Full Blast

“And yet they are unable to defeat my people. We use small strikes. Here and there. We worry at them like a small dog nipping their heels and running away before they can respond. Bertran, my friend, what good are a hundred battle tanks and an electronic airforce against a car packed with explosives driven into a building? Or an innocent-looking young woman walking into a crowd with explosives beneath her clothing?”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Khariza shook his head. “Nothing of worth comes easily. This is a war that cannot be won by usual tactics. It is intended to wear down the Americans. I will hit them in Iraq. Anywhere around the world American interests are vulnerable. They are easy targets. And most of all, I will hit them on their own soil. These warriors you are training will be my army. I will send them wherever they are needed to carry out the struggle. Here and at home, the American government is going to have to live with the bitter taste left by its foul actions against us. We will see how long the American people and their allies are prepared to suffer as we have suffered.”

A chill wind blew in from the north, coming off the timbered peaks and sweeping in over the high cliffs and down into the isolated valley. It brought with it the smell of rain. Khariza huddled into his thick coat.

“We need to step up our attacks. When can you have people ready?”

“Give me two more days with this group and you can ship them out. Razan, are you all right?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You look tired. Take time to rest or you’ll not be able to think straight.”

“It would be pleasant. But there is so much to do, and I need to be in Syria now that my delivery from North Korea has arrived.”

“Your special cargo? Do I get to know what it is? Or should I keep my nose out?”

“When the time comes, Bertran, you will be told. I promise.”

“Good enough. Now, let me get back to see if they have remembered everything I’ve told them.”

“I will talk to them before I leave.”

Khariza stood and watched Bertran return to the group, taking back his command. His raised voice drifted across the rocky landscape. The wind was increasing, tugging at the canvas of the tents where the group was housed when they were not training. It pulled at Khariza’s coat. The first cold drops of rain stung his face and he raised it to the sky. The clouds, heavy and dark, were moving in across the valley.

Razan Khariza saw them as a warning.

There was a storm coming and when it arrived they would all feel its destructive power.

CHAPTER ONE

New Mexico

General Chase Gardener took the thick tumbler of Jack Daniel’s whiskey and made his way across the polished wood floor of his spacious study. At the far end of the long room a panoramic window looked out across the ranch and the immense spread of the New Mexico landscape.

Beyond the rolling grass meadows and timbered slopes he could see the jagged march of the mountains clawing its way to meet the blue of a clear and empty sky.

No matter how many times Gardener looked on this view it made him tight in the throat. The sheer magnificence of the high country always took his breath away.

He sat in the massive leather armchair facing the window and sipped his drink.

Whenever he needed to think things out, to work them over in his mind, Gardener would come to this room, with its book-lined shelves, racks holding his collection of pistols and rifles, where the smell of polished wood and leather mingled with the aroma of the mellow whiskey he took.

Across the ranch yard, close to the creek that meandered across the property at this point, he could see the preserved cabin that the first Gardeners had built. They had sheltered under their wagon while they’d constructed the crude cabin, moving into it exactly one month to the day of their arrival. That had been back in the 1800s. Taking residence in the cabin had been their first move in establishing the Gardener dynasty. From that day on they had staked their claim to the great valley, spending the next years putting down roots, fighting and struggling against men and the elements. They had carved an empire out of the raw wilderness, winning and losing along the way, but they had emerged victorious. Wealthy and powerful. A force to be reckoned with.

Always ready to diversify, the Gardeners had moved with the times, changing course on many occasions, and they’d survived while many of their contemporaries had fallen at the wayside. They spread across the country, seeking new ventures. Always ready for a fresh challenge: cattle, mining, oil, manufacturing. In the mid-1930s Gardener Global was formed, a powerful parent company that reached out and took on America and eventually the world. Gardener Global now had affiliates in countries across the globe.

The Gardener clan had always been patriotic, faithful to the country, and their name had always been connected with the military in all its forms. They had served in every branch of the services, being present in every major conflict, and a great many lesser ones.

Chase Gardener, one of the surviving career soldiers, had a distinguished service record. Twice wounded, he carried every major military award there was. Over the years he had fought and won his battles, rising through the ranks by his own efforts. It had been no secret that his journey would have been made easier if he had ridden on the backs of former Gardener warriors. He had known that and because of it he had to prove he could do it on his own. He was respected because of that decision.

He made general early in his career through his determination and his innate military skills. No man under his command would have denied him any of his plaudits. He treated every soldier with respect, never expecting any of them to carry out an order he wouldn’t perform himself, and he was known as a commander who refused to even consider using his men for anything that smelled of sacrifice beyond normal expectations. His stubborn defiance in the face of higher authority had earned him a reputation as a tough son of a bitch. His men loved him. They would do anything he asked without hesitation, safe in the knowledge he wouldn’t betray them or send them to their deaths on a whim or a political ploy.

Which was why, now, he was struggling with his conscience, attempting to win himself over to the possibility that he was asking his men to follow him into a struggle that went against everything he had previously believed in.

He had committed himself and his small group of immediate people to a course of action capable of bringing them to their knees. They could all end up in prison.

Or at worst, dead.

And above both those things was the ultimate punishment, something Gardener tried to close from his thoughts.

They could all be branded traitors.

Traitors to the nation they had sworn to protect and defend—the United States of America.

He felt his anger rise when he thought about what he was about to do, anger at the manner in which he had been forced to this decision.

Because of ineptitude, blinkered vision and at times downright stupidity, America was being betrayed by the very people entrusted with its protection, the administrations that had allowed a gradual slide into the fractured society that America was now.

Gardener had a list in his head that detailed all those things that had been allowed to escape notice. Small things in the beginning, but over time they had expanded until they now presented actual dangers. In many cases dangers that were too established to wipe out. At home and abroad, America was losing its way. Some would have argued that the nation was big and powerful enough to turn its back on the rest of the world and to look after itself, to reestablish that situation of many years ago when isolationism had been the watchword. The two world wars had ended that forever. The 1914-18 conflict had opened the doors. The Second World War had became the flood and afterward it was no longer a world where America could step back and ignore the rest of humankind. Too many things had happened, too many ties had been forged through adversity and dependency. Politics apart, there was an ongoing connection between the U.S.A. and the rest of the world. Gardener had no problems with that in principle.

His concern was with the way America was conducting its affairs. Too much leeway was being given. The guilty weren’t chastised enough. The hammer wasn’t falling on the hostile regimes basking in America’s misfortunes. Not just sitting back and benefiting from those misfortunes, they were helping to orchestrate them. Gardener’s own intelligence network had incontrovertible proof that Middle Eastern states were doing everything they could to prolong the disaster that was post-war Iraq. Too many American soldiers were still dying there. The tottering government was failing to get to grips with the internal corruption and the undercurrent of violence that was forever gnawing away at the fabric of everyday life. Gardener had to agree with Iraqis who were still saying life had been better under Hussein if only from the point that his iron control had kept the country stable. There were no insurgents running around the country blowing things up or assassinating at will. No car bombs. No suicide killers. And all the while there were those individuals from the old regime gathering their forces and preparing to cause more unrest, waiting for their moment when they might attempt some uprising that would push the Americans and their allies out of Iraq and return it to its former masters.

In Gardener’s eyes, the American administration was floundering. It was too complacent, still believing that the interminable conferences and the government they were having to support in every degree would become strong and able to rule.

What was needed was a hard line. The time for pussyfooting around the edges had been and gone. It was time for action—in the extreme. It needed someone who saw the truth with unblinkered vision. A man who had the military experience to do it as it needed to be done.

Someone like General Chase Gardener.

He put himself in the spotlight without embarrassment. Not with vainglorious intentions, but with a sound background in the need for strong military insight and tactics. His record spoke for him. He was a man who loved his country, who prided himself on dedicating his life to maintaining the American way. With all its faults, it was the best damn country in the world, and he wasn’t going to let the weak and vapid Washington administration sell it down the river. Too much had been sacrificed to allow America to fall by the wayside.

Gardener’s brief introspection was interrupted by someone knocking on his study door.

“Yes?”

Behind him the door opened.

“Mr. McAdam, General.”

Gardener sighed. He had been waiting for this meeting for the past couple of days. Ever since he had returned from Turkey two days earlier.

Turkey, 2 Days Earlier

“TIME TO MOVE, Khalli,” Chase Gardener said.

The man seated at the window nodded slowly, pushing up out of the chair. Tall, lean, with a handsome face and a neat, trimmed beard, he smiled at Gardener.

“I’ll miss our times together,” he said. “On the other hand I probably won’t have all that much too spare for daydreaming.”

“If this goes as we planned, you won’t have time to do anything except what you’re gong back for.”

Khalli al-Basur smiled. He picked up his coat.

“Chase, you have offered me more than any man could hope for. My exile has been too long. This is what I have wanted but could never do with Hussein in command—a chance to return to Iraq and make my wish for a united country come true.”

“We all want that, Khalli. Iraq has been through a long, bad time. Now we need to bring her back into the light.”

“And accommodate ourselves at the same time?”

“No crime there. Iraq has something the world needs.”

“Don’t you mean, what the U.S.A. wants? And Gardener Global especially?”

“I stand corrected. We understand each other, my friend. No pretending this is going to be easy. First priority for both of us is making the transition to full power. If we pull that off, the rest should fall into place.”

“Then we need good luck for both of us.”

Gardener considered the word for a moment.

“If luck is the word, it’s something we make for ourselves. To be honest, I’ve never really depended on something as fragile as expecting fate to pass me a winning hand. Luck didn’t make me what I am. That came from knowing what I wanted and going for it. Same applies here. We both know what we want. It’s up to us to take it in both hands and beat it into submission.”

Gardener turned as someone tapped on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Harry Masden, the CIA pilot provided by McAdam, stepped inside.

“We’re set, General. Plane’s warmed up. If we’re going, it should be now. Once the weather clears, we risk being spotted.”

“I’m ready,” Basur said, picking up the small bag he was taking with him. “General, next time we meet it will be in the office of the Iraqi president.”

“That’s the kind of talk I like to hear, Khalli.”

They shook hands. Gardener followed them to the door and stood watching as Khalli and Masden crossed to the plane, leaning into the wind. Dust was sweeping in off the hills. Gardener checked his watch. Given the prevailing weather, the flight would take about two hours. After that, Khalli’s supporters would spirit him away to a secure place to wait for the time he would make his appearance in Baghdad.

Gardener stayed at the door until the small plane moved along the makeshift strip. It was almost out of sight before it rose into the air, banking sharply as Madsen set it on the course that would take across the border into northern Iraq.

Renelli appeared, his lean face shadowed as he bent to light a cigarette.

“This really going to work, General?”

“We’ll know soon enough, son. Hell, the only way to get things to happen is to give them a kick-start. If we get everything we want out of this, America is going to be in one hell of strong position. Our man in the Iraqi government, making the decisions, and the world’s richest oil deposits under U.S. control. If we want to stay on top, we need that oil to keep the machine running. The U.S. military machine is the biggest in the world. We keep it that way, no damn country can stand up to us.”

Renelli smiled. “When you move into the White House are you still going to be General Gardener? Or President?”

“Well there’s a thing I haven’t given much thought to, Rick. It’s something for me to consider on the flight home. Let’s get out of here, this damn place depresses me…”

GARDENER’S TRAIN of thought was disturbed during the flight back to the U.S. He received a call from Ralph Justin. The senator sounded nervous.

“Ralph, just take a breath and tell me slowly.”

“McAdam told me to watch my back until he resolves this problem. I asked him if he’d spoken to you. He said there was no need to worry you, but I think it warrants enough to be on our guard.”

“Fine, Ralph. Just tell me what the problem is. I can’t comment until I know that.”

“There have been some people snooping around. Talking to my staff. Your name came into the conversation. They identified themselves as Justice Department operatives. McAdam checked them out but can’t come up with any information. It’s like they don’t exist. Chase, they showed up at my town house, too.”

“Did you say anything?”

“What do you take me for, Chase? Of course I didn’t say anything.”

“Strikes me these men are just fishing. If they had anything solid, they’d have done more than just talk.”

“Who are they? Why is there no record of them on file anywhere?”

“Ralph, you know as well as I do there are discreet agencies in existence. But they can’t do a damn thing without proof. As long as we stand firm, they can only guess.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“My only worry is these people wasting our time. Ralph, just carry on as normal. Leave these people to me. I’ll look into it. Just remember who you are. If they bother you again, be yourself.”

“Myself?”

“Yes. An arrogant son of a bitch. An important man who has better things to do than to have his life invaded by these minor officials. You should be working on what you’re going to do with all that oil money coming your way.”

Something close to normality returned to Justin’s voice. “Thank you, Chase, I’ll take your advice. I may see you when you return.” He added dryly, “That’s if I have time to spare, of course.”

“Listen, I’m calling a meeting at the ranch. I need you there.”

“There’s a Senate meeting tomorrow, early. It’ll break quickly because it’s Friday and the weekend is coming up. I can fly out as soon as it’s over.”

“Good. It’ll give us time to clear the air. And while you’re at the ranch no one can bother you.”

Gardener finished the call.

“Trouble, General?” Renelli asked from his seat on the other side of the plane.

“More of an irritant. Justin has been visited by agents who say they were from the Justice Department. McAdam tried to get a line on them but couldn’t find anything.”

“Could be a cover for some covert agency. I’ll look into it when we get back.”

“Good. I probably don’t even have to say this, Renelli, but if you locate these people and have them in your sights long enough…take them down. I don’t give a damn who they work for. If they’re checking us out, they’re not with us. They’re against us. The enemy. So we deal with them. Understood?”

“Taken as read, General, sir.”

“Renelli.”

“Sir?”

“Change of plan. Tell the pilot we’re going straight to the ranch. I’ll stay there. You can take the plane and get back to what we talked about. Look into this Justice Department shit and find Jacobi.”

“Yes, sir.” Renelli half turned, then looked back. “We going to have problems, General?”

“It’s how you define the word ‘problem.’ Things are happening. Whether they become problems as such depends on how we handle them in the short term. It’s all to do with strategy, Renelli. Work that out and execute it, the problems become achieved objectives.”

“Sounds like a military operation to me, sir.”

Gardener smiled. “Exactly, son, because when it comes down to it, we are in a war. And that’s how we deal with it. You know the situation with Jacobi. We can’t afford to have anyone out there who might make a connection with someone prepared to listen. There’s too much riding on this. High stakes. Find Jacobi. Bring him down. Bury him and anything he knows with him.” Gardener paused. “Understand?”

Renelli nodded

“Clear, General, sir.”

“Damn nuisance this coming now. I need to concentrate on Khalli. McAdam has Khariza to deal with. So it looks like you’re going to have to handle Jacobi and the Justice agents, Renelli. Take whoever you need from the unit. Track that son of a bitch and remove him.”

“No sweat, General. We’ll find him and deal with it.”

“This needs swift action. Time’s not on our side.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

Renelli picked up the phone and called the base. He spoke at length to his team and told them to be standing by once he reached them, then went up front to give the pilot his new instructions.

When he returned, he sat across from Gardener and gave him an update on his call to his team.

“We have those two Justice agents under observation, General. I’ve had a standby team watching the senator. Purely as a security precaution. When those men appeared at his office and then his house, the team put a tail on them, so we might not know who they are, but we sure as hell know where they are. Hope I haven’t overstepped my authority, General.”

“Renelli, when something like this happens I realize I couldn’t have made a better choice. We have to watch for any moves from people like these Justice people. If you hadn’t seen fit to cover the senator, who by the way doesn’t need to know about our surveillance, then we would not have these people under our watch. Good work, son. Keep it up.”

Gardener nodded, satisfied that he had the situation under control. He knew, come the day, that he could always depend on his own people.

They were his people and they would die proving it. What more could a commander ask?

Rick Renelli had been in Gardener’s command for more than eight years. He had been a good soldier. But Renelli’s problem had been his overenthusiasm and that eagerness to please had proved his undoing. During a covert operation, Renelli had allowed his forceful attitude to kick the rule book out the window. The end result had been the death of three men in his squad and his superior officer badly wounded. On their return stateside Renelli had been accused, tried and discharged from the service.

Two weeks after that he had been contacted and advised that someone had a job for him. A night flight had delivered Renelli to the Gardener ranch in New Mexico and a meeting with his former commander. Gardener had bawled out Renelli big-time, angry at the way he had wasted his military career over a moment of laxity. The dressing down hadn’t been so much for the actual misdemeanor, more for the fact that Renelli hadn’t managed to extricate himself from the charges. The moment the shouting was over, Gardener sat Renelli down for a meal and offered him a position in the clandestine group he was forming to spearhead his planned coup against the U.S. government and the planting of a Gardener man within the Iraqi government, one who while steering the country toward a new democracy would also smooth the way for Gardener and his global enterprise. As far as Gardener was concerned, the U.S. had to maintain a strong grip on the Iraqi oil deposits. They were vitally important given the way the world was moving. America’s strength depended on its military machine and the industrial power base that served it. Allowing that to slide would leave America open to both internal and external threats.

The current administration, with its low-key polices and too much appeasement, was betraying the U.S., opening the gates to allow America’s detractors to gain ground, and showing a weaker face to the world in general. Chase Gardener had the vision to push America back to the top, his policy one of standing hard against the people trying to hold it back. Renelli, a man who had previously seen the way Gardener performed, had no argument with the man. He was a soldier, eager to serve under his old commander, and he’d accepted Gardener’s offer the moment it was laid in front of him.

While Gardener had his service people and contacts already lining up behind him, there was going to be a need for something off-the-books, a force that could stay away from the military machine as such, while carrying out Gardener’s covert operations with the least possible hindrance. Renelli, a combat veteran, was a natural. He could run the covert team, funded through one of Gardener’s many financial outlets, without having to concern himself with military protocol. Once the operation moved into gear, time would be a vital consideration. One of Renelli’s responsibilities would be unforeseen events. Incidents that might, if left to run unchecked, create difficulties for the main body of the operation. Gardener had explained from the start that due to the fluidity of the Iraq situation and the homeland operation, which would require the ability to be changed at a moment’s notice, he—Renelli—would need to be able to operate within that kind of environment. Renelli saw no problems there.

Before dawn the next day Gardener and Renelli had drawn up a list of names of men, all ex-military, who were to be approached. The offer would be similar to what Renelli had been made. The men were to be recruited to be part of Renelli’s team. Answerable to him initially, but with Gardener as their ultimate commander. The team was to be provided with anything it needed. Money was no object. Gardener had the ability to procure weapons that could be concealed via judicious juggling of orders and needs. Renelli’s team would be paid for by Gardener Global and equipped in part by the U.S. government.