Both Noble and Max rose from their chairs. “I understood this meeting was to be with you, Director,” Maryann balked.
“I apologize for the confusion, Senator. However, Deputy Director Ford and I are working on the case together to recapture Mohammed al-Fadl. Her knowledge of the evidence is crucial to the questions we need to ask.”
The senator displayed no expression and gestured them to be seated at the table. Then she sat down across from them. “Director, Deputy Director, what is it you’d like to know?”
“We understand that the president appointed you as one of the envoys from the Senate Intelligence Committee to travel to Draper, Utah, to witness the interrogation of al-Fadl at the state penitentiary?” Noble asked respectfully.
“That is correct. Our role was to ensure that the prisoner’s rights were protected.”
“Why did you go alone to see al-Fadl?”
“You already know that I was asked by the president to be part of a delegation to ensure the prisoner’s rights were upheld.”
Max took the opportunity to interject. In a polite tone, she asked, “Excuse me, Senator. We are speaking about the night before, when you went to meet with the prisoner without the envoys. We have the logbook with your signature; you signed in at nine o’clock p.m.”
“It was my duty to ensure that he had proper accommodations and of course, was not being tortured before the meeting with my colleagues.”
“Why didn’t you wait for the other envoys before going to the prison?”
“As I said before, I wanted to ensure that there was no evidence the prisoner had been mistreated.”
Max was getting nowhere. She chose to move the conversation ahead. “Did your security detail drive you to the prison?” She knew the answer, but wanted to give the senator an opportunity to skirt the truth.
“Yes.”
That went well, Max smiled inwardly. “We interviewed the prison guard at the entrance gate. He said that you asked him to call a taxi, but does not remember you arriving in any vehicle. All he recalls is that you appeared at the gate.”
“Obviously,” Maryann continued, “I had a car drive me with my secret service detail following.”
Now we are getting somewhere, she really is lying. Noble sat back. He knew where Max was heading.
No further response came from Maryann. Her face remained deadpan.
“With all due respect Senator, we’re just trying to clarify some details.”
“Look, I simply left my hotel suite when the agent on duty stepped away for a moment. I called for a taxi and went to the prison on my own accord. I took a rare opportunity to be alone. It becomes very claustrophobic with people surrounding you constantly. Besides, no one even knew I was in Draper. I wasn’t in any danger.”
Max did not buy it. She sensed it was time to turn up the heat, but Noble quickly stepped in.
“Senator, we have you on a video camera while you were meeting with al-Fadl.” Noble nodded to Max.
On cue, she turned the tablet toward the senator and hit the Play button. The video began.
Noble proceeded, “In this scene, it’s clear to us that you are passing something to al-Fadl under the table.”
“How dare you! I am a United States Senator! And I would be very careful with your accusations.”
Noble ignored Maryann’s outburst. “According to the logbook, you were there for ten minutes. Why spend so little time with him, if you took such efforts to see him in the first place?”
“I’m finished with your impertinent questions.” Maryann leered, displaying an obvious heightened annoyance.
They had created the desired effect.
Maryann directed her attention to Noble, and in a condescending tone meant for an underling, she asked, “Is this an interrogation?”
“Consider it a conversation for now, Senator,” Noble replied with spurious politeness.
As he sat across the table from Maryann, he found it surprising that he had never been in such close proximity to the former first lady, for any length of time. A quick handshake in a reception line, or a wave as she buzzed in and out of the Oval Office, was the full extent of their familiarity. When in her company she was always aloof. His mind drifted back to the past, as he imagined her twenty years younger, thirty pounds lighter, and with long black hair. Then the vision of her in a black mini skirt with bright red lipstick—seemed unreal.
Lightning struck. No way! Maryann and Simon, it couldn’t be, he thought. In that instant, Noble suspected she was the “hooker” on campus at the Harvard Yard. The one Simon arranged to proposition Noble and then conjured up the campus police to play the heavies. Simon had bribed them to create the illusion of reality. Then he rode in on his white mount in time to save Noble from disgrace. All was planned by Simon in an effort to lure Noble into his web, which he resisted adamantly.
From the expression on Maryann’s face, she began to suspect that Noble had uncovered Simon’s ploy.
“Had you ever met al-Fadl before seeing him in prison at Draper?” Noble inquired with respectful directness.
He’s figured it out, Maryann thought. “Seriously, I never made the connection between al-Fadl and Simon Hall, until I visited him at Draper. It was a terrible shock!” At first, Maryann deflected the precise question and began to talk briefly about her time at Cambridge as though it were a matter of record. Then at the end, she finally admitted to knowing Simon.
“It was a college fling,” she blew off. “It ended after I graduated from Radcliff and entered DePaul University College of Law. Then for years, we maintained our friendship.” She paused, and then asked hopefully, “I expect you’ll be discreet, Director?”
Max was flabbergasted by Noble’s question and even more astonished by the senator’s answer, but she sat back and remained uninvolved during their repartee.
Noble chose not to persist further. He was still in shock by her revelation. But he allowed that it added an interesting twist to the case. “Senator, I thank you for your candor. Your past relationship with Simon is not germane to our case. You can rely on our discretion.”
Maryann’s outward sternness appeared to wane.
Noble felt it was best to conclude the interview. “We appreciate your giving us your time.”
Maryann stood up briskly.
Noble and Max took their cue, stood up and walked around the desk.
Max was the first to offer a respectful handshake and thanked Maryann again for her time.
Then Noble took the opportunity also to shake her hand, but held it longer then he had ever had the opportunity in the past.
She eyed him with indifference and then walked out of her conference room.
Noble turned toward Max expecting an outburst. “Wait until we’re back in my office,” he cautioned.
4
GRIDLOCK
The moment they set foot inside Noble’s reception area Max unleashed. “What are you crazy—making nice? We had her on the defensive. She would have answered our questions!” she fumed.
“Are you finished? She would only deflect the answers and lie when forced. Most important, we have a direct link between our senator and Simon,” Noble affirmed and then filled Max in on Simon’s devious hoax at Harvard.
“A hooker!” Max could not contain her laughter, shedding all signs of anger.
Doris continued to tap at the computer’s keyboard, trying to remain invisible.
“Enough Max. We need concrete evidence. I know it’s out there somewhere. Go find it!”
Max conceded, Noble was right. She picked up a symbolic piece of white paper from Doris’ desk and ceremoniously dangled it in the air. Then she headed to the conference room to resume sorting through the myriad papers and forensics awaiting review. “Coming?” she called out.
“In a moment, I have a call to make.”
“What was that all about?” Doris inquired.
“Never you mind, just please get Kramer on the line. And clear my schedule for Tues
day.”
“Noble, you’ve already told me to keep your calendar clear for the week. I’ll call him now.”
“Thanks.”
Within minutes line one was blinking.
“Hank!”
“Yes, Noble. What is it this time, kneecapping or the rack? Oh, let me guess, Simon again! And you need to see me in your office pronto!”
“Relax Hank, not pronto, Tuesday morning at eleven o’clock.”
“Commuting between Chicago and Washington is becoming tedious. And it’s President’s Day weekend, travel will be a bitch.”
“Make it happen.”
“If I have to travel all that way, can’t we at least meet for lunch?”
“Hank!”
“See you Tuesday.” Hank slammed down the phone.
Noble held all the cards and Hank knew it, including his immunity agreement. So when Noble summoned—Hank obliged. In reality, the commute was not as troubling as the subject matter.
Max had previously scanned many of the papers and documents retrieved from the underground encampment, during Operation NOMIS. She transferred them to the SIA cloud and placed them in the folder titled NOMIS. In the same folder, she also stored the charts and blueprints found on the flash drive Simon accidently left in the indoctrination facility in the underground encampment—before he set off an explosion. For the better part of a month, she had studied all of the materials trying to make sense of them—to unravel Simon’s ultimate plot. Moreover, spread out on the conference room table, were mounds of other training manuals they had recovered from the facility.
“Where do you want to start?” Max asked, as she waved the back of her hand over the evidence.
“Finding the proverbial needle in a haystack might be more inviting,” Noble conceded. All the same, he had the utmost confidence in his deputy.
Max had diligently worked at his side ever since he brought her into the SIA in 2010. His selection was easy. Years before, they were not only colleagues at the CIA, they were also friendly rivals. Max was undoubtedly the best among the undercover agents and possessed the precise demanding qualifications for the job. She was tall and slim, with straight blond hair and dark hazel eyes, and considered by those with undiminished eyesight to be extremely attractive. Her beauty, however, was a deceptive veneer, disguising the tomboy within. Competing with four older brothers created a toughness in her that became a major asset. At times, she even placed Noble on the defensive. But aside from their obvious physical differences, they shared the same intellectual space. While Noble was brilliant, Max was not far behind. He knew that if there were a clue to move the investigation along, she would uncover it with her laser-like focus on the evidence. In the meantime, Noble would work from another perspective and focus on those people who could have any knowledge of the case.
“It’s your show.” He gave her the floor.
“Okay, let’s review the key documents we discovered in the underground encampment.”
The mere mention of the encampment gave Noble the chills. It did not go unnoticed.
Max, as well, could not erase the horror she and Agent Burke experienced during the explosion in the indoctrination facility. Sadly, two soldiers lost their lives by a grenade detonated as they opened the door—a door exiting the facility that entered into another underground tunnel. Simon had set the trap.
Refocusing, she pointed out that many of the manuals they uncovered were straight out of the al-Qaeda handbook. They were basic tactical maneuvers including rifle marksmanship, engagement skills, and situational training exercises. Then there were disturbing manuals one might not expect: Cyber-terrorism, Unconventional Warfare, Propaganda, Insurgency, Intimidation, and Suicide Attack.
“Wasn’t there also a copy of the SERE Instructor Training Manual?” Noble recalled.
“Yes, there—right there,” she pointed.
They both knew the importance of an intense military training program, an acronym for Survive Evade Risk Escape that dealt with Tactical Maneuvers, Explosives, and Special Forces. That manual alone provided partial evidence that connected Simon directly to the bombs used in the attempted assassinations of the heads of state from France and Great Britain. It also connected Simon to the bullets that sprayed the stage in Germany, while the chancellor stood at the podium. All were staged on New Year’s Eve, alarming the world and causing many countries to go on high alert. It was Simon who also orchestrated the assassination attempts to fail. It was Simon’s way of head-faking Noble and his hounds when they became precariously close to discovering the underground encampment in far off Utah.
“Where are the booklets on preparedness?” Noble also recalled the other manuals that had been recovered from the facility.
“Right here.” Max handed him a stack of various guides.
Noble panned through them at a rapid pace and then shook his head. “They’re all published by FEMA. Where’s the connection?”
“Remember that we also found organization charts in the facility?”
Noble nodded. He remembered that on one of the charts, there was a red circle around the box for the head of FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency.
Max hastily retrieved each of the charts from the NOMIS folder and placed them side-by-side on the multi-touch monitor. On the various charts, also circled in red, were the boxes for the Office of the President, the Department of Energy, and the Department of Homeland Security.
Both Max and Noble stared at the monitor trying to make a connection.
Noble was the first to speak. “When we first analyzed the charts, we considered all key executive branch functional heads, including the president, as possible targets. But what if they’re simply involuntary bit-players in Simon’s drama? On the other hand, they could be fundamental to Simon’s plot in some bizarre way!”
“Let me conduct an argumentation exercise to test our premises as we’ve done in past cases, to ensure we haven’t strayed off course. We must take into account every possibility,” Max insisted.
“I don’t like the way this is starting to shape up—manuals on preparedness—the inclusion of FEMA. Get me all you can on FEMA’s role in the event a national disaster occurs.”
“What are you thinking?”
Noble, unsure himself, said, “Let’s move on. Is there anything further on the blueprints that you found on Simon’s flash drive?”
“Yes, as I expected, they’re power grids—interestingly, they’re U.S. power grids.”
Noble understood the power grids’ main function was to send power to over 3200 public utilities through a series of transmission lines, sweeping over 2.7 million miles. In addition, nine regional “reliability” councils manage the energy flow in North America that serve more than 300 million people.
“Do you have grids within all nine regions?” he asked curiously.
“No, only five grids.” Max swiped the touch-screen, spinning the organization charts out of sight, and placed one of the grids on the monitor. “This particular grid is managed by the ISO, California’s Independent System Operator Corporation, and distributes energy to about eighty percent of the state, serving over thirty million people.”
“That’s part of WECC, the Western Electricity Coordinating Council that operates most of western North America. It coordinates the grids for eleven states and two provinces in Canada: British Columbia and Alberta,” Noble conveyed with a tad of concern.
“Remember the report a couple of congressmen released citing the vulnerability of the power grids. It showed frequent attempts were made to invade the control systems.” Max added with equal unease.
“Yes, it was in 2013, and it stated that the cyber-attack methods ranged from phishing to malware infections. In addition, The Wall Street Journal ran an article citing the escalation of cyber assaults by Iranians—and their preferred hacking targets are energy companies.”
“So can we logically suspect that Simon may attempt to disrupt the power grids by hacking the control-system so
ftware? This is not good news.”
“Logic points us in that direction, but it looks as though Simon will have to compete with his fellow hackers.” Noble countered.
“Which will make it more difficult to identify Simon’s cyber-hacking among his cronies, unless we can determine his modus operandi.”
“I regretfully agree.”
“At least, if our assumptions are correct, he’s only tinkering with half the country. Remember only five of the nine grids are accounted for.” Max tried to give it a positive spin, but Noble was right. She pressed on, “ISO recently opened a control center in Folsom, known as Mission Critical, to manage the integration of renewable energy when it becomes available.”
“Wait a minute! Wasn’t Simon heading toward Reno, Nevada? That’s only a couple of hours from Folsom.”
“Shall I put them on alert?”
“And tell them what? As of yet, we have nothing tangible. Let’s go through the rest of the evidence first.”
Max began to place the next grid on the monitor.
“Stop! What does the number in the upper-right hand corner of the grid signify?”
“I wondered if you’d notice,” she prodded. “It was something I also questioned. I thought it might refer to a page number, but I cross-referenced it with all of the manuals having to do with energy. Then I checked the Department of Energy manuals having to do with the grids. There was no reference to either. I came up empty handed.”
“Do all the grids have similar numbers?”
“Yes.” Max swiped the display, returning to the screen with the organization charts. “What do you see?”
Noble studied the screen briefly. “A number is written in the upper-right hand corner of the FEMA chart. It looks to be in the same handwriting.”
“I noted it also. I’m stumped but determined to find the meaning behind the numbers.”
“Keep working on it. That might give us our first clue. Let’s get back to the next grid.”
Max spun the display once more and placed another grid to the right of the one for WECC. “This is for ERCOT, the Electric Reliability Council of Texas, naturally covering Texas and twenty-three million Texans. It is also the Texas Interconnection. Their control center is in Taylor, Texas.”
The Ultimate Revenge Page 3
