Don Pendleton - Full Blast

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…”