The H Factor

By L. E. Indianer

Marc Garrett and Gerri Miller meet in the first semester of their freshman year at Georgia Tech. Both major in Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering. They become romantically involved by the second semester and partner for a three-year undergraduate thesis. Their ambitious project involves the design of the “H Factor,” a device which will separate hydrogen from water, convert it into energy, and could eliminate the need for fossil fuels. Their goals are three-fold—improve the environment and reduce global warming, eliminate the United States’ and its ally’s dependence on foreign oil, and stop the revenues that the oil produces to fund terrorism around the world.
When the H Factor passes its tests on the proving grounds of Universal Motors, Marc and Gerri face unforeseen dangers. Desperate to obtain the technology and unable to block production of the new hydrogen converter, Iranian government officials set in motion plans to forcibly seize it and its invertors. The Israeli Mossad gets wind of this and passes it on to the CIA, who in turn alerts Gerri and Marc. Faced with a deadly confrontation in the midst of global turmoil, the students are determined to survive. Their actions and decisions drive rapidly to a startling conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. E. Indianer
• Release date: Mar 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463395165

L. E. Indianer

L. E. INDIANER: Author of the successful novel "A BRIDGE TO ELNE: Novel of a French Family's Struggle against the Nazi Occupation," Indianer grew up in Miami Beach, Florida. He attended the University of Alabama and Southern College of Optometry. Before opening his practice in Daytona Beach, Florida, he served as a U. S. Air Force Bio-Medical Services Officer for three years. A long time lecturer on eye-related subjects, he has also lectured on the Soviet Union and International Terrorism. As an avid golfer, skier and tennis player for many years, he has traveled world-wide with his family and friends enjoying his other hobby, photography. He has written two plays, ƩAMMY and A BRIDGE TO ELNE, on which his first novel is based. He and his wife, Helaine, have two daughters and seven grandchildren.

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Also, by L. E. Indianer

A BRIDGE TO ELNE

Novel of a French Family’s Struggle Against the Nazi Occupation

PROLOGUE

Munich, Germany - 1996

The bullets slammed into the windowsill inches above Samuel’s head, shattering glass and splinters into the air. He hurled himself to the sidewalk, seeking protection behind a rubber tire of the BMW parked next to the curb. In that instant he heard two muffled shots from the revolver that had been fired at him. My God that was close, he murmured. The bastard must have had a silencer. Pulling himself to a crouch, he jerked the 9 mm Beretta 92FS automatic from his shoulder holster and scanned the sidewalk behind him. The only thing he could see was a few startled pedestrians and a line of cars parked along the Arnulfstrasse. Apparently, the assassin has vanished, he thought.

The dark figure had quickly emerged from the concealment of a small alleyway and disappeared between two automobiles, and then made his way across the street. He blended into the shadowy recess of a doorway and waited for his quarry to reappear. For now, though, he would have to wait for another time and place.

Al-Wahhab began following Samuel Rosenthal from the time the American’s Lufthansa flight set down the previous day at Flughafen München-Franz Josef Strauss (Munich Airport). He and an accomplice were being paid to eliminate Rosenthal and the Russian he was in Germany to meet. These two men posed a threat to an Arab terrorist group intent on acquiring nuclear weapons.

Rosenthal scanned the area around him and saw nothing of his would-be assailant. He stood up and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He had never been shot at before, but he was a professional and could handle the situation. He thought, how in the hell did anyone know I was here? At least now I know I’m a designated target. His intended meeting at the Augustinerkeller Beer Garden would have to be postponed and moved to another location. He would phone his contact from his hotel. His handlers had instructed him to obtain the information at all costs, but getting himself killed wasn’t part of the plan.

Quickly he made his way back to the Bayerstrasse and trotted toward the Meridian Hotel, stopping frequently to look to his rear. He assumed his assailant would be following.

Born of a Jewish mother and a father, Samuel Rosenthal did not like any assignment in Germany. He remembered horror stories his parents had told him about his grandparents and how they and two aunts had died in the nearby Dachau concentration camp. The Nazis were dead or rehabilitated, and America had new enemies to worry about, but the horrendous deeds that had occurred here haunted him. He wished his handlers would choose somewhere else to assign him. He would be glad when his meeting was completed so he could leave this city.

Rosenthal was good at his job. Even a professional would be unable to decipher what he really did. At least that was what he thought. His light brown hair, blue eyes, and infectious smile labeled him as a happy American on his first trip to Europe. No one should suspect that he was a nuclear terrorist expert for the CIA. He looked more like an accountant than an Ian Fleming character. Even his wife had no idea of the danger that he faced daily. She knew where he worked but thought his job was that of an analyst. His close brush with death, a few minutes earlier, was no accident. Someone knew who he was and why he was here. And someone was trying to kill him.

From his Meridian Hotel room, Samuel pulled a pad from his briefcase and dialed a number from his mobile. Yuri?

A thickly accented voice answered. "Da!"

"We have to move our meeting place. Someone tried to shoot me on Arnulfstrasse near the restaurant."

"My God! How you doing…OK?

Yes, a bit shaken but I’m okay. Damn near took my head off though.

"You did see who it was, no?

No. The bastard had a silencer and quickly disappeared. He probably followed me back to the hotel. But we need this meeting so let’s pick another place.

The Russian hesitated for a moment then said, "There is small restaurant called the Hoch located at the Marienplatz Town Square."

I can find it, Samuel answered.

Meet me there…two hours, yes. The phone went dead.

Samuel took a cab that dropped him off on the Kaufingerstrasse on the west side of the Marianplatz. He turned into the icy February wind and strolled to the Town Hall square, reaching it precisely at three o’clock, just in time to blend with the first-time visitors watching the glockenspiel come out of the main clock tower. The merry-go-round music began, and Samuel watched the crowd gather as the wooden figures began their circular parade in and out of the tower. The size of the crowd made him uneasy. His assailant was still somewhere out there and no doubt watching him. It was impossible to keep track of everyone there.

After a few minutes, he retreated to his rendezvous site, up the stairs to the Hoch, a quaint, small restaurant overlooking the square and the Town Hall. A waiter led him to a booth near the window, where he could meet with the Russian informant and have a good view of the crowd below. The Russian was not there. Samuel sat with his back to the wall and waited. He ordered a beer, but only sipped at it. His informant had never been late, at least not for their three previous meetings. Yuri Viscov was a former KGB agent who had learned of a coalition of Middle Eastern terrorist groups who were trying to acquire small nuclear devices to use against Israel and the United States.

The show outside ended, and Rosenthal watched the crowd disperse. He wondered why Yuri had failed to come. Had he sold his information to a more generous benefactor? Had a terrorist group caught him? Had they tortured him? Was he dead? Did they know about this meeting? He signaled the waiter for his bill.

Then the door opened, and Yuri stepped into the entryway. Yuri’s gaze darted out the window and then swept over the room briefly. Then he forced a smile and walked across the floor to the booth. Samuel wondered why he did not remove his heavy coat and why he kept his right hand in his pocket.

Yuri sat down and the two men greeted each other as if they were good friends getting ready to talk about an upcoming soccer match. The Hoch was now starting to fill up and everyone would have been alarmed to know the true content of the conversation, save for two sinister-looking men sitting several tables away from them. One was Eastern European and the other of Middle Eastern extraction, both frequently seen in Germany. Their faces were obscured by the dim light, and they seemed innocuous to Yuri and Samuel.

After ordering their late lunch and two more beers, Yuri told Samuel about the research being done in the Ukraine by a couple of rogue scientists from the former Soviet Union. They had bought almost half the nuclear material they needed for their project on the black market. Now, they were looking for the balance of what they required, but had run out of money. They had to get the word out through the global terrorist network, which had its beginnings as a rouge organization in the late 1980s in Afghanistan to advance the cause of radical Islam. The scientists knew that these were the people who would come up with the money; furthermore, if their research was successful, they would be the first ones who would want to buy these small nuclear devices.

So what’s your best guess on who’s going to come up with the money for these SND’s? Samuel asked, as if he didn’t know.

Hah! Yuri threw his head back and chuckled. In his thick Russian accent, he continued, It is not a guess, my friend…Yuri never comes to you with guesses, only the facts. He leaned in toward Samuel and whispered, The Saudis. No one else has that kind of money to acquire such materials. Besides the Iranians over the last few years, who do you think has been funding most of the terrorism around the world? The Saudis may not even know where their money is going, but when asked to give, they give to protect themselves.

You’re right, of course, Samuel replied. But even if they do acquire these materials, what are the chances that these two scientists have the capability to produce an SND?

Yuri looked directly in Samuel’s eyes. Maybe they have the ability to build one, and maybe they do not. That is precisely why I wanted to talk to you, my friend. I have this folder containing scientific data, enough information that your people could analyze and make this decision as to its authenticity. He pushed a manila envelope across the table and Rosenthal slipped it into the large inside pocket of his London Fog coat that was draped behind his chair.

Samuel barely noticed when the two men across the room stood and left the restaurant. After a few more questions, he took a white envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Yuri. It contained twenty thousand dollars in new, crisp one hundred dollar bills, which Yuri discretely pocketed. Nothing more had to be said; the meeting was over.

Yuri was the first to get up and walk down the stairs. Samuel sat at the table for another fifteen minutes sipping a cup of coffee and eating a piece of apple strudel. He pondered the implications the SNDs could have on destabilizing the Western world. He pulled his somewhat bulky mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed his CIA contact at the U.S. Council’s office in Munich.

Harris Pittman, said the voice on the other end of the line. Pittman had joined the Agency five years after Samuel, and they had worked together on several occasions in Europe. He oversaw monitoring Islamic terrorist’s movements throughout the continent. They got along well and trusted each other implicitly.

Hi, Harris, this is Samuel. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, This will be real quick, so listen to me for a sec. He paused, and then lowered his voice. "We need to analyze some TS stuff stat at your office. Could you pick me up at the northern entrance of the Marienplatz, on the Dienerstrasse, in about ten minutes?"

It’ll take me about fifteen to twenty minutes, with the traffic this time of day. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Pittman hung up and could sense that Samuel was more anxious than usual, even though he did say that this was Top Secret. He grabbed his Italian-made overcoat and hat and put them on. Clothes fit this former University of Georgia football player well. His broad shoulders, muscular build, flat face and nose had led those around the Agency to refer to him as Bulldog, not for just his looks, but for the fact that he had attended the University of Georgia.

After making the call, Samuel left the Hoch, and started walking cautiously toward the northern entrance of the Marienplatz. He hadn’t gotten far when a man approached him and asked for the time. He was trained to recognize accents, and there was no doubt that this foreigner was from Saudi Arabia and that he had seen this man recently, and prior to that in a photo…Oh shit, the restaurant! The two men that were leaving. Samuel went for his Beretta in his chest holster, but the Arab had the drop on him, as he felt a gun sticking into his ribs.

Do not try it, Rosenthal, or you are a dead man, the burly man said in a low voice. He nodded toward his right, where a sign read Toiletten, and said, "If you cooperate, no harm will come to you. I could have killed you back on the Arnulfstrasse if I had wanted to. That was meant to scare you. I only want those papers that Viscov passed to you in the restaurant. Now move."

They walked toward the public restrooms. No one was inside the men’s room, as the Arab pushed Samuel toward the middle of the room. Samuel could now see that the man had a silencer on his SIG Sauer P229 pistol and knew that he didn’t have a chance of surviving this unless he did something fast. Now, said the man, slowly take off your coat and hand me the documents. If you make any sudden moves, I will shoot you.

Samuel first took his arm out of his right sleeve, then removed the other, and suddenly flung his coat into his captor’s face. He could hear the swish of the silencer’s bullet, but it hit the mirror behind him. Samuel lunged at the Arab with all his force, knocking him to the floor, but with the pistol still in his right hand. Samuel raised his fist to hit him when he heard and then felt the bullet entering his body through his abdomen and into his chest. He fell over immediately, in great pain and bleeding profusely. He watched the man take the envelope and flee the bathroom. He couldn’t tell how long he lay there on the tile floor, but right before he passed out he remembered the man’s name.

After an elderly gentleman found him, the ambulance arrived in minutes. The emergency medical technicians got him on a gurney, tried to stop the bleeding and gave him oxygen. Samuel was revived for just thirty seconds, and right before he died he whispered to the EMTs, Saudi…Khalid ibn Abd al-Wahhab…

After waiting twenty minutes for Samuel to show up, Pittman saw the EMTs wheeling a gurney across the Square. His first instinct was to jump out of his car to see if it was Samuel, but realized if it was his friend, then he may also be a target. He drove back to his office, made some calls, and eventually found out that Samuel was murdered; and, in an unrelated incident, a man with a Russian passport was also murdered not far from the Marienplatz. That cannot be a coincidence. I’ll find out who he is and then make my report to Washington.

He soon made the call that he dreaded. Samuel’s wife in Virginia answered after the first ring. He heard her gasp at the sound of his voice.

What’s wrong?

There’s no easy way to tell you this. He paused, and then said, Samuel is dead.

Pittman expected a flurry of questions, but he heard only sobs. He tried to fill the void with facts that he hoped would soothe the pain. He was a brave man. He died for his country. He told her everything he knew about the incident.

When he was finished, she broke her silence. "Thank you, Harris. At least some day I’ll be able to tell our young son exactly how his father died and who killed him.

CHAPTER 1

Atlanta, Georgia…Georgia Tech University – August 29, 2011

Classes started the week before on the Georgia Tech campus, and Marc Garrett was having lunch at the Student Union cafeteria. He was a first semester freshman and was gradually finding his way around the school. His break lasted for another 1½ hours before his afternoon labs began. It was enough time to brush up on a chemistry experiment he would be testing today.

As he was reading his notes, a girl walked by his table that caught his eye. She was tall, blonde and very attractive. He had noticed her once before in one of his science classes, but it was only a fleeting glance. Marc continued to stare at her as she went through the lunch line, carrying several books at the same time. The thought occurred to him to get up, help her with her books and then ask her to sit down with him. By the time he got up enough nerve to do this, he was beaten to the punch by an upper classman that she appeared to know. That figures, Marc thought. She’s likely going with this guy, and besides I’m only a freshman and probably not in her league anyway. He went back to reading his notes.

Two weeks later, in one of the larger GT lecture halls, the Humanities class was filling up quickly for a guest lecturer from Princeton. Marc had found a seat halfway back along the outside aisle. Seconds later, before he could sit down, a young lady tapped him on the shoulder and said, Excuse me. Can I squeeze in next to you? It was the same co-ed Marc had seen in the cafeteria. She put her books on the foldout desk in front of her, and then sat down at the same time Marc did in his seat.

She turned to him and smiled. Hi. I’m Gerri Miller. I think you’re in my Materials Science introduction class.

Marc could hardly get the words out of his mouth, but managed to say, Yes, Professor May’s class. I think I’ve seen you there, also. He smiled back, and just looked at her for a few seconds. Oh, sorry…I’m Marc Garrett. It’s nice to meet you, Gerri. They shook hands. He was about to say something else, when someone at the microphone began introducing the man from Princeton.

The hour lecture was wasted completely on Marc. All he could think about was this amazing girl sitting next to him. Gerri felt something also about this rather handsome, dark-haired boy with blue eyes, but she wasn’t sure what it was, and managed to hear most of the talk. When it was concluded, Gerri jumped up and grabbed her books. Gotta run to Dobbs chemistry class. Nice meeting you, Garrett.

It’s Marc…Marc Garrett.

OK. See you in class, Marc. She rushed off quickly.

Damn, Marc thought, she couldn’t even remember my name. This is going nowhere fast.

For the next month, except for an occasional greeting, both students were deep into their studies. Mid-term exams were quickly closing in on them, and the GT Library was packed every night. Marc had seen Gerri with the same boy from the cafeteria several times, and just about given up on getting to know her any better, until one evening when walking out of the library, they bumped into each other.

Gerri introduced the two young men. Marc, this is Bobby Ger. He’s a junior. We grew up together in Savannah and have been good friends for a long time. He’s like my big brother here at Tech. She gave Bobby a rub on the back.

Bobby shook hands with Marc, and then joked, Yeah, I have to look after my 'little sister'…make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble. I’m not worried about her keeping up with her studies, ‘cause I think she’s about the smartest person I’ve ever met. Gerri shook her head.

His words were like music to Marc’s ears. He was elated that this wasn’t her boyfriend. But before Marc had a chance to digest all this, he blurted out, Why don’t we all go over to the Varsity and have some coffee…my treat.

That sounds great, Gerri replied. I need a break. How ‘bout you, Bobby?

No, not tonight, thanks. I have to go by the frat house and help one of the pledges with his physics exam that’s coming up. He paused. Marc, do you mind taking Gerri back to her dorm?

I’ll be happy to.

Marc and Gerri walked across the Interstate 85 overpass to a fixture in Atlanta—the Varsity, the World’s Largest Drive-in Restaurant. Marc couldn’t believe his good fortune. They both ordered decaf coffee, and shared an apple pie a' la mode.

So tell me more about you, Gerri, Marc said. Where are you from?

I was born and raised in Savannah, where my parents grew up also. She paused to take in another spoonful of ice cream. Actually, several generations of my family have lived there. And how about you, Marc?

Well, I grew up here in Atlanta with my mother and stepfather.

Where in Atlanta?

On Spaulding Drive in Sandy Springs. Not very far from here. Do you come up to Atlanta very often?

Hmm, maybe a couple times a year to see family and friends. We come with my Dad sometimes if he has business in Atlanta.

What does your Dad do?

He’s a patent attorney who was affiliated with a firm up here for several years. He still does some work for them on occasion. She took a taste of the pie. How about your stepfather?

He’s an orthopaedic surgeon and a great guy. He adopted me when I was five years old, and I’m their only child. Do you have any brothers or sisters?

No, I’m an only child also. My parents are great, too. They’ve always encouraged me to pursue my academic dreams, regardless of how far-fetched they were, and believe me I had some wild ideas.

Like what…becoming an astronaut?

She laughed. Exactly! How did you know?

It was just a good guess, but I thought about the same thing for awhile; and besides, at six feet three inches I’m probably too tall to maneuver in the space shuttle. At this point, I’m really not sure what lies ahead. I’m majoring in chemical and biomolecular engineering, and with the economy being like it is, I hope I’ll have a job waiting when I graduate.

That’s my major, too, but my final goal is to have a career as a medical research scientist. When I was looking into potential universities, Tech had everything I needed for undergrad and graduate school. Even though they can afford it, I’m thankful my parents won’t have to pay as much for all this…I was lucky to get a full academic scholarship, at least for the first four years.

Yeah, that’s great. My academic scholarship came through the month before I graduated from high school. I feel the same way you do about my parents not having to put out all this money. I’ve been getting athletic scholarship offers for the last couple years to play basketball at various small schools around the country, but ever since I was a little kid, I always had my mind set on going to Georgia Tech.

Wow…we have so many things in common. I’ve had offers from several small colleges to play golf and volleyball, but that’s not what I want out of college. She stared at him for a second. You know something, Marc, I think I saw you play basketball against Savannah Country Day School where I attended. Did you go to the Woodward Academy here in Atlanta?

Yes, I spent twelve years at Woodward…it really prepared me well for Tech; and we did play Country Day a couple times, as I recall. Why didn’t you come over and speak to me? he asked jokingly. They both laughed, and Marc was finding himself much more at ease with this wonderful person that had beautiful green eyes and a vivacious personality.

Marc walked Gerri back to Cloudman, the girl’s freshman dormitory. Not wanting to be too forward, Marc said goodbye, and gave her a peck on the cheek. Both Gerri and Marc knew that there was almost an instant chemistry between them on that night, and in the ensuing weeks ahead they got together at least twice a week. She did make it clear, though, on the fourth date that she didn’t want to get serious this soon, when Marc suggested that they go steady.

I think that we should give ourselves a chance, for awhile, to meet some other people, Gerri said. Let’s keep our minds open and not rush into this. Before we commit to any kind of relationship, we both have to be sure that this is the right thing to do.

Marc knew that she was taking the mature route and agreed to her terms. Even though Gerri did go out with some other guys, Marc had no interest in going out with anyone else, and spent most of his time studying.

It wasn’t until Thanksgiving break that everything changed. Gerri invited Marc to come to Savannah for a few days to meet her parents. She had already been with his parents to dinner at the Standard Club, where they belonged, and on one more occasion, they all played golf together. Gerri impressed everyone by shooting a seventy-eight and won the match.

The day after Thanksgiving with his family, Marc drove 4½ hours to Savannah. Gerri’s parents were very hospitable, and it turned out to be a memorable weekend. On one of their walks on Tybee beach, Marc held her close to warm her from the cold, chilly November winds. They embraced and kissed for a long time, and then, almost simultaneously, said that they loved each other. From that moment on, they were in a steady relationship.

On Sunday morning, Marc drove Gerri back to Atlanta. Do you want to come back to my dorm? he asked her.

Without hesitation Gerri said, Yes, it would be nice to finally see it. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

When they got back to his room, they lay on his bed, embraced and talked.

I want you to be sure that this is what you really want to do, Marc said. As much as I want to make love to you, I want you to be comfortable and know that I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes.

Marc, that’s sweet of you and I appreciate, more than you can imagine, how thoughtful you are. This is my first time and I’ve always wanted it to be with someone that I really loved. Well, there’s no doubt that I really love you and am sure that I want you as much as you want me.

They held each other and slowly started to unbutton the other’s clothes, feeling their way over each other’s body. After a minute, Gerri said, Can I borrow one of your long shirts? I’ll change in the bathroom; there are some things I have to do.

He gave her a football jersey, and she went into the bathroom to change, while he undressed. When she returned, Marc was waiting for her. Gerri slid under the sheets and felt his naked body. She sat up, slipped off the jersey and turned around to face him. He was aroused to see her magnificent body. Within seconds they intertwined, touching for a long time, and then he was inside of her. When they finally climaxed, it was a greater feeling than either one had ever experienced. They never left his room until Marc walked Gerri back to her dorm that evening.

CHAPTER 2

Atlanta, Georgia…Georgia Tech Campus – January 2012

Contrary to operating procedure, Captain Max Pruss took over the controls from the senior watch officer and gently guided the huge dirigible across the lower bay from New York City to the Naval Air Station at Lakehurst, New Jersey. The fast deteriorating weather made handling difficult, but the experienced captain was able to initiate a slow left turn and position the ship into a normal, oval, landing pattern. He began to reduce and reverse power to the engines when he noticed the ship was becoming heavy in the tail.

The large vessel was poised about 180 feet in the sky when the landing ropes were uncoiled and dropped to the ground. It happened so suddenly. The port bow landing party looked skyward and observed a wave-like fluttering of the outer skin, followed by a mushroom shaped flower of fire bursting into bloom in front of the upper fin. Streaks of flame shot out, engulfing the entire tail, followed by a muffled explosion. Quickly the flames spread to the forward sections, consuming the entire frame in seconds. Hundreds of spectators below screamed as the Hindenburg, the largest zeppelin airship ever built, crashed heavily to the ground into a fiery inferno.

The classroom lights came on in the Petit Chemistry and Biotechnology Building, and Professor Dobbs walked to the front of the classroom and stood for a moment, silently staring at his students. You see, he said, in order to achieve proper lift, the great Hindenburg zeppelin was filled with hydrogen. Simply known in scientific terms by the symbol H, hydrogen is not only the most abundant element in the universe, but as you witnessed in the film, also one of the most explosive. Tomorrow we will spend some time talking about hydrogen and how its molecular structure combines with other molecules to make simple components like H2O—water for example.

Marc left the classroom and began the eight block walk to the boarding house on Cherry Street.