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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.

The scheme had been running smoothly until Luke Jacobi had stumbled in on something he would have been better to have left alone. That hadn’t happened. A little ball-fumbling had allowed Jacobi to walk out free and clear. Gardener wanted retrieval before Jacobi passed that ball to someone who might run with it.

A LITTLE WHILE LATER Gardener received a call from McAdam himself.

“If this is about the senator, I already know.”

McAdam grunted his acknowledgment.

“We’re working on it.”

“Rod, I have my own people on it. The matter is well covered.”

“Fine. That wasn’t the main reason I called,” the CIA man said.

“So?”

“My contact at the White House has just confirmed what we talked about yesterday. Time and date as previously suggested.”

“Good news, Rod. And your other reason for calling?”

“They picked up Lane in Chechnya. Word just came through. He’d gone looking for that camp Dushinov is said to have running to train Khariza’s crew. Some local agreed to guide him in, but they were caught. The local ended up near skinned to the bone. Dushinov’s men took Lane. That’s all I know right now.”

“Did Lane pass anything back before he was captured?”

“No. I hadn’t heard from him for a few days. Last report said he had a line on something, but he couldn’t give it a name yet.”

“Can you get anyone else into the area to try to extract Lane?”

“Not likely. Our station man said the locals have shut down. He can’t get anyone to help him after what happened to Lane’s guide. This rebel, Dushinov, has the territory out there pretty well under his heel. The guy has kicked the Russians out of his backyard for Christ’s sake. He’s a scary mother.”

Gardener leaned his head against the backrest of his seat, staring up at the curved ceiling of the cabin.

“Chase, you still there?”

“Just thinking. If we can’t get to Lane, then all we can do is hope he keeps his mouth shut. Call me sentimental, but I hope he dies quick. If he starts to get a loose tongue, it could have repercussions. Rod, I’ll be back at the ranch late tonight. Fly out and we’ll have our talk. The senator will be joining us for the weekend.”

“I already had the same thought about Lane,” McAdam said. “I’ll see what I can do about him. Don’t hold your breath for quick results. Talk to you later.”

Gardener closed the line. He experienced a moment of excitement at McAdam’s confirmation of the earlier news. It meant they were going to have to bring their move forward, but he found that stimulating. The sooner they embarked on their plan, the better. Too much waiting around could allow things to go wrong. He was taunted by the image of the man named Jacobi, one of his former soldiers. A man now on the run because he hadn’t gone along with Gardener’s plan and had then taken it a step further by doing some snooping on Gardener and his people and had actually got them on videotape. Gardener was trying to contain the matter, but the longer Jacobi remained on the loose, the greater the chance he might expose what was about to happen. Having to bring matters forward like this was going to eliminate potential disasters. He called Renelli to update him on the situation.

“Still leaves Jacobi on the loose, General. He could find someone and convince them to look at that damn tape. Word gets out, it would make it impossible for us to go ahead.” Renelli paused. “General, you don’t think those Justice agents have had contact with Jacobi? Maybe he got through to them and it’s why they’ve been doing some checking?”

It gave Gardener a moment’s concern.

“No, I don’t believe so. If Jacobi had told his story and played that tape, we would be locked down by now, wondering what day it was and where we were.”

“If that’s so, General, we’re still clear we need to move fast.”

“I agree. I was giving the problem some thought just before you called. So we can’t afford to leave Jacobi on the loose where he can do anything to harm us. Can we, Renelli?”

Chase Gardener Ranch—Present

GARDENER STOOD, turned away from the view with a certain reluctance and watched the CIA man crossing the floor. McAdam looked like someone carrying the troubles of the world across the shoulders.

“Good trip, Rod?”

“Nice to see we can keep our sense of humor,” McAdam said. There was a slight peevish edge to his words. He pointed to the tumbler in Gardener’s hand. “Mind if I have one of those?”

Gardener gestured to the liquor cabinet.

“Help yourself. The large tumblers are at the back.”

McAdam took him at his word and filled a tall glass. He took a long swallow then topped up his glass before he turned back to Gardener, who had made his way to his big oak desk. McAdam took one of the comfortable leather armchairs facing the desk.

There was a silence until Gardener waved his own tumbler as an opener.

“And?”

“I managed to get word to one of my people in the area. He’s going to try to get a line on Lane. No guarantees. That part of the world is hard to crack. Those Chechens are difficult to deal with. They still operate like the damn Mafia. My guy will do what he can.”

“What about these so-called Justice Department people? Who the hell are they?”

McAdam shrugged. He swallowed some of his drink.

“A shrug hardly impresses me, Rod.”

“What else can I say? Chase, I have trawled every damn database I can access. There isn’t a known intelligence agency in existence I haven’t looked at. These guys are so off the wall it isn’t true.”

“So who are they? Reporters from Sixty Minutes? Come on, Rod, there has to be something about them.”

“Nothing, Chase. If they’re genuine, then they don’t have any recognizable remit.”

“Well, we need to find out. Jesus, Rod, you work for the fucking CIA. You run a covert black-ops section with carte blanche independence. Right now I am not exactly impressed by its competence. I brought you on board because we’ve worked together in the past and you think along the same lines as I do. Rod, wake up. I can’t afford any slip ups. It’s a damn good thing my people have these Justice agents under observation.”

McAdam didn’t even flinch. He swirled the liquid in his glass.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had Khalli about to stage a comeback in Baghdad. Call the Agency all you want, Chase, but it was me who got you your info on Khalli. I found where he was in hiding. I got to him and delivered him. So get off my back. And don’t think I’m trying to score points, but how’s the search for Sergeant Jacobi coming along?”

Gardener smiled. “Good one, Rod. We’re still looking. He’s been shut out from making contact with anyone. The man is alone with no one to turn to. We’ll get to him. Only a matter of time.”

“Unless he finds someone who’ll listen to him.”

“He isn’t going to find a sympathetic ear in that direction. The word has been circulated. I’m using up favors on Jacobi. Sooner or later, he’s ours.”

“Let’s hope sooner.”

Gardener inclined his head in agreement.

“Rod, your room is made up as usual. Go catch some sleep. You look like you need it. I’ll see you at dinner. The others will be here by then. Plenty of time to talk then.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I could do with some sleep. It’s been a busy few days and flying always knocks me sideways.”

Gardener chuckled to himself as McAdam left the room. The man had only flown in from Langley. Over the past few days Gardener had traveled all the way to Turkey and back, with no more than a few hours’ sleep from start to finish.

Rod McAdam, CIA, was an important part of Gardener’s group. The man had contacts all over. He had undercover people in place across the Middle East. The former Soviet Union. It was hard to put a finger on places where he didn’t have people. His position within the Agency meant that he controlled a large number of operatives and his long standing in black-ops meant much of his control was only known to himself. He was able to intercept and divert, even cancel out information that might point the finger at Gardener and his group. McAdam was an opportunist, tired of his profession and looking for a way out. His tie-up with Gardener meant he would be able to walk away from the Agency with a payoff far in excess of anything the CIA could have provided. The trouble with McAdam was his eternal pessimism. He let himself get wearisome and there were times when Gardener could have allowed himself to lose it with the man. He always checked himself. Bawling McAdam out would prove to be a negative action and Gardener needed the man’s access to information.

“WHEN WE ENTERED into this we all knew what we were doing. It was and still is a regrettable decision. But it has to be done because the current situation demands it.”

Gardener glanced around the room. He saw no evidence of disapproval.

“Andy, how are your people shaping up?” he asked an Air Force major.

“I have over thirty percent of my command behind me. The ones who matter. I realize that still leaves a sizeable group who refuse to join us. I have them confined to the base under guard and I have that locked down until further notice.”

“It’s a pity we have to do that,” Gardener said. “This is still a democracy and those people have their rights. But we’ll just have to ignore those rights until this situation is stabilized. After that they can make their final choices.”

Ralph Justin leaned forward. “A question.”

“Ralph?”

“I understand you are communicating between yourselves. How is it no one is picking up your transmissions? Just remember, I’m a plain old civilian.”

“It’s a good question and deserves an answer,” Gardener said. “Murphy, you want to explain.”

Lieutenant Harlan Murphy, a communications officer from Gardener’s command, nodded.

“We’re using one of the Gardener Global satellites. It’s out of the military loop and anything going via that satellite is on an encrypted secure channel. We use simple phrases to authenticate who we are to one another. No reason for anyone to even break into our transmissions.”

“Haven’t I read somewhere that no form of communication is entirely safe from eavesdroppers? Aren’t there listening devices in orbit?”

Murphy smiled. “Quite correct, Senator. Listening programs are getting even more sophisticated every day. But they are far from fully perfected yet. Even the Echelon system, as good as it is, has a hell of a lot to deal with. The sheer amount of electronic traffic it has to filter is phenomenal. It can’t get everything. And we make certain that all our conversations are limited to a vocabulary that avoids code words or links Echelon might recognize.”

“And does that make us safe?”

“Hopefully for as long as we are going to need to be safe,” Gardener said. “I understand your concern and the logic behind it. To answer your last question, and I believe Murphy will back me on this, we are vulnerable to a degree. But every gamble has its downside. As far as we are concerned, communication between our units is vital. So we take the chance. And don’t worry about Gardener Global. The people running the communications are not going to be a problem.”

“So how ready are we?” the senator asked.

“We have equipment and personnel in place, so we’re ready to go. The first objective will be to detain the President during his trip to Bucklow.”

“Easier for you than trying to deal with him in the White House.”

“Just one of those tricks of fate,” Gardener said. “Out of the blue he sets up this trip to visit the site and talk with the survivors. We couldn’t turn down an opportunity like that.”

“Resistance?” Justin asked. “You must have considered it.”

“Of course. It may be necessary for us to engage in combat with units still loyal to the current administration. Casualties will be regrettable if they refuse to surrender.”

“Killing our own isn’t the best way to engender public sympathy.”

Gardener turned to face the senator.

“Show me an alternative, Ralph, and I’ll use it. If not, I can’t afford to go soft over those who choose to resist. Someone is going to get hurt. Possibly on our side, too, but even though I understand that, I have to accept the losses.”

“What about my fellow government representatives?” Justin asked.

“Same goes for them. They take it on board. If they don’t, they’re against us.”

“Chase, we’re going to need those people.”

“Agreed. I don’t see a major problem. Ralph, you of anyone in this room should understand the way the people on the hill work. They fight with words, not guns. I don’t believe we’ll be facing a bunch of Congressmen armed with M-16s, or at best skeet guns.”

Justin smiled at the image. “Interesting thought, but I’m sure you are right.”

“Ralph, that’s where you will come into your own. You’ve never hidden your opinions about the way the administration has been running the country, or its handling of Iraq since the war. Truth be told, there are enough like-minded on the hill for you to swing the whole damn herd your way. Once we have their backing, we’re on even firmer ground.”

“Sounds wonderful in theory. But we both know it might not run uphill the way we want.”

“Oh, hell, Ralph, you’ll have my people backing you. Don’t forget that. There’ll be a lot of yelling and stamping of feet, but once the dust dies down and they see what we’ve done…”

“Taking control of key installations? Power, water, broadcasting? Your men at the major airports and seaports?”

“We move fast and we move hard. With the top men of the joint military command secured in detention who gives the orders? We do. We deploy and we stand fast. The President is moved out of office and I make my national broadcast. I explain what we’re doing and why. The American public wants something done. Too many of our people are dying out there in Iraq. That needs to stop. They’re tired of the loss of life. The drain on America’s resources. We come out of this with right on our side. Plus our hand on the Iraqi oilfields. Getting control of those would be one hell of a plus in our favor.”

Senator Justin picked up the pot and refilled his coffee cup. He sat back and took time to listen as the tight group of men discussed the upcoming takeover of the American government. He saw the earnest looks on their faces, the calm tone of their voices, and he saw that they were fully committed to what they proposed to do. They viewed their actions as necessary. Something that America needed to stay the most powerful nation on Earth, and they were prepared to stand against the elected government and the President of the United States to carry their project through.

Ralph Justin was with them. He had to be because he walked the same path and held the same reasoning. There was a need to protect their own interests, both political and business.

There was a need to get America back on track, to show that the country still had a grip on sanity in a world that was on the slide. The Iraq situation was one example of good intentions turning sour. The country, far from stepping into the light, had backtracked and was being plagued by insurgent terrorist groups who struck where and when they wanted. By indecision and a lack of consolidation. Razan Khariza was back from the wilderness, engaging in all kinds of subversion. Doing his damnedest to move back into the power position within the country. The actions of Khariza and his group, trawling in sympathizers from all over the place and setting them free to kill and destroy, had all the earmarks of an attempted return to the old ways.

Chase Gardener didn’t want, couldn’t allow, that to happen. His own candidate for the position of Iraq’s leader. Khalli al Basur had to be the one. An immensely popular man throughout Iraq, Basur had been forced to flee for his life when the Hussein regime, worried by his position in the country, tried to have him killed. Basur had survived three assassination attempts before realizing he would achieve nothing if he died. With great reluctance, he’d decided to go into exile and continue his fight away from Iraq.

Basur had years of experience in the oil industry and it was through this that he had met Chase Gardener. The two men had become friends. They had lost contact following Basur’s disappearance from Iraq. Even McAdam had had difficulty locating the man. Basur had done a good job of hiding himself away, unsure of whom he could trust. It had been down to McAdam’s black-ops team to find Basur’s hideaway, taking him to one of McAdam’s own safe bases before McAdam himself had stepped in and delivered Basur to the Gardener ranch, where he had stayed until arrangements were completed to return him to Iraq. Basur would make his return, but as a partner to Gardener rather than the U.S. government.

With the buildup toward war with Iraq and Gardener’s growing disenchantment with the way America was being run, the germ of what was now taking place had been born. Both men, now staunch supporters of each other, almost fell into their alliance. It was created through their individual needs and with an eye to the future. Gardener aware of the benefits of having such a popular, influential man as Basur controlling the country and the Iraqi speculating on the long-term advantages of becoming tied in with a man as powerful and long-sighted as Gardener.

The details of their alliance had been mapped out over long sessions that ran each day and into the night. Gardener’s intention to move on the President had run parallel to establishing Basur as head of Iraq. That in itself was no easy challenge, but once the word had been covertly circulated among Basur’s loyal supporters that he was preparing a comeback, the way opened and unrolled before them like a red carpet.

Always moderate in his views, Basur had wielded unstinting influence among the hierarchy of Iraqi politicians. An overwhelming majority thought as he did, but their views and opinions had been kept hidden during the Hussein tenure, because the former president, aided by his infamous secret police, the Mukhabarat, was always waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting who let slip any such views. Basur had had no illusions concerning his well-being as long as he defied Hussein. His pride wouldn’t allow him to simply stand by and allow Hussein to carry on unchecked. Basur made broadcasts whenever he could, gave speeches and generally made himself an embarrassment to the regime until out of pure frustration the word was passed down that he had to be silenced.

Basur had realized he’d gone too far. His time in Iraq had come to an end. If he wanted to stay alive he would have to put himself into exile, hopefully able to return when the opportunity arose.

Now that opportunity had presented itself. Basur had taken the gamble and returned to Iraq.

Gardener was showing his flag. Determined to make his own stand. He had gathered his people and drawn his battle plan.

The line had been drawn in the sand, and there was no stepping back from it.

Gardener had the military know-how. The ear of like-minded men. He also had a vast conglomerate behind him, a worldwide business empire that had influence in numerous countries. Gardener Global was a powerful weapon in any sense of the word.

Ralph Justin was the political weapon, his knowledge invaluable. Within the Washington corridors of power, he held an enviable position. He could sway opinion with ease. His persuasive skills were what legends were made of. Justin knew he was playing for high stakes this time. The rewards made the risks acceptable.

The CIA had information channels covering the globe. Rod McAdam’s covert team, run virtually as a separate unit within the organization, gave Gardener access to data and locations he would otherwise have been denied. The CIA man, of them all, was less driven by national loyalty and more by what he was going to gain financially. Chase Gardener was aware of that, and he kept a close eye on McAdam while using everything the man had to offer. McAdam’s information about the President’s visit to Bucklow had been a prize worth having.

GARDENER TOOK a phone call from Renelli.

“Those Justice guys are heading for Leverton. They were followed to a private airstrip where they had an executive Beechcraft waiting. Our boys did some checking. The pilot filed a flight plan for Arizona.”

“That pair is nothing but busy,” Gardener said. “You know what to do, Renelli. I don’t want them poking around at the base. Keep them away. If you have to make them get lost, then do it.”

“I’ll set it up, sir.”

“Do it quickly. I’m starting to get disturbed by these men and their nosing into our business.”

“Consider it done.”

Gardener banged down the phone and sat drumming his fingers on the polished top of his desk, trying to keep his mind on matters closer to hand. The soft tread of approaching footsteps made him look up.

Ralph Justin stood a few feet away, an inquisitive expression in his eyes.

“Not bad news, I hope.”

Gardener shook his head. “More of an irritant. That was Renelli. It seems our men from Justice have decided to take a trip to Arizona. They’re starting to annoy me, Ralph.”

“Understandably at this stage. I assume you have the matter in hand?”

“Very much so. Fort Leverton is way out in the middle of nowhere, so we can keep matters out of the news.”

“Isn’t there a town nearby?”

“That’s correct. Leverton. It’s where the base got its name. The town is small. Isolated. No local law. Just a spot on the map. If needed, my people could keep the place closed up. No one in, no one out.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be listening to this, Chase. It sounds distinctly unlawful.”

Gardener grinned, raising his glass. “Hell, Ralph, it damn well should sound unlawful. Do you think I’m about to lose sleep over those damn Justice snoopers?”

The senator didn’t have to even consider his reply. “The thought never crossed my mind, Chase. Not for a second.”

“Taking the President of the United States hostage is going to overshadow anything we do to a couple of government agents.”

“Looking at it from that angle, I have to agree.”

Justin moved away to rejoin the main group, leaving Gardener alone at his desk. It gave him the chance to consider what was coming. Events were about to take place that would, if it all went to plan, change the face of America. Gardener had to accept that it was a massive challenge. A necessary one, because the way things were going now, the U.S.A. was slowly disintegrating. Future generations deserved better, and if they were going to benefit from America’s potential, then getting the country back on track had to be done now. Leaving it would only allow their enemies to gain ground. Once the grip was loosened, it was only too easy for the power to shift. Chase Gardener had too much faith to let that happen. As long as there was the slightest chance he could do something to steer the country back on its righteous road, then he would take it, and to hell with those who didn’t like it.