“Sorry, Simon, I have many more questions. And you will answer them,” Noble warned.
He proceeded with his questioning as he tried hard to feign indifference to the responses. Finally, Simon stopped his sparring and began to speak more freely again. Noble seized the opportunity to delve deeper into the evidence that Enzo, Max, and he had uncovered, starting with the specific attacks on New Year’s Eve. After several hours, Simon only substantiated what they had already deciphered—the attempts were predetermined to fail.
Then, Noble moved on to the activities in Juab County, Utah. He was able to confirm that the camp was indeed a recruitment and training center used to build a militia. The purpose was still unclear, and the number of recruits still unknown. He ascertained that the four cyclists were Americans who had joined the camp. Then, Simon claimed that the murders of the Emerson couple and the four kayakers had been unfortunate collateral damage. He allowed that the victims had witnessed crucial events taking place around the mineshafts. He ascertained that the recruits at the camp felt threatened, and determined they had no recourse but to silence them. Simon swore that neither he nor his soldiers were responsible for the deaths of the Hazelton family.
“It is not our mission or our style,” he insisted.
Noble was suspicious of his repudiation but, strangely enough, Simon appeared to be sincere. However, there were other possibilities Noble had yet to pursue. The questioning proceeded for another hour, with periodic bouts of boasting, elucidations, and very few denials. But, when Noble attempted to wind down the discussion, Simon threw a parting shot.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to persuade the two trekkers to join my cause. It was a real setback. It reminded me of you, Noble. They also appeared to be nerdy,” he baited.
Clearly, Simon was in a comfort zone. He continued to reveal an unforeseen flurry of information, much beyond Noble’s expectations. As for the information specific to Utah, there was nothing illuminating divulged.
Simon again appeared to return into his protective shell. He was no longer forthcoming.
At that juncture, Noble believed he had gathered all the information he could evoke from their first encounter. He was well aware that it would take hours, possibly days or weeks, to analyze the events of the day. He was also confident that Simon was tantalizing him, forcing him to dig deep into the content to find the elusive nuances. Noble maintained his resolve, and he continually reminded himself, I’m better at this than he is.
Noble miscalculated. Simon had not finished provoking, arousing Noble’s suspicion.
He abruptly edged to the front of his seat and peered directly at Noble. “Do you ever examine your own theories? Allow your thinking process to evolve beyond your initial premise?”
Noble was stone-faced. “Appeal to motive—of course.”
Frequently, as a matter of routine during investigations, Noble would use this pattern of argument and call into question his own theory of a case by challenging his premises to determine if he had missed any fallacies. It was akin to playing both offense and defense.
Though Noble was tiring and ready to wrap things up for the day, he decided to appeal to Simon’s elephantine ego. “I understand your method of argumentation is one of many of your strong suits, Simon—one you’ve successfully used among the members of La Fratellanza to your advantage. As each formulated his thesis at Harvard, you were effective as the devil’s advocate. By weaving your convictions into what they subliminally regarded to be their own, by questioning their motives, you used the method brilliantly—and they obliged unknowingly.”
“Thank you, Noble, for the praise, but I was speaking about you when you cleverly attempted to turn the tables. Have you ever questioned your own theory about my ulterior motives, applying the techniques you espouse?”
Noble was irked at how often Simon tried to gain control of the interview. Nevertheless, he was curious about his line of questioning and played along, at least for the moment. He sat back and waited, urging him to continue.
Simon took his cue.
“You discovered a bank statement with an address, a fingerprint on the light switch in the apartment in Menlo Park, and a flash drive with photographs. But, you doggedly pursued the clues that fit your own presumptions. I observed this flaw from a distance.”
Disregarding Simon’s attempt to bait him, he turned the tables once again. “I presumed the trail of evidence was intentionally left behind by you—including the flash drive.” Purposely being dismissive, he indicated, “The reasons behind your decisions are not important to me at this time. I’m not here to engage in psycho-jousting.”
Simon tried hard to look unaffected as he unwittingly took the bait. He craned his head to the right, in a slightly contorted fashion, and glared at Noble. “You’re correct. I dropped the flash drive deliberately to lure you into the encampment. Too bad you had to send that pretty agent in your stead.”
Noble knew full well that dropping the flash drive was unintentional. It was plausible that Simon would assume that he’d found the drive by chance, after the explosion. Most important, Noble had his tell, another interrogation technique he had mastered. Simon’s response provided him with a telltale sign, which he would use to determine the veracity of future statements—it was the first time Simon had moved his head in such a manner during the lengthy interrogation—it was a recognized physical gesture indicating he had lied.
Not revealing the existence of the video that proved Simon had accidentally dropped the flash drive, Noble began to use his own reverse psychology. “At last, all the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.” It’s not true, but it’s important that Simon believes I’ve exposed his plot.
Not missing an opportunity for one more jab, Simon responded, “You disappoint me, brother. I thought you’d consider the reasons behind my actions to be just as relevant as the actions themselves.”
Acting exasperated, Noble blurted out, “Okay, I give up. Why?” His question, however, proved to be mistimed and risky.
“Did you ever question why or how your parents died?”
Noble felt sucker-punched by the lowest of personal blows, but maintained a stoic expression. He refused to delve into that emotionally charged subject. He would not succumb to Simon’s baiting the trap. While he had long suspected Simon was in some way responsible for their deaths, he avoided Simon’s ploy, and resolved to stay on point. Staring directly into his nemesis’ eyes, he intoned, “You asked me earlier what I knew.” He then paused briefly to garner Simon’s full attention. “Let me put things in perspective for you. Your name is Mohammed al-Fadl, and you are responsible for horrendous terrorist acts killing many innocent people. You placed an illegal immigrant at the helm of the U.S. government and stole from our treasury. You are responsible for several deaths in Juab County, in Paris, and in Berlin. All of these actions are dry runs to prepare for your next major act of terror.”
“It’s amazing what a little intellect and money can accomplish.”
His glibness was unsettling. Noble was clearly annoyed. He had allowed Simon to outflank him. What’s done is done, he admonished himself.
In the meantime, Simon’s grin had returned to its full glory as he flapped his hands with restricted motion, mimicking a grand applause. “Well done, Noble, but you are forgetting two things. First, when using syllogistic logic, your operating premise must hold true, otherwise your theory will not be valid. Second, let’s not forget your role in all of this!” he decried in a raised voice, twisting the proverbial knife a bit further.
Noble remained mute—a clear signal for Simon to continue.
Reflecting on his past actions, Simon moved to recap. “Obviously, hacking into the banks was the source of my war chest. It was a matter of necessity for me to accomplish my lofty goals. The robberies intrigued Hamilton, so he took it upon himself to pursue me, poor fellow.”
The mention of Hamilton disturbed Noble, but he replied evenly, “You’re not telling me anything I
haven’t already proved.”
“Noble, your insolence will not help you get any closer to the truth,” he reprimanded, as if he were scolding a child.
“You’re being evasive. None of what you have divulged explains your mission in Utah, and it doesn’t fully explain Europe either,” Noble answered matter-of-factly, ignoring his rebuke.
“Perhaps, but I’m not finished.”
“Finished with what?”
“Noble, I don’t intend to make it easy for you. It’s been a lot of fun, stringing you along all of these years. At first, the game was between Hamilton and me, but that became boring. I was thrilled at the irony and my luck when you joined the SIA.” Unabashedly, he continued with his superficial charm. “By the way, I never congratulated you on finding the backdoor code to access my bank accounts. Although, I wasn’t happy with your siphoning most of the money out of those accounts. I have to admit that was my one great failing—underestimating your abilities.”
“You changed the author’s name on your thesis from your name to mine, exposing me to possible future legal vulnerability. You purposely lured me to read your thesis. You had to assume I’d uncover your programming code designed to hack into various databases, including banks. But why did you lead me to find the backdoor code to your computer program in the first place?” Noble asked with observable curiosity.
“I was hoping you’d come after me. But then Hamilton came up with that lame sting operation in Florence and ruined all my fun,” Simon conceded with the same annoying grin.
“That’s not why.” Suddenly, the appeal to motive struck Noble like a lightning bolt. He never thought I would get this far. Now he’s trying to convince me that his purported cat and mouse game was intentional. He is trying to mislead me into believing that he was going to assassinate one or several heads of state, who were only decoys—but that’s not his plan—or is it? Noble resolved to analyze his assumptions more thoroughly, away from the interrogation room, away from Simon. But, for now, he would play along. “Your plot spanned decades. Initially, Baari becoming president was only one of several dry runs. He was also your strongest means to an end and provided you access into the government, and ultimately to the government coffers. Do you already have puppets in place in various roles in European governments?”
“Perhaps,” Simon insinuated coyly.
There was no craning of his head this time, but Noble sensed Simon was lying by omission, recognizing the blatant evasiveness.
“Noble, aren’t you curious as to why I’ve been stringing you along?”
Unmistakably, he was attempting to divert the conversation once again, but Noble decided to extend one final opportunity and shouted, “WHY?” in a clearly exasperated tone.
“Finally, I have your attention!” Simon trumpeted, and then the rant began. He had been savoring the moment. “It’s RETRIBUTION. You rejected me, my brother. You were the one and only person capable of performing a key role in my game. When you refused, the responsibility fell to me, and it forced an insurmountable delay in the operation. And, at a crucial moment you restricted my brothers—my invaluable assets—from participating further. The mission, scheduled for completion before Baari left office, was delayed. His premature departure, again thanks to you, forced me to adjust accordingly.” Simon stopped unexpectedly, seemingly spent by his outburst.
Noble seized the opportunity to jump in. “I’ve missed something,” he admitted. “Why drop your clues like breadcrumbs? You could have taken your revenge on me at any time.”
“The clues were supposed to be a hint of my original intent, starting with placing your name on my thesis. They were the same clues I would have planted had you joined La Fratellanza. But the game is not over and, at some point in the future, when I no longer need you—whenever that might be—I will plant evidence implicating you in the ultimate plot. And, I will seal your fate. My bag of tricks is far from empty.” Simon basked in the glow of his admission.
Noble was finding Simon more disturbing and out of character as he openly revealed his own cunning. He also found it odd that Simon even felt it necessary to take credit for being so ruthless. Apparently, he had no qualms about causing harm to those he befriended and had relied upon. Nothing stood in his path. A true character trait of a psychopath, he pondered with unease. Noble detected Simon was using another psychological technique, generally recognized as definitive covert intimidation—posing thinly veiled threats in an effort to put him on the defensive. He also took into account another frightening possibility—perhaps Simon actually is a psychopath. He certainly is exhibiting the classic traits.
One thing was certain. In those last few moments, Noble had expertly coaxed Simon to reveal his vulnerability—control freakery—an obsessive need to be in control, documented in psychiatric research. I played him all wrong. I gave him the control he craved, thinking it was the best way to expose the plot. Now it was time to take that control away and hit him hard.
“Are you still working with al-Qaeda, or are you on your own?”
Simon flinched. “What makes you think I’m connected to al-Qaeda?
“We have surveillance tapes of you with Osama bin-Laden at the training camp in Kursu, in Srinagar, and again in Abbottabad at his compound in Pakistan.”
Noble had caught Simon off guard with the abrupt change in direction and demeanor.
“Kursu, ah, Kursu. Years ago, I conducted training exercises for al-Qaeda. I’ve been in that camp many times. As for the compound in Pakistan, I was never there, nor was bin-Laden,” he stated emphatically.
“Our intelligence shows that bin-Laden was last seen in Pakistan in 2011 when he was killed.”
“Your intelligence is weak at best. The assassination was an illusion.” Simon revealed.
“Why do you say an illusion?”
“Neither I nor bin-Laden were ever in a compound in Abbottabad. The last time I saw Osama was in October of 2001, a month after your precious towers imploded. Two months later, he died. I remember the day explicitly; it was the fourteenth of December.”
“How is that possible? He was killed on May 2, 2011, by our U.S. Navy Seals in a raid on the compound,” Noble objected.
“Perhaps you should ask your government for the truth. I’m telling you Osama bin-Laden has been dead for over a decade. He died ultimately from Marfan syndrome, a genetic disorder of the connective tissue. The disease affected his kidneys for years, and then it moved to his lungs.”
“I’m familiar with the disease. Go on,” Noble insisted, hiding his skepticism.
“He’s buried in the mountains in southeastern Afghanistan, outside of Kandahar. Over the years, as Osama’s health deteriorated, he had relinquished most of his power to others, and his role became more symbolic. When he died, the al-Qaeda elders thought it best to preserve the image that he was still alive, which they did successfully with rigged videos. His name alone continued to evoke rabid support for the cause. Your government’s plot to assassinate bin-Laden in 2011 was simply a production orchestrated by the Baari administration. You’re foolish to believe otherwise. Has anyone produced a body?”
Noble had contemplated the same question, but ducked the debate. “What purpose would it serve the U.S.?”
Simon appeared self-assured as he offered an explanation. “Actually, it served several purposes. First, it distracted the public from the growing question of Baari’s legitimacy as a natural born U.S. citizen. Second, it was a way to deflect Pakistan from retaliating for the predator drone strikes that killed hundreds of Pakistanis.” Then, his tone changed, suddenly sounding more calculating and less conciliatory. “It also created another salutary effect. By escalating the war throughout the Middle East, it provided many opportunities for my brethren to swoop into positions of power in the various failed governments. Whether that was an intended consequence on Baari’s part, I’m not sure. Evidently, he reaped the benefit in Libya.”
Simon’s last statement unnerved Noble. He held there was some
truth to his conjecture. But, he vowed to stay on point. “You were still actively pulling Baari’s strings through Hank during that time. What was your involvement in this alleged cover-up surrounding bin-Laden’s death?” Noble remained detached.
“Absolutely none!”
Noble’s lack of emotion seemed to irritate Simon. Perfect, he thought.
Simon, wasting no time, continued. “By that time, Baari had become a cunning lone wolf, abandoning those of us who created his role. He was acting out mostly on his own accord. Remember what I said earlier about intelligent men and their lust for power—prime example.”
“Let’s go back to your mission. Are you working in conjunction with al-Qaeda?”
“Noble, what I have planned goes far beyond their parochial jihads. They suffer from tunnel vision, thinking they can blanket the world with Sharia Law in an attempt to replace all professed godless regimes with Islamic regimes.”
As Noble continued to maintain eye contact, he noticed that Simon’s eyes were becoming beadier by the moment. He maintained silence and let him continue.
Simon fumed about how the western values had corrupted much of the world. He elaborated about the positive aspects of Sharia Law, the original law of Islam, laid down by the Prophet Mohammed. Several minutes passed, and then, surprisingly, he relaxed his sermon and mildly commented, “There is a better way to accomplish this lofty goal without indiscriminate killing. Certainly, by destroying the U.S. one building at a time, like a game of dominos, won’t further the cause any closer to the objective. In fact, a simple flip of a switch is all it would take to bring America to her knees. Osama agreed, and sanctioned my plan, a plan that is much broader in scope and goes far beyond religion.”
Noble sensed he had just opened another door, one perhaps he should have left closed—at least for the time being. He knew he was unprepared for that line of questioning. Of the moment, his head was spinning. In part, he was still reeling from Simon’s prior outburst.
“Who the hell is Simon Hall?” He was completely frustrated. “I need more time to review the situation in the Middle East. I need to find the connection.” he concluded to himself, not revealing the inadequacy he was sensing.
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