Contents
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part 2
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Prologue
North Africa
Present Day
Jopprie Ganube walked hastily to the center of town, eager to get back home before nightfall. The lanky sixteen-year-old had been sent by his mother for some food for the evening's supper. The air was cool, common for this time of year. Jopprie fastened his robes about him to ward off the chill. As he made his way down the slope towards the teeming marketplace, he nearly lost his footing on the uneven hillside, the stone implements he was carrying a heavy load in his arms. In these hard times, bartering these goods was necessary to help feed their family of six. Even Jopprie's unfailingly high spirits had begun to fade somewhat in the past few months, as the recent drought began to extinguish the remaining flicker of hope for a bountiful crop season. Today his basket contained a smattering of stone statues, dishes, knives and other such items, many of them hand-carved by himself and two brothers. As Jopprie entered the marketplace, he instinctively became more alert, holding his package closer to his body, his strong grip harnessed around the satchel. It was not uncommon for thieves to make off with their victims' bags in the buzzing marketplace, where one could easily hide among the crowds. Just last spring, Jopprie, invigorated by the confidence and brashness of youth, was deprived of his load and sent scurrying back home empty handed. The carefree swagger he once displayed so conspicuously was now gone, humbled by the experience. Jopprie was older and stronger than during that encounter, his physical prowess a combination of genetic advantage and dedicated training. His proficiency with a knife now extended far beyond its use as a carving implement. But that would not be sufficient against the muzzle of a barrel. For that he prepared in other ways. He fingered the steel weapon concealed under his robes. Yes, he was now prepared.
Suddenly, without warning, the ground began to shake violently. Jopprie fell to the ground, his hand instinctively moving to his gun, his eyes carefully scanning the terrain. He had acquired the weapon just a month earlier, from one of the ever-more common well-armed Arabs that permeated the region, this particular one eager to obtain several of Jopprie's most prized carvings. His mother was disapproving of course, but could do nothing to keep the youngster from keeping the weapon. For he was now the man of the house, his father consumed by a freakish illness that took his life nearly two years ago. From his vantage, Jopprie could see several foodstands topple, an older woman falling from the quake, screaming and cursing. Surprisingly, however, Jopprie did not hear any gunfire, no explosions that could account for why the ground shook. He did not smell the black, acrid smoke that usually accompanied such interruptions to the bustle of daily activity, as rival warlords continued fighting over territorial disputes. And then, Jopprie felt something amazing. A strong gust of warm air, so warm, it felt as if an oven had just been opened all around him. The trembling in the earth had stopped, but the crowd remained still, as if frozen in time. Just then, the dust kicked up, and sent people sprawling over one another, holding their garments to cover their faces.
And then it all stopped, as suddenly as it started. The stillness left in the once-bustling market was now palpable. And then, as if nothing at all had happened, people began collecting themselves one by one and continued going about their business, preoccupied by the ever-challenging task of feeding their families. Not one person seemed to question the events of the past few minutes; it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Noone that is, except Jopprie. His nerves tingled - that sensation when something was not quite right. ‘What was that?’ he said to himself.
“Whoa, what the hell was that?” Dr. Jim Miller blurted out loud despite the fact he was all alone. It was 3 Am, and it was his turn to work the night shift at U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) headquarters in Reston, Virginia. The live data generated from the global seismographic network was still generating a reading. He rubbed his eyes, sipped his coffee, and focused on the screen. He never could quite adjust to the late-night hours. Initially created to maintain and improve comprehensive earthquake monitoring in the United States, the USGS now monitored activity worldwide through the network of more than 1000 seismographic stations around the globe. The old analog seismographs were largely replaced by digital versions capable of beaming their readings via satellite for real-time integration and analysis. The numerous daily seismic events were recorded for future interpretation and mapping; the epicenters triangulated, along with other pertinent data such as depth, intensity, surface waves, etc. The ever-growing catalogue of data, combined with known movement along major fault lines generated from global positioning satellites, enabled improved predictability of future events. But despite the sophistication of the system, estimations were still subject to much uncertainty. And so it was he found himself in the unenviable position of manning the station on one of those rare evenings where one couldn’t sleep through the night. The alarm typically heralded some cataclysmic event. He checked the database, but to his surprise found the region to be totally remote, barren. It didn’t make sense.
“Why was this baby triggering an alert?”, he thought to himself. He figured the “intelligent” software had somehow miscalculated. The program was designed to notify staffers in the event of a significant seismic event – significant being the operative word, based on a multitude of factors, from amplitude, proximity to urban centers, to earthquake preparedness and susceptibility among others. He checked the readings again – sure enough, this one seemed to be just another minor to moderate quake in the middle of nowhere.
He was tired and ready to shut the system down, when something caught his eye. It was something anyone with a rudimentary geology background should have picked up on, and something he nearly overlooked. He checked the topographical map again. Desert. The epicenter was in the middle of a desert. This was most unusual. He checked the seismic map of the region – a historical record of all events from the past 30 or so years. Nothing. A significant tremor hadn’t been registered within hundreds of miles of the region. So that was why the alert had been triggered, he concluded. This was curious.
Ben Goldberg was inundated with data, a mountainous jumble of paper piled on the CIA analyst’s desk. Much of it worthless, a staggering amount really, but it was his job to sift through the faxes, memos, and other various reports and decide what to make, if anything, of the information. While not the most glamorous of jobs, the responsibility of summarizing the voluminous reports into a cogent, well-formulated and more manageable entity was a task of utmost importance to his office and to his country. For collecting data, what was termed “field work”, always the more high profile position within the Agency, in reality accounted for only one component of the global task of intelligence gathering. Integration and interpretation of data were essential for taking the information out of a vacuum, and putting it into the context of a larger, more sensible whole; a task requiring the dedication of a small army of analysts such as himself.
Ben began flipping through the documents, careful not to ignore anything of import, while at the same time being sure to not get bogged down in minutiae – a balancing act he had mastered long ago. Initially recruited to the accounting department after finishing college, the attention to detail required in auditing work actually translated well to
his current position. In fact, it was Ben’s tenacity, diligence and work ethic during the massive overhaul of the agency in the post nine-eleven years that caught the attention of William Kelly, the legendary chief of the anti-terrorism unit. Kelly had an opening for an analyst, and Ben jumped at the opportunity. Kelly was a mover and shaker within the Agency, his exploits and accomplishments legendary, his influence second probably only to the Director herself. Each person within the unit was hand picked by Kelly, a workaholic with a reputation for being demanding but fair-minded. Under his leadership, the unit became the premier counter terrorism force in the country, and served as a crossroads for both intelligence gathering and combat operations. This amazing amalgamation was in large part due to Kelly’s unique background – a former special forces operations chief and high level CIA operative with extensive espionage and counter-insurgency experience. He was the only sensible choice to lead the agency’s anti-terrorism squad following the failures of nineeleven and the proliferation of anti-American sentiment in the ensuing years. The seamless integration and coordination with that most guarded of bureaucracies within the US government, the Pentagon, had at it’s roots the respect and close ties maintained by the country’s reigning anti-terror czar since leaving the military establishment.
Ben continued to pore through the work, fastidiously recording the pertinent data into an electronic file. He was progressing rather steadily, when a conspicuous footnote on the bottom of the latest USGS report caught his attention: "No known fault in the area. No known prior events. Cause at this point remains unknown." The USGS rarely sent memos to the Agency, and when they did it was always meaningless. In fact, Ben had wondered why the reports were ever sent to the Agency in the first place – his office was entrusted to preempt and react to man-made disasters, not natural ones. But long ago, someone had figured the line between the two could be rather fine and blurred, and so a mechanism was in place for direct contact between the two bureaus. Ben skimmed the page a second time, and again his eyes were drawn in by the citation on the bottom. Whoever wrote the report intended to draw some interest. The footnote was subtly phrased; the intimation being, pay attention - this may be nothing, but pay attention. And the CIA analyst intended to do just that. He glanced down at the stack of documents he had to review. It would be a long day indeed. With little time to waste, Ben immediately picked up the phone and called USGS.
"Doctor Miller please”
"Oh, let me see if he’s still in the building. Hang on sir”, a female voice said at the other end of the line. Ben didn’t have to wait long, the seismologist slow to leave that morning.
“Hi. Jim Miller here, can I help you?”
"Hello doctor Miller, Ben Goldderg, CIA.” He paused, letting the phrase CIA hang in the air a bit, a habit he had acquired to add weight to the line of questioning that was to follow.
“Did you send us a memo this morning?”
Dr. Miller wasn’t fazed, responding with little hesitation, “sure did. Boy, that was fast. I’m glad you caught me – this thing kept me up most of the night.”
"Well then, shoot, what was so important about that quake in Africa you felt the need to stay up all night and write to us about?”
"I'm not quite sure. In fact, I was hoping you guys could tell me"
"What?” Ben was puzzled. He didn’t have time to waste, and certainly hoped he didn’t have some bookworm, quack academic just pulling his chain.
"Well, it’s all right in the memo Mr. Goldberg. I haven't the faintest idea what caused it. I assume you guys could figure that out better than me"
“How do you figure that, Doctor?” Ben couldn't help the exasperated tone in his voice.
“Well, I don’t think that quake was a natural event, that’s what.” Dr. Miller spoke matter-of-factly, with no acknowledgement of the frustration he was beginning to foment on the other end of the line.
Ben was still confused, but was beginning to see what the seismologist was trying to convey. He spoke softer now, almost deferentially
“Doctor, educate me. Why do you think this was a result of some artificial intervention”
“Well, first of all, the epicenter was triangulated to the desert region of North Africa, the Sahara. This is rare, as crustal plates tend to bound one another in more mountainous regions.”
“Run that one by me again doctor”, Ben interjected.
“Earthquakes are caused by slippage along geologic faults. Movement of the plates of the earth’s crust tend to be the inciting events. This tends to occur at plate boundaries, which are for the most part found in high mountain regions and deep ocean trenches. This quake here, it happened in desert country; it’s what we call an intraplate quake. Rather uncommon.”
“Just how uncommon?” Ben asked
“Well, as I wrote in my report, this is a first for the region”
“What does that mean exactly? I mean, there’s gotta be a first for everything, right?”
“Sure, but I couldn’t help but think, you know, rupture of a fault isn’t the only way earthquakes can happen”
“Oh?” Ben was intrigued
“Human activity can, on occasion, result, either directly or indirectly, in a significant tremor”
"Human activity. Like what then?”
"Oh, lots of things. Injecting fluid into the earth for waste disposal, filling reservoirs with water. Any disruption of significant depth and magnitude really. You know, a large underground blast could do it too.”
“Large”, Ben repeated. “How large?”
“Well, back before the test ban treaty, the firing of underground nuclear devices was known to result in some real hum-dingers of earthquakes.”
So there it was, the real impetus for the memo. It could have been a lot of factors, but the good doctor just wanted to rule out, in his own circuitous way, the one cause the CIA would definitely want to know about.
"Doctor Miller, thank you very much. Please, if you have anything else to add, here's how to contact me ". Ben proceeded to give Jim Miller the number to a secure line.
"Oh, one more thing. Keep quiet on this one, okay. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’d prefer noone know about our conversation here.”
"No problem Mr. Goldberg. You don't know me very well - I keep quiet about everything, it’s my nature"
"Good. You'd fit right in here".
Jim, chuckling, "no thanks. Okay, bye now"
Holy Shit, thought Ben. He needed to follow up on this ASAP. He hit the speaker button on his phone.
“Sheila, you free?”
“Not really Goldie. Why?” Everyone in the office had caller ID; the computer programming guru recognized Ben’s extension.
“May need to review images from a bird or two, I don’t think I can manage it alone”
“If it won’t take long, I can help you in about an hour or so,”
“Thanks Sheila, you’re an angel. Oh, by the way, did we have any birds over the Sahara last night?”
“Huh?” The question caught Sheila by surprise. She regrouped quickly
“I’m sure we did Goldie. That’s one of our hot spots. Why?”
“Any major radioactive emissions detected”? Sheila was a member of the nuclear monitoring board, and privy to all radiological intelligence.
“No way, I’d have known about it by now. Why?”
“Oh nothing.” Ben felt a huge sigh of relief
“Is that what this is all about?”
Ben didn’t respond to the question.
“You still need me then Ben?” the computer programmer added. Ben thought about it for a moment.
“Yeah, I’ll come by in an hour or so”
“Fine. See you then”
Relieved, Ben continued to pour through the daily briefings, but surprisingly found his concentration limited. He was still preoccupied by the Miller memo. Probably just a seismic anomaly, he thought, but he needed to be sure. Given the events of the past weeks, anything was possible. He decided to go se
e Sheila a bit early.
“Got time for me now?” he asked as he approached her desk. He could access satellite images on his own terminal, but didn’t have the experience to manipulate and interpret the photos without her assistance. She was as good as they came when it came to sophisticated computer imagery.
“No”, she answered, a sarcastic smirk on her face.
“Okay then”, Ben began seriously, taking a seat alongside his colleague. He was too consumed by the potential import of the USGS memo to respond to Sheila’s banter.
“3AM, here are the coordinates.” He showed her the GPS coordinates provided by Dr. Miller. Sheila could sense Ben’s intensity, wiped the smirk from her face, and got down to business. An image on the screen soon appeared. They only had a peripheral view, the spy satellite poorly positioned at that particular moment to capture the snapshot. Sheila began working her magic, the picture sharpening up a bit, the software reconstructing the finer detail missing from the initial survey.
“Not much here Ben.”
“Can you run a thermal on that?” The satellites were equipped with thermal sensors, enabling detection of any major temperature fluctuations that might be consistent with an explosion. The image appeared gradually, a color-coded system with blue to red markers for cold and hot spots, respectively. At 3AM, a rather wide arc of orange appeared on the screen.
“There! What’s that?”, Ben asked, almost to no one in particular.
“Some pretty hot weather, that’s all”
“Could it be a blast?” Ben asked
“Don’t think so Ben, a conflagration would register hotter, although…” Sheila paused, deep in thought. She hit some more keys, expanding the view.
“Now that’s odd, very uncharacteristic for this time of year”
“What?” asked Ben somewhat confused.
“The weather, that’s what. Average temperatures are much lower for that region this time of year. And the surrounding area…” Again the programmer stopped as if in mid-thought. This time Ben was first to speak, his analytical mind hitting its stride.
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