie’s tragic ordeal in 1966 in Riyadh…"Then one horrible day she was embroiled in a shouting match with Simon’s father. They were discussing the origin of Simon’s birth. Evidently, he heard them arguing and discovered he was a child of rape.”
“His illegitimacy and affectionless childhood may be the genesis and explain, in part, how Simon’s motives were formed. As he climbed further into his shell, it appears he rapidly became a lone wolf and even more withdrawn,” Noble surmised.
“It might also help to explain his vulnerability and infatuation with the Jihadi movement. When I asked more about Simon’s childhood, she began to speak of the complications of his genius. That conversation also revealed his extraordinary computer skills.”
“The message you left with Doris mentioned the code was a permutation, which is a reordering of the prime form. There are many permutations: retrograde, inversion, et cetera. I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Annie, Simon’s mother, alluded to the fact that his programming language was inspired by Bach.” Max shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve have no clue what that meant,” she admitted.
Noble had a puzzled expression. “Oh, she means combinatorial permutation.”
“What?”
“Never mind, it’s complicated. But remember the CD found in Simon’s car was Bach’s Art of Fugue.”
“That was the same music Annie mentioned that Simon played repeatedly while holed up in his room,” Max stated with an element of surprise.
“When Burke sent me the CD, I was curious as to what fugue meant. Sounding a tad Italian, I called Paolo. Get this, he told me it comes from the sixteenth century Italian word fugare which means to chase or to flee.”
“How can it mean two opposing words?”
“Sixteen century Latin closely mirrored the ancient Greek philosopher, Pythagoras’ Table of Opposites, comparing right and left, or odd and even. You mentioned the word permutation. That could be backwards or inverse—Bach was famous for his use of the Pythagorean philosophical principles in his compositions, especially in the Art of Fugue.”
Max chuckled. “I’m thoroughly impressed. I never knew you were a classical music aficionado.”
“You can thank Paolo for his five minute dissertation.”
“Do you think Bach is the clue?”
Noble was curiously excited. “I’m not sure, I have an inkling, but I need to check it out further. The programming code Simon utilized in the past for his backdoors was straight COBOL, antiquated as it was. He used the same code in the encampment’s command center. Why didn’t he use his own proprietary language then?”
“Perhaps he was playing you at the time and he wanted you to understand the code. Now he’s using code he doesn’t want you to decipher,” Max theorized.
“Great! It looks like I have my work cut out for me. I not only have to get into his twisted mind to crack his code, I then have to wade through the c
ode, looking for something that reveals the target date. Aargh! Let’s move on.” Noble flailed his hands in midair. “Did you think to ask how he pays for the nursing home?”
“Of course,” she blustered, and then grinned. “The business office said they receive a cashier’s check on a monthly basis. It is always from a different bank and from a different state. I don’t think we’ll be following the money this time around.”
“Most significant is the clue to decipher the code.”
“Agreed, but I wouldn’t overlook the Saudi incident.” Max furrowed her brow, appearing to be in deep thought.
“What’s the matter Max?”
“I was just thinking about Ann Hall and the three boys who raped her.” Max explained. “Then all of the sudden the number three rang out at me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember Simon’s Julian—excuse me—ordinal dates, are multiples of three. I found a copy of the Koran in the encampment and discovered within the text the words The Trio were circled. In Christianity it would refer to the Holy Trinity, but I was curious as to the significance in Islam.”
“Learn anything revealing?”
“Just that Islamists perform certain tasks in odd numbers, such as washing each of their hands, feet, and face three time before prayer. According to the prophet Muhammad, there are three holy cities of Islam: Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem. The number three also has something to do with Allah. He represents the number one, an odd number, and therefore reportedly loves all things odd. Thus, in Arabic the first plural number is the number three. And according to Sharia law, all dealings with large amounts must be broken down into an odd number that denotes a multitude of three.”
“Interesting. One thing’s for certain—Simon is no garden-variety, homegrown terrorist.”
“Why do you keep looking at your watch?” Max questioned. “Do you have to be somewhere?”
Noble realized they had been working for the past three hours and he was exhausted. It was time to call it quits. “Let’s wrap up where we are. We now know the date Simon plans to trigger a national disaster. Burke is focused on St. Paul and still on the hunt for Simon. He will need to capture him before he reaches Canada, where they will not extradite him for a capital crime. And Stanton has his assignment. You need to find a connection between the Superstation and Agenda 21. Meanwhile, I need to crack Simon’s code. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without hesitation, Max collected her papers and headed for the door. “Night boss.”
“Give my regards to the major.” Noble grinned.
Max departed without a retort.
26
NIGHT ESCAPE
Sorry I’m late. I had to brief Noble.”
“Let’s grab a booth over there.” Stanton left a couple of bucks on the bar to cover his beer tab and then escorted Max to the booth in the corner.
“By the way, Noble sends his regards.” Max smiled.
“You told him.” Stanton looked surprised.
“Of course not. Remember what he does for a living?”
“You sure it won’t be a problem?”
“No. Technically, you and I don’t work together.”
“I think we work very well together.” He pulled her close for a passionate embrace before they sat opposite each other.
Stanton ordered a bottle of wine and asked for the menus. They quickly ordered and then sat back and waited for their food. While sipping on their wine they reminisced about the first time they had met.
It was during Operation NOMIS. Until Noble arrived on the scene, Max was in charge of the operation, tasked with entering an underground encampment. During that time, she was badly bruised in an explosion that killed two soldiers. She met Major Stanton the next day.
“I remember you were a sight for sore eyes, bandages, and all.”
“You must have been blind. I looked like a gorgon.”
“Blinded by your beauty.”
“Can we change the subject please?” Max loved the affection, but was uncomfortable with verbal foreplay. Fortunately, their meal had arrived.
They spent the rest of their dinner conversation talking about his impending move to Washington. He asked for recommendations on places to live and any insight into his new assignment that she could offer. They spoke a bit about President Post and the changes within the new administration following the Baari fiasco.
Max enjoyed the political exchanges and discovered with each conversation that there were more facets to the major. He was quite intelligent and knew his subject matter. Moreover, he was fiercely patriotic and spoke from the heart. She found that as he talked she would focus on his every word. She also noticed for the first time how his appearance softened when dressed in his civvies, out of his usual military garb. What am I getting myself into? Am I ready for this? She wondered.
“Hello Max. Anyone home?”
“Of course, I’m hanging on your every word.”
He knew her well enough to detect she was lost in thought. “How about we finish up and get out of here?”
By the look on his face, she knew where they would be heading.
“Amanda.” He could detect her breathing on the other end of the line, but there was no response. “Amanda.”
“Yes,” said the groggy voice.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, Noble, yes, I was sleeping.”
“I didn’t mean to awaken you. I assumed you’d still be up at this hour. Go back to sleep darling. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“No, talk to me. I just had a rough day and thought I’d hit the sack early.”
“I wanted to hear your voice before I crash.”
“Did you put in another late night?”
“Yes.”
“Simon.”
“Yes.”
“This will be over soon, right? And don’t say yes, unless you mean it.”
“How about—you start to plan the wedding.”
Amanda could not believe what she was hearing. She bolted up in her bed to make sure she was not dreaming. “Can we set a date?”
“Give me a little more time before setting a date. But I assume there are preliminary steps to this sort of thing.”
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you too. Now go back to sleep.”
Noble hung up the phone, but remained seated on his sofa and spouted out to the air, “I need normalcy in my life. This cannot go on much longer. Damn you Simon!” Feeling marginally better after his outburst, he stood up and walked into the bedroom. Then he prayed for a goodnight’s sleep.
“No!—Stop!—Stop!—No!” He continued to thrash about until finally he awakened himself. He felt the bed sheet soaked in perspiration underneath him. Abruptly, Noble sat up and clasped his knees to his chest, as he worked to slow his breathing. “This has got to stop!” He breathed in and out several times. “Freud, you’ve got it all wrong.” He continued to castigate himself with no one in hearing range, grateful Amanda had not witnessed his reaction to the nightmare a second time. Finally, in a calmer state he looked at the clock. It was 5:58 a.m. He maintained his crouched position and continued to stare at the clock briefly. Then the annoying buzzer sounded off.
27
DAY FORTY-FIVE
The ray from the morning sunlight pierced the window. It was aimed directly at his face, nudging him awake. He pulled the comforter over his head and resumed his sleep for several minutes more before grudgingly rising out from under the bedcovers. He had had the best night’s sleep in weeks. He drove for five days before he reached the Signal Mountain Lodge, instead of the fourteen hours it would normally take to drive from Folsom to the Grand Teton National Forest. It was a straight shot on I-80, but he could not risk it. He took the back roads through backwater towns, into the backwoods and through national parks. Now, with a bit of time on his hands, he basked in a rare luxury. Although months away from the trigger date, he still needed to put the finishing touches on his
next planned breach. He also bore in mind that as soon as he accomplished his mission, he needed to flee the country. He rolled over and grabbed the room service menu. He was suddenly famished.
“Yes, I’d like eggs benedict, hash browns—No mimosa. I will have a bottle of champagne. You can keep the orange juice—Also, I want a copy of the local newspaper, and the New York Times—Yes. That’s all.”
While he waited for breakfast, he sat up in bed and tossed another pillow behind his back. Then he opened his xPhad and began to tap away. Checking the map, he calculated the distance ahead of him, assuming he stayed off the major interstates. He estimated that in five days, he would arrive in St. Paul and breach that facility in accordance to plan. It had to be timed perfectly. He knew that three days after the breach the National Cyber Security Division would send in a member of their geek squad to investigate the source of the hacking. Without his trusted mole, he would now have to reenter the system and piggyback on their time. First, he would have to remove the hacking code and then install his creation—his backdoor code. All had to be done without having his activities traced by security at the installation. He also anticipated the techie on site would take at least four hours of probing, before announcing it was a blip in the system to the director of the control center.
His strategy was in place.
He had arranged for a late checkout, so when it was time to depart he would leave appearing in the same disguise as when he arrived. Now safely inside his car, he exchanged the cropped gray-haired wig and beard for the dark brown, shoulder-length hair, which he tied into a ponytail, and then attached a Van Dyke beard. After he switched the pair of silver-rimmed glasses with the pair of dark rounded frames, he swapped driver’s licenses in his wallet. He made one final inspection in the mirror, and then ventured out under a dark sky toward the back roads of Nevada heading east. In nine hours, he would arrive in Spearfish, South Dakota.
The Ultimate Revenge Page 17