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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.
CHAPTER TWO
Leverton, Arizona
“The base is about five miles farther west,” Jack Grimaldi said, his finger tracing an imaginary line across the map.
He had parked their rented SUV in the parking lot outside a diner beside the highway that ran through Leverton. It was a dusty town perched alongside a dusty road. Mainly timber buildings, with a few built from stone and even a couple of adobe structures, Leverton sat on the Arizona landscape, small and insular. Its location made it that way. On the far side of the town was a straggling tract of houses and a few trailers.
“Let’s go check out the locals and see if they have anything to say about their neighbors,” Schwarz suggested. He pushed open the door, feeling the solid heat rush into the SUV’s air-conditioned comfort. He opened his jacket. “I hate this place already.”
Grimaldi climbed out the other side, using the remote to lock the SUV. He joined Schwarz, and they made their way to the diner. The lot had a number of dusty pickups, a couple of cars and a semi-trailer rig.
“You think when we go in the place the customers will go quiet and all stare at us?”
Grimaldi shrugged. “If the local tough picks a fight I’ll let you deal with him.”
“Thanks, partner.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
Grimaldi pushed open the door. It opened with a soft squeak.
“I’ll get around to oiling that some day,” a female voice said from behind the counter. The woman was in her thirties and attractive. Her hair, a rich chestnut, fell to her shoulders. She wore a while T-shirt and faded Levi’s jeans. Her arms and face were brown.
Grimaldi smiled as he perched himself on one of the stools.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“For two,” Grimaldi said as Schwarz slid onto the next stool.
Mugs were placed on the counter and the woman brought a pot to fill them. Her gaze kept wandering to Schwarz’s exposed shoulder rig.
Schwarz had turned to check out the other customers. When he turned back to the counter, he was shaking his head.
“What?” Grimaldi asked.
“Not a flicker. None of them paid us the slightest interest.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“I lead a sad and lonely life.”
The coffee was rich and hot. Grimaldi leaned over and picked up a menu card, scanning it.
“House special is on the board,” the woman said, waving a finger at the chalked menu. “Ham, eggs, fried potatoes, spiced beans.”
“That’s on here, too. Same price,” Grimaldi said, indicating the menu. “What’s special about that one?”
The woman smiled. “It’s on the board.”
Grimaldi thought about that for a minute. “Okay, ma’am, you got me there. Two house specials.”
“Be a few minutes.”
She turned and vanished into the kitchen area, returning to check their mugs before moving from behind the counter. She went from table to table, talking freely to her customers, refilling coffee mugs. When she returned to her place behind the counter, she topped up their mugs.
“You fellers aren’t from hereabouts.”
“Does it show?”
“The suits give you away.”
“See,” Schwarz said. “I said we should have bought those big hats and the fringed shirts.”
“Fringed shirts?” The woman chuckled at the thought. “You boys must be from back east somewhere.”
“That we are, ma’am. The big, bad city of Washington.”
“Oh, my, I feel humbled in your presence,” she said, faint mockery in her tone.
“Long time since I humbled anyone,” Schwarz said.
“So what are you doing all the way out here?”
Schwarz slid his ID wallet out of his shirt pocket. He laid it on the counter so the woman could see the Justice Department shield and the encapsulated card with his details.
“Agent Tony Ryder,” she read, then studied Schwarz’s face. “The gun, I understand now. But you don’t fit your picture.”
Schwarz reached up to touch his cheek. He was still showing bruising from his encounter with Khariza’s people at the wood-chip mill outside Bucklow.
“Work gets a little rough at times,” he said by way of explanation.
“I guess so.”
“Actually he fell out of bed,” Grimaldi whispered.
“Yeah? Well, I hope she was worth it.”
Grimaldi laughed and even Schwarz cracked a grin.
“Ma’am, I just hope your cooking is half as smart as your sense of humor,” Grimaldi said.
“Why do you think I call it special?”
The food, when it came, was good. The Stony Man pair ate without pause, realizing just how hungry they were after their three-hour drive. The woman, whose name was Louise, kept their coffee mugs filled. By the time Schwarz and Grimaldi had finished, the diner was almost empty. The only customer remaining was the driver of the semi-trailer.
Louise collected empty plates and mugs, ferrying them into the kitchen. She wiped down the tables, then returned to her place and poured herself a mug of coffee.
“You fellers have anything to do with Fort Leverton?” she asked out of the blue.
“Should we?” Schwarz asked, easing his jacket off and draping it on the stool next to him.
“Oh, come on, guys. I’m just curious. You realize how tiring it gets in here listening to talk about cattle and trucks and guns? Jesus, a girl could die of boredom. You fellers come in all suited up, flashing Justice Department badges and guns. What am I supposed to think? Or maybe you’ve come to check me out.”
Grimaldi nearly made an inappropriate remark but checked himself.
“Besides,” Louise said, “what else would bring people like you all the way out here?”
“You have much contact with the base?”
Louise shook her head. “I get some customers from time to time. Not much. They have everything they need out there. Anyhow, the big muckety-muck, General Gardener, who runs the place, is no public-relations winner. I heard he told his soldier boys to stay away from town. Doesn’t like them mixing with us ordinary folk.”
“The base off-limits, then?”
“You could say that.” Louise smiled. “Don’t always work, though. Couple of local girls kind of managed to get Gardener soldiers to date them. Well, you know what kids are like. I can remember when I used to do stuff like that.”
“Couldn’t have been that long ago,” Grimaldi said.
“They teach you that kind of bull at Justice Department training school?”
“He was born under a maple tree,” Schwarz said. “He’s got syrup in his veins.”
“G-men with humor? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Anything out of the ordinary been happening lately?”
Louise glanced at him, her eyes showing interest.
“Like what?”
“You tell me.”
“This is awkward, fellers. I promised someone I wouldn’t say anything in case it brought her trouble.”
“If things have gotten to this stage I’d say trouble was already in the frame,” Schwarz said. “You mind if I have some more of that coffee?” He watched as Louise topped up his mug. Her hand was shaking slightly. Schwarz reached out and placed his hand over hers. “Take it easy. Okay?”
