Frozen End: A Novel

By F.H. Nader PH.D.

His encounter with a strikingly beautiful woman sets off a chain of events that lead professor Sam Baradi to track down the people responsible for the collapse of economies and markets.

The accumulation of seemingly unrelated events -- like the meltdown of financial markets, the flare-up of hostilities in Gaza, the tsunami of Internet misinformation, and the flood of anti-Semitic gossip -- threatens to bring the world to a frozen end.

Thrust in the middle of this mayhem, Sams adventures take him from the splendors of Bostons waterfront to the snow-capped Swiss Alps and the stunning Mediterranean beaches, as he tries to prevent a nefarious group from pushing mankind past a threshold where an irreversible shift in power would occur.



Book Review

A suave, intelligent technology analyst combines forces with a beautiful government attorney to combat international terrorism.

Sam Baradi has it all - Ivy League degrees, tenure at Cornell University (quite a feat at age 28), a moneyed, international pedigree, and to top it off, killer good looks. So he's excited to meet his match one night at a bar -the stunning Samantha Holzman, whose interests and talents eerily match his own. They quickly discover that they both deal in high-level national security issues, and , as they learn the hard way, both their families are somehow involved. Meanwhile, halfway across the world in a hotbed of Middle Eastern terrorism, a dangerous Islamic seet is plotting an ultimate coup -they plan to undermine the American financial system, which will weaken every major market, so they can snatch up companies and assets at basement-level prices. Unfortunately, the terrorist organization plans to do this via hacking influential financiers' computers, an area in which Sam is supremely skilled. This sets a stage for high-tech, high-stakes global battle that pits the budding couple against a series of devious enemies. All the elements of a good thriller are present and accounted for. The old-world wealth and leading-protagonists' good looks combined with an eager sense of character development add to the action. What Nader does well is paint pictures of evil, both individual and societal. The leader of the terrorist group is a slithering, deviant-eyed tyrant, and he oozes malice.

Kirkus Discoveries

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 2, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462811618

F.H. Nader PH.D.

F. H. Nader writes his first novel based on over 25 years of experience advising high-technology organizations. He was a director in the TIME2 (Telecommunications, Information Technology, Media, Entertainment and Electronics) and SPOT (Shipping, Postal, On-line, and Transport) practices at renowned international consulting companies. He founded his own firm at the turn of the century. Dr. Nader has personally visited all the countries in the book since he led assignments in over 30 countries, formulating winning strategies, redesigning business processes, auditing information systems, planning and deploying technology and modernization projects, assessing high-tech concepts, and optimizing complex operations. His Masters degree in Systems Engineering, and Professional degree in Industrial Management are from Northeastern University. His doctorate in Business Management is from California University, and his post-doctoral work is in Operations Research and Information Engineering at Cornell University.

Book preview

Frozen End

A NOVEL

F.H. NADER, PH.D.

Copyright © 2009 by F.H. Nader, Ph.D.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may

be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination

or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales

is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

58466

To my wife and daughters, the inspirational

women in my life.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

GLOSSARY

Endnotes

CHAPTER ONE

Sam felt comfortable on Suicide Point. Just standing on the bridge staring at the rocks that he could barely see way down below had a calming effect on him. Cornell University had become his home and Ithaca and the entire Finger Lakes region his back yard. It was Friday afternoon and he had just finished giving his class on the newest treats in information technology. He brought the topic to life by showing the students how easy it is to steal a person’s identity.

Professor Sam Baradi had finished his Ph.D. dissertation a year ago, and the ivy league school offered him a teaching position as soon as he got his degree. They told him that he had become one of the world’s leading experts on high-tech security and the growing vulnerability of technology as the world increases its dependence on computers and information connectivity.

The weekend was here and Sam liked to go out and unwind far away from Ithaca. He was only 28 years old but felt much older in a classroom, under the intense looks of his students. He started walking towards his townhouse on the outskirts of the campus. He wanted to spend some time getting ready before taking the highway to Binghamton. He thought that the city was far enough that he could drink, dance, meet women and generally act his age with little risk of being recognized by a Cornell student.

Sam felt his stomach growling as he drove down Front Street. He glanced at the Patek Philippe wristwatch, that his mother had bought him on his most recent trip home, which coincided with inauguration of the Swiss watchmaker redesigned salon on Rue du Rhône in Geneva. It was past 10:45pm and he knew that the chances of finding a restaurant still serving food at this hour were slim to none. He was hungry and did not know his way around Binghamton.

‘Forget it,’ he thought; ‘I’ll just have some peanuts at the bar.’

He believed it would be better—or at least less embarrassing—if he arrived at a bar or disco that had lots of people in line, that way he would sneak in incognito. Besides, women waiting in line in this cold and snowy weather were the best endorsement for the quality of nightlife at the place.

His mind was racing a little, trying to remember the details from his last trip to Binghamton. It seemed like another lifetime ago. He liked the city and was considering even moving here when he got wonderful job offers from reputable companies in his field like IBM and Lockheed-Martin. They had mentioned at the interview that they wanted him to work on military or national security programs. Was it his computer expertise, his language skills—He was fluent in five foreign languages and conversant in quite a few more—or his multi-cultural background? They were never quite clear on that, neither were they forthcoming about his quality of life, beyond a substantial salary and bonus. In fact, they had actually hinted at periods of captivity for the duration of some of these government projects.

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket and squaring his shoulders, Sam walked across the side street where he parked his car, towards the water. He blinked the moisture from his eyes and continued toward what looked like a pleasant bar with well-dressed people outside. He caught the women in-line staring and smiling at him as he approached. He returned their smiles carefully; he did not want to antagonize their men friends.

As a consequence of his singular focus on his studies this past decade, he often under-estimated how handsome he was. Recently, however, he’s been constantly reminded by the intense looks he gets from women everywhere from the supermarket to the tennis court. He was so good looking he drew looks everywhere he went. Mothers sometimes send their kids to ask him strange questions like ‘where’re you from?’ Or ‘where did you get the nice tan?’ Or ‘where did you learn to ski so well?’

The place had a strange name, someone’s initials or was it somebody’s first name. No matter, it was big, with a couple of dance floors, two bars, and several entertainment areas with pool tables, dartboards and such. Despite the size there was only one place to stand without being trampled by young professionals constantly moving around. He aimed for the spot at the far end of the bar near the entrance to the ladies room.

The bar tender looked at him with a little smirk and shook his head negatively when Sam ordered a mudslide then a banana daiquiri. He wanted a substantively nutritious drink but no luck: the blender did not work. He had to endure the looks of a couple of guys around him as he settled for a glass of red wine. ‘I guess wine is not a real man’s drink around here, I should have asked for beer,’ he thought.

He reached for a basket of popcorn that had not been touched. This might not be the most hygienic way to stuff one’s face, next to the bathroom and from a basket that was bound to attract more hands than just his. He did not care. He was hungry, besides he had overheard his student discussing how that location was the most strategic one in a bar. Almost all women frequently go to the washrooms to freshen up and you get to compare how each one looks going in and coming out under some sort of lighting that is unavailable in the rest of the place.

A beautiful blonde girl passed in front of him coming out of the washroom. He flashed his welcoming smile at her. In this lighting, his Mediterranean olive skin tone flattered his sparkling hazel eyes and his perfect white teeth.

She stopped as if mesmerized and said: Hi.

Hello, replied Sam, You look great. May I ask if you’d allow me to remove the paper napkin that’s stuck to the bottom of your shoe?

She looked down and saw the paper that was stubbornly attached to her right heel. She was grateful he had said napkin and not toilet paper.

I am so embarrassed she said blushing almost childishly.

Please don’t be, he said. It gave me an excuse to say hello, although I would have anyway.

I think I said hi first, she said correcting him.

Maybe, but I said hello first, he replied smiling while he bent down to remove the toilet paper. He felt that if she saw him on his knee, she might feel more comfortable. My name is Sam he went on and you look even prettier from down here. ‘That was lame; she must hear that she’s beautiful all the time,’ he thought. He had thought of steeling a line from a song that he had heard if I told you that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me. But thank goodness he thought better of it.

To his surprise, she almost cheered: What a coincidence, my name is Sam too, Short for Samantha of course.

Sam Holzman she continued. I am from Bean Town, I am here to celebrate with my friends. She pointed to a table that had about half a dozen empty champagne bottles, with a boy-girl-boy-girl seating arrangement around it.

Where are you from? she went on.

Sam dreaded that question. With years of practice, he had perfected a 10-minute answer. That was still too long. He did not want to ramble and lose the magic of the moment. So he chose to respond partially. I’m Sam Baradi. Congratulations. Are you celebrating a birthday? he diverted her question with one of his own.

Not really. We’re attorneys and we’ve just won an important case. Baradi, sounds Italian? she persisted.

Not really, I was born in Haifa, Israel . . . Mazel Tov. He said, congratulating her on her good fortune. He felt uneasy with this line of questioning, like under cross-examination and she was obviously a good lawyer. So he decided to be a little flip, hoping it was not politically incorrect. Was your client an exercise tycoon and were you dressed in pink, like in Legally Blonde?

Toda Raba she said thanking him in Hebrew and looking at the gold chain and cross that Sam had around his neck. Would you like to join me at our table? I would love to introduce you to my friends. A Catholic Israeli, that’s a definite rarity.

I’d love to get to know you better as well, he said feeling a little uncomfortable about being put on display. I didn’t mean to mislead, I’m originally Swiss but I have become an American citizen sometime ago now. Can we dance and talk first, and maybe get back to the table later?"

They danced and talked and danced and talked some more. Sam was getting a little tangled up with his nuanced, partially true answers to her questions. He did not tell her that he was a professor, but rather a computer security consultant. He mentioned that he lived relatively close by. She possibly understood that that was right around the corner.

He felt a little ashamed of his half-truths, and wondered whether she was interpreting his answers as highly favoring a long-term relationship.

Maybe I’m too forward she said. But, I am 33 years old and I can recognize a good man when I see one. I enjoy your company and would like to see you again, perhaps on a proper date, I don’t mind driving up to meet you.

I’d love to see you again too. Sam said somewhat un-committedly. You sound like you’re saying goodbye. Didn’t you want to introduce me to your colleagues?

Sam was happy at the prospect of making a new friend, particularly a Harvard graduate, by way of Andover’s Philips Academy. He always felt he wasn’t from anywhere nor did he belong anywhere; he had moved from country to country all his life and had precious few friends. He had also lost track of his high-school buddies; they weren’t that close anyway, and he did not make any real good friends at college. He had a connection with Samantha. She was pretty, smart, and mature. He felt he could talk to her as a friend and wondered if intimacy might mess up the chemistry they had.

Seemingly reading his mind, she said: you’re my friend and I don’t really want to share you with anyone at that table. We can go to my hotel and bypass them altogether. Anyway, this place is closing in a few minutes.

How late do they serve room service at your hotel? It would be nice to have a candle-light dinner, he said catching himself as he was about to let on how hungry he was.

I don’t know, but I am starving she said saving him from having to admit it first. There’s always the mini-bar just in case

He followed her to the exit and then, as he was about to tell her that his car was just around the corner, she handed her valet ticket and pointed to a Mercedes-Benz Maybach parked a few feet away.

Jeez said Sam a little tongue in cheek as he opened the driver door for Samantha I am pampered in the lap of luxury.

I forgot to mention that I am fairly wealthy, she said almost apologetically.

The hotel room was even fancier than the car. The candlelight dinner was first class. A delicious meal was brought five minutes after it was ordered. Samantha let on, after a few more drinks and a full stomach, that her Beacon Hill apartment was a top-floor duplex overlooking the Charles Rives on one end and the Waterfront on the other, but that she spent most of her weekends on The Vineyard, in summer time that is.

They both took their clothes off and lay down in their underwear in the plush king size bed as naturally as if they had done it all their lives.

You don’t mind sleeping with an older woman? she questioned, surprising him.

What older woman? he responded politely. You’re like several years younger than I am.

How old are you? she persisted.

I am 35 he lied, holding her tight.

They slept soundly in one-another’s arms all night.

CHAPTER TWO

Samantha woke up first. She had never slept with someone on the first date, actually slept. Nothing really happened but she felt completely satisfied. Not that last night was a date anyway. She looked at Sam’s face and hoped that he was the one. She really liked him, more than liked him even.

Maybe this was love at first sight. The men she had known were either after her for her money or were conceited, self-centered jerks. She felt Sam was different. She got up to get him breakfast in bed; another thing she had never done before. She was used to being waited on hand and foot. She could not recall serving anyone anything. But today she was happy to do it. She called down for some scrambled eggs, toast, coffee and orange juice, to be put on a bed tray. She carried the tray into the bedroom, and waited for Sam to wake up.

A few minutes later, his cell phone rang so loudly that it startled him. He rubbed his eyes and saw her. Samantha, I hope you don’t think badly of me, I’ve never slept with anyone a few hours after meeting them. It just felt right.

"I like that you call me Samantha, only my dad called me by my full name, everyone else abbreviates it to Sam.

Is that for me? It’s heaven! You cook too, he said pointing to the breakfast tray. She placed it on his lap and propped up his pillows.

Yeah sure, in a five star hotel with room service she replied sarcastically. Don’t forget. Your cell phone.

He had a missed call from an unknown number and a voice mail. He put the cell phone back on the night table. It was Saturday and he didn’t feel like answering any calls.

I don’t want anything to interrupt our time together, he explained. I bet you’re going back to Boston at check out, and I don’t want to waist our time together making calls.

The cell phone kept interrupting; now, it was beeping and blinking intermittently. ‘Must be a text message,’ he thought reaching for the night table where he had placed it last night. He read: Appelle ta maman tout de suite, ton père vient d’être tué.

He slowly raised his head and stared morosely at Samantha. She had read the SMS too. I am really sorry your father passed away, she said. I lost mine when I was just a kid and I know how devastating it can be. If I can do anything or help in anyway . . .

It’s a mistake, he interrupted. The corner of his mouth twitched, as he tried to understand what the news meant. My dad died before I was born. By the way, I didn’t know you spoke French. Boy, we’ve got more in common than I thought.

Honestly Sam, it’s a very strange text message. I don’t speak French well. I took a few courses and visited the côte d’azur in college. I can still understand it a little if I read it slowly, and I am pretty sure it said your father was killed or murdered or something nefarious like that.

Right. I’ll just call my mother. Sam said, choking slightly on a piece of his pastry.

To say that he was utterly flabbergasted at the mother-son phone conversation that ensued is a massive under-statement. What had started as a nice dream-like day was rapidly deteriorating into a nightmare. I have to go. He told Samantha apologetically.

How’re you going half way around the world today? she asked trying to not let on that she had eavesdropped.

Pardon? he said absentmindedly, dialing AA—American the first airline he had in his phone directory.

She persisted: It sounded like you might be going to Tel Aviv to attend a funeral. You won’t make it to Shiva, if it starts tonight as customary.

I never knew the man. I just found out two minutes ago that he was my father, and that his skull was shattered by a remotely triggered explosion in his car headrest. I’ll just go to Geneva and ask my mother some questions.

Samantha’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the news of the horrific death, and she grasped Sam’s forearm with enough force to almost leave red marks. I can drive you to the airport, if you’d like. She whispered.

It’s nice of you to offer but you don’t have to, anyway I have to go to Cornell to pack a little suitcase and notify someone of my travel plan, he said, realizing that she was anxious to help in some way. Then, noticing the puzzled look, he continued: I don’t know if I mentioned it, I’m a professor at the university.

Samantha lifted an eyebrow in admiration: Oh? There are some things I didn’t tell you about me either. I didn’t want to brag, ha ha. I don’t mind taking you to Ithaca and then back down to the airport. We can tell one another some of the things we haven’t so far.

Thank you, he said appreciatively. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to leave my car on a busy street in Binghamton. Can you follow me to Ithaca instead, and we’ll ride together from there? That way you can see what car I drive and where I live.

A few hours later, they were on their way to Boston, but neither had said much, until Samantha proposed: how about we take turns telling each other one thing we’d never guess. I can start if you’d like.

He shook his head affirmatively.

I work for the Justice Department she went on I am the Assistant Attorney General in Charge of the National Security Division.

Wow Samantha! I thought we could work our way up to the big revelations slowly, not start with the huge ones. You know, like my thing you probably can’t guess is that I went to boarding school till I was 18.

Does that mean you didn’t lose your virginity till your twenties? Now, that’s a pretty big revelation. She asked, taking her eyes off the road and smiling at him.

Who said I have, even now? he smirked. I’m saving myself for the right woman.

Ok. My turn. She said looking away this time, "my father