Noble's Quest

by Sally Fernandez

  However, something was definitely awry.

  As Noble observed the crowds, he noticed they were set back farther from the stage than in past years. And the increase in security was evident. From reading the program schedule, he concluded that the entire event would be more streamlined and restrained than it typically was. Nonetheless, it was still a glorious sight. His heart swelled with patriotism.

  Half listening to the Invocation, he couldn’t help but reflect on the events that led up to this historic day. As he sat back, warmed only by the wool scarf wrapped around his neck, he vividly recalled that sweltering day on August 9, the day he held a press conference to expose the former president as a Libyan national. He had provided the press corps with evidence that the president illegally entered the U.S. and falsified not only his identity, but also most of his dossier. The fallout from the exposé forced President Abner Baari to step down and prepare for the legal action that was underway. Within days, he had mysteriously disappeared from public view.

  The first lady had cleverly cloaked his exodus, stating that the president needed time alone to sort out his affairs. Out of respect for the First Family, Noble arranged for Baari to have a sufficient amount of time to put his affairs in order. However, it wasn’t long until an investigative journalist discovered he had left the country alone—without the first lady and their nine-year-old daughter. How he arranged to leave the country remained a mystery.

  Abruptly, a loud earsplitting sound snapped Noble back to the events of the day, just as the Washington National Symphony Orchestra finished with a resounding crescendo. The U.S. Marine Corps Band then struck up “Hail to the Chief.” Noble instinctively glanced to his left and noted the arrival of the outgoing president pro-tem, secretly referred to as the “president-in-leaving” by those inside the beltway. He smiled as he ruminated, The Congress must be feeling a sense of relief. After spending months running around caught in their own underwear, compliments of the former V.P., he was now thankfully leaving.

  The most recent crisis that befell Congress began with the swearing-in of the vice president. In August, he stepped into the breach as the constitutional replacement for the president following Baari’s untimely resignation. Congress collectively believed the unthinkable had occurred. Neither party ever considered the possibility that the vice president might one day hold the highest office in the land. Most were aware he became Baari’s running mate only because of his alleged foreign policy experience, something the presidential candidate clearly lacked. Many considered him a “loose cannon,” given to uttering off-the-cuff embarrassing remarks. Stifling his gaffes had become a weekly sporting event. And, with his newly anointed power, there was a tacit agreement among the insiders that it would be impossible to control his loose tongue. To protect their parochial interests from the intrusions of the accidental president, an unprecedented number of senators and representatives had cancelled their summer recess plans to remain in Washington. It truly turned into the silly season for politics, even sillier than usual.

  Meandering between his thoughts and listening to the magnificent music filling the air, Noble sighed remembering with some pain, they also remained in the Capitol to interrogate me. He had been the focal point of a major congressional investigation coined Saviorgate by a bipartisan group of four senators and four congresspersons, referred to as the Octocrats. In the end, they exonerated him, but not before he had endured a series of biased questions, repetitive cross-examinations, and exhaustive interviews. Those painful months took a toll on him.

  At age 47, Noble still possessed his somewhat boyish face and tall lean physique, but his dark brown hair was now predominantly gray. Moreover, after the death of the former SIA Director Hamilton Scott—his mentor and surrogate father—Noble began to contemplate his own mortality. While in the midst of reflection, the cymbals clashed without warning, emitting a powerful ring. The music came to an abrupt close, ending Noble’s reverie. It was exactly noon. The current appointed president officially became part of Washington’s checkered past. An amazing silence permeated the crowd. The moment had arrived. After two hours of prayers, readings, and music, it would be the next thirty-five spoken words that would change the course of history.

  Randall Post stood tall with his right hand on the bible and his left hand held high, palm facing the audience. He repeated, “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  Immediately, an enthusiastic applause erupted. One could almost hear the spontaneous ovations emanating from across the country. For many, the applause was a nervous release from years of anxiety. In the past decade, Americans were fixated on their country seemingly stuck in a state of constant volatility, albeit the nation was slowly recovering. At the same time, they felt the effects of Europe’s sovereign debt crisis that threatened the soundness of the world economy. Behind the curtain of the world stage, the Middle East turmoil added to the volatility stew. The “Arab Spring” of 2011 appeared to be a permanent fixture with spring always in the air. U.S. attempts to find a winning formula for peace in the region failed repeatedly.

  Absent a stable economy and a coherent foreign policy, it was no surprise that the electorate, by a vast majority, elected a former state governor in the recent election. Inexperience and glibness were no longer in vogue. Having been exposed to a decade of political infighting, with no recovery in sight, the voters were frustrated and exhausted. And, after seeing the downfall of their president, the electorate unhesitatingly pulled the lever differently when they went to the polls. Amazingly, almost overnight, calm befell the country and confidence slowly began to emerge—not only on Main Street—but also on Wall Street.

  The subdued crowd was riveted by President Randall Post as he delivered his Inaugural Address, “The Rebirth of America.” It was as powerful in words as it was in substance. From the reaction of the crowd it was clear that they agreed wholeheartedly, recapturing some of the traditional American spirit.

  I now feel the decisions I’ve made have merit. The president’s message has given me the resolve to continue to serve my country.

  Noble reflected as the president’s words continued to reverberate.

  It was clearly a time for the rebirth of America, a message many considered long overdue. But the swearing-in was only a formality. Now, the electorate would stand by waiting for the words to evolve into actions—a missing link in the past.

  3

  THE DEAD ZONE

  The swearing-in ceremony flowed seamlessly as it continued throughout an extraordinary day. Then, after making cameo appearances at five of the eight parties around town, Noble was finally able to maneuver himself out of the boisterous crowd and back to the comfort of his office.

  Seconds after settling in, Max burst in shouting, “More missing persons reported in the Dead Zone!”

  Having just returned from an inspiring day and after observing the inauguration, Noble wasn’t quite ready for the abrupt shift, but he trusted Max’s instincts. It had to be serious.

  Maxine Ford accepted her position as SIA deputy director in 2010. Noble’s selection was easy. Years before, they were colleagues at the CIA. They were also friendly rivals. Max was undoubtedly the best among the undercover agents and possessed the precise qualifications he was looking for. She was tall, slim, with straight blond hair and dark hazel eyes, and considered by many to be extremely attractive. Her beauty, however, was deceptive, disguising the tomboy within. Competing with four older brothers created a toughness that became her major asset, occasionally placing Noble on the defensive. But aside from their obvious physical differences, Noble and Max were very much alike intellectually. While Noble was brilliant, Max wasn’t far behind. Most important, they were equally dedicated to their careers.

  Max’s outburst rattled Noble. Reflexively, he clasped his hands over his face as if he was screaming to him
self. Then, unexpectedly, he stood up without saying a word and walked toward the conference room.

  Max followed. Then she hurriedly sped past Noble at the entrance to the room and headed to the large multi-touch monitor. The screen mounted on the wall displayed a map of the Dead Zone.

  “Two male trekkers were last seen here.” Max pointed to the area in the mid-western section of Utah. Then she tapped the screen several times to zoom onto the town of Delta, and then tapped again to focus in on the Quality Market on East Main Street. “They were reported missing on Tuesday by the father of one of the trekkers.”

  “It’s Friday night. That’s over three days ago and we are just hearing about it now!” Noble snapped, noticeably peeved.

  “The local authorities evidently didn’t feel the need to notify the FBI until yesterday,” Max said. She was also angry, but responded marginally in a sympathetic tone. “They didn’t know about the overall investigation and that the feds have taken over all missing person cases in the area you’ve dubbed the Dead Zone.”

  Since April of 2016, there had been three separate cases of missing persons in the same part of the state. Now there were four. The FBI had been unable to solve the first three cases and was unable to find any connections among them. For that reason, they enlisted the assistance of the SIA in September. At that time, Noble was enmeshed in the congressional hearings, so Max assumed responsibility.

  “As you know, the feds are involved because the missing people disappeared on federal land,” Max reminded him.

  “I know. It seems as if all the land out there has mystically morphed into government land,” Noble observed, in a mildly calmer manner, but no less sarcastic. He went on to note, “Reportedly, the government had claimed ninety percent of the land through eminent domain and the other ten percent by various methods. In fact, the federal government owns upwards of six hundred and fifty-three million acres of land, approximately thirty percent of the land in the United States. Those apparent land grabs are still hot topics in Washington today.”

  Max was aware the government land grabs were one of Noble’s hot buttons and he would wax on the subject for hours. So she attempted to take back the floor, but not before he raised his right index finger in the air and said, “Hold that thought—you’re also aware that the state of Nevada retained only fifteen percent of its land for private use. For all practical purposes, the state of Nevada is government owned. Records also show the federal government owns seventy percent of Alaska, and their third largest government land holding is—voila—Utah, possessing approximately fifty-eight percent of the state. How’s that for real estate holdings?”

  Not hesitating this time, Max jumped in fast and announced, “That brings us back to Utah. The one problem, however, may not be the feds but the Bureau of Land Management, which happens to be the caretaker of the area within the Dead Zone.”

  Noble glanced at his watch and noted the time, then sat back eyeing the map, urging Max to continue. “That could be an obstacle, but review what we know so far.”

  “In April of last year, the Emersons, an elderly couple in their mid-seventies, were reported missing. We found their bodies—here.” Max pointed again to the map where she had previously added a pushpin and scribbled their names. The marker placed off the side of the Brush Highway was approximately six miles from Joy, an old mining settlement that had been deserted for years. “They had been traveling from their home in Sunrise Manor, a suburb of Las Vegas, to visit their daughter in Provo.”

  “That’s what, a six hour drive?”

  “Roughly, but I suspect they were probably driving more slowly than either you or I.” Max grinned, and then continued. “We were able to trace their whereabouts from several credit card receipts their daughter had provided.” Max confirmed that they made two stops after they left home. “Three and a half hours into their trip they stopped at a Dairy Queen in Beaver, just off Interstate 15. One and half hours later they purchased gas from the Chevron station in Delta.”

  “That explains why they turned off the interstate.”

  Max nodded in agreement. She then pointed to a location just north of the abandoned ghost town. “The bodies were discovered here, thirty miles northwest in the opposite direction from Interstate 15, which would have been a straight shot to Provo. A passing car found them the next morning.”

  “What was the cause of death?”

  “The coroner determined the cause to be hypothermia. The night before they were found, the temperature had dropped below freezing.”

  “Why did they stop there, in the middle of this godforsaken country?” Noble asked, shaking his head.

  “Evidently, they ran out of gas. Their fuel gauge registered empty.” Max waited for Noble’s reaction.

  “But the tank had been filled thirty miles earlier.”

  “Exactly! That is the one piece of the puzzle still unresolved. But wait—the next case is stranger.”

  “In June, the Hazelton family of five was discovered here.” Max then pointed to another pushpin she had placed on the map, indicating a dirt road about two and a half miles south of Eureka. “Their van apparently skidded into a steep ravine off the Silver Pass Road. The autopsy determined the parents were killed on impact, although there was only slight bruising to their foreheads. Three young children between the approximate ages of three and seven were in the rear seat, ostensibly unharmed by the crash—all still buckled into their seatbelts.”

  Noble recoiled with anguish. “Cause of death?”

  “The children’s deaths were attributed to a combination of heat exhaustion and suffocation. The temperature was in the mid-eighties, but all the windows were closed and only the windshield had been shattered in the crash, allowing a minimal flow of air. We know again from the receipts that the family had stopped for lunch at the Summit Restaurant in Eureka. According to the waiter, the family was headed to Salt Lake City, an hour and a half drive north in the opposite direction.”

  “So how did they end up going south?”

  “Again, it’s another puzzle to be solved.”

  Noble let out a deep breath. “Who found the bodies?”

  “A group of hitchhikers between rides.”

  Noble noted the time again as he shifted in his chair. It was 6:30 p.m., but it was important to hear the rest. “What happened to the missing kayakers?”

  Max tapped the screen and refocused the map on Utah’s Fish Springs National Wildlife Refuge. “The wife of one of the kayaker’s called the rangers at the National Park Service when her husband hadn’t returned home the next day as planned. One of the rangers found their SUV here—just off the Pony Express Overland Stage Trail near Avocet Pool Road, approximately at this location. Another ranger found the four kayaks—here—on the banks of the Avocet Pool.”

  Using the highlighting function, Max moved her index finger across the map and drew a yellow line from the location of the SUV to the point where the ranger found the kayaks. Then she continued to draw the line moving south to her next pushpin. “Here is where the bodies were found off the Weis Highway just west of the Brush Highway.”

  “Max, slow down. The map is beginning to look like a football game as described by John Madden.”

  “Stay with me. What’s curious is that the kayakers’ bodies were recovered twenty miles south, away from where they left their kayaks, near a body of water.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  “They could have left their kayaks and decided first to walk out into the desert. I understand there are some awesome rock formations south near the Garnet Basin,” Max conjectured.

  “It’s plausible, but why would they wander off into a desert and leave their supplies behind?”

  “I’m not sure, but the feds checked the kayaks for any traces of evidence: fingerprints, hair, etcetera—any clues they could link to foul play.”

  “And?” Noble probed.

  “They discovered the kayaks never entered the water. The spring-fed lakes a
re brackish and there was no trace of salt anywhere!”

  Studying the map further, Noble grilled himself as well as Max. “What’s going on? There’s nothing out there except an old abandoned mine that looks to be about four miles north of where the bodies were found.”

  “I have no clue.” There was clear frustration in Max’s voice. The same frustration was reflected on Noble’s face.

  Heaving a sigh of displeasure he pressed, “And the cause of death?”

  “This is another case of hypothermia. On that particular day in October, there was a wide range in the temperatures. During the day, the temperature hit ninety degrees, but that night it dropped below twenty-four degrees. It can’t get more extreme than that!”

  Noble was becoming visibly flustered. “Move on to the trekkers.”

  “A week ago today, two men in their mid-twenties began a seventy mile trek along Route 174, starting from Delta.” Max pointed to the map. “They were to head north toward Fish Springs National Wildlife Refuge.” She drew her patent yellow line with her finger along the route, highlighting their trail. “They were heading to the same location as our kayakers,” she noted.

  Noble acknowledged the coincidence, but remained skeptical. “What, are they crazy? That makes no sense. It’s January! In that part of the country both the day and nighttime temperatures are brutal,” he stated in a voice of disbelief.

  “I agree.” Equally amazed, she added, “Yesterday, they ranged from a maximum of thirty-eight degrees to a minimum of thirteen degrees.”

  Noble rolled his eyes. “What’s their story?”

  “The feds reported that the two men are recent graduates of Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri, with mechanical engineering degrees. In March, they’re scheduled to leave for—of all places—Antarctica, to work for the IOAC, the Ocean, Atmosphere, and Climate scientific program. One would assume they’d be acquainted with local weather conditions.”