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# 1012

by

Jason Watson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Jason Watson on Smashwords

1012

Copyright © 2010 by Jason Watson

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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# 1012

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# Foreword

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Clichés are only Clichés because at some point, at some moment in history, they held a useful wisdom. In this case it was true that in the end, it's the beginning that's important.

Cowering under his desk, jet fuel igniting the air in his spacious office, Ben's mind went back to his childhood. Reading nursery rhymes, books about magical rabbits and places where his imagination made it all as real as the room he was sitting in.

He remembered all the words of his sister, the tone in her voice, her inflection with each word, even the expression on her face, the thought in his mind became the reality in his heart, speaking softly but with total clarity and holding out her hand she said, "Ben... take my hand Ben... you don't need to be afraid... the dragon can't hurt you when I'm with you".

Reaching out, his legs were now unfrozen from terror as he was led to safety by the angelic apparition of his sister, courage filled him with the super-human strength that every boy knows he has. He ran, as fast as he could along side his sister, running through the scorched earth of the field, eventually they stood on the precipice of a huge cliff, far below them mist obscured the ground but the red eyes of the unspeakable evil flickered through the cloudy haze.

His sister pointed straight ahead and said, "Do you see it, do you see the magic portal Ben? Jump through it, quickly".

Ben cried out, "But... but... I can't, it's in the air... I'll fall... I'm scared".

With her angelic beauty she smiled such a warm, loving, caring smile that her words only added to the desire for Ben to do as she asked, "Ben, I am your sister, I love you, jump... jump Ben, I am with you, you have nothing to fear, trust me my darling brother", she gently squeezed his small hand and said reassuringly, "Don't worry, we're leaping together".

The portal was as turbulent as a strong whirlpool. Ben was sent spinning, tumbling along in what fealt like a tube, everywhere was a watery, electric blue, like watching an inky blue sky reflected in a sea of smoothly rippling water.

Almost as suddenly as it all began, it seemed to stop; His hand no longer feeling his sister's hand, but he no longer fealt like he needed to hold onto it, he fealt older, calmer, more in control; more like himself. The shimmering wall of the tunnel was still there but he didn't have the panicked tumbling sensation, it was now like he was in a big, circular, door-less room. In front of him a giant, six foot high leather bound tome appeared, looking as ancient as it did serious. Emblazoned in gold, the title on the cover of the book read, "The life of Ben Asher".

Magically opening, each page of the book showed a different stage in his life, at first the pages turned by themselves, after a while he discovered that each stage could be changed in any way, all he had to do was think about it.

He had always wondered about the life he never had, being a stock broker had made him very rich, but it wasn't how he envisaged his life. He had spent a great deal of his teenage years reading detective, spy, action and fantasy novels; not stock broker ones...

# Chapter One: Dining out

Ben could smell it. At first he thought it was just bacon cooking (Not such a bad smell as he hadn't had breakfast yet and hadn't eaten the night before either). He inhaled deeply then realised that he did not smell only bacon but he also smelt something less appetising. Almost instantly as realised that, he heard a deep Arabic voice reeling off a list of profanity that would have made a hardened sailor blush (Had that sailor spoken Arabic; which Ben did), then a huge greasy looking man crashed through the diner's kitchen door holding a dirty towel wrapped around a rather red looking giant-sized paw. He was wearing a dirty (what once had been) white T-shirt and yelled at the waitress to stop flirting with the customers and to dress his wounded hand.

Ben had been watching the athletic looking waitress from out of the corner of his eye. She can't have been older than twenty-two. Forty-four year old Ben had a sudden pang of guilt, but not enough for him to move his eyes away. The waitress spun around, with a mock pout and frown crossing her seemingly unblemished face. Ben noticed her unusual green eyes; they were very rare for an Arabic woman. Her body seemed to glide under her waitress's uniform as she floated over to the cook. Ben guessed that the cook was her father. After she had seen to his hand and the disgruntled food torturer had retreated back into his kitchen, she turned to Ben and held up a coffee pot, Ben nodded and she dutifully filled his cup. She was chewing gum and Ben saw the tinkle of a fake diamond stud on the side of her nose. She had a strange intelligent look in her eyes that he hadn't expected to see, he covered his surprise by placing an order for breakfast, he had been turned off the idea of bacon so ordered a bowl of cereal, toast and a glass of orange juice. Ever since his doctors visit last year he had been thinking a bit more about the possibility of a heart-attack and anyway after seeing that cook he wanted to get something the waitress could prepare herself.

Old habits were hard to kick and Ben had deliberately chosen a seat at the counter but with his back to the wall, He saw the man at the door before he opened it, a thin, nervous looking man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, entered the diner. By his deep-set, dead looking eyes and malnourished frame, he had "drug addict" written all over him. He was wearing a long, filthy, threadbare trench coat; Ben's instincts instantly started screaming so he wasn't at all surprised when the man pulled a poorly sawn-off double-barrelled shot-gun from under his dirty trench coat. The waitress let out a shrill scream that quickly brought the cleaver-wielding cook from the kitchen. The gunman nervously swung his shotgun to cover the big man. The cook had been burgled a month ago and wanted to settle the score right now. Gesturing menacingly at the gunman, not fully comprehending the danger he was in, he started roaring at the living skeleton he saw before him. The junkie was visibly panicked, he was sweating profusely and his skinny frame seemed to be jumping around independently. He shot the cook once in the belly, incredibly the cook's stomach seemed to absorb the powerful shot-gun blast, the big man looked down at the new red stain on his T-shirt, then he lunged at the gun-wielding junkie, the twitching little drug-addict seemed to involuntarily fire again, this time the shot-gun blast hit the cook almost directly in the heart. The cook's knees' buckled and his forward momentum made him collapse face down on the floor, a dark red pool almost instantly fanning out from underneath his lifeless body. The junkie just stood there, his wide-eyes glued to the body.

Deciding it was time to act, Ben stood up and the drug addles gunman jerkily swung his gun to cover him, Ben looked into the gunman's eyes and saw the bloodshot look of terror looking, but not looking, back at him. Ben slowly and deliberately reached over and picked up his cup of coffee, he took a sip then said to the gunman, "Well, you've really done it now". This was a purposeful strategy, he had dealt with them for years and Ben knew that scared junkies make mistakes; the more scared they are the more mistakes they make. Ben speculated that this guy was probably so high he was almost on the roof. Ben went on, "Just give me the gun and we'll sort all this out". Ben knew that at very least the pathetic looking living-skeleton was facing a long prison term but probably a death sentence, to anyone else his predicament would have seemed obvious, but Ben hoped this junkie was too high to be thinking clearly. Unfortunately, the gunman was just rational enough to understand what he had done, he knew there was no defence and the frustration of that knowledge seemed to add craziness into his already crazy eyes. "Shut your face, or do you want some of this too"? The junkie asked almost absent-mindedly looking down at his shotgun. Ben said, "I don't think you'll shoot me". For a moment, the sheer audacity of the man's claim silenced the gunman so he said, "Just shut up and get me the money" "Okay", said Ben but instead of acquiescing to the junkie demands, with lightning speed he tossed the boiling hot remnants of his coffee into the junkies eyes. In one movement, Ben stepped to the right and pulled his gun out from its shoulder holster. He swung the hand-grip of his pistol down onto the side of the junkie's neck with such power that the under-nourished collarbone snapped like a twig underfoot. The stunned gunman was felled in that one fluid movement and rendered unconscious. Ben kicked the shotgun to the other side of the room. From the back pocket of his pants he fished out two, industrial strength, plastic zip ties (which cost much less than handcuffs but were almost as good and a lot lighter), one for the wrists and one for the ankles. Ben freed a cell phone from his jacket pocket and phoned his office to get a uniformed team to come and pick up this scum. 'Let them fill out the paperwork', he rationalised, he had better things to do and it was one of the perks of being a Detective Inspector. The irony of his own logic frustrated him. While the uniformed boys got there, he went around the counter, stepped over the body of the unfortunate cook then went through into the kitchen and finished preparing his breakfast and bought it out to where he was sitting. The pretty waitress was sitting at a booth, visibly shaken up and looking at the feet of the cook from behind the counter. How, how did you know', she said, "How did you know he wouldn't shoot you"? Ben replied, "Any hunter knows a double-barrelled shotgun only holds two shells: nodding at the coffee machine he said, "Can I have another coffee"? Ben put his hand on her shoulder to stop her from getting up to refill his cup, he walked over and refilled it himself, she was a nice kid, she must be pretty shaken up; she had just lost her father. As if anticipating the unasked question she said, "He, he was my uncle you know". Ben mentally corrected himself. "He was like a father to me, I can't believe he's dead, I can't believe I saw him die, it was horrible". Ben knew what she was going through, he had seen his father die in a hunting accident, but since he had started in law enforcement he had seen about one body a day, he had been a cop in various forms for nearly 25 years. That's a lot of dead bodies; you just have to move on. Some use humour, some have family, but for your own sanity you have to move on, that's all there is to it. Sure, the force has shrinks to talk to, but Ben found friends far more effective and friends didn't put any issues on your record (not to mention being free). "What's your name honey", he asked the woman, "Lydia", she said, "I'm working here to help me through Grad school". It was an unasked question, but Ben knew she probably wanted to explain why she was in a minimum-wage job. Ben didn't really think about that, he knew that you did what you had to do. While he was at college, he had to work delivering pizzas'. It was easy work and it had helped put him through college seeing as he didn't have a rich mummy or daddy, or the grades for a big lucrative scholarship (he did have one, but it was a government one and it only covered his tuition and books). Ben was thinking about his childhood memories when the uniformed unit arrived. They called in for an ambulance and then sat down either side of Ben, firing some friendly questions at him. Ben pointed to the shotgun and then to the lifeless body of the cook, the bandaged hand now seeming insignificant. One of the cops casually walked over and looked at the gun. "It's old", he said, "I'm surprised it didn't blow the perps arm off". Ben stated that he thought it may have misfired on the first shot. The cop by the gun put on a pair of latex gloves, the type doctors and nurses use and then opened the barrels of the gun. He didn't remove the shot casings but said, "it looks like these cartridges have been reused plenty of times". The cop brought the gun up to his nose, "smells like this gun needs cleaning real bad, my guess is he found it in a bin and kept it". The perp stirred, he was coming around after his little 'assisted' nap. The other cop went over and checked the restraints and said, "Well he ain't goin' nowhere". Ben finished the cereal he was eating and put the bowl to his mouth and drunk the rest of the milk. "Hungry eh Asher"? Said one of the cops with a nervous little smile. Both of these cops knew far better than to smart-mouth the famous "D I Asher", not only could he officially reprimand them, but he could also easily put them in the hospital and both of the uniformed cops wanted neither. But they needn't have been concerned. Ben had put those days behind him; he was too old for those sorts of games. The two cops had been worried about police gossip they had heard, Ben had been a Secret Service agent for twenty years, when he was in 'the service' he had a reputation of being tough, even by Secret Service standards. He had once held a suspect by his ankle and dangled him from the roof of a 40-story skyscraper until the suspect confessed about his plot to assassinate the President. Another rumour was that he had skinned a Klu-Klux-Klan guy to make the guy's partner talk. Word travels around quickly and big muscular criminals were known to lose bladder control when Ben walked into the interrogation room. It wasn't only his reputation, Ben was 6 foot 5 and weighed about 230 pounds, and he made it a strict routine to workout for an hour every day. Almost as soon as he had finished his training, the Service assigned him an undercover job. His task was to infiltrate the KKK and to find out all he could about their arms-smuggling operation and then bust it wide open. Ben did that all in an amazingly short period of time, his superiors were very impressed. Ben knew the rumour's, he hadn't skinned that KKK guy, one of the perps gun running buddies had filleted the traitor as a message to other spies. Ben had simply allowed that myth to take root and spread, you should never underestimate the power of a rumour he had reasoned with grim mirth. Straight after that job was done Ben was ordered to break-up a counterfeiting ring in Berlin. The group was getting Bordanian one-dollar bills, washing off the ink and then reprinting them as one hundred dollar bills (Bordania was one of the few countries that print all of its' paper currency on paper that was the same size). It wasn't Ben's job to critique Bordanian monetary policy so he did the job he was supposed to do and broke the entire German counterfeiting ring. By this time his superiors were paying careful attention to Ben Asher's career. After a string of equally successful cases, Ben got assigned to be on the Presidents' security detail. It was the very pinnacle that a secret service agent could hope to achieve and he was the youngest agent to have that privilege and he wore it like a badge. This was really the beginning and the end for him. The beginning because it really meant his career had started, no longer did he have to fight to earn the respect of a peer, now it was obvious by the fact he was on the team that protected 'The Main Man'. The reason it was the end of his career is really another, longer story, but Ben once more he let himself go there, as he had thousands of times before. They were aboard 'Air-force One' (the official designation of ANY plane that carried the President). Ben was sitting with a group of half a dozen other agents. One agent was saying, "...The barrel is a ceramics-aluminium combination that is chromed, it dissipates heat at an incredible rate and it is virtually corrosion proof". A woman agent patted where her gun bulged through her jacket and said, "Nope, still not enough to swing my mind and use one of those things, I'll stick with my SIG". 'She has a point', thought Ben, 'most Secret Service agents preferred the light reliability of the Swiss SIG handgun', it's .40 slug was heavy enough to bring down most targets with just one shot, even do a fair amount of damage to a car's engine block and the magazine holds 12 rounds. But Ben knew what they really wanted, a version of this conversation always happened when he was with agents relaxing. They wanted to see his 'Dirty Harry' SIG; his gun was a big subject in the service mythology.

In a VERY public ceremony the Sultan of Brunei presented Ben with a gift, the Sultan had Ben's standard issue (That is; standard for the Secret Service – few other Government agencies could afford to arm it agents with such a high-end weapon) SIG-229 replaced with a totally ceramics one that had an ivory handle, several months earlier Ben had discovered a plot by a Indonesian Terrorist group when they had come to Bordania to assassinate the high-profile head of state. Ben had dived in front of the Sultan just as a terrorist fired a revolver at the head of state, the bullet striking Asher 10cm below the sternum, fortunately he had been wearing the very latest 'Dragon scale' body armour and didn't even have a bruise. The Sultan's gift had been crafted by the finest gunsmith in Switzerland and in an elaborate ceremony, presented it to Ben in a highly polished Ebony case with a plush red velvet lining, the shape of the gun and a spare magazine were sunk into the velvet. Of course, the policy of the Service was not to allow gifts and the gun was to be kept in storage until Asher retired. However, as fate would have it; at that particular time Bordania was working on a very high-level deal with the Sultan, to allow a small naval base on Brunei territory. In a purely diplomatic attempt to curry favour with the Sultan, the President gave written permission for Asher to use the modified Automatic as his personal weapon. The Services' armourers had checked out (even X-raying it) and certified it fit for service and legend of the 'Dirty Harry' SIG was born.

Just before Ben gave into the other agents, in his earpiece he heard a voice say, "Agent Asher, report to the bullpen". 'The bullpen' was the secret service's codeword for the President's ready-room on Airforce One. Ben purposefully rose out of his seat and went to the stated room. In the room was 'The Main Man' himself and Ricardo Roper the Vice-president. Standing at the back of the room was Walter Schmidt, the head of the Secret Service. Walter said, "Agent Asher, for this weekend you have been assigned to be the Vice-presidents personal escort. When air-force one lands at approximately 2100 hours, you will escort the Vice-president into a limousine and proceed to the Ambassador motel, room 411, where upon you will remain on guard until you are relieved of duty, all other details have been arranged". "Yes sir", said Ben, just a regular babysitting job, no problem he thought but it was a privilege none the less. Air force one touched down and taxied to the awaiting armoured limousines. It was Service protocol to take out the President and put him in his chauffeured car and once it had driven off then go and do the same for the VP. Which they did, after holding open the door for the VP, Ben then got into the front of the limo, visually checking the VP was ready before the car sped off to the hotel. Once the limo had arrived at the luxurious hotel, it went directly into the underground car park and parked next to the elevator, all according to standard operating procedure. Ben then got out of the limo, closing the door behind him and went over and called the lift. On the panel over the doorway of the lift's door, Ben could see that the elevator was descending to the garage. There was a 'Bing' sound and the doors opened, an attractive, elegantly dressed woman stepped out of the lift, her mink Stoll highlighting her green eyes. Giving him no time for further appreciation of her, she confidently strode past him and over to a royal blue Rolls Royce. Ben went into the elevator and used his override key, which meant that any other guest could not use the elevator's car. Then, watching the Rolls Royce drive off, Ben opened the door of the limo for the VP. The man got out and walked briskly over to the awaiting lift. Ben flicked the door shut and stood directly behind his assigned 'subject'. Ben pushed the button marked '4', and the lift whirred into electro-mechanical life. When they reached the fourth floor Ben stepped out into an empty hall, he signalled for the VP to follow, retrieving his override key, Ben signalled for the VP to wait until he checked the hall. Ben, then led the "Little Man" down to room 411. Again, Ben checked all the rooms in the suite. Finishing his security sweep, Ben said, "I'll just be outside sir", and he closed the door to the room. Standing in the hallway, Ben took up the guard position just to the left of the doorway but ready to block it at a moments notice. Ben spoke into his wrist-microphone, "Little man is secure, repeat, little man is secure". Ben often wondered who made up the code words that they used. About 4 hours later, there was the 'bing' of the elevator and a woman about Ben's age and a teenage girl got out and started walking toward the room. The girl was red in the face and the older lady was bent down to her whispering something in the girl's ear. The woman showed Ben her security pass that had been given to her when the agent stationed in the lobby searched her. Ben opened the door for them and in they walked. As she passed him the little girl looked up at him with her big brown eyes. They weren't the bright, happy eyes of a child they were sagging, tired looking eyes, Ben's heart went out to her but his job was not to analyse her, it was to protect 'The Little Man'. A few minutes later the woman walked out alone, she was hastily putting an overstuffed envelope into her purse. As he was closing the door Ben quickly looked up and saw the VP standing facing the girl looking down at her with a hand on each of her shoulders. Ben was trained to read body language and what he saw disturbed him more than the girl's eyes. He stood outside the door getting more and more agitated. Then it happened; he heard a thump, the sound of breaking glass and a girl's scream. Something just snapped in Asher and he thought, "That's it", breaking every protocol in the book; he burst through the door. The VP, shirt off, chest heaving and pants unbuckled, was standing over the girl menacingly with his fists clenched. There was a large red welt on the left side of the girl's face and a trail of blood was snaking its way out of the side of her mouth. Ben angrily strode over to the VP and punched him with such force that the VP flew into the wall and slid down it. Speaking into his wrist mic Asher said, "Asher here, the Little man has fallen over and is unconscious, get the medics up here ASAP".

Ben walked over to the girl and gently offered her his hand. After what seemed like an eternity she took it and rose to her feet. Ben went into the suite's bathroom and dampened a towel under the tap. He walked over to her and handed her the towel. She couldn't bring her eyes up, she took the towel and dabbed the corner of her mouth. "What is your name"? He asked. "Janice", she replied still not looking up at him. Ben took off his suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. Then he went over to the girl and said, "Come on Janice, let's get you home". He took her hand and led her out the room.

A fully stocked ambulance followed the VP where ever he went so two highly trained paramedics were tend to a gurney on which lay the still unconscious VP. Asher could see his chest rhythmically rising up and down and mused, "It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy". They followed the two paramedics to the elevator and accompanied them to the hotel's lobby. Ben walked over to the Lobby agent and told him exactly what happened. Stories of the little man's "sexual habits" were well known throughout the Service (but there they stopped). Still, the agent looked in disbelief at Asher

The paramedics expertly loaded the gurney with its 'valuable" contents into the ambulance, one got in the back, the other went round to the front and they drove off at a rate of knots.

Then Ben went over to the check-in desk and showing his ID Ben said, "Please bring the VP's limo around to the main entrance". The concierge quietly spoke into a small walkie-talkie, a few minutes later the long black car slid to a stop outside the hotel's entrance. "Ok", said Ben escorting Janice to the car, "What's your address"? "2207 Evergreen drive", the girl said almost automatically. Ben led her out to the limo and said to the driver, "Take her to 2207 Evergreen drive please". He let the girl keep his jacket and the limo shot off into the night (Ben made a mental note to tell a friend in 'Child Services" about the Mother).

Ben walked back over to the Agent and told him to do what he needed to do, then went down to the Hotels lobby and took a seat. Ben was far from an idiot, he knew his actions had just ended his Secret Service career; he would be lucky if it didn't mean doing some time. With that thought, Ben raised himself up, got the key for his room from the wide-eyed concierge and headed for the elevator,

This all happened on a Friday, on the next Monday, head of the Secret Service; Walter Schmidt called Ben into his office. Schmidt had a face of granite as he barked his orders, "Asher, for leaving your post while on active duty and unauthorized use of a government vehicle, you are hereby ordered to hand in your Secret Service Identification and also your weapon"! Ben grimaced, he knew that what he did would lead to his dismissal, but he never expected to be charged with every other crime and not that of striking the Vice president! He took out his shield case and his SIG. Schmidt looked at the items on the table and picked up the SIG, he released the clip of ammunition and ejected the round in the gun's chamber then stated, "This is not a Secret Service Weapon", and handed it, the magazine and bullet, back to Ben. Schmidt went on, "Agent Asher, you are hereby discharged from the Bordanian Secret Service". Ben was handed a form that reminded him of his confidentiality agreement, then Schmidt whipped off, "You are dismissed, get out my office". Ben holstered the gun, turned around and walked out the office. He smiled stiffly at the pretty receptionist. Then, clutching the sheet of paper he was handed by Schmidt, Ben strode off defiantly.

Ben went home and sat down on his, still pretty unused, sofa. He looked around the room, he had moved in here two years ago and he was still living out of boxes. He clicked on the TV, 'May as well rot my brains' said Ben and downed a beer. About 10pm Ben got up and went to bed. He dreamed about being in a land where everything changed every few minutes. At 5am he woke up and went and poured himself a glass of water from the dispenser on the door of the refrigerator. Then he went back to bed and slept, dreamlessly, until 5:30am. As he went through his lounge to the kitchen, he saw that the answerphone display was blinking. He must have gotten a call while he was asleep (which was strange because usually he was a very light sleeper). He went over to it and pressed the "play" button, the voice of agent Forbes came through the receiver. "Hi Ben, Forbes here, You broke his jaw you know, he had it coming, most of the guys here know exactly how you feel, Anyway, I know you got booted out of the service, our loss, I have a friend in the city police and he said he can get you a job no problem, someone as highly trained as you would be a REAL find. You'll make detective straightaway. Here's the number, 555-353535. His name is Detective David Carmine. Ring him Ben, you're way too good for us to lose to the private sector". There was a transistorised 'click' signifying the end of the call. Ben knew what Forbes had meant about the private sector, he could easily get a job 'babysitting' a mega rich CEO, Ben would earn at least 6 figures, but that didn't interest him much. He resolved to give that Carmine guy a call later on that day. Ben continued on out to the kitchen and fixed himself some bacon and eggs. Standing, leaning against the kitchen counter eating his breakfast, Ben started thinking, dredging up the memories of his past had made Ben think of his childhood.

Life had been pretty tough, he didn't have the start to life that some kids had, which messed him up a bit until after his teenage years but everything worked out well in the end. His earliest memories of his father were when he was hitting Ben's mum. Ben was too young to know what was really going on, but he saw his mom cry a lot. Then when Ben was about five, he remembered going to her funeral, it was the first time he had worn a suit. He remembered the function afterwards, he remembered all the sad looking faces but most of all he remembered not seeing his mom. His father seemed more upset that he had to make his own dinner, which was a very clear memory for Ben, his father never ate with him or his big sister Diane. In fact, she made her and Ben's dinner. Then it started, Ben was always the first home from school, and he always used to get an apple then wait out on the porch in the old seat. When Diane came bouncing up the path, they would both go inside and listen to music on the record player. About 6pm his father would swagger through the front door, usually drunk and proceed to make himself dinner. When he was finished, without a word to the kids, he would retreat into his bedroom leaving the cleaning up for Diane. Diane would then make our dinner (she forced Father to give her money and did the shopping too); they'd listen to music, chat, and then go to bed. One night Ben was lying in bed when he heard a big commotion. Ben ran down stairs to the sound, he saw his father standing over Diane, naked chest and unbuckled pants. Ben said, "What's going on"? His father just turned and glared at Ben, "Go to bed boy, this is none of your business". At that moment Ben saw Diane, she was crumpled on the floor hey big eyes staring at him, holding the side of her face. Ben instinctively went over to her. "Momma's boy"! Said his father and stormed off back to his room. "Why, why did he do this to you Di"? Ben asked. She took Ben's hand, "I'm not sure Ben, I think he confuses me with momma". She hugged Ben close to her and he could feel her gently trembling. The next day it was like nothing had happened. His father was in the kitchen making his own breakfast. When Ben came down, he said, "Boy, we're going hunting this weekend, you comin"? It wasn't really a question Ben knew that. When the weekend came round, his father walked in the house with his three drinking buddies, Skooter, Meek & Smells. His father was kind of leader of the pack and he liked to play the 'good daddy' when they were at his house. They took their guns and headed out to two pickup trucks parked in front of the house. They loaded up the gun racks in the pickups then loaded all the supplies for the weekend (including a keg of beer). Ben rode in the truck that his father was driving. Besides Ben was 'Smells' (after the trip Ben knew why he had that nickname). After a few hours of driving, they came to an old cabin, everybody got out. The first item that was unpacked was the keg. The four men set it up and after each chucked back a cold one, they unloaded the rest of the gear from the pickups. Ben was still pretty upset from the night before and went to bed early. Not that he could sleep; the men had drunk all the beer and were now working their way through a few bottles of Jack Daniels. Finally, Ben drifted off to sleep. The next morning he was the last person asleep and awoke to the sound of the four men shuffling around the dusty cabin. Ben got out of his sleeping bag and got dressed, his father came over to him and said, "Were going out boy, you're with Smells and me". They went outside into the early morning air, and Smells said, "Yes sir-e, I'm gonna shoot me a bunch of critters", by critters he meant ducks and Ben noticed both the men their double-barrelled shot-guns with them. Even then, Ben recalled, they were busy sipping from hip flasks. They reached the shooting area and his father motioned to Smells. "You two lay here, I'll go 'round and flush 'em out". Ben & Smells did as his father had told them to do. Smells loaded his shotgun and gave it to Ben, "I think you oughta shoot the first shot, kind seems right". Ben just nodded taking the gun. After several minutes they heard the loud 'clap' of a shot. Smells pushed Ben up, in the distance Ben saw his father and a flock of ducks high in the air. He pointed the shotgun, not at the ducks but at his father and fired. He had gone out hunting with them a few times and Ben was a pretty good shot. Smells said, "You shot him boy, you shot your Daddy"! He grabbed the gun off Ben and raced over to where Ben's father was. The two other men came over when Smells waved frantically at them, after a few minutes Meeks ran off again. He returned with the police closely followed by an air ambulance. They took away the body and Ben saw Smells walk off with the police officer. The two remaining men came over to Ben and one said, "It's all right boy, were gonna take you home now". The ride home was in silence, when they got to the house DIANE came out and noticed only one pick-up. "Where's Dad and Smells", she asked. Skooter told her what had happened and she just walked over to Ben and put her arm around him. She led him inside and took him over to the sofa. Ben fell asleep and slept all day. The day of the funeral came around but there weren't many people at the service just Shooter, Meek and a few others, no Smells though. After the service a man and a woman came up to him, the woman said, "Hello Benjamin, I'm your Aunty Thelma and this is your uncle Doug. It was such a shame to loose your daddy in a terrible hunting accident like this", she had a kind looking face, "You are coming to live with us now". They were both a nice couple and Ben's life settled down to what it should have been. The hardest thing was being separated from Diane, but Ben thought that was a punishment for shooting his father. Anyway, several years later Ben had heard that after the funeral Diane had moved in with some rich relatives who lived on the other side of Tedan and was doing very well. Ben had done well too, he was an excellent scholar and a remarkable athlete, a lot of people payed a lot more attention to him than he realized. Ben snapped out of it when he heard the telephone ring. He put his plate down and went over and picked up the phone. "Hello", he answered, "Hello", the voice on the other end of the line said, "Ben? Ben it is me, Diane,"

# Chapter Two: Welcome to Bordania

Screaming across the sky at 500 knots per hour; from nose to tail it was 100 feet of the kind of luxury that befitted a jet-set billionairess. Maybe at was the altitude, maybe it was the champagne, but Diane mused, "Land of the free and home of the brave", such a noble place, not the biggest continent, not as big as China, India or Europe, nowhere near as big as Africa, yet it had something none of these continents could match. It was free, it was a democracy, and it was the land of privilege.

Glancing at the display that showed the ground temperature, she noted that it was a fairly warm day, not out of character for this time of year and somehow it seemed to fit in well with her return to her beloved home country: Bordania. She had lived there for all her forty-seven years, there was very little she didn't know, or love, about Bordania. Sitting there in a private jet sipping champagne Diane was convinced of the truth of her thoughts. Bordania was a busy, bustling twenty-four hour, seven days a week country and the whole world looked to it for leader-ship, Bordania and Bordania alone had the leader of the free world. Yes, she thought, God bless Bordania. Then she giggled. She was getting patriotic in her old age, it is probably the Champagne and the altitude. Diane had grown up in Craw-daddy, Tedan. Her daddy was a successful lawyer and her mother was an energetic homemaker that had driven them to school (at least until she was old enough to drive the family Volvo). When Diane graduated high school, her daddy bought her a cute little red sports car. She vaguely knew that most of the world hardly knew where their next meal was coming from and that she was a little spoiled but it wasn't her fault she was raised into a rich family, was it? Besides, her best friend at the time: Buffy Tilldemann, had told her that most of them were just jealous anyway, especially the ones that weren't from Bordania! When Diane was nineteen she had married Pye Charles, even though he was fifty, he was probably the richest man in Bordania. Pye pursued her like he was acquiring a business, how could a girl refuse a ten caret pure white diamond with matching earrings and a twenty-five caret blue diamond necklace, all wrapped up in a mink stoll, her previous life's luxury could not even compare to that which Pye could offer her: Twelve houses around the world, a new car every month, and the jewellery, oh the jewellery, they had a permanent buyer stationed at de Beers and all the best jewellery stores sent their merchandise, via an armoured car of course, for THEM to view. But ironically, Pye couldn't give her the one thing she really wanted and that was free. Pye was as sterile as a surgical knife, he was born with no Testes, in other words, he wasn't just shooting blanks; he couldn't even get the gun loaded! Pye had spent millions to find out that doctors could do nothing unless a testicular transplant became technically possible, which it wasn't then. But Pye also refused to adopt, his logic was that God didn't want him to have children and that was the way it was going to be. That argument always annoyed Diane because he wasn't even a Christian! It is not that the rest of his equipment didn't work; he just couldn't finish off the act. But Diane did love him, well more at first than now, but Diane had resigned herself to the fact that she would never have children, even her own brother wouldn't come and see her because of Pye. Over the years, Pye had gotten more and more remote. He didn't even bother romancing Diane, he told her that his love was in the things he provided for her, but she still felt left out of his life. The closest he had gotten to share his work life with Diane was when he telephoned her when they were courting. He wouldn't even let her into his office building. It had only gotten worse over the last five years, so much so now that he would ignore her for hours if she asked him about his work. Diane took her marriage vows seriously but she found herself spending greater amounts of time away from him. The hostess came around and asked her to get ready to land. The Gulf Stream jet touched down lightly then taxied over to their correct gate. Rising to her feet and making her way to the doorway, she climbed down onto the tarmac. She casually smiled at the pretty green-eyed hostess as she left the airliner. It is not that she had contempt for the aircrew, just that she had done it thousands of times before. The 'golf cart' sped her over the tarmac to the customs area, after the briefest of pauses she was shown to a waiting limousine. Without needing to ask her address the limo driver drove her up Rodeo drive and up to the Charles mansion on Beverly Hills Heights. The car pulled into a wide driveway, after a hundred or so feet they pulled up in front of a barred gateway that was made from wrought iron and stood twice the height of a man. The driver spoke into an intercom outside his car door, "Mrs Charles", he didn't need to say any more than that, the gate rolled open and the limo drove through. The house was set back about a mile from the main gate, the driver drove up to the lavish entranceway of the mansion and Diane got out and trotted up the steps to the front doors of her house. Diane could hear the yap, yap, yap of her little Pekingese poopsy. Poopsy was the type of dog that you imagine other dogs laughing at. It was small, had white hair and had a pink bow tied into the hair on the top of her head. Everything about the dog screamed 'UNPRACTICAL', but this was LA where looks were the number one thing and Poopsy looked cute, she was looked after better than most humans, she had her own chef, her own dentist and her own personal trainer, for most people having poopsy 'poop' on their lawn would raise the value of the property. Diane bent down and scooped up her little toy dog. "Hewo Poopsy-Woopsy, mommies back", she cooed as the tiny purebred licked her 'mommies' face. There were a dozen staff lined up for Diane to inspect, every single one of them was Mexican and they greeted her with genuine warmth, "Olla Signora Charles", "Olla" sent back Diane, she got on well with her staff and they with her. There was one new woman; the head maid introduced her formally as Juanita, "Olla Signora Charles", she said as she curtsied. The head maid, Rosetta, was smiling pleasantly at Diane, "Rosetta, could I please see you in the study", said Diane and then she and Rosetta headed to the classically furnished Study. "Rosetta darling, how are you, Carlos sends his regards". Carlos is a servant in Diane's Spanish mansion that Rosetta had met when she had accompanied Diane for her Spanish holiday (Usually in the Bordania winter). "Oh Signora Charles, you would have us both married if you had your way", Rosetta's 'rosy' cheeks told Diane she wasn't angry. Diane retorted, "And why not, you're both eligible, you both like each other". "If he likes me that much he will come here and propose to me", Knowing her bosses 'match-maker' tendencies, Rosetta was a little concerned she had just given her an idea. Diane sighed and put down Poopsy who felt slightly indignant for a moment, Diane took off her Diamond necklace, "Rosetta, be a dear and put this in the safe for me", she handed the weighty pendant to her maid, then turned her back and went over to look up something in a book. Neither Rosetta nor Diane noticed the Study door slightly ajar. Rosetta walked over and swung open the large original Monet allowing access to the safe's door. She entered the 4-digit combination on the key-pad; the person looking through the crack in the door was carefully watching Rosetta. Rosetta deposited the necklace in the safe, as she turned around she noticed that the door was not closed properly; she went over to it and noiselessly brought the two halves of the large mahogany door together. She turned around and asked Diane, "Is there anything else Signora Charles?" Diane said back, "I told you Rosetta, when we are in private you can call me Diane". Rosetta reasoned, "It is a habit I would rather not get into, the other staff need to hear me call you formally or they will lose respect for us both". Diane nodded, respect was a big thing to Mexicans, and Rosetta knew best how to handle her staff. Diane said, "That trip wore me out, I think I'll take a small nap before lunch". She walked out the door and headed up the master stairway. Of course Pye had elevators built to get to each of the eight floors of the mansion (four above ground, four below) but Diane preferred to get the exercise. Her bedroom was on the top floor, but more accurately, you could say it WAS the top floor. If the house itself didn't say extravagant then this room certainly did. It had two ensuites, all with twenty four caret gold fittings of course, its own kitchen and a computer controlled air conditioning system that could lower the temperature of the room to that of the South-pole or raise it to that in the middle of the Sahara Desert. It had an entire wall taken up with flat screen displays that showed everything from security camera footage to the local TV channels. The bed was an engineering marvel, it swivelled to any angle and it could be raised or lowered from the front, back or both. It was all remote controlled and was the size of four super king-sized beds combined together. When Diane was very young she had to share her single bed with her young brother and designing this bed was her 'therapy'. Often friends would pop over just to see if the story they heard about the bed was true. Both she and Pye had separate walk-in wardrobes. An elevator connected the room to the roof where the helicopter pad was. Every evening after Pye had 'choppered' home he would come down that elevator at exactly 4 pm and offer Diane, if she were there, a perfunctory peck on the cheek. Then he would go over to the computer terminal and read the dozen or so E-mails he always seemed to get. At exactly 5:30pm he would go down to the dining room where his dinner was to be waiting. After Dessert, he would retreat to his den and have a cigar and a glass of Brandy. He would thoroughly read the newspaper then watch the news. At exactly 9:45pm he would take the elevator to his room and go to bed. He followed that routine strictly. At first this routine bored Diane and she did everything she could to try and interrupt it. She soon gave up, as she found even her most determined efforts ineffectual. After several years she had come to depend on this routine, as much as Pye did. The weeks rolled on and it came time for Diane to leave for another house, she had a nice little (only three story) apartment on the beach front pf the French Riviera. She did so love it there this time of year, so making the arrangements herself; she telephoned Rosetta downstairs to tell her of her plans. They would leave in one weeks time, Rosetta always came along to the Riviere, a perk of the job. Before Diane left, she wanted to buy a new piece of jewellery, so again bypassing Rosetta; she telephoned Tiffany's and asked them to send out their fall collection.

At noon, the big armoured truck arrived and out of it jumped a slight, rather elderly gentle-man. Behind him walked two large security guards they carried a large 5-foot square sturdy looking metal container between them. The head of the mansions own security team was there with a small walkie-talkie in his hand. "Ah Mrs Charles, you're looking as ravishing as always", offered the elderly man. "Why thank-you Mr Tiffany, I am dying to view another of your gorgeous collections". Diane waved her hand at her side in a gesture that told Rosetta to follow her. Once inside and the doors were locked, Mr. Tiffany ordered the guards to unload the metal box. The mansions security chief spoke softly into the walkie-talkie, although they could not see it, two armed members of the mansions security team walked over to the study doors and went on guard. There was probably close to a half a billion dollars worth of gems there and insurance companies get very nervous when faced with claims of that size, so every precaution was taken. Diane selected a Red, White and blue diamond choker chain. That alone cost 1.1 million dollars but it was truly spectacular. Once she had tried the choker-chain on, she had Rosetta put it in her safe. They packed up and left, the old man was delighted at selling his most expensive piece. When the Tiffany guards were ready to leave the security chief spoke softly into his walkie-talkie, the two other security team members opened the study doors ands then went and opened the mansions from doors. The armoured truck drove off and the security team retreated down the elevator to their basement headquarters. The week passed swiftly and the Limousine arrived to take Diane and Rosetta to their jet, which was gassed-up and waiting for them at the airport.

A cliché states that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing; well Juanita was a dangerous woman then. She had grown-up in a house with eleven other brother and sisters in a little village in the Mexican countryside. She had always hated being poor and had been taught basic English in a monastery close to her home. She would read as many English books and magazines as she could find. When Juanita was thirteen, her mother died (further embittering her) so she went to stay with her aunt and uncle in the city. They had no children of their own and could afford to send Juanita to high school, but like all the things seemed to do in Juanita's life, after two years the 'bubble burst'. Juanita was very pretty and well developed for her age and that fact did not escape Carlos, Juanita's uncle, as paid her nightly visits and stole the one thing that she thought no one could take from her, her virginity. Juanita could never bring herself to tell her aunt and after a year she just ran away.

Being sixteen and living on the streets was very hard on Juanita, she spent the days hanging around with a group of other runaways and sniffing glue out of a plastic bag. She tried to convince herself that she was happy, but the reality was that this was a deeply upsetting and depressing place and time in her life. In order to get a little money, the penniless boys and girls would sell themselves on the streets, there were many suicides. Then, one evening, Juanita approached an older man to see if he wanted to 'party'. After pausing and looking at her, he saw in her the daughter he could never have. He took her home and did 'buy' her but he didn't sleep with her, instead he fed her, showered her and let her sleep in his house. The next day he went shopping with her and bought her an entire wardrobe of clothes, that evening he asked her to stay permanently in his guest room. He helped her 'get off' drugs but every night for half a year Juanita expected to see him at her doorway, she never did and eventually she learnt to trust him more and more. He had many books and Juanita read many of them, after about six months the man asked her if she would like to go to University, he would buy her whatever she needed. So, with a little trepidation, she enrolled and attended the huge building. On her first day she met Pedro, Pedro was a studying fine art and was majoring in literature, Juanita was very taken with his black leather jacket and beret. Pedro invited her to a lunchtime meeting of a club; in this club they discussed issues affecting the world. Juanita quickly agreed and attended the meeting. The people there blamed most of the world's problems on their big bourgeois neighbours the Bordanians. Juanita looked back over her life and saw her poverty to blame for everything bad that had happened in her life, the group convinced her that the only reason she was poor was because of Bordania's greed. Throughout the meeting she felt Pedro staring at her, she knew he liked her and she liked him too. After the meeting Pedro invited Juanita to come up to his apartment, she accepted and had a few glasses of wine with Pedro, the next thing they knew they were kissing and then the inevitable, he took her by the hand and led her into his bedroom. For the first time in her life Juanita fell in love, her previous emotions had never prepared her for that, she was convince that she had met her 'soul-mate' in Pedro. After a few days she went home and faced her benefactor, he was incensed that she had just disappeared for two days; he said that he couldn't live like that and warned her that he wasn't prepared to put up with that behaviour. She swore she wouldn't do it again, but a week later, the same thing happened. This time her benefactor said he couldn't live like that, he also said that he had tried to treat Juanita as a daughter, but it was painfully obvious that she had rejected him, so he told her to take her things and leave. Sobbing she returned once to Pedro's apartment, but Pedro wasn't there, his door was unlocked but he was nowhere to be seen. She heard a noise; it was in Pedro's bedroom, 'ah' she thought, 'he must be home'. She went over and opened the door, her heart immediately sank at the sight. Pedro was in bed with another woman straddling him; to Juanita this was the worst betrayal she had ever had, in one day she had lost both the men she cared about. She screamed at him and then ran out the apartment. She was walking, despondently, along the street when she overheard a couple that were talking about their plans in Bordania; they were going to walk across the border. Juanita stopped and looked at them, they could see she had been crying and comforted her. After a few minutes Juanita asked them what they were talking about, they told her that they were going to sneak across the Bordanian border that very night. Juanita paused and asked if she could go with them, when they agreed Juanita felt as though a new stage in her life was beginning and she was glad to cast out the old. But they warned her to be careful when she was crossing, the Bordanian border police were very tough when they caught people trying to sneak into their country, but then added that the way they were going was very new and very safe. They drove a rusty and rattling pick-up truck many miles into the desert, and then parked behind a rocky out-crop. It was dark already so they walked, silently, in the moonlight. The suitcase that Juanita was carrying became a lead weight, the other woman saw Juanita struggling and despite carrying her own bag, she took Juanita's bag and balanced it on her own head, Juanita thanked her quietly for her kindness. After walking for many miles, the man whispered that they were just crossing the Border, Juanita expected to see a wall or a fence or something, but there was nothing except a dried-up old river-bed with what looked like an old fence post painted white leaning on a drunken angle. The man added that they had a friend in Bordania that was going to meet them in a pick-up truck in about one hour, he added that Juanita could join them, they were going to live with a Mexican family that had smuggled themselves in a year and a half ago, he added that there would be plenty of room for her. She agreed and they went over to another rocky outcrop and waited to begin their new Bordanian lives. Sure enough, another slightly less rusty pick-up truck drove up and delivered them to a park filled with trailer homes. They drove up to one particular trailer and parked the truck; the occupants of the trailer were sitting outside around an open fire, singing songs. The people around the fire rushed over and started hugging all three of them; each of the new arrivals was given a bowl of re-fried beans. At the end of the evening a woman spoke up and told the new arrivals that they would be staying with her. The next day their hostess said to Juanita, "We work in the fields picking pineapples, it is hard work but we are paid well, if you want I can get you a job there", Juanita had no money so she quickly accepted. The hostess hadn't lied, it was very hard work, but like the woman said, they were paid well, or at least so Juanita thought. Juanita and the woman became good friends and the woman told her how she had once been a live-in maid in many big houses, her scam was to sleep with the husband, then he would write her a glowing reference (and give her some money) then she would go on to the next house and do the same thing. Juanita listened to this very intently. After a year of picking pineapples, Juanita realized she wasn't really making that much money, it sounded a lot at first but she was thinking in Mexican terms, now she was in Bordania she realized she needed more money. Once a week they were taken into town, while in town she met a young man who said he was heading for the city of Craw-daddy, Juanita, armed with what the woman had told her had decided, just like that, to go with the man. As he gunned his Chevy down the road he said, "Well, you a pretty little Senorita ain't cha"? Juanita knew where this was going but thought this man was very handsome and could help her with her plan. They pulled into a cheap roadside motel and hired a room. As they dressed in the morning Juanita asked the young man if he knew anyone who wanted to hire a maid. "Well it's a good thing you asked, my folks are looking for a maid". Juanita smiled; this was going to be easier than she thought. When they arrived in Craw-daddy, the young man pulled up to a large house he said was his parents. Juanita looked much older than her seventeen years and when the elderly couple asked, she gave her age as twenty-five, but everything was working out exactly as she planed and it didn't take long for the old man to visit her room. After a few months, she lied and said she was pregnant, she told the old man not to worry and that she would not tell his wife. She added that it was probably better if she left. The old man wrote her an excellent reference that would make it easy for her to get a new job at a bigger house with better pay. After a while of this doing this scam, she got a lot more bold and would help herself to items from the house, just a few so she wouldn't raise suspicion. She told herself that she deserved it.

Pye stayed back at the LA mansion, what he did could have been done via phone, fax and Internet but he preferred the human touch. He considered himself the last of a dying breed. He was right there, he was a dying breed but he wasn't the last of them. At seventy-nine years old, he just couldn't be bothered living a lifestyle that was so active. He enjoyed his routine and anything else would have probably killed him! He was pondering over this in his den, a brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other. At 9:45pm he predictably rose and went to the elevator. There was a surprise waiting for him when he stepped out of the elevator into his room, Juanita was there, pretending she was turning down the bed. She started flirting with the old man, standing close to him so that he could see her athletic young figure. She took him by the hand and led him over to the bed, all the time saying how a busy man like him needed to relax. Finally, even Pye could see that she was trying to seduce him. Pye was a lot of things but he never had and never would cheat on his wife, he was too old for those games. He told Juanita that he was a married man and her talk was inappropriate and it would be best if she found another household to work for. This had never happened to Juanita before, usually she just had to bat her eyelids and the husband would fall over himself to get in her bed, it both angered her and interested her. Pye gave her some cash and said, "Here is $500, consider it your severance pay, finish your work tonight and then leave please". She took the money and decided all she had to do was move her usual plan forward a few months. Juanita returned to the main kitchen and walked over to the den holding a tray. Oh how she hated the bourgeois capitalists! Their entire lives centred on their money. This old man had enough money to significantly raise the living standard of every person in all of Mexico, yet he lived in a house he had never seen all of and was married to a wife that couldn't stand to be with him. Well too bad, he probably wouldn't even miss what she was going to 'liberate' from him. Damn the Bourgeois Bordanians! She put his ashtray and empty brandy glass on the tray, and then took them back to the massive main kitchen. She paused for a moment, 10pm, the security crew would be swapping over, time for her to act! She walked over to the study and quickly slipped into the mahogany panelled room. Immediately she went over to the Monet, which was hung on a hinged frame. Behind it, she saw the target of her endeavours, the safe! She retrieved the little notepad that she had bought specifically for this purpose. On it was written a four-digit code that she had seen Rosetta enter as she looked on through the crack in the door. '4171' but nothing happened.

"Don't you just hate it when that happens", a calm, quiet voice said from the other side of the room. Juanita turned and saw Patrick Napier, the chief of security, standing there. Pye had anticipated her potential revenge and had telephoned down to his security chief, Patrick Napier, to covertly monitor Juanita until she left the property. Juanita thought about running for a moment but he was closer to the door than she was. Then she got that sinking, gutted feeling in her stomach and he said in his annoyingly English accent, "Oh well played, but we bagged you my dear". He walked over to her and fished out a pair of handcuffs, she thought about flirting with him and offered him her wrist bending over revealing her cleavage. But Patrick had been 'in the game' for a bit longer than that so said, "Very impressive I'm sure my dear, but I'm afraid I still have to put these on you". Anger flashed in her eyes for a moment and she aimed a well practiced karate chop to the side of the Englishman's neck, he expertly avoided it and slammed her into the wall wasting no more time 'cuffing' her. He fetched a walkie-talkie from his pocket and said into, "She was up to something sir, but never-fear, I got her". With a sigh she resigned herself to her fate. As an ironic teaser that Patrick could never resist, he entered the correct code and the door swung open. The jewellery boxes that Juanita could see in the safe, they were her targets. What neither of them noticed was the manila folder with a government seal on it.

At the Riviera, Diane and Rosetta were genteelly sipping champagne while both were relaxing on deck chairs under the French sun Diane insisted that this was Rosetta's vacation too and she was to not to lift a hand to serve anyone. From the top veranda where Diane and Rosetta were relaxing was a fantastic view of the water. A maid came out to Diane and said, "Madame", as she handed Diane the cordless telephone. Patrick Napier quickly told Diane of the happenings at the LA mansion. Diane replied, "Yes Mr Napier I understand, could you handle all that for me please", she had been rich for many years and from time to time people attempted to steal from them, they never succeeded as Mr Napier was ex-Scotland yard, the best they had ever had, Pye lured him away with a huge salary (he ALWAYS got what he wanted). Patrick agreed to Diane's wishes, then she hung up and handed the phone back to her maid. Knowing that Rosetta would worry about the attempted theft for the entire holiday, she decided not to tell her. Rosetta had turned to allow the sun to reach her back. Diane said, "Rosetta, I would like you to take a piece of jewellery to sell for you and your family". "Rosetta turned over and sat up, "But Signora Charles, you have already given us so much". Diane went on, "You know how I would love to have children to spend my money on, you know Mr Charles can't give me that; please let me do this for you, it would mean a lot to me". Rosetta thought for a moment then said, "Si Signora Charles, mucho gracias. Because of you we live in a very nice modern home, because of you my children both go to college and because of you I can send my relatives in Mexico some money from time to time, not only are you a good boss but you are also a good person and a good friend".

Many years ago, after her maid's initial job interview Diane had her limousine driver drive Rosetta home (Rosetta didn't have a car then), Diane went with her. The 'house' that Rosetta was living in was only a trailer home and to Diane's eyes it should have been condemned at least a decade ago. When Diane returned to the mansion, she went into her study and telephoned Pye's legal firm. She instructed them to buy a nice, modern, suburban town house in a predominantly Mexican area, for it to be suitable for a family of two and to have it fully furnished. A week later, under the pretence of Diane buying a new investment and wanting Rosetta's opinion, they both stood on the street in-front of the town-house. Predicting Rosetta's response and not wanting to make a scene in public, Diane waited until they were both standing in the generously appointed kitchen until she told Rosetta, "Oh by-the-way, this house comes with your new job", then added, "We can't have our new maid living in a caravan park, it just wouldn't be a good look". After a stunned silence and much hugging, Diane went on, "There's a car parked in the garage, I'll need you to do some cross-town errands". One month later the deeds to the house and ownership were delivered to Rosetta's new address by a Fed-ex courier.

A year after Rosetta started as Diane's maid; Diane promoted her to the position of head maid. Diane handed her a velvet covered rectangular box with the word, "Tiffany", written on it in a gold script style. The exquisite silk lining on the inside of the box framed a row of identically shaped diamond and emerald gems evenly spaced on an intricate platinum chain. Answering her maid's unspoken query, Diane said, "I have arranged with Tiffany's for this piece to be returned, they will give you a bank cheque in return, I want you to keep this cheque", She pre-empted her maid by saying, "Don't argue Rosetta, I want to do this for your children's education, this will make me very happy".

The newest piece of jewellery that Diane gave Rosetta was actually part of a gift from a generous host; she had never liked the diamond and ruby brooch, even more so when she found out that Baron Von Rightige, the brooch giver, had given an identical piece to every woman that attended his soirée. So she was pleased to see it out of her collection, Tiffany's appraiser had valued it at a mere US$250 000.00. Diane told Rosetta to think of the brooch as a performance bonus. Rosetta was stunned, already she had a nice home because of this woman, to pay for her children's education was just, so much. She knew Diane wanted a family and that her husband, Mr Charles had never given her one. Rosetta knew that Mr Charles was never mean to Diane but he could not give her the one thing she truly wanted. Anyway, Rosetta did not truly trust Signor Charles, she knew he made machines to kill people, machines that had killed many of her people in Mexico, but she had never mentioned that to Signora Charles. In Diane's mind it was a pretty simple equation, Pye gave Diane so much, well materially anyway, it just seemed so silly not to help at least one person. Ben would not take her money. Ben, she really missed her brother, whenever she thought of Ben she fealt her life was so out of control; she bought things even when she didn't want them, just to make herself feel better. Diane called the maid and asked her to bring up some snacks and two Iced teas. Pointing at the beautiful infinity pool beside them, She asked Rosetta, "Would you like to take a dip before some nibbles arrive"? To Rosetta that idea sounded perfect and they climbed into the lovely sun-warmed water.

# Chapter Three: The thot plickens

Back at the Precinct, there was the quiet roar of a thousand 'private' conversations; today was the day for the weekly 'blitz' on prostitution so there was a multi-coloured sea of prostitutes in bright pieces of clothing (all three or four sizes too small to be anywhere near practical). Interspersed amongst the brightly adorned crowd were the plain clothes of other perps, the suits of detectives and the blue of police uniforms. The scene looked random, chaotic an unplanned, but Ben knew that this was the result of years of trail and error. A face appeared in front of Ben's and said, "Hey Ben, nice job catching that perp at the diner, but I think he has a thing for you now 'cause he wants to talk to you and you only, be gentle with him, let him down easy". Ben forced a sarcastic grin and said, "Very funny Lawson, I hear there's a school that needs a crossing guard for the week, are you volunteering"? That stopped any comeback from the uniformed cop. Shane Lawson was a Sargent that had a good rapport with Ben, they shared lunch in the Cafeteria once a week, Lawson knew that Ben was only kidding around, just as Ben knew that by the Sargent teasing him. But just as importantly, Lawson was showing the other 'uniforms' that he was friendly with the mighty 'D I Asher', it was group dynamics 101. Lawson smiled and then dropped his tone a little and said, "The perp is at county in the 'Psycho ward'. Ben nodded and headed out the door.

Ben pulled his car into the hospital's car park and headed directly to the stair well (he always felt lazy taking Elevators). He waved to the nurse as he passed and said, "Howdy Angela, I'm expected up on the psycho ward". The nurse smiled back and said, "Hi Ben, he's up there waiting, when are you going to take me up on that offer to cook you dinner"? Ben said, "I'll give you a ring", and disappeared up the stairway. Ben was 6'5" and not unattractive, in other words, he had no trouble attracting the attention of the opposite sex.

The 'Psycho ward' was a specially protected wing in the hospital that dealt with mental patients, injured criminals and druggies or any combination of the three. Officially, it was called the High-risk wing for psychological observation, but unofficially it was designated the 'psycho ward' and that seemed to be the name that 'stuck'. On the 3rd floor Ben went into the corridor and saw the uniformed guard sitting in front of a large, sturdy looking, steel mesh door. Ben walked up to the door, giving the guard a salutary nod and flashing his badge, handing over his SIG he said, "Buzz me through please". The cop pressed a small red button mounted on the wall and the mesh door opened. The junkie lay in bed, his heavily bandaged shoulder poking above the neat white linen sheets, an intravenous drip feeding medical-grade opiates directly into his arm. The junkie was wide awake with a vague smile pasted across his gaunt features and without prompting calmly stated, "You smashed it up pretty good but at least there are some rewards", nodding his head towards drip. He continued, "I've heard about you on the street, they say you're a real hard-ass but a fair guy. I can give you a real hot tip if you cut me a real good deal". The backbone of policing was to have good informants and this junkie had "snitch" written all over him, but Ben wasn't about to make any promises he couldn't keep. "Go on", he said, "I'll tell you what I'm prepared to offer but you gotta talk first". "Okay", said the junkie, he wasn't new to quid-pro-quo arrangement, "I was pullin a job Monday last week and I 'found' this folder, in it was all these weird plans, ya know, diagrams of like planes crashing into buildings, pictures with lots of red marks on them. Missiles hitting buildings, casualty estimates, military exercise plans, a whole lot of weird stuff". He went on, "Stuff like I have never seen, but on the cover of this folder was the sign of the government, it freaked me out, even a picture of some guy in a turban, holding a machine gun". Ben asked, "Where did you see this'? "The apartment of some hot looking chick, nice house, by the park", said the junkie. The junkie seemed to be telling the truth but you could never be totally sure with junkies, they say exactly what they think you want to hear and they are very skilled at lying. The Service had trained Ben in how to spot a lie. If a person is lying their face will generally make what is called a 'micro-expression', they will move a facial muscle momentarily in a kind of involuntary tick. Secret Service agents were trained very carefully in how to detect these micro-expressions. It wasn't foolproof, but it was pretty effective. Junkies tend to believe the lies the are telling which made it very difficult, but try as he might Ben didn't notice a micro-expression so he said, "Well no promises but I'll check it out". The junkie nodded resignedly, he had 'been around' and knew that was probably the best he could hope for, after a few moments he added, trying to sweeten the deal, "I wasn't always a junkie y'know. I used to have a steady job as a clerk for a construction company; I've seen plans like that before, like when we were going to build something". Ben pondered over that for a moment then nodded his head and left the room, For some reason the junkies story seem to stick in his mind. As Ben was walking toward the security door the junkie yelled out, "Just check it out".

Ben made his way back to the precinct and started looking through some newspapers. He got them every morning, in the service they call it "OSINT" short for Open Source Intelligence (getting publicly available Intelligence). Ben was always surprised by what you could gather out of newspapers, but the national ones tended to be quite tightly controlled, so the international ones were usually a more reliable source (but every now-and-then the national papers' would slip something past the censors. Something was up, it seemed Bordania was being unusually tough on nation of Irios, but Ben didn't pay that too much notice, what really took his attention was the picture of the waitress from the diner that had been held up, only she was wearing an Israeli Army uniform, weird thought Ben, what was her name again, Lydia. He knew it was her from her eyes. He went into the file room and pulled the file about the attempted robbery at the diner, it read: Attempted robbery, Failed, No evidence to suggest anything but a botched robbery, in the attempt the perpetrator shot twice and killed the Diner's cook, one Usama Hussein, the perpetrator used a poorly maintained sawn-off 10 gauge double barrelled shot gun, one of the cartridges was effective however in the other one the gunpowder was partially wet causing only a superficial wound to the stomach. 27 Lead pellets from the other shot had penetrated the cook's heart muscle in every chamber. A photo of the big victim, fifty five, Arabic, no siblings, been in Bordania for 2 months. The junky had a few 'priors', burglary mostly, the words 'Case Closed'. The waitress wasn't even in the file. If she was with who Ben suspected she was with then he wasn't surprised in the least that her details weren't there. Ben went back to his desk and carefully cut out the picture of 'Lydia'. He knew that she had lied to him as to her real reason for being in the diner which meant she was hiding something pretty important, Ben still had a friends in the Service that owed him a few favours that he could use to track 'Lydia' down. That evening when Ben went home he called his friend Ian Spicer who worked in the biometrics lab at Langley. Ian answered the phone and after a few minutes of polite chit-chat Ben asked him to come around. After about 30 minutes, there was a knock at the door and a slim, athletic man was standing there. Ben said, "Ian, great, I'm glad you could make it". Ian shook Ben's hand, while they attended Langley, Ian and Ben had been roommates.

Ben was a well built 19 year-old and Ian was, well, not. The truth was that Ian was a self-confessed geek, he loved computers and what Ian didn't know about them wasn't worth knowing. Ian received his first PhD (in Computer Science) at the tender age of 15 and his second in Computer Forensics at just 18. For his Bachelor's degree Ian had devised a way to 'crack' virtually any encryption method and had developed an algorithm that simulated an object travelling at the speed of light and years later when Ian had been offered a position as a junior Professor at the Prestigious Cambridge University he jumped at the chance and was quickly promoted to senior Professor. Ian released some groundbreaking papers on Computer Forensics (Which is the technique of obtaining hidden or deleted files from a computer - most people don't realize how difficult it is to delete information from a computer). It was these papers' that attracted the attention of the Secret Service to Ian and a mere three years after his academic career had started he left it for a new career as a Secret Service agent. Ian had always wanted a career 'at the coal face': doing rather than teaching. As intelligent as Ian was, his one major mistake was under-estimating the Secret Service. In fairness to Ian, he did not yet know the extent of the Service, he didn't know that the service already had a literal Phalanx of 'genius' agents at its disposal. So when he hacked into the Service's database about a hundred alarms went off in the agency's computer room, it was like watching an alert at an air base, in the space of less than a minute 100 of the top minds in Bordania were sitting at their computer terminals tracking down the offender. They quickly found out the attacker was good, very good and had used a method never even theorised about before.

Ben first met Ian at the gym, he was doing weights and Ian was on the exercycle. Ben was curious, the guy on pumping his scrawny legs didn't look like an agent, he was fit looking and although slender, had well-developed leg muscles but he was not a Charles Atlas. Ian took the initiative and walked over to Ben, hand extended and with an easy, unforced smile said, "You're Ben Asher right"? Ben shook the offered hand and said coyly, "Who's asking"? "Oh", said the man, "I'm your room-mate, Ian Spicer", and added, "I got your photo from the Secret Service database", and winked wickedly. Ian went on, "Your file said you worked out a lot so I assumed you would be over here". Ben smiled and said, "Pretty good digging but I though those files were heavily protected"? Ian couldn't resist a smirk, "They are, or rather, were". Ben thought about this for a few moments then the truth of Ian's wink dawned on him, putting his arm around Ian's should he said, "This is the start of a beautiful friendship"! From that point onwards their friendship grew. On their second year at the academy Ben & Ian went out to celebrate the successful completion of their end-of-year exams, in was a warm summer evening they strolled back to their room. When they got there, they found a note to Ian Spicer had been slipped under the door, the note told agent-in-training Spicer to report to Superintendent Ray Moreski's office. About 2am the next morning Ian walked back into the room. By the look on his roommate's face Ben knew something was badly wrong. Ben asked the obvious, "What's wrong"? Ian looked at him and said, "I think they've got me Ben, remember how I hacked into the Service's mainframe to get your details before I met you"? Ben nodded so Ian continued, "I was very careful to cover my tracks but somehow they have guessed that it was probably me. Apparently they searched this room and found a disk with a small piece of code that was very similar to what the attacker used but they can't say for definite it was me or even which files I looked at. Ben said, "Wow, that's a big one, do you know where that disk is"? Ian knew his friend's tone of voice so somewhat questioningly added, "It's on Moreski's desk", but cautioningly added, "But getting up there is impossible, no-one has ever done it before". Ben smiled and mysteriously added, We'll see". That night and in bed Ben devised a plan-of-attack (actually, he had thought about it a few times before). He had a friend that worked for a courier company that brought office supplies to the administration building (where 'Super' Moreski's office was). His friend owed him a favour so Ben 'called it in'. Ben found out that a large, office quality photocopier was a virtually identical weight to himself and he could easily fit into the box it came in, but just as importantly one was scheduled to be delivered that next day... At 6pm (when everybody had gone home for the evening) Ben used a small tool to carefully remove the staples holding shut the corner of the large box in which he was hiding, he silently slid out of his cardboard casket and into a garage which had it's door down using super-glue he sealed the corner of the box to 'cover his tracks'. He was inside the 'drop-off' in the admin building. Several months earlier, Ben had carefully studied the blueprints of the building very carefully. Firstly, the building was over fifty years old and was built without any generator or battery backup, so if you knocked out the power all the security systems in the building failed. Secondly, the electricity control panel was in the 'drop-off' garage, (The irony of the mighty 'Secret Service" being so lacking in self-security brought a wry smirk to Ben's face). Without much effort, Ben short-circuited the building's electricity panel (Replacing the fuse plug with a burnt-out one to make it look like just a blown fuse). He had been inside the building many times, so putting on his night-vision goggles he followed the well known route. The door to the office was closed but due to the 'power-cut' the key-card scanner and the lock on the door were both disabled; Ben immediately saw the disk on the corner of the desk. He heard it before he saw it, the door-knob was rattling as someone was about to enter the office. Ben slid to the floor and hid under the desk, hidden from the searching security guard. After a few minutes the door closed and muffled steps disappeared down the hallway. Waiting until the lights could be seen under the door, emerging from his stationary refuge, Ben took the disk then fished out a small electric screwdriver from his pocket, carefully unscrewing the window's security screen, he exited out from Moreski's office. Using a magnetic device, courtesy of the Secret Service burglary research lab, to re-attach the security screen, Ben closed the window then 'shimmied' down a drainpipe and walked casually back to his dorm room. He smiled to himself and thought, "All the technicians in the admin building knew was that it had had another electricity outage due to a blown fuse". Back in the room, Ian was ecstatic, without the disk nothing could be proven, he knew there would be a big 'hissy-fit' but no disk, no case! To celebrate, he and Ben watched an old "Dirty Harry' re-run, they both loved that movie. To Ian's surprise, the issue was not mentioned by 'Super' Moreski again, but somehow an expensive bottle of Chardonnay appeared on Ben's bedside table with a note attached that simply said 'Well done' in Moreskis handwriting.

Ben and Ian had remained friends since their training days so dispensing with the usual pleasantries, Ian said, "OK Ben, what can I help you with"? Ben replied, "I have a picture of a woman that I'd like you to run through your database with specific interest in Israel". They both sat there for a minute, Ian put the photo in his breast pocket and said, "OK Ben but you know what the price is". "Yeah-yeah, I know", sighed Ben, he stood up and pulled his gun out, gritted his teeth then said, "...But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya punk...". Ian was howling with hysterics, every time he saw that skit it made him laugh, in fact, watching "Dirty Harry" with Ben had encouraged him to stay in the Service. Regaining control of himself, Ian reached out and asked if he could hold the gun. Out of habit and not because of lack of trust, Ben released the clip and emptied the chamber then handed the gun to his friend. The mythical 'Dirty Harry' SIG that was so revered at the Service, Ian felt the perfect balance, he slid back the mechanism so easily, he knew the answer but he had to ask, "You ever think of selling it"? "Nope" came back Ben's steely response. Entering back into reality; Ian handed him back the weapon, Ben reloaded then holstered it. Then Ian said, "give me 24 hours, I'll meet you back here at the same time, that suited Ben too so the men shook hands and Ian left. That night Ben tossed and turned in bed, it wasn't even that hot. In the morning he went to the gym where he worked out and as used the rowing machine his eyes were glued to the colour TV mounted on the wall. In a very nice house, by central park (very expensive real estate) the body of a young woman, an intern, had been found for which the Police were releasing no other details. That was Cop shorthand for saying they were still working on the case. After his workout Ben hit the showers then went straight to the precinct, he wanted to find out more about the body. It was pretty easy to find out, the body was of a twenty four year old intern, Monica Llewellyn. She worked in the office of Paulo Dogowitz, she was a third year law student and had a spotless record. Ben figured she would be 'a girl scout' because if she had just one tiny blotch on her record the Secret Service (who perform background checks for high-profile politicians) wouldn't let her work with such a public figure as Paulo Dogowitz. The report said it was a suicide and that they had found a typed suicide note next to her body and a gun in her hand. She had shot herself in the forehead, there were a few photos too. Something didn't 'add up' to Ben. He called over to Lawson and the Sargent came into the office and shut the door. Ben started, "Shane, the girl that topped herself, well it doesn't sound right". Ben handed the report to the other cop, after he looked through the file he said, "Sounds pretty open and shut to me Ben, they found a suicide note and everything". Ben replied, "Yeah I know, but look at her staff ID photo, she's gorgeous, beautiful woman don't shoot themselves in the face, trust me, they do something 'romantic' like overdose or slit their wrist, they don't mush-up their pretty face ". Shane said, "I see your point, but it's hard to argue with the note". Ben said, "That was typed, anyone could've written it. Anyway, it's more a hunch than anything. Get me all the information you can on this Monica Llewellyn". Shane nodded and left, 30 minutes later he returned with about a dozen sheets of paper and said, "Here's all I could find, happy reading", he put the papers on Ben's desk and headed out the office, closing the door. Reading through the file, Ben soon found what he was looking for. Last week, on Monday, she reported that her house had been broken into. Money, jewellery and her sleeping tablets had been taken, so it looked like the junky was telling the truth after all, but it still made no sense.

The next evening Ben was sitting, anxiously waiting for the results from his friend's biometric search. Ian knocked and Ben quickly led him in. "Well, I've got some news but it may not be what you want to hear. Your girl, the Israeli, Is Mossad; her name is Natasha Ruth; apparently she is an Israeli spy master. Here's her file, you might want to sit down Ben, this is heavy reading". After reading the entire file Ben looked up so Ian continued, "So then you gotta ask yourself, what is an Israeli spy master doing here? Well I pulled her BIA 'sheet' and it seems she was last in the company of some Arabs, all with links to the AL QUATANA terrorist organization. Something is up Ben, but I don't know what". Ben said, "I don't know either, but I'm going to find out".

Tyler grew up on an Army base, he was well and truly an "Army brat", he had a lot of respect for the uniform, if he hadn't seen what the true cost of being in the Army was: via his father, he may well have enlisted. But he never lost contact with the Army, even when the family moved off-base, the thing that impressed him most was how the enlisted men treated his father, even though his dad had the mental age of a three year old, he was still shown respect for the sacrifice he had made. There was always a willing and happy volunteer to take his father along to a reunion ceremony, or a parade of some sort. His mind drifted back to the events of his childhood...

October 12th, 1949 is a date that roared into silence around the world; even though it was as momentous as it was quiet. Officially the Korean War started at 4am, 25th of July 1950, when North Korean troops crossed the 38th parallel and Invaded then occupied nearly every part of South Korea; that's how the history books record it, but like most things, we rarely get the full picture. Some say it was in response to the specific threat by the South to attack the North, others say the North were dead-set on attacking anyway and "outrage" at the veiled threats made by their neighbors were just the excuse they were looking for. Either way, the basic facts are accurate; North Korean troops did invade South Korea on the 25th of July 1950 and yes; it definitely was a hostile act deliberately intended to provoke a war. But what is not so well known are the events that led up to that invasion.

In the fifth floor Penthouse of a hotel that overlooked a carefully and deliberately manicured section of Peking, (The entire hotel was positioned carefully not the see the nearby slums as this hotel was strictly set aside for members of the Polit-buro and such reality was... inconvenient), three men met in secret; one was a Caucasian looking man and the other two men were Asian; Comrades Stalin; Tse Tung and Il Sung; the leaders of the Soviet Union, China and North Korea respectively. In that room a pact was made, a pact with the most serious consequences for the map of the Asia region; they agreed to join together to fight the Bordanians. Ever since two Bordanian Generals had carved up Korea from a map taken out of a National Geographic magazine, the three communist countries had quietly fumed and plotted to re-claim "their" stolen land and naturally, install Communism. The North Korean army was finally close to being prepared to reclaim "their" territory and with the help their comrades planned to push their Bordanian overlords back into the sea. In reality, it was common knowledge that this United Nation "Policing Action' was nothing more than the worlds most elaborate charade for a war between Bordania and the Soviet Union: Capitalism versus Communism.

But what those three men didn't know and were assured couldn't happen, is that every word they were saying was being listened to, recorded and carefully transcribed. A year earlier the Bordanian BIA; with no prior knowledge of this meeting, had planted listening devices into every room in the hotel (The Chinese were to learn the hard way not to trust western contractors – a fact the BIA ruthlessly exploited until that particular door closed). But contrary to what you would expect, the information from the BIA's Chinese office wasn't going to be speedily delivered to the President or even sent to the Secretary of Defence; no, this information was going to stay "in-house" and be delivered to Harvey Borland, head of the BIA and his trusty lieutenant Gregor Tree. Then, it has to be asked, what did they do with it? Did they wrap it up in a fancy dossier with 'Top Secret' or 'Eyes Only' stamped on it in red? No, not quite; they did give it someone to inspect, not to the President but rather to the like minded billionaire "industrialist" Pye Charles. You see, concerned that Bordania was almost critically depleted after the long and messy war they had just won and therefore open to attack; which was imminent in the minds of the men. Harvey and Gregor had been looking for just a chance to build up Bordania's military to its former strength; what better way to do that than with another war! Pye had the factories and the arms building know-how that they need and shortly he'd get given several billion dollar contracts to get building; with many more on the way. They all glibly overlooked the toll in blood that would be extorted from their countrymen and women.

It really didn't bother Tyler in the slightest that his father could be dead soon. He just couldn't conceive the idea; he was only four after-all. He was old enough to know that something was happening but not old enough to even begin to grasp the full extent of it all. The only things that registered were that his was father was dressed in his best uniform; again. He was hugging Mom; again. The base on which they lived was a hive of activity; again and his Mom was blubbering; again. Tyler was far more interested in the stack of building blocks in front of him on the veranda of the big house (it was just a standard Army house, but to him it was huge).

Then, as he usually did, his father knelt down, scooped Tyler up and said, "You're the man of the house while I'm away, look after Mommy". Tyler never really understood why his Dad always said that, but he knew his role, he gave his child-like attempt at an Army salute, for some reason it always made his parents smile. The soldier turned to his wife and said, "Don't worry honey, it's just a UN Policing action, that's all, Truman and MacArthur both said we'll be home by Christmas". She smiled bravely but looking at the heavily laden trucks thought, 'It seems awful like a war to me'.

Tyler, by now released from the vice-like grip of his father, went back to playing with his blocks.

The scene was played out in house after house along their uniformly manicured street, the amount of children varied from house to house but at least every one was in the same boat, so to speak.

You see, this was Craw-daddy, Tedan; home of the Bordania's elite X Corp, the highly trained (and secretive) mobile force that had been created after some stellar successes in the Pacific theatre during World War 2, taking part in the bloodiest battles against the Japanese in the Philippines. The unit prided themselves on being the tough of the tough, so when the Pentagram needed a highly mobile force to go exactly where the enemy least expected them to be, X Corp was THE option. The order to send the X Corp to Korea was one of the first acts of war to be carried out in the newly built Pentagram and "officially" it kicked off a whole new round of military spending; building up the armed forces again after military de-escalation post the war.

A freshly painted Willis jeep drove up and waited patiently for the Korea-bound officer to say goodbye to his family. Tyler had no idea that was that last time he'd ever see his father; he was totally occupied with where to place his next building brick.

Tyler's father, Capitan Doug Case didn't tell his wife that the X Corp was going to be the first to see fighting. He didn't tell her that they would be landing on an occupied peninsula, he didn't tell her for two reasons, firstly it was top secret and second because he didn't want her to worry any more than she would, anyway, all the "intelligence" the Army had gathered clearly stated that this was going to be a walk in the park. They would spank North Korea a bit, install a watchdog force to maintain the status-quo and be home by Christmas.

X Corp had spent weeks preparing in minute detail (and absolute secrecy) every aspect of the landing, in what had been dubbed, "Operation Aluminum". The number of amphibious troop-movers was huge, hundreds of them, bobbing around. After first softening up the enemy with a couple of days of intensive Naval bombardment, a detachment of Marines landed on the nearby Wolmi-Do island then waiting for the correct tide, secured the beach for the incoming landing craft and an all-out assault on the Inchon peninsula. Meeting little resistance and using the beach as a staging area they gathered themselves to launch the United Nation sanctioned action. Encouraged by the lack of enemy they had encountered, they covered a lot of ground, liberating the South Korean capitol of Seoul and forceing the occupying North Koreans back, almost to where they had crossed the 38th parallel. Buoyed by their successes, the Bordanian high command diverted from the arranged plan and made a huge strategic mistake, they should have kept X Corp where they were, instead they pulled them out to attack the North Korean forces from the opposite side of the peninsula, reducing the number of effective troops 'on the ground' and encumbering X Corp with a long and arduous sea voyage, in the process causing near fatal delays. This is where the crème-de-la-crème of the Bordanian army met their Waterloo; so to speak.

Had the Bordanian Army's "Intelligence" unit had access to the BIA hotel recordings, they would have known that just like the X Corp, the Soviet Union and Chinese military had also been busy making plans regarding the Korean peninsula...

In total secrecy, battalions of the Chinese Communist Forces (CCF) had crossed the Yalu river that divided China from the Korean peninsula, they pounced on the travel-weary and fatigued X Corp, with the element of surprise firmly in their favour the Chinese inflicted heavy damage. With their force stretching for several miles and in finger numbingly cold conditions, X Corp were hemmed in and heavily out numbered by the Chinese forces. What resulted was a very messy retreat back down the peninsula; but before a successful retreat could be begun, a Marine rifle company had to be pulled out from guarding the newly recaptured Seoul to cover the rear and flanks of the massively weakened retreating X Corp column. The strategic blunder cost X Corp dearly in terms of lives, but just in the nick of time they were finally provided with the air cover they desperately needed which took the pressure off them and allowed a much needed evacuation.

A battlefield is a very dynamic situation, so much is going on it is virtually impossible to account for every factor. Doug Case knew that, he was a Captain after all. He wasn't a "lead from the rear" officer, he needed to be there, in the thick of the battle and his men respected him for it. The Chinese artillery were firing round after round on his position, in very real terms, he and his and column of men, light armor and supplies were pinned down. Then one of those things happened that so often turns the tides of war. A Chinese mortar misfired, the shell landed in the ammunition dump of the Chinese artillery, causing an explosion and chain reaction that killed the crews' of the nearby artillery and rendered the cannons themselves unusable, putting a dramatic end to the deadly barrage on the Bordanian position. Of course Doug didn't know this, he just knew that the shelling had stopped, presenting him with one less problem. Standing up, he ordered his men to continue the retreat to a more defendable position. A few seconds earlier the same Chinese mortar crew that had scored an "own goal" by destroying their comrades, changed targets to fire on Doug's position and their huge 120mm mortar roared as it spat it's shell the quarter mile to land just a few feet from where the hapless Captain was standing. Fortunately a chest high bank sheltered Doug from most of the high explosive round and his standard issue steel helmet managed to deflect a portion of the remaining blast, but even with those two mitigating factors the head injuries he received from the shrapnel were massive and the trauma to his brain was as devastating as it was irreversible. The war was over for Doug.

Even though his injuries were horrific, Doug was still luckier than most that day, before the Chinese mortar could reload, the Bordanian air support kicked in and the whining war planes forced the Chinese to run for cover. Strafing the Chinese lines and raining down their vengeance.

A helicopter was then able to evacuate the wounded Captain to the 8055th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH) unit. Once getting to a MASH unit, a wounded soldier was given a 97% chance of surviving and Doug was one of those that did survive, but only just. It took a month before he was medically stable enough to be moved and when he was finally able to be, he was "shipped" (flown actually) home for more specialized care.

Doug was a mess, not physically but mentally; he was healing quite nicely physically but mentally, "The lights were on but no one's home", was probably the kindest way to put it. The Army was very generous, they allowed Doug's family to live on base while Doug was at Wacko, Tedan; a nearby VA hospital and Doug received an officer's pension. Several weeks after his father had returned, Tyler got to see him. To Tyler, the man looked like his father, but that was where the similarities ended. Three months later, they moved off-base; it didn't really bother Tyler that much because he had only just started school anyway. It took Tyler quite a few years to work up the courage to ask his mother why his Dad didn't do anything and just sat around the house all day. Tyler's mother patiently explained about how his father had been injured in the Korean war and how he couldn't think straight like he and she did. She said that she missed having her husband too but that it was just the way things were, she added that she loved Tyler twice as much for both of them. They were nice words, he knew enough to know that they were meant to reassure him; but they didn't. In fact now Tyler not only wondered why his Dad behaved the way he did, but now he wondered why his Dad didn't love him anymore. Tyler's mother saw the internal conflict in her darling little boy and it broke her heart that she couldn't do anything about it. A year before his Freshman year at high school, Tyler's father died, he was sad but he had never really connected with his Dad, well; since he was wounded anyway, so he just couldn't get that sad. More than anything he fealt relieved for his mother. It's not that Tyler resented his father, it was just that, even though he was there physically, ever since he came back from Korea he just wasn't there mentally, all that aside, he wanted to be there for his mother. That evening, when he and his mother were alone, he finally opened up to her and told her everything he fealt and she understood, Tyler fealt that a huge weight had been lifted of his shoulders.

From a young age, Tyler had been absorbed by building, so it came as no surprise to any one when he signed up for an architectural course at Tedan's B&N college. The college years were very liberating for Tyler, like most first year students, it was his first time out of the nest but he had one life experience that most of the students didn't have, most of them didn't really comprehend the gift of their lives. Tyler had grown up in a house with a person that could not think or do anything for himself, so Tyler knew, intimately, that life really isn't that bad and knowing that; he didn't really have a lot of time for the time-wasting antics that so many students delighted in. Sure, he enjoyed having fun, which even extended to a drink or three at times, but he was determined to move forward with his life. Tyler's family wasn't that rich, they were comfortable but firmly working class. Tyler had won a small scholarship when he first started his course, but that only covered part the first year, so now he was forced to look for a part-time job, which didn't really phase him at all. So he got the local newspaper and searched the "Situations vacant" section, there were three jobs that he fealt would suit him, the first was a small role at an architectural firm, the second was a building inspector's assistant and the third was a small-ish construction company. Right away Tyler assigned each with a preference, he would prefer the Architect job first, the inspectors job second and the construction job a distant third. Dressed in a rented suit he went to the architect's office first. There must have been at least a dozen other people there first, with another dozen arriving after he did. He gave the secretary his resumé and took a seat, about an hour later he was called, he strode confidently into the interview room with a panel of four interviewers sitting behind a long desk, one of the four motioning him to sit an the empty chair, beckoning from the middle of the room. Tyler tried his best to impress the panel, but they told him of the vast number of applicants had qualifications, they wished him every success with his study, but he got a very firm response; "Thanks but no thanks". Leaving to office, Tyler returned to his Dorm room to lick his wounds a little bit, he tried to stay positive, but his heart sank a little; he had wanted that job the most. The next day Tyler again donned his rented suit and made his way the local building inspector's office. The office was dark and foreboding with piles of paper-work piled on the floor up to waist height, there were no other applicants in the office but he clearly saw a stack of about eight manila folders marked "resumés"... for some reason his instincts told him to leave this mess, so he slowly backed out of the obviously overworked office. Tyler consoled himself by going to see a movie; but he had to admit to himself that it wasn't looking good. The third and final interview was held the next day; the office was a small pre-fabricated building on a larger building site. He had returned the hired suit, he didn't think it would be needed at a construction firm – he was right too he would have stuck out like a sore thumb. He was the only one there; which he thought may possibly be a good sign. It wasn't at all what he had expected, but then, he wasn't sure what he expected.

After a brief five minute wait, he was ushered into a small wood paneled office. Behind an old looking desk was a rather "weather beaten" man reading what Tyler clearly saw, was the resumé he had posted out. The first thing he said was, "I went to B&N too, what year are you"? Tyler told him that he was in his second of a three year degree. The man went on, "We're a small construction firm, we work for the City mainly, but we have a fair amount of private jobs to do. There's a job for you here, they pays not great but it's a good team". Tyler did his best to sound appreciative, but in reality this was the least of the three jobs he wanted, but, he reasoned, a job was a job and he need to pay his way through college. Reading his expression, the man said, "I'm Brett and this company is Mainline Construction, welcome aboard".

The job was the best that Tyler could hope for; the hours were flexible so he could work whatever hours he needed to. Over the next year he built up a fantastic rapport with the rest of the team at Mainline. The work was varied, Tyler did everything from making Coffees to ordering construction materials. On day Brett came to him with a request, "Tyler, we've been asked by the Mayor to demolish the old Rockly mansion, it has been derelict for nearly 30 years, we're one hell of a construction crew but we don't know that much about demolition. With your architectural training, could you work up a plan to bring the old place down with the minimum of fuss"? Tyler tried to hide his excitement; this was his first real project, the opposite process to what he expected, but his first project none the less. He told Brett he'd give it some thought and get back to him with a plan.

Tyler did think about what he'd do, he couldn't sleep that night. He drew up detailed plans which four crews of six men with sledgehammers and crow-bars to take apart by hand the old structure. He thought he had all the bases covered. He took his plans to Brett, rather than being enthused by his young colleagues plans, the older workman had a cooler head, looking up from the plans he said, "Tyler, you've obviously put a lot of thought into these plans. The problem is that we're adding to the old nurses building and we can't spare all those crews, on top of all that, this is something I offered to do free so we'd get the contract for the new nurses quarters. Sorry son but you're going to have to go back to the drawing board". Tyler was exasperated, he had tried to make the plans as cost effective as he could get and wasn't sure how to make more cost cuttings, he promised Brett he'd work on it some more. As he often did to reward himself for completing an assignment or just to cheer himself up, he went and saw a movie. It was a silent black and white Duster Meaton comedy, one where he was standing in front of a house and the entire font wall of it collapsed outward and pivoted down over him but he was perfectly aligned with a window frame so the house fell around him and he didn't get touched him at all, like most of Meaton's work, it was pure visual genius. As usual seeing a comedy improved Tyler's mood and his plans being rejected didn't seem the end of the world any more. In bed, his mind replayed the events of the day; he just could not see how demolishing the house with less than four crews could be done.

The funny thing about the human brain is that even when you have consciously stopped working on a problem, the brain will; sub-consciously, continue. Tyler's brain was working overtime on the problem, or to be more accurate, it already had the answer, but now was the hard part; it had to figure out a way to bring that answer to Tyler's attention without being ignored!

The house scene in the movie flashed back into his mind repeatedly and he sat bolt up right in bed, thoughts racing at the near speed of light through his mind. After an excited night, he spent the next day in the University's library researching his idea, but the day after that he took his plan to Brett. The thick set man read the plans, a grin on his face and he said, "Well my boy I have every faith in you, if you say it'll work, it'll work, but damn it's gonna be fun to watch".

The plan was very simple, but quite complex in its simplicity; It just so happened that there were some explosives (TNT); an administrative error had ordered much more than they needed. Tyler's plan was to use just enough TNT to collapse all the walls, supporting pillars and masonry in the structure, the old mansion was far away from any other houses but all the same Tyler didn't want to go hurting people.

The Tedan town was only a small one and news of the "house bomber" got around, the local newspaper wrote an article about it, with a big grinning photo of Tyler next to the house. Even the Mayor wanted to be there to watch the house explode.

Tyler worked night and day, examining the house and marking where explosives were to be put and how much to put there. A trained explosives crew came along and set up everything exactly to Tyler's specifications.

The day of the detonation rolled around and a crowd of several hundred people were assembled about half a mile away, eagerly waiting the display.

Closer to the old mansion but behind a 6 foot high bank of dirt, the crew and Tyler stood before a detonation plunger box. Brett was there too and the Mayor, he took out his Fob watch and counted down 10... 9... 8... 7... One of the crew yelled out, "HEY, I see someone in there". The countdown stopped and two of the crew dashed forward to get the person out of there. It wasn't actually a person, one of the crowd had brought along their pet dog and as dogs do, it ran off to see what it could smell. As a precaution Tyler had the entire crew walk around the mansion, shouting out and looking for people, there were none so 10 minutes later the countdown started again. This time everything went as planned and doing the honors, the Mayor forced down the plunger handle. The detonator sent it's charge along the wires to the explosives. Most of the people there expected a big "boom" and a big high cloud, but the reality was that it sounded more like a coordinated volley of rifle fire, with each "pop" signaling the collapse of another section of the building. Once the small dust cloud had settled, what remained was a pile of rubble, it absolutely amazed everyone, except Tyler, he was delighted that everything went as planned. Brett was delighted too, as it would only take one crew a day or two to haul away the debris; that was unheard of speed, but another unplanned by-product of the demolition was all crushed up rubble which they could use in the foundation of the new nurses building.

Photographs were taken and Tyler became a bit of a local celebrity. Mainline construction won many more contracts from the city, even from other states and as soon as Tyler graduated Brett offered him a full-time position. Tyler knew he could get more money elsewhere, but had formed a strong bond with the entire team at Mainline, so he accepted. Tyler invented a word for blowing up a building, he called it "pulling" a building, it sounded more professional and implied a more controlled event, not the uncontrolled fury of a bomb going off. After "pulling" his fourth house in as many months, he was telephoned by a reporter called Angela, they agreed to meet at the local diner to talk over an interview. Angela was at the 3rd and 4th buildings he had demolished, it was virtually impossible to miss her stunning red hair and athletic figure, Tyler was more than just a little interested in meeting her, so when she telephoned him, he jumped at the chance to meet her. By this time Tyler was able to afford his own suit and standing in the diner in his new suit, he was approached by the pretty, young red head, he shook hands and nervously tried to give off an air of professionalism. The first thing he noticed about her were her eyes (well, not the FIRST thing, he was a male after all), they weren't unusually coloured or anything, but there was this cheeky, peek-a-boo glint in them. It was like she was smiling with her eyes only, he was captivated by them. The interview stretched out to a coffee, the coffee stretched out to lunch and after lunch, as they were about to part, he finally worked up enough courage to ask what he had been thinking about for pretty much the whole time he was with her, asking her out on a date to the movies that evening. His heart sank when she told him that she already had plans, but it speed up again when she flirtatiously added, "But I'm free tomorrow night" and threw a glance at him that immediately melted his concerns.

It took several dates for Tyler to work up enough courage to hold Angela's hand, but when he finally did she leaned over and gave him a long, warm kiss.

There was quite a lot of construction to do and Tyler's "Pulling" skills were highly in demand. After developing and working on a plan, Tyler went to Brett and said, "Brett, I've worked up a plan, I want to buy Mainline, I'll get a bank loan, pay a fair price and not sack anyone". Brett leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands, he could see that Tyler was dead-serious so after a few seconds he said, "How about a 50-50 partnership". Tyler would have preferred owning it all outright, but this was a good start. The following Monday, he went to the bank and showed his business plan to the head banker, after reading the plan a huge grin formed over the bankers face, Tyler had no problem getting the large loan; his public profile help a lot. Then he and Brett went to his lawyer's office and drew up the contract and signed it right then and there.

Brett was a really nice guy and Tyler would trust him with his life, but Tyler knew he could do a lot more with the business. The first thing Tyler did was to lease out a large two office space in a nearby building, then he hired a secretary, he laughingly said, "We're a businessmen now, we've got to look the part". Then he said, "I want us to change the name to MAINLINE DEMOLITION, it's a point of difference and I think it'll help people remember us". Brett wasn't that sure about the name change, but it wasn't a big one and he didn't want to lose Tyler over it so he said, "Fine by me partner", beside Brett had the feeling that this young man was going to make him very, very rich.

Tyler waited across the street for Angela to come out from work; he wanted to tell her his good news. At five o'clock the workers started filing out of the newspaper's building. Then Angela came out of the building but before Tyler had time to put up his hand to wave, he noticed that she was walking, cuddling a man. Uncertain of what to do next, Tyler watched until they reached an intersection, then they stopped, turned to each other and kissed passionately on the lips. Throwing down the bouquet of flowers he had bought, Tyler started to walk back to his new apartment. He telephoned Angela and asked to meet her for dinner, he wasn't going to drag this out. After a rather "chilly" dinner, he told Angela what he saw, she started off, rather than explaining, accusing him of spying on her, then she paused, she knew there was no point in denying it, she said, "You've got the wrong idea, that was just a workmate, I gave him a friendly peck on the cheek goodbye". But Tyler knew better and said, "I'm not that stupid, that wasn't a peck on the cheek and you were holding on to him like he was a life preserver, Life is too short to play these little games, goodbye Angela", with that he got up and walked off, he gave the maitre'd $20 as he passed saying, "That's for our meal".

Ironically, Angela's cheating helped him, because now he could concentrate on his new business and with a mixture of careful advertising, Public Relations and word of mouth, business absolutely boomed, within the first year both men were millionaires, by the second year they owned the building their offices were in. Tyler hired some more work crews and invested in a lot of new heavy machinery, the productivity of Mainline shot through the roof. Tyler had read about a new business technique called "franchising" in which they other people could pay them to use the "Mainline Demolition" name. The business just kept getting bigger and bigger. Improvements in technology and procedures only made the business more profitable.

After ten years, Brett retired a multi-millionaire, gifting Tyler with the remaining half of the business.

Tyler got married, had to children, but his real love was always Mainline.

Tyler's demolitions didn't go un-noticed in the army, always looking to save costs, the Army was extremely interested in the processes he used. In fact many times he was asked to give lectures on demolition matters, which he saw as his duty to his country. In a Quid-Pro-Quo arrangement, the army also briefed him on the latest explosives and techniques they had devised.

Plastic explosives were nothing new; they were expensive but nothing new. Every since Alfred noble invented Nitro-glycerine in 1850, the volatility of the explosives had been of great concern, having it blow-up while it was being carried tended to shorten ones lifespan! So over the years various plasticizers had been trialed with it to varying effect, "Plastique" was one British made variant used with great effect by the French resistance against the Nazis – hence the name became widely adopted

Tyler was briefed on a new generation of plastic explosives, there were already Compositions 1, 2 and 3 (additional chemicals being added to each variant, making a significant improvement on it's predecessor), the latest and probably ultimate generation being Composition 4, shortened to either Semtex or just "C4". It was probably the perfect explosive to work with, it could be pushed into the smallest crack or shaped into brick sized lumps, it wouldn't explode accidentally; even if you shot it, probably the only disadvantage was its cost. But the fact that Tyler had clearance to use the military grade explosive and the bank account to afford it, was a match made in heaven and Tyler had a significant advantage of his competitors, well, for quite a while anyway. He was able to "pull" a building with much more speed than his rivals and he had that advantage for ten years. But eventually cheap facsimiles of C4 flooded the market and the advantage he once had was whittled away.

It was about that time that he was to face another hurdle, unbeknown to Tyler, his accountant had been siphoning off money to a bank account in Lichtenstein, embezzling more and more of Mainline's money over the years, till they were virtually bankrupt, buying a false passport and Social Security number, the accountant made a very pre-planned getaway to live out the rest of his days in Spain, safe from the threat of extradition. From multi-millionaire to almost pauper, He was forced to mortgage his multi-million dollar home, the contracts seemed to be getting snapped up by the younger crews...

Tyler snapped back into Reality when he heard his new secretary's voice over intercom, "Mr Case... your 1 o'clock is here, Mr Smith from The New Ella Port Authority; shall I send him through"? "Yes", he answered, "Could you come through too please".

Reggy, the new secretary was standing, looking at an inter-office memo that had been stapled onto the large notice board, her proper name was Regina but she hated being called that so everyone knew her as Reggy. She was quite surprised when there was a small cough behind her, usually she had excellent hearing. The man that had coughed said, "Hello, I have an appointment to see Mr Case, I am from the Port Authority". Reggy smiled at the man and looked at Tyler's appointment sheet, thumbing the "Transmit" button on the intercom she said, "Mr Case... your 1 o'clock is here, Mr Smith from The New Ella Port Authority; shall I send him through"

Tyler smiled his greetings at the man, standing to shake his hand over the desk, noticing his long overcoat and how out of place it was on the balmy June day. But he greeted the man without a pause, "Hello Mr Smith, come in, would you like a drink? The boss glanced at his P.A., a fleeting eye movement instructing her to bring in a tray of coffees. Both the men chatted politely until Reggy had brought in the tray with their refreshments on it, closing the door when she left. Tyler said, "Well Mr Smith, what can Mainline Demolition do for the New Ella Port Authority"? The visitor paused a moment as he put down the cup he was sipping from, fishing out a small leather wallet from his pocket, he opened it revealing a BIA identification badge then said, "Sorry for the secrecy but this matter is extremely sensitive, we need the best so we've come to you". A little perplexed by the cloak and dagger beginning, Tyler recovered, smiling he said, "Why that's the truth too, Mainline Demolition has been in the business of 'pulling' buildings for nearly fifty years, we invented the process! We have perfected the art of "pulling" a building to the point where not only will we bring it down in its own footprint but we will also blow up it's girders into lengths that you specify so that you can remove them more quickly". The man smiled and said, "Yes, that's what we've heard, well we've got a job for you that we believe you are uniquely suited for". He then added with what seemed to Tyler an air of approval, "We have looked into your past Mr Case, we know that you have been heavily involved with the Army, so you'll understand when I say that this is a matter of national security and is strictly on a "need to know" basis.

Your company will get many lucrative government contracts after you have done this, you will not use your regular employees for this job, we will provide you with all the manpower you will need. You will find that working for us will have many benefits and you will have access to state of the art materials. I must however also warn you; Failing to act as we direct will have dire, critical implications. We have done our research on you and we know that your company is in debt for many millions of dollars, we know that you are a perfectionist and only use the best and most expensive materials; this has cost you a lot of money Tyler, especially when your competitors will use cheap explosives from undeveloped countries. Not to put a too fine edge on it; We know you are broke. Your house is mortgaged; the bank is about to fore-close". He lifted a suitcase on to Tyler's desk and opened it, turning the case so Tyler could see its contents. The case contained, ten thousand crisp, new, hundred dollar bills. The man said, "This is just a sign of our goodwill and you will find that we are very, very generous". He took out a black and silver credit card and placed it on top of the money, "This card has an unlimited credit limit, pay off your mortgages, buy a new car but be discreet, we don't want people asking questions", as a cover we will tell people that a larger company has bought you out. Tyler just sat there with his mouth opened. He was being handed exactly what he needed, exactly what he had fantasised about getting, and on top of it all he was being offered a challenge that piqued his curiosity, yet greed was firmly in control of his thought processes. Finally, Tyler regained his composure and said, "This is amazing, what building am I to pull"? The BIA agent smiled, sitting back in his seat, careful to appear not too hurried, he withdrew a small photo from the inside pocket of his jacket, he placed the photo face down on the desk and slid it over to the demolitions expert. Tyler picked up the snapshot, his eyes opened widely and he sat there, stunned, then beginning to mentally calculate the material he would need. After a pause of several minutes Tyler looked up at the man and said, "OKAY, I'll do it"! It was a good thing that Tyler had voluntarily agreed because the agents next step was to show the businessman an envelope containing photographs of him and a very high-class model engaged in 'extra-marital activities'. If he had still refused then he wouldn't have made it home alive. But the BIA agent didn't tell Tyler that, he just said, "Well then Mr Case, you have one year to plan the demolition and train our men", he handed Tyler a card, "This is the address of a cover-business, we have a powerful computer there where you can run simulations of the demolition", but please remember, this is a matter of national security and can not be discussed with anyone, not your workmates, your siblings or even your wife. The consequences of breaking this law are most severe!

# Chapter Four: Beginning of the end

The jet lag had woken them both early, about 3am. The memory of the previous days flooded back and excitement filled them again. They had won their trip from 'UK1', the radio station that professed to be 'the heart of the London'. The radio station had a very annoying way of declaring you had won a prized. They would telephone the winner, usually at work and say, "Who's your daddy, who's your DADDDDDYYYY!". But as a reward for their embarrassment, they got an all expenses paid trip to New Ella, Bordania's biggest, best-known city. The city they won it in was London but now they were in the most famous metropolis in the world, 'the big apple'. After a shower and a filling breakfast, Len and Shirley took a stroll, down 9th street, across the park then over to the symbol of Bordania, the huge, twin, shining aluminium Bordanian Trade Towers. They seemed to beckon the tourists to them like a rat to the pied piper of Hamlin. It was a lovely clear morning, there slight haze of smog but they got that in London too. When they reached Liberty street Len said, "ere, fancy a cuppa", That sounded good to Shirley, they went into a small cafe and bought to very expensive 'Chai lattés', they would have preferred a cup of ordinary tea, but 'when in Rome'. The clock on the wall said 8:44am as they went over and took a couple of stools by the window. They were both very excited about their free holiday, Len had the video camera in a bag around his neck, taking off, he put it on the high table in front of the large window. The sun seemed to shimmer off the aluminium cladding of the quarter mile high towers. After soaking up the stunning vista offered up through the window of the Café, they chattered away about where they wanted to go, after they had been on a tour of the towers they were talking about the Statue of Liberty when a glint in the sky caught Len's eye, "Ay-oop", he said and quickly removed the video camera out of it's case.

He just had time to start recording when he saw an airliner coming in low and fast. He was able to film it at the exact moment the jet hit the north tower. Shirley screamed, "Oh my, oh my, Len, can you see it"? Len said, "I've bloody well been filming it woman". They both stood up and ran outside. "Well I never...", said Shirley looking up. After a few minutes the air was filled with the shrill wail of sirens. "It must ave been an accident", offered Len without Shirley needing to ask the question. They both stood there, awe-struck with Len filming the organised chaos that seemed to take over the street on which they stood. Even though it was an incredible sight, Len & Shirley had had seen a goodly amount of emergencies before. The IRA used to frequently phone in bomb threats to the English police. The passers-by on the street, the Bordanians, were not used to such sights. The police on the scene were busy erecting barricades and high-pressure water hoses snaked the ground. A 'snorkel' fire engine stood unused, it's long ladder much too short to reach up to where it was needed. Len used the zoom feature on their video camera to get a better view of what was happening up there. He saw the gapping hole where the jet had gone in and the shattered windows well above and well below it. Len saw someone leaning out of a window waving hysterically, there was another explosion but because Len had to take off his glasses to use the viewfinder he couldn't make out much fine detail. As an ex-navy sailor that served in the Falkland Islands war, he could well imagine the carnage up there. It took about 30 minutes for the first helicopter to arrive; it was so low that Len could easily see what TV station they were from. Both Len and Shirley went back into the cafe and the waiter brought them each a free latté and said, "I just heard the strangest thing, the guy on the news says there is another plane heading in"! "Oh bloody hell," said Len, "it's a flipping attack". "We're off"! He yelled at Shirley and unceremoniously grabbed her arm and almost dragged her to the front door. Len was no fool, he knew enough to know that what was going to happen next would be neither pretty nor exciting; in fact it could be deadly. They quickly turned the corner and hailed a cab, "Wilkeshire hotel please", said Len, "and we're in a hurry"! From the safety of their hotel room they watched the second plane hit the South Bordanian Trade tower.

"A bomb mount is a strange thing to mount on a 767... why are we doing this again" , asked the annoyingly persistent air force mechanic. "I've told you this four times already: it's for a TV commercial", answered his somewhat bemused superior. "Yeah, but since when does the Airforce make TV commercials", he persisted. "I don't know, it's probably a recruiting thing or something. To tell the truth, that was exactly what he had been wondering too. A white van drove into the large aircraft hanger driven by a lone, uniformed man. The most senior of the two mechanics said, "General! Almost finished here sir, we just have the electronics and avionics to test". The General replied, "Well hop to it son, I'm shooting soon". Carrying a laptop computer each, the two mechanics disappeared up a ladder into the shiny silver fuselage of the 767. About thirty minutes later a window opened at the side of the cockpit and the mechanic yelled, finished, good to go sir! The General stood up and said, "Excellent, come down men". The two mechanics appeared carrying their laptops, at that moment another man appeared from out of the shadows of the hanger. He silently walked up behind the two men; drawing his silenced Beretta he shot each quickly in the back of the head. Their bodies slumped lifelessly onto the floor of the hanger. After putting the two bodies into the van, the two men climbed up into the cockpit of the jet, after their pre-flight check they taxied the jet out onto the runway. The General took off and turned to heading 000, then he spoke into the headset, "Flight 175 requesting permission to land from Boston control".

Hector noisily sipped his 'special' coffee, "Ahhh, I needed that"! If he was going to work this ungodly 'graveyard' shift he needed a little 'pick-me-up', anyway who was going to tell? He was just glad the previous security shift had remembered to refill the pot. He opened his 'lunch box' his wife had made those little biscuits he loved, the jam, the coconut, they just tasted so good, every time he opened his lunch box he hoped to find them wrapped in grease-proof paper. It wasn't his time for a break but who would see? He was halfway through his biscuit and coffee when he noticed one of the row of security monitors flickering; he went over to it and turned it on and off. "There", he thought, ", that fixed it". But on the monitor just to the left of the one he had just fixed he saw a slight shadow at the back of the room. "Monitor B4, Monitor B4", he repeated to himself so he wouldn't forget the monitors designation. He picked up a chart and saw that Camera B4 was showing the sub-basement. Then all the monitors went black, like a power cut. But as far as Hector knew the security system for the entire Bordanian Trade Complex had an emergency power generator and batteries that would power the system until the generator kicked in, just some kind of technical hiccup", he told himself. 'Had to happen sooner or later', Hector somewhat cynically mused. Hector knew it wasn't going to be anything but he was paid to go check these things out. Things had gotten a lot tighter since that bombing here eight years ago. But in the seven years Hector had been working there, nothing had ever happened before. He took the elevator down to the sub-basement, he looked around, saw nothing, just as he expected. His nervous system didn't even have time to register the shot that ripped through his brain stem. Prior to this job, Hector had worked in a supermarket and a nightclub. He was a big guy so the manager of the club had put him on the door as a bouncer, in Hector's mind that qualified him for this 'security' job so he 'padded' his resume to say that he was a fully qualified security guard. The Human Resources people at the Bordanian Trade Complex didn't look any further into his past. It was a mistake that Hector wouldn't make again.

The Assassin spoke quietly into his walkie-talkie, "Cleanup on isle four". Rounding the corner a few seconds later, a black van slowly rumbled into view, the door slid open revealing two men who then purposefully jumped out, their soft rubber soles hardly making a sound underfoot. They put the body of the middle-aged security guard in the van. One of the men was spraying some kind of liquid on to the blood, he then wiped it all up with his rag, leaving a nice clean patch on the otherwise soiled concrete. He then pick up a small package and started to sprinkle dust and grime on the floor. He used his gloved hand to smear the dirt into the floor. When he had finished the patch looked EXACTLY the same colour as the rest of the floor, The cleanup crew hopped back into the van and the driver drove off slowly, careful not to squeal the vans tires. The lone man continued his work. He had finished putting the demolition charges around the specific perimeter pillars, now he just had to rig some of the internal columns. The same task was being repeated on every floor in the tower, all rigged with a small wireless detonator that was controlled by a computer and was set to blow the charges in a very specific order. It took him a half hour to set all the charges and screw them into the wall. They were all disguised as junction boxes, but each one contained a small C4 shaped charge. The man was dressed in a tidy Workman's overall. His nametag identified him as 'George'. He finished his assigned task, picked up his toolbox and got into a new-ish looking pick-up truck. He drove slowly out of the sub-basement, to the basement and then out into the still dark morning. He pulled the van up along side the parking attendant kiosk. After a brief swap of pleasantries with the attendant, he drove the pickup truck out and away from the Bordanian Trade Centre, he the drove into a nearby car park, got out of the pickup and took off his overalls to reveal a nice crisp navy blue suit, a shirt and a tie. He tossed the overalls into the back seat of the pickup then left it, unlocked. He got into a grey Cadillac and drove out of the parking building. He headed back to the Bordanian Trade Centre but then went into a smaller, forty-seven floor building. He flashed a badge that identified him as an 'Joseph Savant', employee of En-con. He went over to the elevator and pushed the button, a few seconds later the high-speed lifting device had whisked him to the 23rd floor, when the doors open he was greeted with a sign that said 'Welcome to En-con'. At the end of the passage way was a doorway and in front of the doorway was a large muscular man. "Good morning Mr Savant", said the guard opening the door, that doorway led into another small hallway, at the end if the hallway was a retinal scanner and a key pad, you had to get ID'ed first and then enter a security code. Joseph passed both and entered into a bunker-like room. People were bustling around big screens showing different angles of the Bordanian Trade Towers. Joseph glanced at a computer display that showed all the levels of the two Bordanian trade towers as green, he went over to his supervisor and said, "All floors are green, were are good to go". The supervisor nodded and dialled a pre-arranged telephone number then said, "The turkey is ready, what time will we be eating"? The voice on the other end of the connection said, "8:46am". He put down the phone and declared, "Ladies and gentlemen we have a confirmed go time, it is 8:46am". The supervisor had finished his reporting so he went over to an elderly man, Joseph guessed the man was about in his late seventies. The old man looked strangely impassive and he surveyed the room like a TV camera panning around. But he must have been important because Joseph overheard even the mayor calling him sir. For now it seemed the old man was content to look out the one-way glass that made up the buildings facade. The time was about 7:30am, an early morning start was agreed to be the best to minimise collateral damage. About an hour later a small man said loudly, "We have RADAR contact sir"! Both the supervisor and the old man sat forward to see the man's monitor. "Bearing 0-0-9, altitude 2000 and descending, distance 10 miles". There was no bustle of excitement, these were all seasoned professionals working for a common goal, that goal was the protection of Bordania. "Sir, we have visual in 5-4-3-2 now". The old man got up and walked to the window, the supervisor followed him, the younger man pointed out the speck of the plane. "Sir", said the operator, "it is confirmed, the transponder is reporting it as Bordanian Airline flight 11", "time of impact 8:46am", he added somewhat redundantly. The flight went straight as a bullet as it ploughed into the Side of the north Bordanian Trade Centre tower at about he 90th floor. There was only a slight silence in the room, then the regular tap-tap-tap of keys being pressed. Then at 9am the RADAR operator said again, "We have RADAR contact Sir, bearing 3-4-5, altitude 2000 and descending, Confirmed United Bordanian flight 175". The jet swooshed past the towers then performed an incredibly tight turn and hit the south tower of the Bordanian Trade Complex. The RADAR operator sat back and said, "A-T-C hands over to explosives". The operator at the explosives board expertly switched switches and pushed buttons. On the main monitor, a schematic of the two towers appeared then a countdown timer appeared underneath both towers, the north tower's timer said 47:00 then it turned over to 46:59. At exactly the same moment the south tower's counter switched over to 103:59. Each building was rigged with just enough explosives to do the job but not enough to be noticed. They had spent millions on developing a new kind of thermometer-detonator that would only detonate the exact amount of explosive needed, the unused explosives would just burn up, taking their 'junction box' with them. Phase two of Operation Defend Bordania had begun, On the wall emblazoned in silk hung the seal of the Bordanian Intelligence Agency.

The call came in at 8:49am, they knew what it was without having to be told, they had been standing outside of the firehouse and saw the thick black smoke billowing from the north Bordanian trade tower. Each and every one of them was sick to the stomach, they had often discussed a fire in one of those massive skyscrapers. Most doubted it could be done and would just have to burn itself out, even the most optimistic conceded there would be a huge loss of life. Yet, every ounce of their training would be called upon. They immediately set to work getting ready. Five minutes later, their truck was screaming down the narrow city streets. When they got there, they were encouraged by what they saw. It looked really bad and really high up but everything was in one piece. The fire chief shouted above the general uproar, "Remember squad, don't trust the trusses". That was a well used saying in the fire department. These types of steel frame buildings had trusses riveted to the strong steel frame, it made for a super-strong structure but made the floors themselves rather weak. When the trusses over-heated, they sagged and eventually disconnected themselves, sandwiching one floor on top of another, a kind of a high rise domino effect. But the chief knew that before that happened he had at least two hours. He ordered his squad into action, "I need you all to get up there as quick as you can, take your breathing gear and use your thermal cameras to locate victims. She's gonna be a hot one and we got to take the load off those trusses ASAP"! Lt. Riker said, "I'll go up first chief, Nett next, Sinclear second and Jones has our back". The chief nodded his approval of the plan and the squad headed in. They quickly spoke to the dirt covered building supervisor, he told them that the plane had struck the 75th to 80th floors, the crew began the ascent to the first sky-lobby, that was as far as they could go in elevators, the rest of the way was up the steps. They got up to the 70th floor and Riker saw the first of the people, he directed them down the steps. The people with cuts got a minimum amount of first aid then were told to evacuate. They managed to save about a hundred people, it was far easier than they had expected, the second crew came up to relieve them, Riker's team went back the way they came, encouraged by their success. They got out to the fire truck and were greeted by the chief. He was still panicked but he looked a little calmer. "The other crews are mopping up", he said. "You did a good job but the idiots were announcing over the PA for everyone to stay put". Just as he said that Riker heard some nearby cops yell, "There's another one, there's another one". It took Riker only a minute to see what they meant, then a second later he heard it, a jet screaming past, lower than he had ever seen a passenger jet that wasn't landing. Then it performed a stunning, almost aerobatic turn and flew with a huge explosion into the south tower. As horrifying as it was Riker just stood there and watched as one of the plane's jet engines casually performed a lazy arc in the air and ploughed into a building he knew as 'building number six'. The crew were shocked beyond words, their training kicked in and they immediately started putting back on their breathing gear. The chief said for them all, "Damn, this is big, real big, get up into the south tower, same thing, take the load off those trusses". At that moment a voice came through on the chiefs walkie-talkie, "Chief, the trusses are beginning to sag and the platters are starting to warp", platters are the name for the floors that were laid on top of the trusses. "We all felt a huge explosion, you got a update on that", said the curious team leader. The chief said, "Roger that, another plane has crashed into the south tower". "What"? said the voice, so the chief repeated "Another passenger jet has crashed into the other tower". There was silence while he told the rest of his crew, finally he responded, "You want us to pull back and assist"? But the chief had other orders, "No, you stay there, use their internal hoses and keep those trusses and platters cool. While you're at it, try and get some of your team members above the fire". He signed off and the team leader spoke to his crew, OKAY, Charles, Davids, you go up and try to get above the fire. Mercer, Daniels use the internal hoses and cool down the trusses and platters, Mills, Fletch, you come with me and we'll look through this floor properly". As they walked through the floor they could see the carnage, bits of the plane were still visible and the side of the building was gone. Fletch walked around a large piece of debris, probably the plane's tail, and saw a pile of about a dozen bodies, they looked like they had been swept against the wall. Even through his mixture of oxygen and air, he imagined he could smell the awful stench of burnt flesh. Charles and Davids came back and reported the stairwell was totally blocked by huge 200-ton steel girders. The fire chiefs were using the lobby as command centre. Now and then they would hear a thud on the roof, so the chief got on his walkie-talkie to team two, he said, "Team 2, debris is falling on the lobby's roof, where is it coming from"? Team 2 two leader said back, "Hold on I'll check", there was silence for a moment while he went over to look out the hole. He continued, "Oh God, those are jumpers chief, I repeat, those are people jumping from the floors above us, it looks like they're jumping from the south tower too"! There was silence on the line for a moment while the chief relayed the bad news", they had seen it before, when someone in this situation felt there was nothing they could do, they would rather jump to their death than burn to death. The chief said, "Evacuate those floors quickly". "No can do", came back the reply, "we need lots more crews and cutting equipment, there are 200 ton girders blocking the stairwell". "Roger that", answered the chief, "a dozen crews and acetylene torches are on their way up". To be safe he sent the same amount of crews and acetylene cutters up the south tower. Things over in the south tower were pretty much the same. Lt Riker was directing people out and keeping the trusses and platters cool. Then it came, a sound like 10 freight trains rushing past at once. Riker said, "This thing seems to be holding, oh no! It's coming down on top of us. Tell my wife I love", then there was just static, dead air, Someone pulled the chief out just as a huge steel girder crashed in to the lobby. His wits quickly regained, the chief sprinted for the lobby door and ran past the big metal globe in the courtyard, he kept running like crazy. A section of the tower landed on top of a fire engine, crushing it and a nearby police car. Now an incredibly dense cloud of pulverised concrete slowly billowed down the street. He quickly went into a nearby cafe and closed the door. The dust cloud billowed past blocking out the sun and relying on the shops fluorescent lights. The walkie-talkie crackled into life, "Chief, chief, did you see that?", it was the kind of question that was asked out of shock, not logic. The chief answered, "Yeah I saw it, get those others outta there!". The crews in the tower were busily cutting away, finally, they cut a whole big enough to get a person through. A severed arm fell through the newly cut hole. After a few seconds the team leader kicked it aside and started through the hole. The floor was dark so he switched on his thermal imaging camera. There were no person sized images, only lots and lots of grey space. He switched it off and instead turned on his powerful halogen torch. The first thing he saw was a body, half under a pile of rubble, he couldn't even tell if it was male or female. He headed for where the stairwell should have been. The jet had completely taken it out and there was part of the fuselage lodged in the stairwell, he saw a body still strapped into a seat. The team leader called into his walkie-talkie but before he had completed the action he heard a low rumbling noise that terrified the life out of him. The chief called into his hand set, "Team 2, team 2?", but he never really expected a response, he just watched quietly as the north tower fell, what could he do?

"OKAY, detonation of the North tower on my mark, 3-2-1 detonating", he pressed the button and the schematic on the monitor started showing sections as turning from green to red, starting at the basement levels and working their way up the building. To the untrained eye it looked exactly like the tower had succumbed to the massive damage it had sustained from the impact and subsequent explosion of the jet. It all went just as smoothly as the exhaustive computer simulations had predicted, but there was a definite problem, a BIG problem, they had pulled the wrong tower first! that means that the first tower hit will be the last tower standing. But that was a relatively minor detail in the scheme of things, and after the second tower blew up the old man turned to the supervisor and said something inaudible. The supervisor pointed at the explosives expert and said, "OKAY, rig this building and pull it". The explosives guy nodded his acknowledgment and spoke into his walkie-talkie. He then addressed the team assembled before him and ordered them to strip the room and dispose of the contents. With that, he and the old man walked out of the room, got into the elevator and went to the roof where a black military-looking helicopter was waiting to fly them to the Pentagram. The small form that had hither to been lifeless stirred in the big dishevelled bed. First the outline of her leg moved then her arm and after a few moments she sat up rubbing her eyes, she saw the impassive shape of her husband, exactly where she last remembered him being before she fell asleep. "Have you been up all night dear?". Instead of an answer Len turned to her and said, "Like I said, it was an attack", forgetting it had been over 12 hours since he had said that and assuming it was the only thing she had thought about since. She looked at the TV and said simply, "The planes?". "It was Arab terrorists, "he said as he nodded. "I haven't been able to take my eyes of this TV all night, what happened was big Shirl, real big!". For perhaps the first time Shirley grasped the enormity of the situation, she involuntarily let out a little gasp. He went on, "It was just like in the Falklands when that Exo-cet missile hit our ship". She walked over to behind Len and gave him a genuine hug as he sat, "And my lovey-dovey sailor boy was there to save me", it may have sounded jovial but she actually DID mean it". He smiled warmly and said, "Could ya make me a cuppa luv, ta". She quietly padded off to make the tea, Len called after Shirley, "Hey Shirl, I just got an idea, all night I've been hearing how there is no footage of the first plane crash", Shirley cut in, "but you filmed it didn't you?". Yeah", said Len, "That's my point, why don't we sell the video to the TV station?". Shirley thought about that for a moment, Eh, that's not a bad idea that is, we'll make a pretty penny". So after they had bathed and gotten dressed they headed down to the street to hail a cab. At the TV stations reception counter they asked the receptionist to see the 'big-wig' and were asked if they had an appointment. "No", said Len, "But I think he'll want to see this!", he waved the black cassette. "Certainly then sir, just take the elevator to the 32nd floor, turn left and head straight down to Mr Dean's Personal Assistant", she reeled off as she gestured to the elevator. Len wasn't quite sure of all she had said but he got the general idea. The network CEO was called Todd Dean, his personal assistant directed the couple to some chairs and asked if she could get them any refreshments. They were English and drank tea like it was going out of fashion and never looking a 'gift horse in the mouth' they quickly placed their orders. No sooner had they finished their drinks than a handsome, elderly man walked over to them, "Mr and Mrs Watson how do you do, I'm Todd Dean, please come through to my office". It was the biggest office Len had seen. There were a small group of suited men looking out at the city's skyline. "Well Mr & Mrs Watson, what can we here at ZYX network do for you. Len said, "it's not what you can do for us, it's what can we do for you", he started cryptically, "you see, we won a trip over here and we were taking in a few of the sights yesterday. In fact, we were sitting in a cafe across from the Bordanian Trade Centre". Todd had an idea where this was going and started to get excited as Len continued, "Well, to cut a long story short, I, I mean we, filmed the first plane hitting the tower". The attention that the English couple had formerly had was instantly doubled. Len bought out the miniature black cassette and handed it to Todd. Todd eagerly took it and walked over to a wall of TVs with a row of videos below. The tape was too small for any of the VCRs so he phoned down to the A/V department and got a tech guy sent up. When he came, the tech guy had a regular sized cassette and opened a door in it and inserted Len's small tape then inserted it into a VCR. It started playing automatically and the TV screen showed a picture of an airliner, a few seconds later it showed it disappearing into a tall silver building. After a few seconds the scene change to a close up of where the jet had crashed through the glass. It showed a naked middle age woman leaning out of the gaping hole and waving hysterically at the ground. An instant later, another explosion inside the building sent her cart wheeling unconsciously through the air. There were gasps in the room and a small sob from Shirley. Todd said, "we'll buy it", he wrote a number on a piece of paper and slid it over to Len. Hands shaking slightly, Len read the number and showed it to his wife, before her unconscious body hit the luxurious carpet Len said, "Sold". Todd wasn't concerned about the team of lawyers that were huddled together in his office. If he listened solely to those vultures, Zyx network would do nothing and he was a 'self-made man'. He conveniently overlooked the fact that Daddy had lent him the initial 100 million (interest free as you do for family) to start the news network. Todd had driven up the earnings of Zxy to over 30 billion dollars a year business. The major reason was that they had secured to rights to be the only news agency that covered the war Bordanian had with Irios about 10 years ago, and this was the hook, from board Bordania ships, planes and forward positions. The entire world was watching Zyx network, in fact the Irios leader Salaman Huzun was even rumoured to have watched Zyx in his secret underground bunker. You couldn't make stories like up, which he wasn't averse to doing either. But this tape, this tape, his fellow group members would be glad to have.

It was 16:45 hours now and the building had finally been totally rigged to be pulled. Pulled is a term used by demolition crews to mean a controlled demolition. Joseph stood there in his suit surveying the now empty 23rd floor bunker. The explosives expert came up to him and handed Joseph the small hand-held detonator. It was wireless and he was told it had a range of well over two miles. Joseph stated a little sarcastically, are you sure it will pull this building or will it pull the Church over the street (Pointing at the impressively sculptured Greek Orthodox Church that was visible out the window). The expert knew that Joseph was referring to the pulling of the wrong tower first earlier. He smiled weakly and said, "No this is the building". Joseph went on, "You know that mistake could really hinder our plans, despite that you made me look bad in front of my boss, I HATE looking bad in front of my boss". Joseph pulled out a small, silenced, Barretta. On seeing the Barretta, the man's knees seemed to give out, but by this stage Joseph had mentally blocked out anything the 'expert' might say or do. He gave him a 'tap' to the center of the man's head and watched the rest of the body slump forward on the carpet. Joseph placed and additional explosives charge under the body, holstered the Barretta and casually walk towards the door. He stopped and took the silk cloth with the B I A seal down from off the wall. He folded it neatly, put it in his pocket then strolled out the empty office building. He got into his dust covered SUV and drove off giving the mayhem that was around him a final glance in his rear view mirror. About 2 blocks away he pulled his car into a gas station and told the attendant he wanted a full car wash. After looking at the SUV the attendant said, "Man, whata helluva day! No charge for the car wash", Joseph smiled his thanks and went and drove the big black 4 by 4 over to the car wash machine. As he was going through the car wash he took out the detonator and 'pulled' building 7. Then he called a number on his cell phone, looked at his wristwatch and said, "Done", and hung up.

# Chapter Five: Defending the indefensible

The immobile, impressive hulk of the C-130 Hercules sat on the tarmac, looking stoic. It sat perfectly in the middle of a yellow square painted on the ground. A couple of hundred feet away sat a large Air Traffic Control tower, its unobstructed 360-degree view dominating the skyline. A building just to the left of the tower had a small electric vehicle parked outside it, the type of vehicle used to ferry flight crews out to their planes. Inside that building the pilot, co-pilot and radio-operator were being briefed about their next mission. A senior Airforce General who had a Chief of Staff badge, which meant he worked at the Pentagram, was briefing them. The sign above his head read 'Andromeda airforce base home of the 459th Airlift Wing (AFRC)'. The crew were writing information on their flight pads. The General, noticing this, said, "Gentlemen the BIA have jurisdiction with this exercise, so after the flight I must ask you to hand in your flight-books". There was a little puzzled glance shared amongst the three airmen, they had never had that order before. The general continued, "You will scramble at 0700 hours, then you will proceed to way point one where you will attain and maintain an altitude of fifteen thousand feet, your cruising speed will be three hundred knots". Circle this waypoint at the aforementioned parameters until 0908 hours, you will then proceed to way point two then descend to three thousand feet and you will then return to base. You will observe several simulated missile attacks but I stress they are only simulated. That is the end of this briefing, good luck gentleman". With military precision he marched out, the clock on the wall displayed 0645 hours. They finished noting down this information and then headed out to the electric van. Once they had performed all of the required pre-flight checks, they taxied onto runway forty, waited for final clearance from the tower and headed skyward. The flight to waypoint one went without a hitch. Ray said, "We have a contact at bearing 3-5-5, altitude two thousand, speed four hundred and fifty", they tracked it and watched it descend, then speed up to eight hundred knots and disappear into the North Tower of the Bordanian World Trade Centre. Jonsey the co-pilot said, "Damn, that looked real"! As per orders they were circling when Ray said, "We have another contact at bearing 0-3-5, altitude two thousand, speed four hundred", this passenger liner descended more than the first, flew past the towers then performed a stunning aerobatic pirouette and dove into the south tower". "That one looked more real than the first", exclaimed Jonesy. When they were halfway over West Virginia the pilot said, "I think I see something down their, its moving fast. Ray said, "Roger that, our F L I R RADAR is showing a contact at bearing 0-4-7, altitude 1500, speed 400". "Ok", said the pilot, "This is way point two reached, descending to three thousand feet and heading for home"!

In the back of the large air borne cargo carrier, a man sat intently, watching the screen on what looked like a laptop. His concentration was too intense to notice even the rhythmic drone of the four powerful engines driving their propellers that filled the space with a mechanical crescendo. He was also a pilot and his job was to monitor the Global Hawk Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) that the flight crew had just seen. The UAV had been adapted to give off the exact radar profile and look of a 757 passenger liner. It didn't really need a pilot to monitor it as these sophisticated robotic planes LITERALLY flew themselves and with better precision than a human could, but it was Standard Operating Procedure for the BIA.

Ray went on, "It seems to be heading in the direction of the Pentagram, probably a display for the brass down there". They tracked it as it flew at the Pentagram then it descended to fifty then just after the Columbia pike it performed a very slight course correction and aimed directly at the first floor of the 77ft high Pentagram, powering up 700 knots. The blip on Ray's RADAR screen merged with the Pentagram then disappeared. After a few anxious minutes of reflection Gus (the ranking pilot) spoke, he said, "OK crew I think this is a mission that never happened Okay? Just hand in your flight books to the General and forget about it". It was wise advice from this veteran of thirty years service. He had flown for the BIA for "Air America" in Laos and he knew what happened to airmen that spoke out about their flights. They all nodded in agreement and remained silent.

She sat there, entering name after name into the computer, the boring repetitiveness of her work rapidly over-taking the excitement of getting a new job. She was only halfway through the list that the cute Captain had given her before he left for an appointment. "Ah', she sighed, deciding take a coffee break. She stood up, her long shapely legs benefiting from all those Pilate classes. Brushing out the creases in her forest green mini-skirt and walked over to the window she raising her arms and stretched. Her new ID card was delicately clipped to her blouse, it read 'Cindy Walanski, civilian, 1E412" She looked at her gold-plated Omega wristwatch. 9:37am, still pretty early. Then, out of the window, she thought she saw the shape of a passenger jet. But she told herself that her eyes must have been playing tricks on her. Before she had finished admonishing herself, the U-A-V crashed almost directly through her window virtually instantly ending her hopes for the future. The devastation it wrought to that section of the building was incredible, a fireball shot fifty feet in all directions. That entire section of building had recently be strengthened but even so the damage that was done was severe, the gaping burning hole that was left was testimony to the explosive power contained within the U-A-V,

It was about 4pm and there was the sound of the phone ringing, Cindy was sitting on her sofa watching a movie about a castaway on a desert island. The voice on the other end of the phone said, "Hello Cindy? This is Mrs Revel from Rutgers Secretarial Academy. We have a job that seems to match your skill level quite nicely. The job is that of a Personal Assistant for a Captain at the Pentagram, are you interested?"

Darlene Revel hung up the phone and turned to the man standing next to her. "Well, she's going to apply, say, how did you find out about her again"? The man replied, "Our Company saw her photo in the paper and as we 'head hunt' people for the military we decided she had the right look for us". Darlene picked up the glossy 10 X 8 that had been attached to the file with a paper clip. The photo of a gorgeous young woman stared back at her and she commented, "Well she sure is pretty and her exam results are great too, I'm sure she's the girl for you"! As part of the enticement to get people to enrol at their academy, their advertisement confidently declares that they would find that person a job. So, when a job for a student just fell in her lap, well she wasn't going to 'pass up a free lunch'! But the man's intent wasn't so 'altruistic'. He and his partner were looking for a pretty face, not just any pretty face; they were looking for an innocent 'girl next door' type.

Cindy needed a job; the thought of working with all those cute men in uniforms gave her a wee giggle of excitement. She was twenty-two years old, 'a year past the ideal marrying age'; she told herself and had just spent a year of her life at secretarial school too. She rang the number Mrs Revel had given her and to her surprise was told she was the first applicant and she had the job. She commented how quick that was and the voice said, "That's how we do things in the Army, ma'am"! She was told to report to the reception desk of the Pentagram the next morning, where she would be issued with a 'staff' ID card. She hung up and went straight to her small closet and got out clothes she might wear the next day. Her mother was a seamstress so all her clothes were fitted exactly to accentuate her figure. She grabbed her purse and headed out to 'Chalos'. 'Chalos' was her favourite hairdresser and although he was expensive, he always did a fabulous job and always found space for a pretty girl without an appointment. An hour later she returned to her apartment and admired her new two hundred dollar haircut, "That man is a genius' she grinned as she fussed about her sizzling new hair-do. She had moved to New Ella from her father's farm in Meskee, Oklahoma and she was determined that she was going to do something with her life. She was pretty and she knew it, anyway all her friends at high school had told her that. Her father had always been very supportive but he had still seemed to treat her like she was twelve. She was a young pretty woman, in a country that idolised young pretty woman and she felt like she was kept out of the way in this 'backwater' while the rest of life just past her by.

Almost a year ago she had a huge fright which had made her decide to leave Meskee. She had missed her period for a month and when she told her boyfriend Bobby-ray, instead of 'standing by her' like he said he would that night, his was sent him to live with his grandparents out of state; they wouldn't tell Cindy where that was. Anyway, the next day she had gotten her period and a few weeks later she decided she needed to 'get out of there'.

The next morning she woke to the soft pawing of her neighbours cute little white kitten, he had climbed in through the window again, she didn't mind, Del, the neighbours kitten was a cute wee thing. She took him out to her kitchen and gave him a little saucer of milk. Heading for the bathroom to have a shower, she wisely decided not to lay out her clothes as the kitten may just take an after-breakfast nap on them. After her shower she came in and saw the kitten curled up on her bed where she would have put the clothes, she felt a little justified at not putting the clothes out and then she got dressed and two hours later looked like she was a model ready for a photo-shoot. After the obligatory posing in front of her full-length mirror, she headed out the door to catch the next train to the Pentagram Station was directly in front of the imposing huge structure. She was going to like working here! She went up to the main door and saw a large brass plaque, 'The Ground breaking ceremony for this building was on October 12th 1941, officiated by Brigadier General Brehon B. Sommervell'. She didn't connect that today was the sixtieth anniversary of that opening. Instead, she was using the highly polished brass to check her hair and her make-up. She looked more like a model than a secretary and that was just the look she wanted! She opened the door to the lobby and went up to the reception desk. The soldier manning the desk flashed her a big smile (he was a man after all) and said, "How can I help you ma'am"? He was a Sargent and Cindy was only interested in anyone with at least the rank of Captain. "Hello, I'm Cindy Walanski, I will be Captain Bradley's New Personal Assistant". He looked through a computerised database, "Ah yes here you are Miss Walanski, congratulations on the new job, for your new Identification Card I need your photograph, so I must ask you to follow me into this room". She was pleased she looked so good because her ID photo would be good too. He took her photo on a modern-looking digital camera, with a little more attention to detail than usual. "OK", he said, "just follow me back to the reception area and your card will be ready almost immediately". Sure enough his printer spat out a little ID card, he put it in a clear plastic carry case that had a small clip on the back of it. "Please wear this Identification card every time you come into work or you will be refused entry to most of the building". She nodded and asked, "Could you also please tell me where I am to report"? The Sargent nodded and said, "1 E 4 12". He took out a map of the Pentagram and explained how to find the room she was looking floor. After being patiently shown directions around the Pentagram, she said, "So, it is Floor 1, ring E, corridor 4, room 12, right?". "Yes ma'am", he shot back. She asked him to write that down for her and she headed to the cafeteria to buy a cup of coffee (she wasn't a great coffee fan but she liked the way she looked when she walked along holding a cup). She finally found the correct room and knocked on the door and waited. A deep masculine voice called, "Come in". Cindy entered the room and gave the man her most welcoming look. The uniformed man said, "Ah, Miss Walanski! Welcome to the Pentagram", he looked very capable. "Please, take a seat". She did and noticed there were no pictures of family on his desk, a good sign for her. "I'm Captain Bradley of course, your job here will be to organise my affairs, put everything in the right place and generally run things. I travel a lot and need someone here to give me the correct information when I request it". " I am told by our Human Resources people that you have recently completed a secretarial course, so I guess you'll know better than me what your tasks will be". He looked at his wristwatch, "It's five to nine; I have an appointment at nine". "Ah good", he said pointing at the coffee cup, "I see you found the cafeteria. Breaks are 10:30, 20 minutes, 12:00, 1 hour, 3:15, 20 minutes". "Here is your first job", he said handing her a large print-out with names filling each sheet. "Enter all these names into our database please; I'm not sure when I'll be back, I'm sorry to leave so suddenly. It's not always like this it's just that today is a busy day". "Oh", he said, "If you have any questions just phone that number on the yellow post-it", pointing at the little yellow square stuck to the side of her monitor. With that, he was gone out the door. Of course, he knew something that his new PA didn't know, which was the real reason why he was leaving so quickly.

They saw Cindy in a crowd and followed her around, carefully noting what her habits were. After searching her apartment, they quickly found lots of details about 'Rutgers Secretarial Academy'. They found out about the job promise and agreed that was the best way of 'getting' her. They wanted that 'girl next door' face to show in the newspapers as a victim of the Pentagram attack, it was all about getting the public on 'their' side. His department had been charged with 'hearts and minds', his personal philosophy was 'Capture the publics' hearts and you will have their minds too'. He wanted a person who's picture would elicit feelings of 'that could be my daughter/girlfriend/wife' so people wouldn't feel compelled to look further into this operation, that's how he saw it, just an operation. In fact the entire operation on the Pentagram was just to direct blame away from them, 'after all they were attacked too', they could offer as a defence. It was a pretty flimsy defence and wouldn't hold up in a court of law, but they weren't looking to win in a court of law' they just wanted to win the popular vote of the people, in the court of the media.

"Hello I am Joan Biezze at the scene of yet another attack on the sovereign soil of Bordania. It was little over one hour ago that I was reporting to you from the horrific scenes at the Bordanian Trade Complex, but now to make matters worse, there has been a report of an attack on the Pentagram and a report of another eleven hijacked passenger liners in the air. "The scene here is one of grizzly carnage, not only has another passenger jet hit the Pentagram causing immense damage but also the damaged floors have collapsed onto themselves making recovery of bodies almost impossible until heavy earth moving equipment gets here. But even when it does, it will have to wait until the raging inferno is brought under control". The anchorman cut in, "Joan, Joan can you confirm exactly what it was that hit this symbol of democracy". The reporter replied, "Yes Bob, it was definitely a passenger jet, probably a 757 or 767 for Bordanian Airlines, my contact here at the Pentagram said the Hijackers were Islamic Fundamentalists, probably members of AL QUATANA, an Arab terrorist group". The anchorman put on his best concerned expression and said, "Well you just take care of yourself Joan, these are violent, violent attacks perpetrated my desperate, hate filled men, we are sending you down a helmet and a flak jacket, but tell me Joan, what can Bordania best do to help at this time that our prayers go out to the families of the victims", Well Bob", she started then paused as something was said in her ear-piece, "Bob, we have reports of another passenger jet flying over Pennsylvania that has been flying erratically and has changed its course and is heading back for Washington, my contact has said that all available information points to an attack on the Black house". The live news feed ended and the anchorman said, "Well you have all heard that stunning, almost unbelievable story, remember you heard it first on ZYX news, home of Bordanias news". A video montage of images of the attacks played on screen, slow classical music played in the background, the montage ended and the anchorman reappeared, His jacket off, no tie and with his sleeves rolled up. He started back, "Just before Joan got the news about the latest passenger jet that has been hijacked, she was about to say that giving blood for the survivors is what Bordanians can do to help, we pray for all those who lost their lives, let's change focus and cross to Doug Havoc, our counter-terrorism expert, what is to happen next,"

Mike had really landed on his feet with this job, cushy salary, flexible hours, and good people, what more could you want. Sure, they still had drills and 'PT' but he had been in the Marines since he was nineteen, and his fifteen years of service had made him grow up and face the world. The drills were important, they had to be ready at a moments notice, but the great pay, excellent work environment and very little scary stuff more than compensated. But today was going to be the day that would make everything they'd done before pale by comparison. It was a fine morning; Washington was beautiful at this time of year, well this part of Washington anyway. For some strange reason he had been thinking about his drill-Sargent back in Basic training. Man, he had changed since then from, being a smart aleck, wise-mouth kid. He had done more than his fare share of press-ups before he figured out he just had to shut-up and follow orders. Even then, he had tried to sneak out of camp for a night on the town the sergeant had found out and Mike had spent the next month doing double latrine duties and peeling sacks of potatoes. He had been playing cards when the Pentagram was attacked, it was poker and he was winning too; his hand was 'aces high'. They felt a 'thud' that moved their card table about an inch off the ground, almost instantly another blast vibrated through the newly strengthened super structure to make it more, ironically, blast resistant. At first Mike thought it must have been some kind of accident with the one of the construction teams. Being one of the younger Pentagram fire fighters, Mike was the first to his feet and raced for the door. There was a thin haze in the hallway to the right, so he headed to the left, he raced out of the mall entrance and ran over to his 'emergency yellow' fire truck. By this time the others had caught-up and they all put on their safety-gear, then they sped the truck around to the heli-pad side of the building, parking it on the lawn close to the impact site . The scene was unbelievable; there was a hole in the new strengthened side of 'their' Pentagram. "What did it, a missile"? He asked, almost rhetorically. Dave, an Ex-N E F D fireman said, whatever it was it musta been goin helluva fast to do all that"! They got out of the truck with their jaws open in disbelief; the heat was like nothing they had ever experienced. Mike got back into the drivers seat of the big hulking fire truck and moved it back a couple of hundred feet. He then jumped down from the cab and ran over to the rest of the crew. They were shouting to make themselves heard above the roar of the inferno. "The security Guard says it was a plane", shouted the Ex-N E F D guy. "A plane what... an accident"? Mike asked not expecting to hear differently". "No, he says there have been two more attacks in New Ella and possibly more on the way"! Mike couldn't believe what he was hearing but he could believe what he was seeing. He turned his focus to the scene of molten devastation that was before him. There was a hole, higher than it was long and flames seemed to cover every inch of that hole. The heat it was generating was like a steel mill's furnace. At one point he did see the floors still intact but looking like they were beginning to sag. A couple of hundred feet to the North was the helicopter pad they had passed, Mike saw a young black marine stagger over to them with deep cuts on his arms that he had gotten from the falling glass of the heli-pads control tower. Sid, our medic, stopped the bleeding then dressed the marine's arms. Somewhat uselessly Mike aimed the fire truck's water cannon at the impact site, the powerful water jet seemed to be evaporating even before it got to the fire. About that time the rest of the rescue operation seemed to kick in, as people streamed out of the Pentagram's entrances Mike could hear the sirens of police cars, fire trucks and ambulances converging on this surreal scene of devastation, which is when they started to get organised. The mammoth amount of training they had done could never truly prepare them for the spectacle they were witnessing but it helped to jar them out of their mindset a put them in "fire fighting mode". Mike said, "Ok Alpha team, get your breathing gear; we are going in for survivors. His team put on their oxygen tanks and the rest of the equipment. Mike also grabbed the hand-held thermal imaging camera, the camera will show images according to their body heat, which was a very useful tool in a room full of smoke. They walking to the south entrance, Mike could hear through his earpiece that other fire crews had arrived; he radioed them and told them what his team was about to do. The other crews confirmed and he knew they would be doing exactly the same thing soon. When they entered the building, the crew did a left turn to go to the source of the emergency. Thick black smoke had filled the hall way, he could see nothing so Mike powered-up the Thermal-Imaging Camera (T I C). It registered two bodies that were lying down but alive. He pointed in their direction and two of the twelve-man team split off to take the two bodies out. Dead bodies did not generate much heat so he could only bring them out if he could visually confirm them. By this stage the heat was pretty unpleasant even for the fire men in their special suits, 'We won't find too many live ones from here on in', he thought pragmatically. After a few minutes they had to withdraw because of the heat. They went back outside and someone pushed a bottle of Gatorade in his hand. Without a pause he drank the contents and said to his men, "Okay, the ground floor's a mess, Let's go up to first floor and do a check". Before they headed off he told the newly setup command & control desk what he was going to do, adding that they should do the same from the other side of the fire.

Jerry parked his ambulance in what appeared to be an ambulance staging area on the nearby off ramp. As the mobile Pentagram needed an ambulance, they'd be called up. Jerry had been doing this job for twenty years and he had never seen a scene like this. He had watched a small TV set in his ambulance which was showing footage of when the second jet had ploughed into the South Tower. When the south tower fell, his partner, as optimistic as he was, said, "Wow, a person would have to have super powers to survive that fall". They were experts, they dealt with the frailty of the human body on a daily basis, it sounded defeatist and a little cruel, but Jerry knew his partner and he knew him to be a kind, compassionate guy. He finally got the call and he drove quickly down to the triage area. He and his partner sprang down from the cab and went to the back of the ambulance and opened the doors. A couple of women, they must have been nurses, brought a gurney over with a sooty-faced man on it. The nurse described that he was probably having a cardiac embolism. Jerry was impressed as that was a very hard thing to spot. As a precaution he injected a needle for an Intravenous drip, he was probably dehydrated from the heat of the fire Jerry reasoned. They lifted the man into the back of the ambulance and Doug, Jerry's partner, got in with him and closed the doors. By the time Jerry turned around the nurse had left. Jerry had wanted to congratulate her on her diagnosis. Instead, he drove off. In his rear view mirrors he saw the next ambulance pull up. Oddly he saw several lamp posts on the ground, then he recalled a taxi driver, who's car had been hit by one, telling Jerry that the plane had knocked them over. From the back of the ambulance he heard Doug call, "Yeah this one's going to make it". Jerry was anxious to off-load this patient at the hospital then get back down to the action, but at least he knew there were about twenty other ambulances in that staging area in front of the Pentagram.

Mike's team went up the stairs to the second level; they didn't know what they would find. Again there was thick smoke in the hallway, he was glad they had spent the fifty two grand on the T-I-C gear now, using it he immediately saw a heat source on the floor, he said, "I've got this one", and he handed the T I C to his lieutenant. He went over to where the unconscious body was and lifted the body onto his shoulder. The man was no light-weight and Mike struggled a little as he was going down the stairs. He made it out into the open, a woman saw him and pushed a gurney over to him. When Mike got a chance to look at his 'targets' face, he said, "I know this guy, he works in the accounts office". The patient's clothes had been blown off so the woman covered him up with a blanket and put an oxygen mask on him. She was listening to the patient's heart with a stethoscope. Her name tag read "Dr Maria Chrivner", the 'pips' on her collar told Mike she was an Army Major (when you're in the service that's the first thing you look for). Mike gratefully accepted another bottle of Gatorade as the doctor pushed her patient over to a waiting ambulance. The voice in his earpiece crackled, "Man down, man down", from where he stood Mike saw another city fire crew sprint off down to their entrance. It really was Mike's worst day and he hoped he never had to experience another one like it. He heard a radio playing and went over to it, most of the channels were 24 hours news that day so he didn't have to wait long to hear what he wanted. Terrorists had attacked the twin towers of the Bordanian Trade Complex. Not only had planes hit them, but also the entire towers had fallen! Mike remembered taking his family to New Ella the year before, he and his wife had a romantic dinner at the restaurant up the top of one of those towers, now it was gone? Why? What had Bordania ever done to anybody? Who was it that was doing this? Mike pushed those thoughts aside as the rest of his team came out of the building. They said, "Well cap' we have checked all the floors and have only found a coupla dozen survivors, should we go over and help the city crew do the other side", their desire to see this thing through was evident. Mike told them about the Bordanian Trade Complex being hit then collapsing. How that great symbol of Bordania was no more. After a few minutes he saw the fire return to their eyes and the Lieutenant said for them all when he said, "Let's get back to it then!

The B I A agent was disguised as an Army Captain, his ID badge read that he was Captain Bradley, Military Intelligence. He was dressed in Alphas; his dress uniform. He carried in his briefcase a GPS 'homing' unit and three C4 shaped charges, he also carried three detonators that were designed to go off on heavy impact. Entering through the south entrance, he walked up the steps to the first floor, turned left and went to room 12, it was 0730 hours, so he wasn't in a hurry. He placed the homing beacon and the C4 on the desk and tore of the adhesive backing. He then stuck them on the wall that had the window on it with their adhesive strips and then he delicately placed the special detonators into the C4. The charges were shaped to blow upwards and were hidden behind a filing cabinet. After planting his deadly cargo, he sat down and put his feet up on the desk. All he had to do now was to wait for his 'body' to come in. He took out her file and read it, "hm, Cindy Walanski' he said.

# Chapter Six: Wargames

BORE-RAD; the Agency that was tasked with monitoring space and the skies outside Bordania, had sent orders to the 419th Electronic Surveillance unit, stationed in Düsseldorf, Germany. The orders stated that the 419th would establish a forward Air Traffic Control base within continental Bordania, it was then to monitor all the air craft within Bordanian air space and to report to BORE-RAD if any of the planes diverged significantly from their scheduled flight paths. What BORE-RAD did not state in it's orders was that it was going to have twenty two of those passenger liners flown by specially trained Army personal who would 'hijack' their planes. BORE-RAD really wanted to see how long it would take the 419th to detect the planes that had been hijacked from the hundreds of other regular air traffic. This operation was named "Northern Watchdog" but in a nefarious twist, not even the mighty BORE-RAD knew the real reason why this operation was to happen over the entire month of October. Lieutenant Jed Bowan was doing as he had been ordered; he was over seeing the loading of the Gigantic C5 galaxy cargo plane that was affectionately nicknamed 'Fat Albert'; an overweight cartoon character from the seventies. This aircraft was a technological marvel; the entire plane 'kneels' down so that it can be loaded more easily. It has both front and rear access, so when the cargo bay is empty you can drive straight through the plane. The cargo space was as big as a football field and you could easily fit Lieutenant Bowan's entire barracks, buldings and everything, inside the cavernous space. The shear volume that this plane could hold had radically altered the speed at which the Marines could deploy, a few years ago an exercise of this magnitude launched from a base in Germany would have been unthinkable. Lt Bowan was almost hypnotised by the forklifts driving their fully laden pallets into the aircraft and the forklifts emerging empty. But he had been given a task to complete and he was bucking for a promotion. An hour later he reported to his Sargent that all the Cargo was on board the 'Fat Albert' and latched down. The Sargent did not particularly like his diminutive Lieutenant, but he got all his tasks done, he followed orders to a 'T' and his efficiency was Army material. A smaller C-1 30 was parked on the tarmac about a hundred feet from its massive peer. The Sargent said, "OKAY, get the men 'rounded' up and onto the 'Herky'". It didn't take long to get the 34 men onto the transport plane and even less for the plane to taxi to it's assigned runway. As they lifted off, they could see the large grey bulk of the Fat Albert being guided to its runway by a seemingly tiny yellow truck.

On the plane the Sargent addressed his men, yelling to be heard clearly above the rumbling engines, "OKAY,THE NAME OF THIS EXERCISE IS OPERATION NORTHERN WATCHDOG AND FOR THIS EXERCISE SPEED IS OF THE ESSENCE, OUR JOB IS TO ESTABLISH A FORWARD AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL CENTER WITHIN CONTINENTAL BORDANIA. ONCE OUR CENTER IS FUNCTIONAL, OUR TASK WILL BE TO REPORT TO BORE-RAD ALL FLIGHTS THAT DEVIATE FROM THEIR FILED FLIGHT PLANS. To Lt Bowan the mission sounded like some fun. All the men in this Electronic Surveillance unit had an excellent grasp of the equipment that they would use, so it wouldn't be hard. The Sargent went on, "WE WILL BE LANDING IN UP-STATE PENNSYLVANIA, YOU WILL UNLOAD THE FAT ALBERT AND LOAD UP THE TRUCKS, WE WILL THEN BE DRIVEN TO A SMALL TENT BARRACKS, YOUR FIRST TASK WILL BE TO ERECT YOUR TENTS AND BEFORE YOU RETIRE TO THE MESS TENT I EXPECT ALL EQUIPMENT TO BE FULLY FUNCTIONAL. A SPECIAL FORCES DELTA FORCE TEAM HAS ALREADY LANDED AND SECURED THE AREA".

Lt Bowan knew some of the men would grumble and complain about the manual labour, but he didn't know why those men joined the Marines in the first place to tell the truth; surely they expected this kind of stuff. They landed at an airbase and started unloading the Fat Albert. Hydraulically 'kneeling' as the nose rose up and the rear doors opened, again the dance of the forklifts attacked the cargo from both directions, the kind of efficiency the Marines seem to delight in. One by one the forklifts then deposited their pallets onto the backs of several flatbed lorries. Lt Bowan again marvelled at the speed of which this task was performed and the cliché 'military precision' seemed to fit perfectly. Growing up, Lt Bowan had no father; his Mother held firmly to the adage 'there is a place for everything and everything in its place'. He remembered that if any of his toys had become dirty, they would simply disappear within a day or two. Aside from that he had fond memories of his childhood, they were a very poor family, but his mother could cook like she had been born in the kitchen. He told the men to mount-up on the trucks, troops first, the convoy headed off. After six or seven hours they finally arrived at the site. The Sarge got out of the cab of his truck and went over to talk to a heavily camouflaged soldier. A few minutes later the Sarge returned to his truck and stood on the running board instead of entering the cab. He gave a hand signal for all of the other drivers' to follow him. One after the other, the trucks slowly drove down the narrow path until they emerged into a clearing. The trucks with the gear on them waited on the roadside until their smaller colleagues had off-loaded the troops. It took several hours to get all of the shelters erected and then came the time consuming task of getting all of the electronics installed and calibrated. A large, almost noiseless generator had been installed to provide the ample amounts of electrical current needed to run this unit. Everything from the water purification unit to the HF direction-finding array drew copious amounts from the generator. Beside it stood an even bigger thick rubber bladder that was filled with enough diesel fuel needed to run this exercise for 72 hours. The Sarge was sitting alongside the Lt, the mess tent was full of men, and the Sarge and the Lt were talking about the new M series of Satellites. There was the familiar thud-thud-thud of a Black hawk helicopter approaching, it landed and two officers emerged dressed in camouflage gear.

The Sargent got up and went out to greet the two important new arrivals; he saluted and said, "Colonel Green, Major Phelps". The two men saluted back and the Colonel looked around the camp and said, "Well done Sargent, everything looks in order". "Yes sir", snapped back the Sargent, "I will pass on your compliments to Lt Bowan Sir." That was enough to show that the Sargent was bringing the Lt to the attention of the Colonel. Standing beside the Sargent, the Lt stepped forward and saluted the Commanding Officer, observing the chain of command to the letter. The Colonel asked to see the RADAR tower and the Sargent directed them over to a hundred foot high temporary tower, the guy ropes that stabilised it seeming to form an invisible pyramid with the fibre-glass RADAR dome at it's apex. The Sargent directed the two officers into the main tent, the rows of laptops currently in sleep mode to preserve electrical supplies. Even though a diesel generator managed the electricity for the entire camp, it didn't do it directly; the generator constantly charged a dozen or so banks of high capacity batteries and they provided the electricity for the camp. That way if the generator stopped for some reason, they would have two hours to repair or replace it before everything stopped running. The Colonel again complimented the Sargent, this time on the Command & Control Centre. The only thing that was yet to do was the thing the Colonel was there to do, the Colonel picked up the nearby red telephone, paused a few seconds while the encryption agreed with each other to establish the secure connection, then in a low voice gave a series of codes and hung up the phone. A few seconds later a large, flat, plasma monitor burst into electronic life and displayed several dozen moving icons which each represented a different aircraft, each icon gave the designation, speed, altitude & bearing of an aircraft that was being tracked, all these were super-imposed over a map of continental Bordania. The laminated label underneath the monitor read "BORE-RAD". This time the Colonel directly addressed the Lt, "Well done Bowan", he said catching the eye of the Major to take note of the Lt's name. The Lt smiled his thanks to the Sargent, even though the Lt had only been in the Marines for 2 years he had been in them long enough to know what had just happened. The Sargent had just personally recommended him to the Colonel, which could very possibly lead to a commendation or even a promotion. The men went their own ways and the Lt looked at his digital watch which displayed 2200 hours, October 11, 2001, and said, "With your permission sir, I'm pretty beat so I think I'll turn in". The Sargent couldn't argue because he was tired too.

The Bordanian Reconnaissance Office (B-R-O) was humming, not that that was unusual; it was usually very busy in there. But this morning there was a senior B I A agent holding a briefing in the meeting room. What was different about this meeting was that he handed out no printouts; he was keeping his presentation strictly verbal. He was saying how the B-R-O was going to practice a scenario where twenty-two passenger liners were hijacked in Bordanian air space. The passenger liners would all be actual jets but airforce pilots would fly them. The exercise would all be recorded and the B-R-O would then examine the tapes of the event, analyse them, then use the analysis to train B-R-O staff. Tomorrow the planes would all take off from various airports around Bordania, the B-R-O's job would be to see which ones had diverged significantly from their filed flight path. The senior B-R-O staff was astonished. What the B I A agent was asking was to find the equivalent of a needle in a haystack! The usual job of the B-R-O was to monitor most of Bordania's spy satellites but the B I A and military staff worked there he did have jurisdiction so therefore could run this exercise. But it was ground-breaking stuff because the B-R-O had never performed a training exercise on this scale before! Because the plan did have some merit and because it had the backing of some influential people, the senior B-R-O staff approved the exercise. The B I A agent said, "Good, we start at 0800 hours. The next morning was already starting to be a fine day. All the operators were seated at their terminals monitoring various satellites. At 7:30am, the telephone rang and the floor supervisor picked it up and answered it, he spoke in a low, soft tone, the kind a civil servant learns to speak in when he wishes privacy in a busy office.

Quietly, without menace or excitement in his voice he said, "Ladies and gentlemen could you please vacate the building we have a bomb alert, this is not a drill". There were occasional drills to keep the employees well practiced at rapidly vacating the building. When all the employees were checked and accounted for, he got out his cell phone and rang a number, he said something then listened intently. After re-pocketing the phone he said, "OK people, you have all been cleared to have the day off, have fun and enjoy your day". There were a few cheers but for most of the people there, work WAS their definition of fun. Slowly they all drifted off to their cars.

At around 0500 hours, Private First Class Somerville was patrolling the grounds when the Sargent came up to him. The PFC saluted the Sargent and asked him why he was up so early, the Sargent said, "I never sleep very well when I'm on an exercise. I'm just off to do a few laps around the camp". He was a little surprised the Private hadn't seen that he was in jogging gear, but in fairness, it was still a little dark. As a Sargent, he didn't really feel comfortable being too friendly with subordinates so he saluted and continued his morning jog. Major Igor Phelps looked at the large flat plasma monitor, even though it was only 0800 hours the skies over Bordania were starting to get full. The newly erected RADAR tower was registering 500 commercial passenger liners as they threaded across the Bordanian sky. Certainly not an unusual number but it was this units' responsibility to track every single one and analyse the average divergence from the filed flight plan. A young uniformed air traffic controller looked up at him from the terminal he was sitting at and said, "Sir, why are we holding this exercise when BORE-RAD could do it just as well"? The Major replied, "Son, you know that BORE-RAD can do it and I know that BORE-RAD can do it, but it tells the public that it can't monitor Bordanian air space. The RADAR operator didn't follow it up further as he thought that was the answered he would get. At a few minutes after 0900, another operator said to the Major, "Sir, you had better see this". The Major came over to the operator's station a watched his monitor. On it was a live broadcast from Zyx, it showed one of the Bordanian trade towers with a large sinister black whole high up on the front of it and thick black smoke pouring from every opening. The Major immediately put it up on the main monitor. The operator said, "Sir, I have another flight, U B 1 75 on a similar flight path. The Major was about to switch back to the BORE-RAD screen when the plane flew on-screen, passed both towers, perform an incredibly tight turn (for a passenger liner) and ploughed into the other tower, hitting lower than the first jet. It was like something from a movie and the Major yelled at the nearby operator, "GO AND GET THE COLONEL"!

The Colonel came in, rather annoyed to be disturbed, into the C&C tent. His jaw slackened when he saw the monitor. After a terse briefing, he got on the phone to BORE-RAD and after excitedly talking into the receiver. Putting down the handset without hanging it up and said to the Major, "BORE-RAD has also acknowledged the incident and is in the process of contacting the Secretary of Defence for further orders. The seconds counted down to minutes and minutes counted down, ten, twenty, thirty, then the Colonel put the phone back to his ear as a voice spoke. "They've located him at the Pentagram, but he is unavailable". Seconds later an operator called to the Major again, "Sir, we have another incident". The Major switched the 65" plasma screen to the XYZ coverage, now showing the Pentagram, there was a gaping hole from ground to roof that was glowing like it was a furnace. He said to the Colonel, "It looks like some kind of coordinated attack". "The Colonel nodded in silence as he was reconnected to BORE-RAD, he spoke quietly, then after five minutes he hung up the phone. He briefed the Major, "Well it seems that a few months ago they gave the order to scramble jets but their concern know is that the Secretary of defence may have been killed in the Pentagram attacks, so they are assuming back command and have ordered jets to scramble and provide CAP (Combat Air Patrol) over Capitol. The order has been given to clear the sky; that way we will be able to see if there are anymore threats up there". The Major switched the screen back to the BORE-RAD display and noticed that one by one the "blips" were disappearing as the corresponding aircraft landed safely. That was good the good news, the bad news was that there were still a hundred "blips" that hadn't landed. The Colonel said, "Now BORE-RAD is going to super-impose the flight plans of the remaining aircraft on the screen". A few seconds later, just as the Colonel had said, green dotted lines appeared on the screen, showing the direction the RADAR blips were intended to head, any deviation would cause a new red line to appear. Now that the skies over Bordania were rapidly emptying the Major noticed that one contact over Pennsylvania, designated 'UB93', was flying erratically, "This one is almost right over the top of us"! An operator of the other side of the room said, "An F-16 has been dispatched and is on intercept course Sir". Sure enough, a green icon indicated the position of the fighter. A few seconds later a second green 'missile' icon appeared on the screen. The missile quickly snaked it's way over to the other aircraft, the two icons collided and a few seconds later the altered path of 'U-B93' confirmed that the missile had hit it's target. The operator reported, "Sir, UB93 impacted with the ground five miles from our location on bearing 1-7-0". The Colonel again telephoned BORE-RAD, he put down the phone and said, "have a truck readied immediately Sargent. Major, you and I will drive there in the hummer. The Sargent who had heard the order was already mentally preparing the list of things to pack into the truck.

The ride to the scene was silent and quick; a plume of black smoke guided them to the spot. They could see very little of the passenger liner, there would be no need for a medical team as there were no survivors. The Colonel, who had attended many plane crash sites, looked at the size of the site and said, "This was travelling at high speed almost directly into the ground, see how there is little debris or no additional impact sites". The Major commented, "The projected target for the liner was Washington DC, we believe it was heading for the Black house or maybe even the Senate building. The fighter pilot made the right call", the Colonel nodded. After about five minutes the first car drove up, it was a blue Pinto, the later model without the exploding fuel tank. The civilian got out, looked at the crash site and whistled. "Wow, I saw the fighter up there shoot it down with a missile, it blew the whole wing off, the damnedest thing I ever did see". The same private that the Sargent had seen in the early morning was talking with the civilian and confirming what the eyewitness observed. The Sargent called the Private over and said, "Best not say any more to the civilian until the F B I B (Federal Bordanian Investigative Branch) get here". The soldier nodded and walked off in the opposite direction to his civilian confidant. Rumbling down the dirt road to the crash site drove a modern looking TV truck with a satellite dish on telescoping pole on its roof and the word 'Zyx Network' emblazoned on the side. The truck stopped and raised the satellite dish for better transmission a woman reporter who introduced herself as Joan Biezze came over to the single bystander and said, "Sir, did you see anything"? "Yes ma'am, yes I did", he replied. Her response was fairly predictable, she asked, "Will you tell me what you saw on camera"? The man was only too pleased to go on national television and told her so. He had just finished giving his interview when a black sedan drove up and two B I A agents got out. The reporter went by the TV truck and gave her report back to the TV station. The Sargent was surprised because usually it was just the F B I B that showed up at a crash scene like this. The black sedan they drove up in may as well have the words 'This is a Government car' spray-painted on its side. They quickly established who was in-charge and cornered the Colonel and explained that they would now handle the scene. Knowing that this was not a battle worth fighting, he ordered the Sargent to pack up the truck and returned to base. In the 'Humvee' he confided in the Major, "That B I A agent said I was not to let any of my unit talk to the media and to send B I A the tapes from the RADAR, I don't like the smell of this one Phelps", the Major nodded in agreement as they careered down the road. The two B I A agents went up to the witness, identified themselves as Air Crash Investigators and took down the man's account word for word. Then they said, "Sir, what actually happened was that the hijackers were overpowered by several passengers, the hijacking pilot, aware that the passengers had re-captured the plane and were about to break down the door, sought to finish his suicide mission. He flew the plane directly into the ground. The witness said, "That explains the small impact site, but why can I still see the vapour trail of the F-16 that shot him down, look it's circling overhead"! "No sir, that aircraft was sent after the other plane crashed", said one of the agents as he gestured at the crash site. The civilian looked bemused and said, "No sir, I was in the Airforce for thirty years, I know what I saw", not used to having his knowledge rejected. "No, we've told you what happened sir, furthermore, for reasons of National Security, I must ask you not to tell any of this", said one agent, somewhat menacingly. "Too late", said the witness, "I've already told that reporter over there". The two agents disentangled themselves from the annoyingly persistent man and headed over to the reporter who was still by the TV truck. She told them that she had already gone to air with the eyewitness's account. "Well, it's the wrong story and furthermore we'll need the tape you interviewed him on", said the agent without emotion. Having dealt with their type many times before, the Cameraman resignedly handed over the tape and the agents returned to their car. The local police had started arriving and several other cars were converging on the crash site. The reporter dutifully relayed the events as described to her by the two agents only she referred to them as just 'witnesses'", Zyx went to air with the corrections.

An eighteen-wheeled truck pulled into pier twenty-nine of New Ella; behind it was a small convoy of five personal cars. Each one had four guys in it. A moment later, another truck, identical to the first, also pulled into the waterside area. The driver's parked precisely parallel to each other then unhitched their trailers, one trailer had an 'A' painted on it, the other had a 'B' painted on it, and drove off. The men got out of the cars and headed over to the long trailer with the letter 'A' painted on the door. One of the men came forward and using a spanner bolted a set of steps below the doors of both trailers. Both trailers were well appointed living quarters. Both had small kitchen areas, toilets, showers and each side of the trailer had a row of five bunks. One of the men, the team leader, said, "Ok men, bunk up. Soon the other team will arrive with the gear". After a few hours the other team arrived along with a smaller, yet painted identically, truck. They put a tarpaulin over one end of the two trailers and backed up the new truck to close off the space between the two trailers. One of the men brought out a suitcase from the truck and said, "Good evening gentlemen my name is Tim Cully, the name of this operation is 'Operation Camera stand 2', a joint Bordanian Emergency Management Agency and Bordanian Justice Department exercise. The point of this exercise is to see how quickly a nerve agent would disperse over New Ella. You will each receive a suitcase", pointing at the suitcase he was holding" that has a portable 'Anthrax' detector in it. Each unit will report back to you via an earpiece like this (he held up the tiny inner-earpiece), when you detects the 'Anthrax' you will hear a tone in your earpiece, the more 'Anthrax' it detects the higher the tone will be. Tomorrow morning at 7am, a top-dresser plane will spray a harmless simulation of the 'Anthrax' bacteria over New Ella. You will take your units and fan out around the city. Communication is to be kept to a minimum but if an emergency arises you will each be given a small hand held radio. Each unit has a small number by the handle; if you do communicate with us, identify yourself with this number. Each case has a GPS tracking system in it so we will know your exact location, the information your detector gathers will automatically be relayed to me here and I have a program that will map your results in real time. For security purposes each case will be secured to your wrist with a piece of Kevlar wire, now go and relax till tomorrow morning, there is a TV and plenty of food in each trailer". There was a small murmur of excitement, these men usually just studied 'Anthrax' in a lab, as requested team 'A' returned to their trailer. Wayne, the team 'A' leader who had just given the presentation walked over to his bunk and started up his laptop. He was running an 'Anthrax' dispersion simulation when Steve, another BEMA agent, said to him, "So, I see you're working on the modelling, how accurate is that program? Wayne said, "Pretty good, but I want a better laptop to run it". "What's the spec's on that machine"? Said Steve now getting into one of his favorite subjects. "1.6 Intel Pentium 4, 17" TFT monitor, 256 Megs of RAM, 40Gb hard drive, ADSL ready. It was an excellent machine when I bought it, now it is showing it's age", said Wayne with an air of resignation in his voice. "What I have is a Centrino, 2 gigs of RAM, 320Gig hard drive, 19" TFT, and it's running Linux", said Steve with an air of satisfaction having won the 'my computer is bigger than your computer game. "You hungry"? He continued, "'cause there's lots of great food down there", Steve gestured to the Kitchen with his thumb. Wayne put his laptop into sleep mode and said, "Yeah I am hungry, that coffee smells good too". Wayne had been on quite a few of these exercises and the best thing about them all was the food. The two men went down to the kitchen area and Wayne poured himself a cup of coffee. "Can I get you some cream or sugar"? Asked Steve, "No thanks", said Paul, "I prefer mine straight, it's easier to make". "Ah", said Steve, "A lazy man too, so I'm not alone"! Steve heated himself a TV dinner in the microwave. Paul teased him, "Are you wearing your lead lined boxers when you use that thing"? Steve laughed back, "Oh, you mean the radiation and my, ah, baby-making stuff"? Wayne smiled and nodded. Steve continued, "I already have four kids so I reckon it's too late to worry". Wayne didn't have kids yet, so with a little uncomfortable foot shuffling he said, "Did you notice that this trailer is air tight? They cost a pretty penny to build". They watched a few hours of TV and went to bed. Wayne helped himself to quite a lot of fresh fruit but he didn't really want a heavy meal. The next morning Wayne woke at 4:30am, he shuffled down to the shower and washed away the sleep. After some breakfast, he was feeling wide-awake. One by one, the men each had a shower, Wayne nodded to Steve as he made his way to the shower. There were two rows of ten of the modern Aluminium suitcases; each of the men took one. "Okay, take a map that will show you the area you are to cover, the truck will drop team A off to their various locations. Then it will return and drop team B off to their various locations. Wayne got assigned to the city centre but he didn't mind where he was going he just wanted to get 'Camera stand 2' started. He had been involved in the initial Camera Stand operation, so was minutely involved in the planning stages and to see it so close to completion was a big thrill for him. Steve came over and looked at Wayne's map and said, "We're in adjacent quadrants". Wayne was pleased, Steve seemed like a nice guy and he'd be sure to look him up when this exercise was over. Team A got into the truck and were delivered to their assigned areas. Wayne first heard the top-dresser as he was walking along main street, about three minutes later he saw it but the top dresser with the ever widening vapour trail following it, of course the vapour was the simulated Anthrax. About five minutes after he had first seen the top-dresser, he heard a tone in his earpiece and it kept on getting more and more shrill. It was as if the 'Anthrax' had dropped directly to the ground regardless of wind currents or micro-climates created by the plethora of tall buildings. All his computer models had shown that wind currents would play a far more significant role in effecting the dispersion of the 'Anthrax'. The tone in his ear had not stopped for over fifteen minutes so Wayne felt he had little choice but to call the base. Almost immediately he got through to the controller at their mobile base, the controllers name was Tim. After identifying who the caller was Tim said, "Wayne, I'm getting results I didn't plan for. If these results are correct there would have been we would have a 75% coverage rate by now, resulting in an estimated two million deaths by 11am". Wayne said, "I think maybe the temperature may have something to do with it, it is a little warmer than we allowed for in our computer models, with virtually no wind". "Either way, this is REALLY scary Wayne. It's not just in your area, it's all over New Ella. In fact since we've been talking the estimated death toll has double to four million"! Wayne was really shaken up so he said, "Let's postpone this testing till tomorrow at the same time when the weather is to be cooler". Tim agreed and several minutes later the truck arrived to start collecting Team A. When Steve got in, he complained that the earpiece had rung so much he had ringing in his ear, even when he took it out! Wayne just smiled but he didn't know what to make of what Steve had said. He just wasn't in a humorous state of mind. The truck dropped of team A and went to pick up Team B. Tim was outside and waiting when they got back and he immediately grabbed Wayne by the arm and half guided half pulled him into B trailer. Tim took him to the computer and said, "Since we spoke I've done more time progressions, even with the "Anthrax' being carried away eventually we are still looking at a death toll of eleven million plus within the first twenty-four hours". Wayne looked at the results and said, "If these results became public there would be mass panic. We'll just have to sit tight and wait for cooler temperature". They both knew that was a very simple answer to a very complex problem. Just at that moment, Steve burst through the door and said, "Quick, turn on the TV to the Zyx channel". At first their minds were on locked on to the problem at hand but the urgency in Steve's voice made Tim grab for the remote. He looked up at the screen and saw the gaping holes in one of the Bordanian Trade Towers; the sight made a bad day much, much worse for both Tim and Wayne. Wayne said "Call off the entire operation, people must never know of our findings, tell the media that the exercise was scheduled for tomorrow but now, because of those attacks, it has been cancelled".

# Chapter Seven: High flyer

They lay there like shadows waiting for the last light to go out, there were twenty of them; this was a very organised attack. They did not like the Zionists being in their country and they hoped this attacked would push those dogs one-step closer to going home. They waited fifteen minutes after the last light went out then got up and slowly started to creep forwards, they had AK47's and one or two other types of guns, but they all carried knives as those are the most silent weapons. They arrived at the compound and split up into four different groups, their intent was to sneak into the Zionists' houses and to slit their throats as they slept. After reaching the front door Addar, their leader, opened it slowly, these lazy Zionist dogs weren't even smart enough to be scared. Addar quietly widened the open door and one-by-one the five men quietly entered the room. Waiting for a few seconds for thei eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room, they crept on. Halfway across the room when the lights flicked on and they saw that they were surrounded by the Royal Saudi Police. They could not run and they could not hide, Addar reached for his knife and was shot dead by the closest policeman. There were no Miranda rights here as the police rained down blows and kicks on the four remaining 'Freedom fighters', wether they had raised hands or not. Roughly, the police took all their guns and knives. Hands were tied and they were led, dragged mostly, out of the room along with the body of Addar. The other teams had met with the same fate only one team was not so lucky as all of them had been shot dead. The prisoners were thrown into a covered van, along with the bodies. The prisoners would not look at each other in their disgrace at being taken alive, it would be better if they had died like heroes, at least that is what their doctrine would have them believe. But the simple fact was that they knew how the Saudi police would treat them; the dead were the lucky ones. Every live man in the truck was working himself into a state of terror. Abu sat there despondent about his situation, he knew that many of the others were just as scared as he was, he could smell that several had already soiled themselves. Everyone knew of the marathon torture sessions in the Saudi prisons. But he tried to fool himself that he was not that scared, they could beat and whip him but Allah was on his side, his Marxist ideology knew that Saudi Arabia was only a puppet state for their capitalist masters. He would endure their torture sessions, he would not crumble at their desperate hands, and he would survive! Once they had reached their destination the van stopped and the door opened. Two burly guards half pulled, half dragged the prisoners out.

Very deliberately, after the live prisoners were all out of the truck the dead bodies were dragged out, their faces smashing into the ground. The surroundings were stark and deliberate, they were inside the closed prison gates, there was nowhere to run nowhere to run. The guards made them all strip naked then turned powerful fire hoses on them, but it didn't last for long, water was a precious commodity in this place. After some random beatings they were taken, naked, to their cells and thrown in. Abu was the last prisoner left and instead of locking him in his cell, they took him to an eight foot square interrogation room. Hanging by a chain from the ceiling were a pair of manacles, the guards secured his hands into them then left the room. Abu hung there in the dark, mentally reciting the strange blend of Marxism and Islam in his mind. He must have drifted off to very light sleep because the sound of the door being unlocked flicked him back into consciousness. The two burly guards and another, far slighter, man walked in, pushing a trolley. There were no chairs in the room so all three men stood, the two guards flanking Abu and the other man directly in front of him, reading a file. The little man looked him in the eyes and spoke, "Why were you trying to kill Israeli workers"? "They are Zionist dogs and it is the duty of every Muslim to kill them, as it is", Abu was silenced by a well practiced blow to his kidney. "Bethat as it may, they were here under to protection of the king, so let me re-phrase the question", said the little man patiently, "Who do you work for"? "I do the work of Allah", said Abu. With a bemused look on his face the little man slowly and deliberately put on a butchers apron, picking up a menacing pair of pliers he continued, "This can be very easy or very hard, my two colleagues here would rather that it were very hard, but I am indifferent, you decide", the man's tone was almost sympathetically, but Abu sensed that sympathy wasn't going to stop him. To highlight the point a blow was landed into the side of Abu's face. At first Abu just felt a peaceful silence then he felt the star burst of pain from the blow. The taste of warm blood filled Abu's mouth and when he spat it out a tooth went with it. "Oh dear", said the man, he added, "Well, that is your choice then" and stepped out the room. The two guards started raining blows down on Abu, the rhythm and the force had been perfected over years of 'interrogations' such as this one. Abu didn't even recall being dragged to his cell, in the morning he woke up face first on the floor with a rat nibbling his toe. With a yelp of disgust he kicked it into the bars, breaking it's back and killing it instantly. Soon a tray with mouldy bread and with a wooden bowl of what looked like brown water was pushed into his cell between the iron bars. The inmate who had pushed the food in took the carcass of the wayward rodent and pushed his wooden cart on to the next cell. Abu didn't feel hungry so left his 'food' untouched. One by one, he watched as his fellow 'freedom fighters' as they were escorted down to the interrogation room and one by one they were dragged back unconscious. Abu knew one of them would talk and the police would raid a few houses and kill a few innocent women and children. It is the way it had been for as long as he could remember. Abu lay down on his bench and tried to forget about the misery of the coming days. He must have slept for several hours because when he awoke it was and dark.

A week later, after half a dozen interrogation sessions, in which Abu confessed to everything (even if he did it or not), Abu and his freedom fighters got a break.

He and his fellow 'freedom fighters' were all taken to a large empty room. A few minutes later a small, uniformed figure entered then looked at a file. "I am Captain Natasha Ruth of the Israeli Defence Force and you are all being swapped for a one of our Prisoners", it turns out one Saudi Prince in an Israeli prison is worth fifteen Saudi 'freedom fighters', to the men this was a fate far worse than this prison, now they were moving to their hated enemy's own territory! "We will be moving you to the famed 'Hadarim detention facility'. You will be loaded into our military transport plane and flown to an airfield just outside the prison. Before you leave, you will be hosed down again but there will be dry clothes for you, given to you as you enter the plane. Any resistance will be dealt with very harshly", after saying that she turned and left again. All the men were still naked so they were very relieved to hear they would be able to dress soon, but still they were ashamed as Muslim men that a woman had seen them when they were naked. Natasha had gone in there for the purpose of control, those men wouldn't respect her as a woman but they had to respect her as an Israeli Defence Force officer. The overalls she was providing them was her first reward for them but soon, very soon, she would have to punish one of them as an example of what she could do. The file had said that Abu was their 'leader' now; she decided it would be him.

The prisoners were hosed down then led out to their flight, as promised, when each man entered the plane they were handed a set of bright orange overalls. After a day of wearing nothing, these seemed like silk robes. When all the men were on the jet dressed and tied down Natasha said, "Prisoner Abu, where are you, ah there you are, stand up". He stood up. Natasha continued, "It says here you do not like us and call us Zionist dogs", she walked over to him and for the first time he noticed her lovely green eyes. She smiled at him kindly as she brought her knee up into his groin. In pain, he dropped to his knees clutching his genitals, blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. She struck him a blow that had been minutely calculated to cause just the right amount of concussion to his temple, he lay unconscious at her feet and she looked at the other prisoners and said, "If you are fair to me I will be fair to you but if you anger me I will make this", she pointed at the unconscious body, "look pleasant". With that, she went up into the cockpit and sat down. When they arrived at the remote airfield, there were about twenty men; all of them were armed with ultra-modern TAR21 assault rifles. Each one wore a baseball-style cap with the word "Nachschon" written on it. One after the other the prisoners were led off the plane, Abu was wide-awake now and sporting a bruise on the side of his head and aches in places no one could see, his limp betrayed the truth. It was only a short march to where they were directed but they were all amazed, it wasn't like anything their comrades had told them. Their cells were large, each one had a small window, their beds had mattresses, sheets and blankets on them, even small transistor radios on shelves above a sink. Everything was clean, there was even a communal area with a modern looking television set, it was the exact opposite of all they had been warned to expect. Natasha spoke, "As you see, everything you need is here apart from telephones or the Internet, as long as you follow orders exactly this is how it will stay. You will have three meals a day and be able to exercise in the courtyard for two hours every day, the bathroom is down the corridor and the first door on the left". She glanced down at her watch, "It is nearly time for dinner after which you will be escorted outside". The men walked around dazed just looking at all the facilities. Certainly, they had been used before but they were responsible for shattering the myths that they had all been told almost everyday for years. Dinner was also a surprise too, it was actually recognisable food, and there was even bread and fresh water to drink. After their meals they were led outside to walk around, sit, chat, even pray. Natasha was watching them on one of the monitors in the prison's control centre. She said to the head warden, "Good, give then two days to recover and then we will start the project". The Israeli Prison Service or I-P-S had gone to great lengths to 'encourage' the myth of their 'brutal' prisons'. It is true that there were still 'prolonged' interrogations, as the adage says, 'Speak softly but carry a big stick'. Their psychological warfare people had found out that prisoners actually talked more when they had some comforts so felt less threatened. It was in the Israelis' advantage to get their prisoners to talk, but that line between 'kind' and 'gullible' had to be monitored carefully.

When she was a young girl, probably three, Natasha vividly recalled standing on a street corner beside her mother as a Long parade of soldiers marched by. Their music, their uniforms, their purposeful coordination all this made a big impression on Natasha, an impression that was going to last for the rest of her life. The Israeli army was one of the few armies that viewed women as an important component to their defence. In point of fact, women soldiers were known to be just as deadly as men and just as mobile. The notion of women as 'The weaker sex' was one falsely promulgated so that the European aristocracy could control their breeding stock and keep their gene lines pure. In particular, the English so loved the notion of eugenics that it had vigorously promoted it to their colonies. Now they had perfected it with DNA cloning, they could undertake a 'cleansing' that would make Hitler or Stalin envious. But she did not hate the west, far from it. At school she had studied the west, being from a fairly privileged family she had visited the west, her father was a Russian Jew that had returned to Israel in 1969, her mother was an Israeli Jew that had fallen in love with the bright eyed tall Russian. Together they had started a water delivery company and that company had grown to be quite large, they were well off but not 'filthy rich'. They were good parents and had provided for her well. Her country was a curious mix of Western and Middle Eastern cultures. When Natasha was exactly seventeen years old, she celebrated her birthday by going to the I-D-F recruitment office and 'signing up' for the army. Noting her impressive school record, she was marked as officer material and sent to University. Graduating from University after a year she was commissioned with the rank of Captain and sent to work in the Military Intelligence department. Her brilliance soon shone through as she foiled plot after plot.

Israel had been given a small piece of land after World War 2 but had fought the surrounding countries and increased her borders, needless to say that this war had made Israel rather unpopular by many of its closest neighbours. Israel did not care that it was unpopular, it had the backing of a massively powerful ally, Bordania and the belief they were Gods' chosen people. Natasha had excelled at hand-to-hand combat and with her high IQ; she was quickly assigned to Israelis spy service, Mossad. After two years of gruelling basic training for her country's intelligence service she progressed on for further training, she was sent to the "Special Operations Department' where she quickly impressed her spy masters. At university she had majored in Psychology and her near photographic memory was just icing on the proverbial cake. The S-O-D or 'Metsada' as they were better known, were responsible for Psychological Warfare; which was a very important function of Mossad. She rapidly rose to the very pinnacle of that department. So well did her peers regard her, when the 'Bordanian project' came through to them there was little debate as to who would handle the operation.

On the fourth day, Natasha returned to the prison. The I-P-S guard let her on site and said to her, "Shalom Captain Ruth, the four new inmates from Yemen have arrived but during the night one of them would not cooperate freely with a guard. We have cut off their cold water and the prisoner received a light beating". She nodded thoughtfully, that all sounded fine to her, they still had to know they were in a prison. She went to her specially designed interrogation room. The room was yellow with a low roof, there was a table, chairs and four incandescent lights. Apart from that, the room was bare. What couldn't be seen is that one of the walls, the one directly behind Natasha, was entirely glass that had been painted with a new, Israeli invented, one-way paint. One of the seats was a comfortable overstuffed recliner. Knowing that the room was being recorded Natasha said, "Bring in the first prisoner please". After a few minutes, the first Saudi walked through the door. "Hello Abu", she said, "Sit please".

A thin veil of haze seemed to cover the street below. The warmth of the morning was mingling with the low sun to add an orange tint to their already busy street. The myriad of cars shuttling their passengers to their invisible destinations seemed oblivious to the beauty of their unchoreographed performance. Like most Floridians, Mohammad didn't really notice this dance, he had seen the scene hundreds of times before. Anyway, the view from his balcony was not what held his attention. He was reading a magazine about sports cars, he looked down to the driveway and saw his beaten up old hatchback. He sighed, the muffler on his car had a hole in it, it seemed he was always spending his money on that thing. From inside the apartment he heard a quiet 'thud' followed by a slightly louder Arabic curse. Mohammad called out, "Zied, what did you do"? A small man dressed only in bathroom towels came out and said, "I kicked my toe against the table". Mohammad looked at it and said, "I don't know what you are complaining for I can hardly see anything". Zied's attention shifted from his foot to the magazine his roommate was reading, "What are you reading"? Mohammad pointed at him and said, "Go in and get dressed properly Zied, then I will show you". The little man looked down at himself then headed into the apartment, it was not polite for a Muslim man to be so undressed in public. A little while later Zied returned with 2 glasses of orange juice and gave one to his friend. "So Mohammad, what are you looking at"? The Arab held up the car magazine so Zied could see it. "How are they different from your car"? Asked Zied. Mohammad patiently reminded himself that Zied was a poor goat herder that grew-up in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. Mohammad decided to liken the cars to something Zied could easily understand. "Zied, do you remember how the Sheiks' had beautiful horses that could run many times faster than your fastest goat"? "Yes", said Zied smiling at the fond memories of his childhood in Saudi Arabia. "OKAY, imagine that this sports car is the Sheik's horse and my car is one of your goats, do you see how one is much better than the other"? "Ah yes, I see now, very good thank you Mohammad", Zied grinned. Zied said, "Ah That reminds me; Khoma and Abu telephoned last night and they asked if they could come over for dinner, I said yes so they will be here at 5pm". Mohammad always enjoyed Khoma and Abu coming over they were good friends. They had all arrived in Bordania together and lived close to each other. They had all gotten jobs as night security men at a big pet food warehouse. Mohammad could hardly believe it that was five years ago; time had passed quickly.

As punctually as they always were; Khoma & Abu arrived precisely at 5pm, they shared a meal of baked, fresh salad and a bowl of baby potatoes. They had plenty of flat bread and washed it down with lots of good wine, it was a fine meal, after dinner, they had Turkish coffee and sun dried dates. Khoma and Abu started talking about their newest purchase, a large four- wheel drive car, Mohammad said that he was going to save as much money as he could and buy a brand new car too. They were happily chatting away when the telephone rang, Zied answered it, an odd look came over his face and he held the hand piece out to Mohammad and said, "Mohammad, they want to speak to you". Looking quizzically at his room-mate Mohammad got on the phone and said, "Yes, hello, who is it"? The reply came back, "Mohammad, do you remember my voice"? He thought for a moment then said automatically, "yes I know your voice". The reply came back and said, "I am going to say a phrase and when I do you will remember all about what that phrase means", the voice continued, "Ali bar bar is wearing a ball gown". He stood there transfixed listening then held out the receiver to Khoma and Khoma did the same to Abu. Finally, Abu hung up the telephone.

Natasha was delighted, as the 'Bordanian project' had called for her to perform deep hypnosis on nineteen subjects to get them to board several Bordanian flights. After which they would be arrested and framed as several 'terrorist cells' of Arabs and turn public sympathy against Arabs. This stage of the mission was complete, it appeared all of the hypnotic memory implants were still functioning. Once in Bordania, agents had arranged jobs for them all and then they were just 'sleepers' until they got the pass phrase. Natasha had to be inventive and think of a pass phrase they probably wouldn't hear for the five years they would be sleepers.

Mohammad rang the local flight agent and booked four tickets, first class, to Boston, that was no problem. He wrote down the number for the tickets that he would have to quote at the terminal, they would pay at the terminal and receive their tickets done. When he got off the phone he saw that Khoma and Abu had brought in their sleeping bags. Mohammad told them he had booked the flight to Boston for their holiday. They arrived at the terminal in Miami, it was night-time, but it never seemed to get cold this far south. Because it would probably cool in Boston, each man had a pullover with them. They paid for and received their tickets, because they were travelling first class the aircrew were especially hospitable, showing them to a luxurious waiting room. When it was time for them to leave, First-class passengers were allowed to board first and they were personally ushered to their ultra-comfortable looking chairs. The flight went without a hitch and their plane touched down at Bewark airport almost spot-on at 7pm. They booked another flight to the beautiful San Francisco and the airline ordered them a limo to whisk them to the closest hotel. The men each had a separate room and asked for a wake-up call at 6am. After their wake-up call each man met downstairs and they all went to the breakfast bar. After a hearty breakfast another limo arrived to take them back to the airport for their 8am flight. Again, they waited for half an hour in the first class lounge then they boarded the plane, again first on, first off. Unfortunately, not even first class tickets can do anything about delays as the plane was held on the Tarmac for forty-one minutes. Mohammad occupied himself by asking the stewardess if he could see in the cockpit. He told the pilots that he had his small-plane license and the pilots, as is airline courtesy, asked him if he would like to stay in the cockpit while they took off and offered him the fold out jump seat, he agreed and sat down. Five minutes after the plane had taken off Mohammad thanked them and returned to his much more comfortable first-class seat. After Mohammad was seated in first class again, an invisible, odourless gas filled the entire passenger liner and rendered everyone to a comatose condition, from a sleep that they would never awaken. The event was totally unnoticed by the ground as a type of advanced automatic pilot was now flying the plane. The plane headed northwest over Pennsylvania and into Ohio.

An Air Traffic Controller at BORE-RAD detected the flight and as he was aware of the three previous 'hijackings' called his supervisor over and said, "We have another and this one looks like it is turning around to attack the Black house. The general, who had been on the phone, put down the receiver and said, "This one isn't going to hit anything but empty ground. Send one of the F-16s' that are flying CAP to intercept it, they are cleared to engage". At last a definite plan, the A-T-C operator spoke to the pilot of the F-16, "Eagle Three, this is big nest, peel off and intercept UB93 at bearing 3-1-5, your missiles are hot, repeat, your missiles are hot; you have clearance to engage". The pilot of Eagle 3 was overjoyed that he at last could do something tangible, all he could do before was to guess what the problem might be; now he knew for definite and he felt that this was the day he was made for. He went super-sonic but only for a few minutes as he didn't want to waste fuel. Then he saw the big slow bird, 1000ft below him and virtually dead ahead and closing directly on him. He let the jet pass him the performed a loose Immelmann turn and took up position behind the jet, matching speed with the 'cattle-carrier', he was pleased that he had done a textbook manoeuvre to attack this plane. He watched the tracking reticle follow the plane on his Heads Up Display, big red diamonds appearing around the huge, hot engines, then the tone that told him his missiles were locked onto the power plants of the big silver bird. He didn't need to check in with base as to whether he should fire as he had already been given the weapons free order. Selecting the missile Multi Function Display screen, he clicked up the red cap on his flight controller that protected the missile fire button from accidental launch, with out any kind of hesitation he sent forty six innocent people hurtling to their deaths and debris over two states. The missile, an AIM9L Sparrowhawk, snaked across the sky and locked onto the heat of the big jets engines, delivering its high explosive payload, violently ripping the large wing from the jets body. He circled until he saw the two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound passenger liner hit the ground at an almost vertical angle; He circled that position until he pleased that he had been able to do his little bit. After about 5 minutes of circling a deep voice filled his earpiece, "Eagle Three, this is General Butcher at Andromeda air force base, return to Langley Airforce Base but do not discuss this mission to anyone, over". "Okay, roger that", said the pilot, he was a professional and it was his duty to follow orders.

What the Arab gentlemen didn't know was that three other flights had already completed their objectives. Natasha hadn't known that any of the planes were going to be flown into buildings. No one blamed Natasha, Bordania had kept the true reason for their 'project' with a secret unprecedented; even for them and Natasha was at two minds; firstly she had fulfilled her duty but secondly she was harsh on herself, 'she should have double, triple checked', she said to herself. It really had taken her by surprise; Bordania gave Israel billions of dollars in cash and military aid each year. One thing was for sure; Mossad was not going to take the affront to its dignity lightly. As if to reiterate that point Natasha's supervisor came into her office and said, "Captain Ruth the Bordanians deceived us. I want you to go to Bordania, quickly, to destroy all evidence of our involvement." Yes sir, immediately sir". He went on," You will have the full resources of Mossad at your disposal", he paused and went on, "and try and see if you can find out what really went on. It appears our Bordanian allies have not wished to let us in on their little secret. I do lot like the feeling that Mossad has been used by an ally".

# Chapter Eight: Follow the money

"Arbol is a good name, we'll call it Arbol", with those words a business was born and not just any business but an oil company. The person that was starting it was Gregor Tree Jr, which was surprising because Gregor was not known for his good business sense. The Fellow he was talking with was Jo Shower, Jo was the agent for Sal Van Leaden, Sal entrusted Jo to spend Sal's millions of dollars in Bordania. In return, Jo got a extremely generous salary. Jo had first met Gregor Jr several years ago when they were both at a road side bar in South Tedan, Jo worked as a fireman and Gregor Jr was learning to fly a helicopter. They both considered themselves as James Dean in 'Rebel without a cause' but more accurately, they were rebels without a clue. Jo was 'a ladies man' and events transpired that put him on a collision course with a local tough guy known as 'Snake'. With a mixture of cash and alcohol, Jo had sweet talked a local femme fatale. The problem was that the femme fatal was a local tough guy's girl friend and there were lots of eye-witnesses to the bar room seduction. After the two new lovebirds had flown the coup to go home a "good ol' boy" dropped a dime and telephoned Snake to tell him that his girl friend was "a cheetin'" on him. Snake was handsome and big but as dumb as a mud puddle, so with his blood boiling he sped to this girlfriend's trailer and he walked in on them, drunk and as naked as they could be. Jo wasn't a 'slow-poke', he knew how to take care of himself and he knew that right know he had to be totally focussed on the big red-neck bearing down on him. Jumping to his feet, Jo grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a cast iron fire poker. Snake loosed a massive right handed punch at him, duck and weaving to the left, out of purely protective instinct Jo swung the sizeable poker and landed on the big man's temple. It was a lucky (or unlucky as the case may be) swing, Snake collapsed, but on the way to the floor his other temple collided with the bedpost, twisting his head and filling the room with a very audible 'snap'. The girl, sobering up quite quickly, put her head over the far side of the bed and vomited... helping her to sober more quickly! Without a stitch of clothing on she jumped up and heading out the door, started running into town.

Panicking, Jo phoned the only person he fealt he could trust, Gregor. Gregor was far from a whiz kid, but he did no one thing very well, so he did the same thing he did every time he got in trouble, he phoned his daddy. Gregor Jr drove his pick-up truck to the secluded house and found Jo; Jo had really worked himself into a state of panic, sweat was dripping off his face. He had convinced himself that the Police had surrounded his house. What Jo didn't know was that Gregor Jr's Daddy, Gregor Tree Sr (who was the director of the B I A), had his B I A agents helped to make the whole thing look like a lovers fight that had gone horribly wrong. The B I A agents had taken care of everything, putting the gun in Snakes hand and framing the femme fatal, then scrubbed all evidence that Jo had been there. When Jo had regained his proper mind he had thanked Gregor Jr profusely, not knowing that it was actually Gregor Sr who had arranged everything. Jo promised Gregor Jr that one-day he would pay back the favour.

Years later events had transpired that had made Jo the financial adviser to Sal Van Leaden, heir of a huge building empire. What Jo didn't know was that Sal's family, the Van Leadens were very aware of his connection with Gregor Jr. They also knew that Gregor Sr was likely to be the next Bordanian President and that by helping the former they might receive benefits from the latter! When the opportunity presented itself, Jo had advised Sal that he should invest in 'Arbol'. The events that had transpired to get Jo to where he was were quite sordid. Since Jo had met Gregor Jr a lot had happened. After an almost fatal fire, Jo had sought a less 'precarious' job so he had turned to his next love, numbers. Unfortunately, Jo was never what you and I would call a moral guy, in fact most of his business dealings were rather 'shady' characters. The Van Leaden family knew this too and to them this knowledge doubled Jo's utility. The Van Leadens' knew all about Jo's past and it didn't bother them in the slightest, they still encouraged their peers to use Jo's 'adviser' capacity. Through Jo, Sal Officially invested fifty thousand dollars into Arbol but unofficially he put many, many millions into it. Eventually, as many predicted, Arbol was about to go 'bust', but in rode Gregor Sr, he changed its name to Tree Drilling but it was really too late to save the company so daddy found a buyer and merged with another, more successful company (again unofficially 'bankrolled' by relations of the Van Leaden family). Despite his poor track-record Gregor Jr was made the President of that company too, so it didn't surprise anyone when even this new venture started failing. So Gregor Jr did what he had watched his daddy do and merged with a company called "Listen Oil'. It didn't really surprise too many people in the oil drilling industry when tiny Little 'Listen Oil' was awarded a large contract to drill for oil in the Persian Gulf (despite never having drilled for oil before). As happens from time to time, a war started where Listen Oil was 'drilling', before the news aired the story Gregor Jr (at the behest of Gregor Sr) sold his shares in Listen Oil. Gregor Jr made a huge profit and when the share price of the drilling company crashed the next day, because Gregor Sr was the Bordanian President, it was no problem for him to fend off 'insider trading' allegations levelled at his son. Gregor Jr even achieved some notoriety for his 'shrewd' business deal.

The private Airbus A380 jet was a sight to behold; it was basically a two storied, flying mansion. All and I do mean all the fittings were in twenty-four carat gold. All the offices were on the upper floor and all the bedrooms were on the lower floor, this was a plane that was built to carry three hundred passengers, but this one had been renovated with space for eighty and fifteen of those were just seating for the staff and air crew. There was a comprehensive library on the plane and also more modern means of entertainment. The air circulation system released minuscule droplets of water into the air to avoid Deep Vein Thrombosis (D-V-T) a common concern amongst the 'jet set'. This private jet was so well appointed that the Van Leaden family could basically use it as living accommodation. There was an elegant dining room on board with enough space for sixty-five guests and even a world class operating theatre for medical emergencies (Once a hidden land mine had nearly killed the Van Leaden's twelfth son and he had to be flown to Bahrain before he could be operated on). The flight capabilities of the jet in themselves were amazing; it had four ultra-powerful Rolls Royce jet engines (the A380 was capable of landing with only one functioning engine). It had two laser systems which confused and detonated incoming missiles, one for above and on for below, with two offensive missile pods (lowered hydraulically), it had three escape pods, each large enough for six people and it was capable of mid-air refuelling. But most importantly, the pilots were the most experienced, highly trained airmen from any country they chose. After a day in the air, the jet reached the private Tree airfield. The airfield had been recently converted to accommodate the Van Leaden's huge new jet. The plane had been sitting on the tarmac for only a few minutes when three limousines drove up to the steps.

Gregor Tree Sr (just GT to those who knew him well) hadn't gotten where he was by accident, he had worked very, very hard, certainly being born into one of the richest families in Bordania helped but that had only been a cushion to fall back on if needed (and it was, often). He was born in 1924 and had a privileged life. When the WWII started he watched with interest, his young blood dreaming of the heroics of war. When Bordania was flung into the war (after a surprise attack by the Japanese) GT wanted to sign-up right away, but he was only 17 and had to wait a year until he was allegeable. There were secret negotiations by his father, a well known politician, to place GT in a safe unit. But much to the chagrin of his father, GT found out about the plans and enlisted in a busy fighting squadron of the Airforce, although it must be added that GT's father was not without influence and was able to have some say in his son's involvement in the war.

When GT returned to Bordania he wasted no more time, he went to a prestigious Bordanian university and did very well even being elected President of a secret society (The Skeleton club) that his father and grandfather had also been members of. GT was very intelligent if still a little unfocussed when he graduated university, he went to work in the oil industry, in a business owned by a friend of the family. After a few years he struck out on his own (with a million dollar wedding gift from his father) and set up "Zip zap Oil".

But GT wasn't just hungry for money, he had seen the power that his father wielded and wanted some of that. So with the help of his family name, GT dove into the shark infested water of politics, but he had a winning combination: the rock solid reputation of a war veteran mixed with a powerful ally in his father. It wasn't a question of if he rose in politics; it was a question of how high he would rise!

GT gathered momentum like a freight train, the juggernaut that was GT firmly entrenched himself in Washington and nothing or no one was going to remove him. Proving his uncanny ability to read politics he landed several prime positions within various Bordanian administrations, then a job like none other presented itself. At a dinner party in the Blackhouse an elderly gentleman in an elegant yet plain tuxedo struck up a conversation, he seemed eager to find out GT's views on China. By the end of the conversation it was clear to GT that this man had been 'Sounding him out' about something as to what he could only guess had something to do with China.

The answer to this came a few days later, the elderly man casually bumped into GT yet again. This time it was in the basement car park of the Watergate hotel. The old man walked up to him and said, "Hello Gregor, do you remember me"? It was really just a conversation opener, they both remembered each other perfectly. He went on, "Well GT, do you mind if I call you GT"? GT nodded. "Well GT, we need a man like you, not here in Washington where the old political hacks go to die, but in the field, stirring it up for your country". This all intrigued GT, he wanted to hear more. "GT, I know that you know quite a bit about China¸ we have to look beyond our cold war with the Soviets. I believe, as do the people I work for, that China is the target we really should be watching". GT who was losing patience for this little cat and mouse game, asked directly, "Who exactly are you and what exactly do you want me to do"? The old man couldn't resist a smile because from that point he knew GT was going to 'play ball'. GT was going to work for the BIA, the Bordanian Intelligence Agency, but what GT could not know was the full extent of what lay before him and what the BIA would do for him.

The old man was called Jack Eidermann and Jack was a BIA spook, a spy master to be specific, Jack was too old to be useful in the field now so the BIA used him to train new spies. The BIA had been watching GT for many years now. GT was BIA material, he was in good physical condition and was well known for having an excellent memory. GT had success after success and over those years the BIA was training him up for his ultimate mission.

The day finally came; GT got a note on Presidential letterhead requesting his attendance at a meeting to be held in the oval office of the Blackhouse no less! The day of the meeting rolled around and when GT went through the door into the oval office, three men were standing there waiting for him. Jack Eidermann, a man he didn't know, but most importantly the President himself Jerry Chrysler.

Jerry said, "GT, how would you like to go to China"? It wasn't really a question because no one refused the President, the President continued, "Well a role has just opened up there, you will be our top man on the ground, congratulations, you'll be leaving in a week". With that the President nodded to the two other men then left the oval office. Jack was smiling broadly and said, "Well this is it GT, all those years of studying and learning are gonna be put into practice". He handed GT a folder that contained GT's new role. "You'll be a liaison, officially not an ambassador but you'll have all the powers of one".

So off went GT to China, wife in tow and acted as Bordanias liaison to China, but his other less public activities were only known about by a select few in the BIA.

After a few highly successful years in China he was recalled to Bordania, where he is appointed to the top job at the BIA. He stayed in that job for about a year a few "hiccups' did a relatively good job. One of those 'hiccups' was hiring mafia hit men to assassinate leaders of unpopular (with the Bordanian government) regimes. But GT was never really accepted as a BIA man, he went on to bigger and better things anyway.

In 1989 he campaigned to become the 41st President of Bordania and won. He now had all the power he ever wanted or would ever need.

When Irios invaded Kutana (an oil-rich country), GT; who still had strong ties into the oil industry, was in the ideal position to act. On October 12, 1991 and with the backing of the international community, GT moved part of Bordanias huge armed forces into the region around Irios and Kutana. With both leaders adopting a steely position, a propaganda war ensued. But unlike GT, Salaman Huzun (leader of Irios) was bluffing, playing a game of brinkmanship in the hope that he would scare GT off. But it didn't work, GT knew that Bordania and the west had to have ready access to the vast oil fields in Kutana. So somewhat indifferent to Huzun's threats, Bordania forced the Iriosi army out of Kutana and then chased them all the way though Irios up to their capitol city of Bagnesha. Then GT did something that astounded the rest of the world, he stopped, just short of Bagnesha (The capitol of Irios). GT agreed to let one of Huzun's generals sign the surrender papers. Bordanias Generals and troops couldn't believe what was happening, GT was letting Huzun, Bordanias biggest threat, get off, basically go free. Not only that but dooming the Irios resistance fighters to torture and death, probably their families too

What GT's people didn't know was the role that the rest of the Arab nations had played in the last few weeks. They had basically bankrolled GT's invasion plans. Huzun was seen as a liability in the district and needed to be taught a lesson. The spokesman for the Arab world (and the richest & most powerful man in it) was Tito van Leaden, Tito telephoned GT and basically said stop now or you, Bordania and the west won't get another drop of Arab oil (his words were a lot more polite, but his intent was unmistakeable) .

In late April, 1993 GT went back to Kutana to commerate the victory two years earlier. The Kutana Secret Police uncovered a plot to have a suicide bomber drive a car full of explosives into GT's Limo. Subsequent investigations by the Bordanian Secret Service found that the Iroiosi Secret Service were definitely behind the attack. GT's son, Gregor Tree Jr had gone with his father to Kutana, the young man couldn't believe what he was seeing, why would anyone want to kill his father, it was unthinkable.

One by one, the passengers disembarked into the waiting luxury cars where they were then whisked away to the Tree compound. To the Van Leadens, Tedan's weather had a lot of similarities to their own country, well in summer anyway. The limos pulled into the Tree compound, every year the Van Leaden family would spend a few days, over the Tedan summer, with Gregor Sr and his family. To be honest the Van Leadens' found the Tree family common and vulgar but their father (Tito Van Leaden) had warned them to be on their very best behaviour. Tito did not really trust the elder Tree, every time his security people (who had infiltrated the B I A at every level) bought him some new information that Tree would not officially give him, Tito imagined the forced warmth and the insincere handshakes that marked his yearly visits. More than once electronic listening devices had been skillfully placed on Tito's person. But his security people were the best in the world and Tito never lost any sleep thinking about the Bordanian government. Tito intellectually comprehended the Bordanian electoral system yet in his heart he felt that his monarchy was far superior to anything Bordania could offer. His title was not won by him it was a birth rite. Tito had actually discussed this issue with Gregor Sr and had been assured that they system was easier to control than it looked from the outside. Tito listened with feigned interest because he already knew more about the Bordanian system than Gregor Sr did. Tito had often pondered how quizzical Bordania was that it allowed itself to play out this charade. The irony of this notion of 'democracy' was both delicious and disturbing but Tito had known when an opportunity had presented itself. One other thing Tito didn't care for about this notion of democracy, was that in his country if you killed you would be killed, if you stole then the hand you stole with would but cut off, these were both immediate punishments be with this 'democracy' you could sit in a comfortable jail cell for years before you knew if you were going to live or die. This was somehow an ideal? Gregor had once confided in Tito that he often did things in the B I A that the government, or the public for that matter would never know about. Tito didn't even feel that he had to explain himself to his public; after all, they were his servants not the other way around.

The Van Leadens were officially Muslims, however none of them had the slightest interest in anything vaguely metaphysical, the only reason Tito and his family attended the Mosque once a week was to see and be seen by others. Marx had called religion 'an opiate for the masses' which to Tito seemed the most appropriate response. After seventy years, attending the Mosque had taught Tito only two things, how to convincingly act humble and that there was money to be made by attending the Mosque (Tito had learned over the years that a good public image was worth more than money could buy). His son Ulrich for some reason had become infatuated with everything Islam, he had denounced his family, denounced his inheritance and lived like a common peasant. When Ulrich started a terrorist organisation (AL QUATANA) that targeted Bordanians, Tito had no choice other than to publicly disown his extremist son. Covertly, Tito had one of Ulrich's uncles funnel Ulrich a million dollars a year, to Tito, ONLY one million was virtually ignoring Ulrich. Ah, Tito could never understand why his son chose to embarrass him so, to Tito Allah was his bank account, he had trillions up on trillions of dollars (try as they might the Bordanians had never been able to establish the exact amount).

Tedan was hot, this time of year but the Tree family compound had the latest in state-of-the-art in cooling technologies. They had Nozzles aesthetically embedded in trees; the nozzles sprayed a fine mist that did two things. Firstly it made a small artificial cloud that absorbed half of the Sun's heat. Secondly, it provided moisture to the skin when it landed. Gregor Sr wanted badly to impress his investor; he had spent millions having all of the Van Leadens' rooms as closely match what they were used to, that they would feel as if they were at home. Gregor Sr's wife had been taught how to act, dress and speak around the Van Leadens. Tito had made him so rich that he knew how to keep off those annoying 'rich lists', but Tito most importantly knew his business partner didn't really care for him either, for the sake of some money he could keep up the charade. Tito had grown up in a world where so many people were insincere, he had learned to spot it easily, and this frail, rather poorly educated man screamed insincerity at him.

Ulrich grew up as a privileged boy, educated in England, Holidays in the Swiss Alps everything a boy could hope or dream of but he felt a deeper calling, one that went far deeper than his noble background. He had received enough education to question the imbalance in the world, why were so many people starving when the world had more than enough to feed everyone? Why did children die of diseases that there were cures for yet the rich nations built a trillion dollar space station? Why was this generation using the resources of the world and not leaving enough for subsequent generations and why was the world's wealth in the hands of so few? Every time he washed his hands in a gold basin, every time he sat in a limousine Ulrich heard a little voice in himself almost audibly say 'why'? For Ulrich the only thing that quieted this voice was religion and the only religion he had ever been exposed to was Islam. But his was extremist, fundamentalist Islam, not a meek, whimpering little thing. For him taking up the sword to die for what he believed was his duty, if called to die that is. It did not make him happy to spend the slave-like earnings of his fellow Saudis'. He saw the benefit of having money and how it could be used for so many other purposes beside luxuriously appointing oneself. When he went to the Mosque he actually felt the anguish of those who had died with wasted lives. At the age of nineteen he went to another country, Afghanistan, to fight against the invaders from another land, The Soviet Union or U-S-S-R. As a Muslim, Ulrich was extremely offended that these infidels had invaded an Islamic land. The Truth of the matter is that the U-S-S-R would have conquered Afghanistan eventually too if it wasn't for one thing. Bordania and the U-S-S-R were bitter enemies and it was Bordania that were able to help young Ulrich. The Bordanian B I A trained Ulrich in espionage and sabotage, they taught him military tactics and even supplied Ulrich's Freedom fighters. Bordania did this because all though the U-S-S-R was their enemy, they didn't want a face to face war, they wanted their ideology to beat the U-S-S-R's ideology. Ulrich didn't care at all for either ideology, but the enemy of his enemy was his friend, so Ulrich gladly embraced the assistance the Bordanians offered them. Even with Bordania's sophisticated weaponry and tactics, Ulrich's freedom fighters were only winning a few battles but losing the war. Ulrich didn't have any aircraft but the U-S-S-R did, their big helicopter gun ships would decimate the freedom fighters most valiant efforts. Then the Bordanians designed a weapon that would equal the 'playing field' and end the Afghanis' terror of the giant gun ships. The invention by the Bordanians was the shoulder fired Surface-to-Air Missiles, the Bordanian B I A called them Stingers. Once the B I A had properly trained the freedom fighters how to use the stingers, the tide of the war changed virtually over night. The Afghanis now had a weapon that would destroy the mightiest of weapons the U-S-S-R would throw at them!

Afghanistan was known for it's vast poppy fields, poppies were a sought after crop, their opium was a key ingredient of the narcotic Cocaine. But all the poor farmer knew was that he could earn 3 times more than the average Afghani if he grew the poppies and most farmers did. "This field is almost ready for harvesting", said the farmer, cutting the base of a poppy to see how much resin flowed down the stem. A week later, the harvest was completed and the trucks of the buyer showed up, they loaded on the sacks of poppies and gave the smiling farmer a whole bag stuffed with bills. They agreed he would plant the same crop next season until then he was to prepare the soil. The small convoy of trucks headed down the poorly prepared road, there cargos securely latched down.

After 10 hours of driving on dusty dirt roads, they were relieved to turn onto sealed main road. The trucks gunned their engines along and after about an hour the trucks turned off onto a dirt road again. But this time it wasn't so bad because they were very nearly at the end of their 2-day journey. They pulled off the road and drove over the dirt to a large silver cargo plane. In a well practice manoeuvre, the truck was driven directly into the large cargo area of the plane. Once they were seated, the pilot turned to the co-pilot and said, "Ok Odel, set a course for Leon, Nicaragua". The co-pilot said, "Roger that", and flicked a switch to close the cargo-bay doors. The flight went without a hitch and they refuelled at a Bordanian airfield in Italy, presenting authentically falsified papers. When they arrived in Leon, Nicaragua there were a lot of armed soldiers lining the landing strip, a Nicaraguan soldier climbed into the truck's cab a carefully backed it out of the silver BIA plane, when the truck was unloaded the loading of processed cocaine began.. The processed cocaine occupied roughly the same amount of space as the truck with the sacks of poppies in it. Once the loading had finished a limousine pulled up alongside the cargo door, the occupant did not get out but instead wound down a window and saluted at the Bordanian air crew. The Pilot said, "Greetings General Noriaga sir". The passenger wound up the window and the Limousine sped off. After refuelling, the plane took off and began its twelve-hour flight back to Italy; this time resting overnight, then back to the Afghani airfield. On the flight back to Afghanistan the co-pilot said to the pilot, "Greg, what is the B I A doing in the drug-trafficking business". The pilot, who had been flying B I A planes for literally decades said, the pilot looked awkwardly at his co-pilot then said, "Odel, after a few years in Air America you'll learn it doesn't pay to ask too many questions", Odel thought that was all he was going to be told. But the pilot added, "OK, it's like this but don't tell anyone who told you. The 'think tanks' in Bordania came up with this plan. Firstly they would colluded with the Oil Producing countries to bring the price of oil low so that the U-S-S-R had to produce as much oil as it could to stay afloat, so Bordania basically just bankrupted the U-S-S-R, in the mean time fighting a very costly war in Afghanistan". "Ok but that still doesn't tell me why we are trafficking drugs", said the dogged co-pilot. "hold your horses, this is the neat part, we get the Soviet soldiers hooked on drugs and that messes up their fighting ability and their drug habits fund the Afghani fighters", said the pilot smiling broadly. Odel smiled too, the B I A would do everything they could to protect Bordanias' interests. Greg also added, "The B I A makes a HUGE profit from selling the stuff, we 'water it down' then sell it for about ten times the cost of the stuff, it funds a lot more than just our activities here". Greg went on, "But we don't tell the freedom fighters, Muslims' hate drugs". What Greg said was very true, Muslims' did hate drugs, but it was a hatred Ulrich Van Leaden was able to overlook in later years.

A lot of people had unfairly called Gregor Jr dumb, well he wasn't dumb, in fact he was quite bright, not 'rocket scientist' bright but smart enough to know how to delegate and therefore smarter than most. His daddy had always been there for Gregor Jr to call on, his father had the kind of resources Gregor Jr had only ever dreamed about. Jr wanted to have an agency at his control like his daddy did. Sr had bailed Jr out of so many scrapes that Jr had lost count. Jr was a bit of a 'loose canon', he had lots of money and backers and he thought that made him a good businessman, so with the help of a few of those backers he bought the Tedan wrangler baseball team. One thing about Tedans is that they LOVE baseball and every move (and most of them were ill advised) that Jr made was vigorously debated by a less than happy public. The people were inconsolable when Jr sold one of 'their' key players. All this was a clear signal that Jr did not have good business sense, but Jr's future did not involve business per se. Jr wasn't surprised one little bit when Sr was elected as the President of Bordania, a lot of people weren't. Sr had promised Jr that he too would one day be President; Jr just thought they were comforting words from his father but he didn't realise how serious Sr was when he had said that. When Sr was standing for President he wanted Jr to be involved so he would "get the taste' for politics, Sr knew Jr very well because after the successful Presidential campaign, Jr went back to Tedan and fought and won the Governorship of Tedan (having the same name is his Presidential father didn't hurt Jr's campaign at all). Jr did get the taste for power, very strongly. His first real battle was with the pollution people. They were screaming and complaining about Jr wanting to increase the amount of pollution oil companies could put out. He narrowly won, but Tedans' had a long memory, doubly so for their beloved baseball and many still didn't trust Jr so at the advice of his now President daddy, he just gave all the voters a big tax cut, sure it bankrupted Tedan but Jr got the popularity he needed after the baseball debacle. Then an event happened that shook Jr's confidence to the core.

Irios, a large oil producing country invaded their small neighbour Kutana. Bordania (to secure it's oil supply) responded to Kutana's plea for help and gave the ruler of Irios (Salaman Huzun) an ultimatum 'Leave Kutana or face our wrath'. Huzun knew he had gone too far but didn't want to lose face with his people so stayed. The inevitable happened, the much stronger Bordania (with a few other countries to make it look better) invaded Kutana and pushed Irios back to its capitol 'Bagnesha'. Everything went fairly smoothly for the Bordanians; there were only a few Bordanian deaths (there was slaughter of Iriosi prisoners, but the Bordanian military diverted attention from them by filling the media with stories about its' 'smart' bombs). Gregor Sr visited Kutana for a photo opportunity (and to assure his oil producing friends that they were still 'open for business') when an attempt was made on his life. Jr can still remember seeing the assassination attempt live on Zyx news. Who? Why? How? Jr had never been so scared in his life, with his daddy gone how would he ever be President, so Jr was really relived that his daddy wasn't dead. Jr vowed that when he was President Salaman Huzun would pay and he would pay dearly. Well it turned out that Sr wasn't popular enough to win the next term as President, but he still had access to B I A briefings and he kept well informed of events in Bordania. Sr kept his promise to Jr and got him elected to the Presidency even though it was very obvious that the election had been fixed. At the end of the election, Jr's margin was so narrow that the votes were re-counted. Sr put a motion before Bordanias Supreme Court that this was illegal so effectively the Supreme Court chose the Bordanian President that election. This suited Sr because his administration had installed most of the Supreme Court judges; all in a day for an ex-B I A director. There were a lot of protests about the election of Jr but Sr had taught Jr well about the notion of 'plausible deniability', which meant that if Jr denied everything it was plausible he was telling the truth. But far bigger things were planned to take the focus off the bogus election. On the morning of 10 12 Gregor Jr was preparing to read a children's book (about George the goat) to a group of children. Before he went into the class he had seen on the TV a Zyx news report that showed the hole in the first Bordanian tower to be hit and a lot of smoke coming out, Jr thought 'what a horrible pilot error'. A few minutes into his photo opportunity with the school kids an adviser came over to him and whispered, "Bordania is under attack, another plane has hit the second tower with reports of up to twenty-two other hijacked planes in the sky". Then Jr did something fascinating in its political lethargy, he just sat there for a full seven minutes. You or I would probably postpone the book reading and try to find out what was going on, but Gregor Jr was so trained to 'trust his advisers' that at that point he was almost incapable of independent thought. Later Gregor told people he sat there because he didn't want to panic the children but in reality, he was asking himself 'what would Daddy do'? After he had left the classroom he was taken directly to Airforce One and flown high to safety, after all, Bordania would need leaders if there was a follow-up attack. The first person Jr phoned was his daddy, to ask what to do. Sr said, "As you know I get all the B I A briefings, well, it was AL QUATANA Jr, definitely AL QUATANA. Ulrich Van Leaden heads AL QUATANA; yes he is from the Van Leadens we know but he was disowned by the Van Leaden family about ten years ago. Anyway Jr, it is very important that you listen to your advisers, Okay? I know them all well, I selected them remember? AL QUATANA is well funded and well organised; it was them that blew the hole in the side of one of our warships. Don't do anything yet Jr, just sit tight". Sr hung up the phone from Jr, he went into his study and picked another, more secure phone. He didn't need to dial any numbers because it went straight through to Tito Van Leaden's study,

When the USSR army eventually withdrew from Afghanistan, they left in their wake a power vacuum, nature abhors a vacuum so predictably, chaos reigned. But after a while a group of Islamic fundamentalist theologians called the Taliban installed themselves as the power base of Afghanistan and declared it an Islamic state, subject to Islamic religious law. The freedom fighters that had previously fought to rid Afghanistan of the Soviets found themselves with B I A training but without a war to fight, some joined Ulrich (His AL QUATANA had not yet formed) and others joined the private armies of Afghani warlords. Although Islam outlawed drug use, the Taliban turned a 'blind eye' to the vast poppy fields, awed by the massive amounts of money the opiates brought in. Ulrich became very disillusioned that the B I A wanted nothing more to do with him, his lessons at the Mandrasah taught him of the evil capitalist ways of the Bordanian and how their greed had permeated the worlds thinking like a cancer. It is then that he committed his vast fortune (he had $300 million in Swiss bank accounts) to start his camp to train terrorists, where previous freedom fighters could train to fight Bordania, to fight the insidious grip they had on the world. The Taliban gave Ulrich a vast amount of land to establish his camp, in return Ulrichs' men would fight rival warlords and protect the Taliban's poppy fields. This relationship went very smoothly, unnoticed by the Bordanians, that is, unnoticed until the AL QUATANA conducted a stunningly well-organised plan that blew a hole in the side of Bordanias most modern warship.

The restaurant was well staffed and well appointed and a string Quartet were playing quietly in the corner, not loud enough to interfere with the conversation of the patrons. The tables were spaced so that they were just wide enough to give the illusion of privacy. The elderly gentleman sat there sipping his ice tea, his security staff made sure that he was alone on the outside veranda. A man walked up to him and they shook hands, the two men had arranged this meeting. The man was Mucmar al Zhad, Ulrich Van Leadens lieutenant, the elder statesman said, "Thank you for meeting me Mucmar, I am the Bordanian Ambassador to Yemen, John Williams". "Yes Mr Ambassador, we know who you are", Mucmar replied evenly. Unphased, the Ambassador continued, "I am here to offer you a deal". The slender Saudi's eyebrows rose to express interest. Ambassador Williams went on, "contacts of your uncle arranged this meeting at the request of my President. We would like to make your organisation an offer". By now Mucmar was intrigued, "What kind of offer"? The Ambassador answered, "We will give you one billion dollars and guarantee your safety if your' group, AL QUATANA, will act as a scapegoat for an event we are planning". Mucmar replied, "This is a very generous offer but what is the event"? Mucmar's expression never altered as the Ambassador explained the plan, he just stood up and said, "I will relay your offer to my people". With that, he left the restaurant. Mucmar knew that some of his people would not want to do anything to help the Bordanians yet he knew that one billion dollars would be very useful for his cause. Mucmar knew that the Bordanians would double cross him, that is what they did but he also knew that his organisation could out smart them, the Bordanians like to pride themselves on how much they knew. As he promised, Mucmar returned to his AL QUATANA hideout and shared the news of the billion-dollar offer. As Mucmar had predicted, many in the group did not want to collude with the Bordanian devils, he agreed with them, dealing with Bordania was like keeping a Cobra as a pet, at any moment it might turn around and strike you. Ulrich himself interrupted the debate by saying, "Friends, friends! If we did co-operate with the Bordanians, the whole world would hear of our cause and many would rush to join the AL QUATANA. With the billion dollars, we could buy many, many weapons. Even germ weapons like the Bordanians"! His men thought about this for a while, then they saw the wisdom behind Ulrichs words,

# 

# Chapter Nine: The penny drops

#

The French Riviera was always a lovely place and now, flying back in her Gulf Stream jet to Los Angeles, Diane felt a slight sense of loss, then she reminded herself that it was almost time for her to go to her Penthouse in Monaco. She remembered how she had to have a little talk to Pye about buying a super-yacht, 300ft should do, they were all the rage. As she sank back into the jet's patent leather lounger she passed the time by deciding how she would go about appointing her floating mansion. The first thing she would do is to take a long sea voyage and the south Pacific had always interested her. She had heard that New Zealand was a quaint little island. She was so engrossed in all her planning that she was startled when the stewardess stood in front of her, "Would you like something to eat Mrs Charles, we have some lovely fresh lobster"? "Why that sounds simply to die for and could you also please bring a glass of that lovely crisp Chardonnay you have", Diane was referring to a lovely South African white wine that was horribly expensive, yet devastatingly nice. Rosetta was awake and looking at Diane with curiosity in her eyes, "Signora Charles, remember that telephone call you got on the Chateau roof, that was from Patrick Napier, si"? "Yes Rosetta, it was", Diane thought that now would be a good time to let Rosetta know about the attempted burglary at the mansion. "Why did he ring you, was there a problem"? She asked. "Alright, I didn't want to tell you at the time and have it ruin your vacation. Mr Napier caught one of the staff trying to steal jewellery from the safe in the study". Rosetta's face dropped and she clutched her cheeks, she could not imagine which one of her staff would do that to her. Then her hands came down and her eyes narrowed and she said, "It was that Juanita wasn't it". It was a statement rather than a question and when Diane nodded and confirmed Rosetta's suspicion; Rosetta broke into a lengthy monologue in Spanish at a speed that far outstripped Diane's phrase-book understanding of the language. "I hired her as a favour to my dead brother's wife, she came with very good recommendation letters from her previous employers though", said Rosetta apologetically and added, "Of course, I will resign Signora Charles. Diane looked horrified and said, "You will not resign, Rosetta, over the years of being so rich I have found one thing to be true, you can NEVER predict how someone will react around money, I do have one request though, before hiring someone new let Patrick run a background check on them". "Si Signora Charles, that is a good suggestion, I promise I will do it next time". "Now Rosetta, that's the end of the issue", Rosetta nodded her head. They both sat back and enjoyed the meal that the stewardess placed before them. When they arrived back at the mansion Patrick Napier was there to greet them, he was holding Poopsy's leash (not that he needed to, Poopsy had no intention of walking anywhere by herself). Diane scooped up the white fluffy fur ball and turned to Patrick, "Good day Mr Napier, I understand you have several things to tell me, shall we adjourn to my study"? Diane felt she always had to talk 'proper English' around this man. The limo drove Rosetta around the back of the house to the staff entrance; Rosetta wanted to dress in her uniform, she didn't want to set a poor example for her staff. "Yes ma'am, quite", said Patrick, handing her the dog's lead. Rosetta joined them and they went into the study. Patrick told them how Juanita operated, she had confessed it all, even how she had spied to get the safe combination, Patrick explained, "It was a good thing Mr Charles warned me to watch Juanita, I was able to change the combination on the safe". Patrick told her the new combination that Mr Charles had chosen. After about ten minutes, he finished his 'briefing' and returned to his office on the security floor.

Diane said, "You heard him Rosetta, the new combination is 10 12, be a dear and get me the red jewellery box from the safe. Rosetta did as she was asked and handed Diane the red box (forgetting to close the safe door). Diane held up her new Red, White and Blue diamond necklace to the light, she put it back in the case and handed the case to the Mexican maid and said, "This is the piece of jewellery I wanted you to have. Rosetta's jaw went slack, after a few moments she responded, "But you have only just bought that Signora Charles and it cost so much"! Diane looked Rosetta in the eye and said, "I bought the necklace FOR you to sell, I didn't want it, I never even took it to the Riviera, take it, sell it, use it, it will make me happy". Rosetta knew that determined look in her boss's eyes so she said, "Si Signora, Si, gracias". Rosetta was uncomfortable with such an extravagant gift but she knew it was pointless to argue with her boss at that point, later she would politely give the jewellery back. "With your permission Signora Charles, I will return home, I am very tired". Diane nodded and Rosetta made her way to the door. Diane could see that Rosetta was unsure about this gift but she felt sure that when Rosetta thought things over she would feel differently. Diane thought of Rosetta's children (as she often did) and hoped that Rosetta would accept the gift for them. Diane noticed that the safe door was wide open, she went over to, in doing so she saw a folder with what she knew was the Bordanian Government's seal on it. She was intrigued, this was HER safe, Pye had one of his own in his den, so this folder must be hers, she took it out, at the top it was marked, "Ultra: Eyes only". The contents of the file read like a movie script, but why was it in a government folder and why was it in her safe? "Hello my dear", said a voice behind her, the voice she knew well. "How was the Riviera? You look suntanned", Pye had heard she had returned and as was his custom he looked for her to greet her, her husband took a step sideways to see what held his wife's attention in the safe. He saw the folder that she was flicking through, "I see you've found our little plot, well, what do you think"? He asked surprisingly calmly. "Do you mean this is real and not a movie script"? Said Diane, "No it's not a movie script my dear, it's a plot we have been working on for some time"; Pye's calmness was really very scary. He went on, "And as you see it is to happen this week, so I'm afraid I can't let you leave this mansion, he produce a small lethal looking gun and pointed it at Diane, he waved Diane towards the door and said, "up to the bedroom please my dear". He added, "I've sent all the staff home for the weekend so you can make as much noise as you like". He herded Diane up into the bedroom and said, "You have everything you need up here, I shall return after our plans have activated and let you go", he went around the room and shot every telephone jack, including the one that led to the computer. He got in the lift and took it to the roof where his helicopter was "powered up" and waiting. Diane was stunned, this was not the Pye she knew and loved; he had never done anything like that to her before. Diane figured that the contents of the folder must be very important, there was a Louis XV Chaise lounge a few feet from the middle of the room, and knowing that she could do nothing, went over and sat on the lounge and continued her visual exploration of the room.

One thing Rosette enjoyed about driving her big Lincoln Estate was that it always gave her lots of time to think, thinking and driving, driving and thinking, She was very happy Diane wanted to help her family; the truth is that Diane had ALWAYS helped her family. Rosetta got an excellent salary, great end-of-year bonus and a free international vacation once a year. She had invested the remaining jewellery money carefully so she didn't really have to work either (but Rosetta had worked since she was six years old so she couldn't imagine stopping, she often half-joked that she would stop working the day they put her in a coffin). Her house was so big and now her children had gone off to college it felt too big and too empty, but she couldn't bring herself to sell it and buy something smaller. She thought about it honestly, her family had everything it needed already. The red jewellery case was on the seat beside her; in the morning she would take it back to Diane. Rosetta tapped her remote to open her garage door and eased the modern car into the space, closing the automatic door after her. She put the red box in the car's glove box. Diane's generosity always overwhelmed her but she didn't want to take advantage of Signora's loss. As usual, Rosetta found the big house cold and lonely. After a glass of water, she headed up-stairs to go to bed and she quickly succumbed to the grip of Morpheas. In the morning, Rosetta awoke feeling the effects of jet lag, she had slept very poorly but didn't mind too much because it was Sunday. She always felt much better in the mornings, as if the bright sunlight lifted her spirit. She pottered around the house, making herself some toast, did a load of laundry and picked a few weeds out of her garden (the garden, like the house, was too big really). Then she decided a cup of coffee would be nice so she went into the kitchen and prepared the coffee percolator. In 5 minutes the percolator signalled that it was done extruding it's flavours from ground up beans and Rosetta poured herself a mug, most Mexicans prefer black, natural coffee but over the years Rosetta had become partial to adding a little cream. She went to the refrigerator and saw that the cream container (the shape of a cow with the cream being poured out it's mouth, the container usually made Rosetta smile) was empty. She decided she needed to pick-up a few other things, so she took her keys and headed for the garage. The car also needed some petrol so after the supermarket she would go to the gas station. Rosetta made a list in her mind of the things she would need to buy from the Supermarket and as she pulled into the large car park, she felt prepared for the task in front of her. Sitting in the car she ran through her list one more time, she was just about to get out of the car when she asked herself if she had any money, the answer was no. Rosetta opened the glove box and started to ferret around looking for her purse. She saw the red velvet Jewellery box; she was going to leave her car sitting in a Supermarket car park with a 1.1 million dollar necklace in the glove box! She exclaimed, "Santa Maria", and re-started her car for the journey to her employer's mansion. As Rosetta drove along, she wondered if Diane would be offended by her rejection of the hugely generous gift.

When she arrived at the mansion, as usual, she headed her car around to the staff entrance, once inside she changed into her uniform of black slacks and a black silk shirt. She telephoned around the building but no one else was there, she thought that was very strange because there were always at least a dozen staff there and she couldn't even contact the main bedroom but her mind wasn't really "Putting together the dots". She walked out into the main entranceway to see if Diane was upstairs in her room (as had happened a few times before, maybe the phones were out of order). As soon as Rosetta stood in the hallway that led to the main bedroom, she heard a loud bang-bang-bang on the door, so she went over to the door and said, "Si"? Diane's frantic cries came back for Rosetta to open the door. Rosetta used her master key-card and opened the door inwards. Diane was standing there, dressed as she was when they had parted company but her eyes were red from crying. Rosetta led her, sobbing, to the Lounge and they sat holding each other. After a few minutes Rosetta asked, "What happened, did Signor Charles do this to you"? Still sobbing, Diane nodded, she felt she could speak now so she told Rosetta what had happened and what she had seen. Rosetta didn't know what to believe, the story Diane told was so, much. Eventually Diane regained control of herself and took Rosetta by the hand and led her down to the study, of course, the door had now been locked but again, Rosetta used her master key-card. Diane went and opened the safe, there was the folder, this time at the back of the safe, she took it out and handed it to Rosetta. Rosetta gasped as she read, the parts she understood seemed like she was reading them from a novel. Who ever made this thing was evil, very evil; she could not bring herself to read anymore. She looked up and said, "Signora Charles please forgive me for what I am about to say. Signor Charles, he is a bad man, he has done many bad things to the people of Mexico and many bad things to a lot of other peoples. You are the reason I work here, he has very dead eyes". Hearing Rosetta talk about her husband like that just made her cry because up until know she had always tried to love her husband, now she didn't know what to feel. Then a thought flashed into her mind and she went over to the desk and dialled a number from a gold-plated Rol-A-Dex.

Holding a telephone receiver Diane said, "Ben? Ben it is me Diane". After a brief pause she said, "I need your help Ben, Things look really bad". Ben heard the seriousness in his sister's voice. She knew how he felt about Pye so he asked, "Where are you at the moment"? She said, "LA, I know you're in New Ella, I need your help in a hurry, I'll send the jet for you". Ben was about to refuse but then he stopped himself remembering it was a hurry, "OKAY, he said, don't say anymore on the phone, send the jet", and hung up. Diane telephoned her aircrew and told them to fly to New Ella to pick up a Patrick Napier (she gave a false name in case Pye saw the cargo manifest). In return, they told her that it was an eight-hour flight one way, but they would file a flight plan immediately and refuel which should only take about ten minutes. She telephoned Ben again and told him the times and to identify himself as 'Patrick Napier'. Diane had her back turned to where Rosette was so she didn't see her maid slip out of the room. When she returned she explained to Diane that she had gone to the kitchen to use the telephone to see if anyone else was in the mansion, but there wasn't. Diane told Rosetta that she had sent the jet for Ben. Rosetta said, "Ah, Si Si, your brother, I have never met him before. He must love you a lot to come so quickly"! "Yes", said Diane, "I almost expected him to hang-up the telephone in my ear".

The telephone call had really surprised Ben and also oddly made him happy. He knew a lot about Pye Charles, he had made it his business to find out all he could about him (and when you're in the Bordanian Secret Service you can find out about almost ANYTHING)! Pye was born in Holland but his parents shifted to Bordania when he was only seven months old. They were a wealthy family and Pye grew-up with the best education (and friends) money could buy. When Pye was twenty-three he was given one million dollars as an inheritance. He bought two hundred and fifty thousand one-dollar shares in a fledgling company called International Business Machines (IBM), betting their invention, the typewriter, would payoff. Ten years later he sold one hundred thousand of his IBM shares for 1000 times what he paid for them, making him a multi-millionaire for just being patient. It is then he got the taste for money and nowhere was there more money to be made than in selling guns. With significant capital (there was rumours of anonymous backers) Pye started a hi-tech weapons research company (called 'En-con') and won the biggest army contract in the history of the military, rebuilding the Pacific Fleet after its destruction in Pearl Harbour (his family was well known and he had several relatives in the senate that helped him win the bid). The Korean then Vietnamese "UN actions' helped to consolidate his position as 'the' weapons builder. Pye's company was now producing cruise missiles and Unmanned Aerial Vehicles. There were rumours that his company was involved with illegal arms smuggling but rumours were all they were as nothing was ever proven, however, Ben knew that where there is smoke there is fire. Ben got a small suitcase and started packing; after all his 'tours' he had this process down to a fine art, carefully controlling his emotions he settled down to watch a movie on TV. After the movie he phoned a cab to pick him up and he carried the suitcase easily (he didn't really like those wheeled suitcases they seemed a bit too 'yuppyish'). He asked the cab driver to drive him to the Bewark airport, once there he went to a diner and bought a meal, he still had a few hours to kill. The meal was nice and filling and he chased it down with a cup of coffee, then he went over to the airport and waited, reading the paper by the Private Jet gate. During his Secret Service career, he had ridden in many, many private jets so the process was by no means unusual for him. Several hours later when a woman came out with a sign that said 'Mr Patrick Napier', Ben folded the newspaper and rose to his feet, the woman directed him to a door that led to the tarmac, a small electric cart was waiting, Ben hopped on and was sped over to the waiting private jet. On entering the jet, one thing he did notice was that this jet was much more luxuriously appointed than most he had been in. He settled into one of the jets leather lounge chairs, the Stewardess came over and asked if she could get him anything, but Ben was cosy and he just said, "Nothing at the moment thanks". The flight went very smoothly and the jet touched down at LA, a limo was there waiting to take him straight up to the mansion and when they turned into the grounds Ben realised that this was the first time he had visited his sister in 20 years, how things have changed. The limo drove up to the entrance of the mansion and deposited him on the steps as two women came out of the door, one was a shorter Latino woman dressed in black the other he immediately recognised as Diane. Without any hesitation Diane came up to him and hugged him, he could see that she had been crying. Unused to such public displays of affection he blushed a little but did not shrink away. Diane welcomed him, then led her brother inside (out of the corner of his eye Ben saw the Latino woman stooping to pick-up his suitcase, Ben didn't like being waited on so he picked it up first). When they were all in the house Diane said, "Let's go into the lounge and talk there, she noticed Ben looking at the entrance-way and said, "Yes, it's lovely isn't it Ben"? "'Big' is the word I was thinking of", said Ben. "Yes", she said, "Eight storeys, three elevators, forty-seven rooms, sixty-five bathrooms, helicopter pad, infinity swimming pool, yadda-yadda-yadda". Well", he said, "Things have changed". They arrived in to the beautiful lounge; Ben sat on the nearest leather sofa. "Before we start Ben, would you like anything to eat or drink"? "Yeah, could I have a cup of coffee please"? He said. Diane nodded at Rosetta and in no less than 2 minutes she brought in a silver coffee pot, cream, sugar and some delicate looking biscuits on a tray. After making themselves a cup of coffee Ben said to Diane, "OK Diane, now what looks bad"? "Take a look at this folder Ben and you decide", she said handing him the folder. As he read, his face got sterner and sterner.

Ben sat there thinking, Diane was unsure what to say, so she just looked into her brother's eyes , as if trying to read his mind. Eventually Ben broke the silence and said, "This is big... huge... where did you get it?

Diane patiently explained exactly how she had the folder, missing out no details, she even told Ben how Pye had become more and more distant recently.

Ben thought about this for a while, if it was anyone else telling him this he would have dismissed them as crazy... but he believed Diane and he also thought back on how the junkie who robbed that diner had described the exact same thing.

That told Ben that there were at least two people involved, hell, something this big would need hundreds, if not thousands, of people involved and that meant it was really big, bigger than anyone had ever seen before. It also told him that they would be coming; and quickly. They were not going to allow their conspiracy to be blown by a few meddling amateurs.

Then the panic set in, he knew he could look after himself but the other two?

"Do you have a 'safe room' of some sort", he asked. Diane nodded her answer. "Both of you go in there and wait till I and only I come, don't open the door for anyone else. The file said this was going to start tomorrow at about 8:30am, I'm pretty sure we'll get a visit tonight. Diane, I assume this mansion has a security section, I'll need access to their gun cabinet", Ben was doing what he was trained to do, protect people. Diane said, "Rosetta show him to the security wing, open any door he asks". They went to the elevator and went down to the second-to-last basement. Ben saw a huge wall of monitors, showing every inch of the grounds outside the mansion, this would help Ben a lot. Then he said, "Could you show me to the gun cabinet please". Rosetta walked over to what looked like an ordinary door and unlocked it. Ben could see it was not a door at all but a walk-in safe, inside it was a fairly useful small sized armoury. Ben asked for the key, she gave it then he said to her, "you had better go into the safe room with Diane please". She left and he walked into the gunroom and chose a Heckler and Koch MP5 and six frag' grenades (a frag' grenade is a fragmentary Grenade designed to blow-up into pieces and spread shrapnel around). He took some body armour and a backpack with a dozen remote controlled bombs (each one had its own detonator for it). The first thing he did was to go up to the roof and hid three bombs around the heli-pad. Next he went and set bombs by all the entrances then he headed back to the security room and waited, watching the monitors, it didn't take long. He saw a military-type black harrier helicopter landing on the roof, a storming team got out and started to get their gear ready, knowing it was either them or him; Ben detonated all the well hidden remote mines, he didn't need to check as he knew that would have gotten them all and the helicopter. Just to be 100% sure he switched to internal cameras and he was glad that he did because he saw that a second 6-member team entering via the swimming pool entrance,. Ben was annoyed he had overlooked that obvious entry point. He took the MP5, filling his pockets with spare clips and raced out to intercept the mercenary hit squad. He heard them before he saw them and threw a frag' granade down into the hallway, he burst around the corner with his MP5 at the ready to spray the hall way, instead he saw five bodies lying there and no sign of the sixth. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw a movement and automatically rolled and tucked himself against the wall. As fast as he was, he was not quite fast enough and a burst of bullets sprayed down the corridor. One hit him in the stomach and had he not been wearing body armour the shot could well have been fatal, one of the other bullets ricocheted into the firing mechanism of the MP5 making it useless. Ben dropped it and took out his SIG . The mercenary again dove around the corner to strafe the hallway, but Ben was ready for him this time and his first shot hit the assassin directly between the eyes, he didn't get a chance to loose a burst in Ben's direction. Now that his adrenaline was starting to wear off, Ben could feel the bruise in his stomach behind the vest and his finger throbbed from the twisting of the trigger guard when the bullet hit the now useless MP5. Neither pain was anything to worry about so Ben stood up to make his way to the security wing. What Ben didn't know was that a seventh team member had entered through the pool entrance. The black clad assassin had heard as the grenade exploded, he had heard the unmistakable sub-sonic rounds so he had hidden and waited for Ben to come to him. As Ben rounded the corner he was dramatically greeted with stubby but menacingly deadly barrel of an MP5. In a deep, monotonous voice the gun man said, "DROP YOUR WEAPON AND KNEEL DOWN. Ben was well and truly covered, the MP5 barrel was pointing directly at his face; there was no escape. With a sigh of resignation, Ben did as he was ordered, dropping his SIG to the ground. The gun man kicked the weapon away, removing industrial quality ties from his pocket to shackle his prisoner. Knowing that now was not quite the time to act, Ben remained still as he fealt his hands become immobile. The assassin said, "On your feet, let's go, he motioned down the hall. The gunman had a false sense of security now the large man was handcuffed, but Ben's training had specifically dealt with situations like this and that training was kicking in. Waiting until the gunman moved into the perfect position, Ben violently thrust his backward and down onto his enemy's nose, spinning around Ben used his secured elbow to wind his captor by striking his diaphragm. Now that his captor was in blinding pain and unable to respond, Ben used his shoulder to 'throw' the bleeding assassin into the corridor wall, knocking him unconscious. Kicking away the MP5, Ben used the unconscious man's knife to cut the thick plastic ties that bound his wrists and walked down the hallway to retrieve his beloved SIG. No sooner had Ben reached the SIG than he heard a stirring in the hallway behind him. Purely out of instinct, Ben tucked and rolled; scooping up the handgun and turning to face his opponent. Ben fired three shots, two at the center-mass and one at the head, the black-clad corpse.

Pausing to catch his breath, after a few minutes he quietly made his way to the security wing to check if there were any more teams, there were none. He found the panic-room and showed himself to the blast proof glass. Diane opened the door and hugged Ben saying, "We felt the explosions". Ben said, "Yeah, you might need to do a bit more redecorating now. Is there a safe house where we can go"? "Si", said Rosetta, "Come to mine, my car is parked at the side of the mansion,"

Ivanovic Lenin Andropov was not a particularly 'handsome' fellow, his run-in with an East German Border guard had left him with a long scar stretching from the corner of his mouth, across his cheek and ending just under his ear. Doctors had been able to remove the bullet but had not been able to fix the nerve damage. But it wasn't really a big handicap, one day Ivan might have some plastic surgery done to it, but his line of work the scar seemed to work in his favour. Ivan's younger brother, Pater, had lived with Ivan since their parents were killed by the Stasi (The east German secret police), when east and west Germany united, Ivan's business grew a lot, it grew to the point where he needed new 'managers'. It seemed fairly logical to let, 28-year-old Pater 'in'. As a young man, Ivan had joined the East German army where he was taught the trade of electronics. After he was a certified electronics engineer, he was re-trained as a missile engineer, after three years of doing that, there wasn't much he didn't know about missiles. After being in the Army for ten years, Ivan found there was simply not enough money to make missiles and he was given the choice of either retiring or being demoted to save money, he chose to retire and after a few years of doing menial jobs, set-up his own engineering business. One evening Ivan came home from his business and one of his neighbours was rushing along the street to greet him, the woman said, "Ivan, something terrible has happened, the Stasi have shot your parents, they raided a nearby club and they thought your parents were the illegal clubs owners, your father reached into his pocket to take out his papers and a young Stasi officer shot both your father and your mother, I'm so sorry Ivan". Ivan was stunned and sank to the footpath, the woman said, "At least your brother is safe, he is at your house". The weight of the world seemed to descend on Ivan's shoulders as he asked himself 'why'? This was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back for Ivan, he was sick of this dictatorship, sick of the queues, sick of the poverty, sick of the Stasi, but mostly sick of the injustice, he knew that there would never be an investigation into his parents death, nothing. Right then and there, he decided to do something about it all, he had a friend who had a friend in the resistance, he would 'sign-up' and fight this totalitarian regime. When they found out Ivan's skills, resistance fighters came to him if they needed their guns repaired. There was strict rationing in East Germany but Ivan's connections in the army provided him with most materials he needed (the irony of the government fighting itself always gave Ivan an ironic smile). More and more fighters came to him and he found himself thinking almost exclusively about guns. He designed a revolutionary type of gun sight, one that could 'see' at night, the Bordanians had one but unlike their one, his used a small, cheap and invisible to the naked eye, laser to 'light' the target and it was a fraction of the cost. This invention made him very rich and soon he hired people to work in his engineering factory so that he could use it as a front for his real business. Ivan's reputation as a master armourer grew and as there were now fewer borders (hence there was more money around for people to buy weapons, untraceable weapons), his 'business' was in higher demand than ever. Ivan was really into everything, his specialty was modifying weapons to suit the exact need of the 'customer' and he traded in things as big as helicopters and as small as bullets. He enjoyed his business and had become quite rich, although he was reluctant to let his little brother, Pater, handle a deal though.

One day a South American man approached Pater directly and asked to buy a shipment of 500 machine-guns all with the new 'Night-Sight' on them. Pater went to Ivan and managed to convince his elder brother that since he was the one that was contacted he should be the one to handle this deal, reluctantly Ivan agreed. Pater was very pleased, for the first time his brother would see that he had 'head' for business as well. As promised, the South American had a ship docked at pier 92 and the loading of the guns onto the ship went smoothly, the one mistake that Pater made is that he should have insisted he got paid before the loading and not after. The South American handed him a suitcase with the money in it, he took the case and paced it on a nearby packing crate, he opened the case to see row after row of neatly packed hundred dollar bills, Smiling Pater turned around again to see the small South American pointing a silenced gun at his chest. The South American said, "Gracias, I don't like shooting people in the back and Pater reeled as three Teflon-coated bullets sliced through his heart. The last thing Pater saw was the word "Encon" painted on the side of the ship. Now it was the South Americans turn to be surprised as a soft-nosed bullet ripped through the back of his knee, shattering his knee-cap, his silenced gun was flung forward as he collapsed to the ground. Ivan saw the lifeless body of his brother and an unquenchable raged welled up in him. Using all of his self control not to shoot the 'buyer' in the head, Ivan crouched beside the wounded body of the South American and said, "Tell me who your boss is or I'll make this last a month". The small man said, "Ah, Ah, Encon, Encon", with that Ivan shot him in upper stomach (it would be painful, but he'd be dead in an hour). Ivan walked over to his dead brother, the tears rolled unashamedly down his cheek, he cried, "Pater, oh Pater, if only I didn't let you go alone, but I vow Pater, I will find the head of this 'Encon', you will be avenged"!

Pye rode in the elevator up to the roof and climbed into his luxurious Shimolsky helicopter and prepared himself for the journey to his meeting on the island of Santa Catalina. As much as he didn't want to, he knew that he had to have Diane killed shortly, he should really have shot her when he found her reading the file but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The man from the B I A would easily arrange it. 'Collateral damage' that's how Pye would look at it.

The voice over the speaker said, "Good morning Mr Charles, this flight will take approximately fifteen minutes". It was a variation of the same speech the pilot announced every time Pye got in the eight million dollar machine. They took off and headed in the direction of the coast. The meeting with the rest of the 'conspirators' went quickly. Pye told them about 'the Diane' situation and just as he had anticipated, the B I A man said he would take care of it. They ended the meeting and left. About one minute from the coast, there was a brilliant flash and then the helicopter started spinning uncontrollably. The pilots voice came on the speaker, it sounded very strained, "Something has knocked out all the electronics sir, I'll try my best to set her down gently". The sentence was a blur of noise; all Pye remembered was the word "try". A few minutes later the helicopter crashed face-first into the water, killing all the occupants. Standing there, holding the shoulder mounted missile launcher; Ivan watched his E-M-P missile complete its deadly task. He did not smile, he did not show any visible signs of emotion, he just said quietly, "Pater".

# Chapter Ten: Cui bono?

Ben sat watching in amazement as the 'planes' struck their pre-assigned targets. Even more amazing was the fact that he had a folder with detailed plans as to what was going to happen next but the most amazing thing was that nobody Ben told would listen to him. He had two days prior warning and there was nobody in power who seemed even slightly interested, even the media (Zxy network) had said his claims were too wild to be true. But here they were, happening on the TV, and someone, probably a lot of people, had to know. There were a lot of details in the folder that weren't on the screen, details like the demolition, the robotically piloted planes, building 7 and strangely attack plans for Afghanistan (the file said for an oil pipeline and the poppy fields). But there it was, written down in black and white; there were even colour reconnaissance photos'. Ben read that Mossad had hypnotised 19 Arabs to be on the planes to make people believe Arab terrorist had done it, but the 'terrorists' would not know about the plot. The whole thing was almost too surreal, but the anchor that tied Ben to the ground was the TV screen. Diane was sitting next to him on Rosetta's sofa, just as absorbed as Ben, but at least Ben knew about the harsh reality out there, Diane was having her ivory tower knocked over. Rosetta, on the other hand, struck Ben as a very shrewd, intelligent person, he had recognised it in her as soon as he saw her, she (like most people, Ben guessed) was appalled at the horrible waste of life, but he knew that she would know there were people out there that would do that sort of psychopathic destruction. Just as in the file, the anchorman was saying that it was reported that terrorist group AL QUATANA, headed by Ulrich Van Leaden, were responsible for this and at least three earlier bombings. It seemed fairly obvious that AL QUATANA was a big risk to Bordania, probably the entire non-Muslim world. Country after country were sending their condolences to Bordania, Bordania had the worlds sympathy, 'I hope we strike while the iron is hot', thought Ben. Over the coming weeks, when the culprit was known, the Bordanian administration did nothing. They quickly supplied the hijackers' details though, but then, Ben could have faxed the TV network the list BEFORE the attack.

It has been pointed out that Gregor Jr was bright, just not very wise; there is a difference, a BIG difference. In absolute fairness, not being wise is an accusation that can be levelled at any of us. The difference, obviously, is that most people aren't the 'leader of the free world'. For example, if I get annoyed at my neighbour for cutting down my favorite tree, it is not likely I will send a veritable swarm of cruise missiles at his house to rain down on him. But then, that begs the next question, if I could get away with it would I do it? You see, deductive logic like that wasn't high on Gregor Jr's list of priorities. It's more likely he belonged to the 'why argue semantics, just bust some heads' school of thought. But at least you can argue with that type of logic. When you are told that something is being done for one reason but it's really being done for another, secret reason, well what are you going to do? What CAN you do?

"Find me a link between the attacks on us and Salaman Huzun, just find me that link", the somewhat hysterical President told Ronaldo Ginfield. "But Mr President, we could go and get the AL QUATANA now, they have claimed responsibility, we know it was them and we know where they are". Gregor Jr said, "Yes and we'll get them first, but I want to get Huzun too". Ronaldo was thinking that this deviated from the plan, but he was also thinking about all the oil in Irios. It would have been much simpler if Gregor Jr was in on the conspiracy but Gregor Sr didn't think his son could keep it secret. "Yes Mr President, give me a few weeks to formulate the attack plan", said Ronaldo, mentally rubbing his hands together. As soon as Ronaldo left the Presidents office, he went into Ricardo Shinovic, the Vice Presidents office. Ricardo and Ronaldo went back many years, many Governments, Ricardo was Ronaldo's protégé. They were both ex-military men that thought Bordania was going to 'hell in a hand basket'. Ronaldo told Ricardo what the President had just told him and added his thoughts. Ricardo was hardly going to disagree with his mentor and simply said, "I agree, that sounds like an opportunity that is too good to miss, call a meeting of the Phoenix group".

Around the table sat Gregor Sr, Ricardo Shinovic, Ronaldo Ginfield, Carlos Powcho, Consuella Rizo, Paulo Dogovich, Todd Dean, Jay Davis (Encon's new CEO now Pye was dead), the B I A's Keith Kemp and a few Army/Airforce/Navy generals. In other words, the shadow Government of Bordania and all the conspirators of the plot to once again make Bordania the Superpower it used to be. They called themselves the 'Phoenix Group' (not just named after that mythical creature because of it rising from the ashes but just as significantly because it consumed itself in the first place, it seemed appropriate). Ronaldo opened the proceedings, he started, "Lady and Gentlemen, before I begin with the reason I called this meeting I would like to offer my sincere commiserations for the death of Pye Charles, it was an unexpected shock but I am sure his replacement, Jay Davis (former Encon VP) will perform just as admirably. An unexpected opportunity has presented itself, an opportunity that is absolutely imperative that this group takes advantage of. This morning I was given an order by Gregor Jr to find a link between the attacks and Salaman Huzun of Irios. Our original plans outlined only an attack against Afghanistan but I feel the vast oil fields of Irios and the lucrative Military contracts make an invasion of Irios to be a prime consideration. I have told Jr that I need a few weeks to formulate the reason and the attack plan. Gregor Sr (The President of the group) spoke, "I should have seen this coming, Jr has always wanted to 'settle the score' with Huzun for the attempt to assassinate me with a car bomb in Kutana". Keith Kemp said, "We could use 'Weapons of Mass Destruction' as a cover story, we know there are none but the public will never find out". Carlos Powcho said, "Why not just say we want to topple the dictator and bring democracy to Irios"? Sr said, "I like Keith's plan better but we can spread Carlos's plan too, Todd, do that please", Todd nodded and wrote down the instructions. Todd said, "Keith, is there anyway we can link Salaman to the AL QUATANA"? Keith said, "Well, they've always been traditional enemies but we can try, so yes". Todd asked, "Why are they enemies"? Todd shot back, as though he had anticipated the question. Keith said, "Because the AL QUATANA are Islamic fundamentalists and Salaman doesn't really buy into the 'Muslim' thing, our spies have told us that he only prays for photo opportunities and most importantly Ulrich Van Leaden (the leader of the AL QUATANA) hates him". All this was valuable information and Todd scribbled it down. Ronaldo continued, "Generals', it seems we now have a reason to attack Irios, would you please now help me to formulate an attack strategy. Gregor Sr said, "Ronaldo, what is the name of the Public Relations Company we used to discredit Salaman Huzun back in '90"? "Saakil and Saakil sir", Ronaldo replied. Sr continued, "Get them again, they did a good job last time. Todd, you'll be in charge of that naturally". Keith said, "The two teams I sent to eliminate Diane Charles got taken out by her in-house security people, I had a clean-up crew get rid of all evidence we were there, unfortunately there was a lot of bomb-damage so they torched the whole mansion". Todd added, "My people reported it as a gas explosion, you know, the boo-hoo poor rich people angle". Keith added, "We put Pye's body in there and reported the helicopter as stolen. For the moment, Diane Charles can't be found but we'll keep looking.

Ben was more than a little bemused with Diane's little dog, it was like no dog he had ever met, it had to be carried outside, but Ben had to admit it was a cute little thing. He wondered how it would act around another dog, it seem to act like it thought it was another human so Ben was curious how it would interact with its own species. Ben viewed it as more of a cat than a dog but he was soon to realise that even this little thing had enough canine in it to qualify as a dog. Rosetta returned from the Supermarket with stories of how people were buying things urgently and how it was very busy. She had gone out to get some meat to make dinner with, she ended-up buying about a dozen other things she needed. She said, "Signor Asher, do you think we will be attacked"? Ben replied, "Rosetta, you have seen the folder, you know that there isn't really an attack, it's all a plot. So no, there will be no attack". Rosetta felt a little silly for asking but seeing all the panicking at the Supermarket had spooked her a little bit. She went to the kitchen and unpacked her grocery bag. Milk, bread, eggs, cheese, steak, flour, lettuce, cream, cheese cake, it looked like she had remembered to get all that she wanted. Rosetta had found over the years that by keeping her mind occupied on other, more immediate tasks, she didn't spend time worrying about things. Today was perhaps the best reason she had ever had to practice that, so she started to cook a dinner, not the type of food they had at the mansion (to be honest she had always found that a little bland) but instead she was making some well-seasoned steaks to have with some nice fresh salad. After Diane had eaten her main meal she asked, "Rosetta, that was the tastiest steak I have ever had, why didn't you make it that way for us at home"? Rosetta swallowed her bite then said, "Signor Charles said he could not handle spicy food, he said it made his tummy run". Diane was starting to feel she had missed out a lot because of that man and she had made up her mind, it was the weekend now but on Monday she would go to a lawyer and initiate divorce proceedings. What Pye had done to her in the study was just unforgivable, Diane knew he didn't love her, how could you threaten someone you loved with a gun. Rosetta brought out a dessert for each of them, which was a lovely raspberry cheese-cake with whipped cream. Being single, Ben didn't usually bother to make himself dessert after dinner so the treat was very welcome. After dessert, they watched a bit of TV then went to their rooms, apart from Ben who slept on the sofa. The time was about 3am and Ben was asleep on the sofa, his wide shoulders meant one of his arms was hanging over the side.

Ben had trained himself to be a light sleeper so when there was a little 'growl' next to the sofa he woke almost instantly, he glanced as to where the noise had come from and saw the outline of the little fluffy dog that stood, ears erect, looking at the French doors that led out to the patio. Ben reached down and took his gun out of its shoulder holster but he remained motionless on the sofa. There was the sound of someone picking a lock, at that point the courage of the little dog failed, it gave a little whimper and ran off to Diane's room. Ben's night vision was excellent and when the intruder entered, Ben could see his silenced Barretta. Ben spoke, "Are you looking for me"? The intruder quickly tried to bring his gun to bear on Ben, but before he could, Ben fired 2 shots into him, each hitting the intruder directly. The big .40 calibre bullets knocked the intruder off his feet, pushing him back through the door, striking the wall the rapidly dying body slid to the ground. It was one of the things Ben most hated, taking a life but his training to kill them before they killed him always automatically took over. Almost in unison, Diane and Rosetta entered into the lounge. Ben said, "Quick, dress and pack, we need to go, quickly". When they were all safely in Rosetta's car and driving, Ben said, "They are obviously looking for us so we're going to stay in a motel, somewhere out of town". They drove to the nearby county of Pasadena and found a motel with off-street parking, Ben & Diane went to the front desk to hire a room. Ben signed them in as Mr and Mrs Freemantle, when Diane reached for her wallet to pay, Ben held her arm and said, "I've got this honey" and handed over cash. They left the front office and signalled Rosetta to follow them. The Mexican appeared with Poopsy tucked under her arm and followed them to the room they had hired. Once they were in the room and settled down Ben said, "It is important whoever is looking for us doesn't find us, so Diane, Rosetta, if you have credit cards on you don't use them and don't make any phone calls. I am going out to buy some breakfast for us, don't open the door for anyone but me". Rosetta handed him the car keys and Ben was gone, he drove the Lincoln to a diner and ordered three cups of coffee and a large order of pancakes to go, while he was there, he bought a newspaper. As he waited for his order to be filled, he looked through the paper. The lead story, like everywhere else, showed pictures of the planes crashing into the Bordanian towers, no surprise there but he was more intrigued by a small article on the eighth page. He read it with great interest, took his order and drove back to the motel. Both of the women were there waiting for him just as he left them. They saw it was him and he handed out the cups of coffee, he noticed Diane not eating the pancakes so he said, "Please eat something Diane, you need to keep your strength up". She did and soon all the pancakes were gone. Ben said, "I have some news, it's a bit distressing I am afraid", he handed Diane the newspaper opened to the small article on page eight, beside the article was a picture of Diane's LA mansion that had been burnt down and inset in that was a picture of Pye, the words under the picture said 'The burnt down LA mansion and the dead man that dental records confirm is Pye Charles'. 'The article said 'the primary suspect is his wife Diane Charles who has disappeared, all Mr Charles' assets have been frozen pending investigation'. Diane looked shocked; wanting to divorce someone does not mean you want them dead, well in her case anyway.

Diane looked so distressed, but Rosetta remembered something, she said to Ben, "The key Signor, I need to get something out of the trunk". She scuttled out and after a few minutes returned with a bag, she gave the bag to Diane and somewhat surprised Diane, took the bag and looked inside. Inside there were a dozen jewellery boxes, each one held an expensive item from Diane's collection. "How, where, when did you", Diane did not know what to ask first. So Rosetta explained, "When I found you in your bedroom and you told me what happened, I knew something very bad was happening. When we went down stairs and you telephoned Signor Asher, I took the liberty of hiding the jewellery (and the cash below it) in the boot of my car for you. Forgive me Signorita Charles, but I wanted to help you as you have helped me". Diane didn't know what to say so she just hugged Rosetta, her non-verbal thanks were thanks enough. Rosetta added, "There is about five million dollars worth of jewellery there and about a hundred thousand dollars cash". Diane was just speechless, the mansion being destroyed by fire (the article said it was a gas explosion) meant Rosetta had no job; she could have easily kept the content's of the bag for herself. Ben said, "Great, with a bit of that cash we could by another car to make it harder to trace us, there's a 'cars to sell' section in that newspaper". They settled on buying a virtually new Toyota Camry (The most popular car in Bordania at that time), Ben and Rosetta went to the printed address and paid cash for the car, the seller was very happy. Ben followed Rosetta back to the motel in the new car, they both got out of their cars and went back into the Motel room.

Gregor Jr was not a happy man, he knew he had to do something but he didn't know what he should do, he wasn't used to making big decisions like going to war. That is why he had advisers and they were all advising him not to do anything just yet, even his daddy had said that so, Jr just sat and waited, not caring that he was squandering the goodwill of other nation, after the attacks on 10 12 . Some weeks later Ronaldo came into the Oval Office and said, "Mr President, the plans have been made, we need to send an advance force of Special Forces to re-con the area. Gregor sat down and then began to read the report his Secretary of Defence had prepared for him. The report was several hundred pages long but as with every report Gregor Jr read, a summary of three pages was included at the front of the report and it was that he read (he rationalised that he was much too busy to read the entire report). He read, 'the Taliban, the government of Afghanistan, where refusing to hand over Ulrich Van Leaden, so therefore to get Ulrich Van Leaden out Bordania would have to invade Afghanistan. Previous administrations had attempted to dislodge Van Leaden but had failed, notably the Winston administration, which had fired twenty-six Tomahawk cruise missiles at the terrorist camp. Military Satellites had confirmed that the camp was operational the next day'. The summary went onto say that the armed forces of the government of Afghanistan (the Taliban), were a small, ill equipped armed force and without a significant Airforce. As Afghanistan is a land-locked country, it has no navy. Jr read with interest, 'The Taliban government tacitly supports the production of vast poppy fields, it is this involvement with drug cartels that makes them a significant threat to the developed world'. If Jr had read the report itself he would have read several pertinent facts such as, Bordania had trained Ulrich Van Leaden in the first place, Bordania had signed a trade agreement with Afghanistan in which the Taliban had pledged to wipe out the poppy fields (and indeed had destroyed 96% of them so far) and perhaps the most telling detail of all, that Bordania had requested (but been refused) to put an oil pipeline through Afghanistan. The summary ended by saying, 'The special forces will update us within forty-eight hours' of being on the ground.

Ted Udy was listening intently to a bug that had been placed into one of Ronaldo Ginfields dental fillings. It was an incredibly sophisticated listening device (all ceramic components and sent it's signal on a hither-to unknown sub-atomic frequency) and his regular dentist had been blackmailed into performing the surgery (which wasn't easy with a Secret Service agent standing close by). But that was not Ted's concern, his concern was to transcribe, verbatim, what the been recorded by the bug and he did nothing else for an eight hour shift, he couldn't believe what he was hearing, the last few days had been so turbulent, now he was listening to what appeared to be the conspirators. He quickly signalled for his supervisor to come over, when the greying man was there, Ted handed him the earphones. The supervisor's eyes slightly widened, he took off the earphones and dialled a number. After he had hung up, he entered a supervisor's password and sent the digitised recording to a more senior, supervisor. Ted's supervisor told him to stop transcribing and to start looking for any intelligence of prior knowledge of the attack; he then walked off to where he had just sent the recording. In the upstairs office, the two men listened to the recording again, the senior spoke into his intercom to his Personal Assistant, "Cheryl, get Mike Durham on the phone immediately". Mike Durham was the assistant director of the B S A, the most senior employee that actually worked (as opposed to reporting to Senate) and he entered the room a few minutes later, "Yes Chris, what is it"? Mike didn't have to ask if it was important, if it wasn't Chris would have never even rung him, let alone get the Assistant 'D' to his office. Chris played the recording and Mike said, "Holy smoke, imagine if we had planted that bug a day BEFORE the attack, we could have stopped the whole thing. The telephone rang, it was Chris's PA to tell him there was a call for the junior supervisor (Dave), after a few moments the man said, "Good work Ted, continue" and handed the phone back to his superior. Dave said to the two men there, "Our in-house phone records show that a 'Ben Asher' telephoned the B S A helpdesk claiming he had a folder with all the details of the attacks, a day before they took place". Mike said, "Find this Asher guy and I want to know everything about him by 1pm". Dave picked up the phone and dialled Ted, ordering him to stop intelligence gathering and to do a thorough background check on this Ben Asher guy. Ted said, "Yes sir, what I can tell you now is that he is a Detective Inspector with the New Ella city police". Dave relayed the information and Mike said, "Keep digging". At 1pm Mike was seated in his office looking through a B S A folder that contained all the known details of Ben Asher. "A highly decorated Secret Service agent, assigned to protect the President, discharged from the Service after he 'stopped' the Vice President from sexually assaulting a young girl, Dave observed, "Doesn't exactly scream 'conspiracy nut' does it, have you found him yet"? "Yes sir", said Chris, "we tracked him down to a small motel in Pasadena, he is there with a woman who we suspect is his sister". "Bring him in quickly, bring them both in", said Mike, "The Phoenix group will be looking for them too". Chris was already connected to the cell phone of the agent watching Ben's motel room. The agent said, "Yes sir" and walked over to the room and knocked on the door.

Rosetta had left to get some Lunch, as she drove out of the motel she noticed a black Sedan drive in. There was a firm knock on the motel door, Ben, expecting to see Rosetta in the peephole was surprised when he saw a large black man standing there in a dark suit. Crouching, Ben turned to Diane and whispered for her to keep quiet and to go, with Poopsy, into the bathroom. Ben unholstered his gun, holding it behind his back he opened the door. "Yes"? He asked, the black man said, "Mr Ben Asher"? "Who is asking"? Said Ben, the voice answered, "I am Agent Whittaker from the Bordanian Security Agency, may we talk please"? Carefully inspecting the I D badge that the B S A agent held up to the crack in the boor, Ben tucked his gun into the back of his pants and pulled his jacket over it, then opened the door to let the man in. The agent turned to him and said, "Mr Asher, I have been asked to bring you and your guest to the B S A headquarters in LA". After a few minutes, Diane knew there was no point hiding and came out from the bathroom. Ben thought to himself, 'obviously they don't know about Rosetta, good, let's keep it that way'. The agent told them that he had been told to bring them both in and that it had something to do with Ben's telephone call three days ago. That sounded pretty plausible to Ben, there was no mention of the B S A in the conspiracy folder so he nodded and the agent led them out to a modern looking black sedan. The journey to the B S A office in LA was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, it was simply a car trip, but Ben had the folder with him and he read through it again. The drive took several hours and when they arrived at the LA office, agent Whitaker led them to a small interrogation room, a tall man who identified himself as the B S A's Assistant Director Mike Durham, motioned for Ben and Diane to take a seat. He said, "I understand that you have had a very busy few days Mr Asher, would you fill us in please". Ben told Mike all about what had transpired in the past few days, the killings, everything. Mike listened intently and asked, "This 'Rosetta' you speak of, where is she"? Ben said honestly that he didn't know and Mike whispered something into agent Whittaker's ear and the large man left the room. Mike continued, "Well Mr Asher, let's get right down to business then, you have a file, could I see it please"? But Beni said, "Before I let you see the file, I would like written assurances that we will not be prosecuted for any actions we have taken to defend ourselves". "That can be arranged Mr Asher, ah, can I call you Ben"? He asked and Ben nodded, "Great, Okay then Ben, we can arrange that, when it comes to national security we can do pretty much whatever we deem appropriate", came back the calm, reasoned answer. Ben thought about this for a few moments, he knew that what this Durham guy said was true. "OK", said Ben, "But can we get some food please, and coffee too", he added. Mike made a hand gesture at the one-way glass and Ben handed him the folder. Two other men came in and read over Mike's shoulder, they were professionals so Ben didn't expect to hear any gasps or exclamations but he did notice they were reading it ALL very carefully. Mike said, "I'm going to have this file copied Okay"? It was a rhetorical statement so Ben didn't bother replying. He turned to Diane, "It seems that you're an innocent bystander and your husband was involved in some bad dealings, you'll have to sit tight for a day or so but we'll get it cleared up". Ben said, "Yeah but a lot can happen in a few days, you should put us both in a safe house". Mike said, "Yes, that's exactly what were going to do". Their food and drinks arrived and it smelled very good to Ben (Diane was a bit more picky). Ten minutes later Mike gave the file back to Ben and said, "The facts in this file are truly incredible, fairly easy to check out but while we do so you and Mrs Charles will be a guest at a nearby safe-house, agent Whittaker will take you there". Ben took the folder and walked with his sister (carrying that poor excuse for a cat, Poopsy) and agent Whittaker out to the agent's car. Ben's opinion of the B S A went up greatly, for years he thought they were just a bunch of geeks and spooks, but now after all this died down he was thinking of applying for a job there (the joke around the force was that B S A stood for 'Big Suckers Agency', but now he thought there were a lot more 'clued-up' than they seemed). He realised now that even the geeks, with their acres and acres of supercomputers, needed muscle and he had plenty of that.

When Rosetta returned to the Motel she saw the new car there, but no one answered the door to the room. The door was unlocked so she went in, half expecting to see Diane and Ben's bodies on the floor. She looked around the room and noticed the bathroom door was opened, when she went in she saw that written on the mirror in red lipstick, was the sentence, "We are at the B S A headquarters in LA, safe". Rosetta instantly recognised Diane's handwriting. Her instinct as a maid was to clean the writing, which she did, placing the towel in the 'used linen' hamper. She went to get the telephone book but was surprised to see a man standing there. He said, "Hello, I am a friend of Ben Asher and Diane Charles, do you know where they are"? Rosetta didn't like the look of this man; he had cold, almost dead eyes. "No Signor, they asked me to meet them here too but they are not here". The man asked slyly, "Is that your Lincoln out there"? Rosetta being very cautious said, "No mine is the Camry". The keys for it were on the table. The man checked out the bathroom, saw nothing so said, "Do you know when they'll be back". Taking the keys Rosetta said, "No, but I can't wait for them". She walked out of the room with the man, he said, "Aren't you going to lock the door"? Rosetta said, "I don't have any keys and it was unlocked when I arrived", she waved goodbye to the man and walked confidently over to the Camry, unlocked it and got in. 'Good' she thought as she saw they layout of the dash-board was similar to her Lincoln, she started up the car and headed it out of the Motel driveway. She drove for five minutes and then pulled over to the side of the road, stopped the car and got out. She knew that man was so close to killing her, she must have made up a believable story, she wasn't a good liar but it's amazing what the brain will do in an emergency. She had stopped shaking and she got back into the car. She drove to the nearest telephone box and looked up the address for the B S A headquarters in LA, Suite 415, Forsham Avenue. She drove all night and after finding a Gas station, was directed to the avenue so she found the correct address quite quickly. As she got out the car to enter the fairly nondescript building, Ben and Diane walked out the door behind a large well-dressed black man. Rosetta burst out, "Signorita Charles, Signor Asher, I have found you"! Ben was quite surprised to see her because he didn't know about the message Diane had left on the mirror. Diane hugged Rosetta and said, "I knew you would find us, we're safe, we are going to a safe house". Agent Whitaker said, "Our agents are out looking for you Ma'am", he spoke something into his wrist-mic then listened to the response in his ear-piece, he turned back to Rosetta and said, "Would you join us please", again it was more of a statement and not a request. So all four of them (including Diane's oh-so-precious little canine feather duster) got into agent Whittaker's car and were taken to a B S A safe house.

# Chapter Eleven: 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'

The B S A safe house was well appointed and on the outside fitted in perfectly well with the 'style' of the rest of the street. The house was neither too old nor too young, in fact it was an incredibly non-descript house, the grounds were kept tidy but not government tidy. The inside of the house was not very exciting either; it had all the basic facilities and had a 'homey' feel about it (so if someone was to look in the window they would easily mistake it for a lived-in house). But Ben just had to get out; he wasn't an impatient man but watching TV all day, everyday, for a week was far from his idea of fun. One good thing is that they ate well, Rosetta appointed herself the unofficial cook (which suited Ben because she was an expert with the frying pan, she could whip up a three-course meal out of a cam of Spam, a jar of pickles and a tub of ice cream, what ever Diane previously paid her it wasn't nearly enough). Every morning he broke his monotony by going out to the mail box and checking the mail, he would then bring any mail in (it was only ever bills and circulars), once he had done that he would go outside and sweep the driveway but how swept could a driveway be! In the evenings he had tried to pass the time by memorising every little detail of the, what they now called, 'conspiracy folder'. He spent long, unsleeping, nights working each detail over in his mind and one thing just didn't 'compute' - why was Mossad involved, they were the premiere spy agency in the world, it didn't make sense that they were involved, they had never, ever been concerned with any other country but Israel. Ben was to be supplied with the answer at a speed he never would have guessed. He was outside doing his daily routine when he noticed a navy blue car, parked directly across the street from 'his' mail box, the car was a Ford Taurus, the latest year and standing with her back to the car, was a very pretty young woman, Ben recognised her, he had seen her photo in the diner, newspaper and 'conspiracy file', he knew that she held the rank of Captain in the Israeli Defence Force but that she was a member of Mossad's Special Ops team. She took off her sunglasses and those startling, piercing green eyes shone back at him. Her American accent was perfect and she couldn't have looked anymore at ease. Ben was a little transfixed by her appearance, it wasn't that she dressed provocatively it had more to do with the way she carried herself. She finally spoke, "You must have quite a few questions agent Asher, come for a drive with me and we'll talk". Before Ben could answer agent Whittaker walked out the front door, his sizable bulk filling the doorway for a moment, he looked at Natasha and said, "I think you had better go inside now Mr Asher", these B S A agents never seemed to do anything but make rhetorical statements. Natasha said, "You have nothing to worry about, he is coming with me". Ben added, "I really do think this is safe Agent Whittaker, in fact I'll just get my jacket", Ben dashed inside for his jacket (making sure he had his gun with him though and tucking the 'conspiracy folder into the back of his pants). When he was outside again he said to agent Whittaker, "We have each others cell phone numbers, I'll check in with you every hour, on the hour" and you will be able to track me anyway (what even Ben didn't know is that not only could the B S A track him, they could use the phone as a 'bug' and could listen to his conversations any time through the phone as well). That seemed to appease the B S A 'minder' and Natasha and Ben headed over to the car.

They drove to a car park that overlooked the beach, after stoping the engine Natasha said, "Well, first things first, show me the gun". At first Ben was going to feign mock shock, but he thought better of it and took out the gun, before giving it to Natasha he released the magazine and ejected the round in the chamber. Natasha said "A wise precaution agent Asher but if I wanted you dead I could have picked you off several days ago with a snipers rifle". Ben was a little un-nerved by that comment, he had been trained to notice when he was being observed and he had never had the slightest hint that Natasha had been watching him. Natasha said, "Ah, so this is the famous 'Dirty Harry SIG' that seems to be the 'buzz' in the service. I can see why, it is a truly remarkably well made weapon, the Sultan of Brunei must have been very thankful that you saved his life, but let me offer you a hint about this gun that no one knows, you may want to pay closer attention to the case it came in". With that enigmatic statement, she said no more. Ben loaded his weapon again, holstered it and said, "You are particularly well informed about this gun". She butted in, "Oh it's not just that gun agent Asher, it is EVERYTHING about you, try me if you like". He had no intention of 'trying her' so instead offered, "You can call me Ben, Natasha". She nodded her consent then Ben went on, "This has been a nice little game but there are a few things I want to know, firstly, why was Mossad involved in the attacks"? She looked down at her lap then up again, keeping her eyes looking forward, "Mossad's 'job' was to find nineteen Arabs that we could hypnotise and plant the command in their mind to take a certain flight, the details of which would later be forwarded to them. We agreed, as the Bordanian administration assured us they were going to release the information that these Arabs were AL QUATANA terrorists and storm the plane then kill the hostages, the second phase of the plan we agreed to was the hiring of a Public Relations company (the same one used to 'dehumanise' Salaman Huzun) to 'dehumanise' the Arabs' to turn popular sympathy away from them and their cause. The problem occurred in that Mossad was double-crossed by the Bordanian government, we had no more facts than what they chose to give us. In short, Mossad was used and as a consequence, there are significant efforts to 're-educate' our Bordanian colleagues as to the true status of Mossad. Ben thought about this for a moment then said, "Well before you drop a Neutron bomb on downtown New Ella, I have a folder you should read", and handed her the conspiracy folder. After a few minutes of reading the folder she looked up said, "Yes, in the last few days we have verified much of what this, but there is a lot in this that we did not know, my superiors will be most interested to read it, may I have it"? Ben said, "Could you copy it, I'd like to keep the original", she nodded and said, "Bordania, well the Phoenix Group" have greatly embarrassed Mossad Ben, it is obvious that they greatly underestimate the influence that Mossad has on the world stage. My superiors charged me with finding out as much as I could about the cover-up, I'm not sure what they will do but you can bet the issue is not over with". With that statement, she started up the car. "Where are we going"? Asked Ben. Natasha smiled sweetly and said, "To a friend, a good friend". Her friend was in a fairly modern looking office block, he was on the eighth floor of a twenty-two story building, Goldstein & Goldstein registered chartered accountants. Natasha spoke quietly with him and he took the folder. Natasha said to Ben, "Abraham is an old friend who has 'contacts' at the Israeli embassy, that will make sure the copy of the folder is in Israel by the evening, he is just copying it now". A few minutes later the man re-appeared with the folder and said something quietly to Natasha, she took the folder, handed it back to Ben and said, "Let's go now, I have one other little surprise for you". They drove around a bit to make sure they weren't being followed, then Natasha headed to the beautiful LA pier. Parked on the beach, through the haze they could make out the shape of Santa Catalina Island, Ben had wanted to go out there since he first heard of it but never had. Natasha turned and said to him, "Twenty-two miles away is the beautiful Island of Santa Catalina (it reminded her of parts of Israel), what would you say if I was to tell you that out there is the headquarters of your shadow government, the one called the Phoenix Group". Ben was silent for a while thinking then he said, "Why would you share this information with me, you know I work for the Bordanian government"? Natasha smiled, "I have already told you Ben Asher, I, we know all about you. We know of your history with the Secret Service and the event that led to your untimely dismissal and yes, we know what really happened to your father, and why. Besides, this 'shadow government' deeply embarrassed Israel, we wish to, return the favour. That reminds me", she said holding up a DVD disk, "This is the footage from a hidden camera I planted in the Vice presidents suite the night you hit him". Ben was amazed, "But, oh, the woman, the Rolls-Royce,". Natasha bowed her head and gave Ben the disk. Natasha drove Ben back to the safe house and then said, "There is one more thing you may be interested in,"

Yosef ben Tarken was sitting at his usual workstation, he saw on the security monitor that the car containing the Diplomatic courier had arrived and handcuffed to his hand he had the attaché case from the Israeli embassy in LA. He quickly went out and escorted the courier in, since 10 12 (as it was being called) events in Bordania had become of particular interest. He showed the courier through to the analysis room, where he unlocked the case from his wrist, gave it to one of the men standing there and left to go back to the airport and catch the next flight back to Bordania. The analysts in the room opened the suitcase and withdrew from it a folder with the seal of the Bordanian government on it (but if you looked closely, instead of an eagle, the usual emblem in the center of the Bordanian seal, the creature in the center of the seal was actually a Phoenix). The three page cover sheet that was stapled to the folder described it is the actual events of 10 12. The analysts read with interest. Finally their supervisor, Yosef said, "Natasha found all this out quickly, go and get the director, he'll want to see this for himself". The man Yosef signalled quickly exited the room, a few minutes later a distinguished looking older gentleman, the director, entered the room. Immediately Yosef and the other men stood to attention, saluting, rather than returning their salutes walked directly over to the folder and picked it up. After thorougherly reading the dossier, the serious looking man said, "So that is what they were up to, they feel their once great country is being slowly 'down-sized' into insignificance and they want Bordania to be a strong, world leader again, my God they were quiet about it". Keeping a secret from Mossad was a feat akin to catching a bullet between your teeth, but the Phoenix Group slipped up fatally and now Mossad was fully aware, their revenge would be swift, sure and definitive. The old man paused for a second, turning to the younger man he said, "Mr ben Tarken, have the LA strike team pay Santa Catalina Island a visit...have Captain Ruth lead it". After another thoughtful pause he continued, "And have her be particularly nice to that Asher fellow, he may be of use to us after all this". He didn't have to bother saying that, Natasha knew the value of a good informer and this guy was shaping up to be one of her best. The director continued, "Tell the LA team to use the minimum force necessary, I want plenty of newspaper pictures of this "Phoenix Group" being led out in handcuffs. Have our Bordanian media contacts release a watered-down version of this folder", of course, Mossad would diligently be removed from the slightest hint of involvement.

A day later Natasha again parked her tidy but non descript car across the street from the driveway of the BSA safe house, but this time when she met with Ben, she asked him to go and get agent Whittaker. When they were all standing in the driveway, Natasha told agent Whittaker everything, how the Israeli government would consider it a favour if their strike team could enter first, the BSA would come quickly afterwards and make all the arrests and most importantly, take all the credit. She gave agent Whittaker the contacts to verify her request and her high-level contacts did indeed confirm that request, adding that they believed it to be a matter of national pride if they could 'bring-down' this Cabal and force it into the light of justice. Agent Whittaker went inside and made a telephone call, relaying the request and the details of the contacts. He came back out and said, "Those terms are acceptable to us". Natasha said, "Oh yes, one last thing, we would like Agent Asher to be present with our team and to lead out Gregor Tree Senior". Agent Whittaker smiled, "We thought you would want Asher to be involved, no problem". Ben wasn't concerned as he had participated in hundreds of these types of raids, he hadn't done it for about a year, but once you got there the adrenaline would kick in and it would be a 'walk in the park'. Natasha said, "Well, Okay then, that's all... you come with me Ben". They both went over to the blue Taurus and drove to a small beach house on the LA coast, from the location of the beach house Ben knew the only feasible target and looked out to sea. In the house were a dozen athletic looking men, each with a bag of gear over his shoulder. Natasha didn't introduce Ben to them but instead turned to a detailed and large satellite map of Santa Catalina Island, pointing to a costal property on the far side of the island she said, "We will depart at 0230 hours, we will proceed to the island on three inflatable boats, then take out any perimeter guards, team one will make their way to the electrical generator huts and at exactly 0330 hours they will cut all power to the mansion and will temporarily disable the security system, teams three and four will then secure the meeting room. Team two will set a small diversion to the east of the mansion and attract the remaining security guards to them. Preliminary intelligence have put the number of guards at eight, four of which will be taken-down as we enter, the remaining four will be occupied by Team two. Each guard is armed with a silenced Uzi Machine pistol. The primary objective of the mission is to capture and incapacitate all of the Phoenix Group – it is important that none of the Phoenix group itself is killed. We will then signal the BSA force to helicopter in, once they have relieved us we will return via the inflatable boats, the BSA will alert the media and will not bring out the captives until sufficient coverage is attained". Ben cynically mused to himself, "What she really means is 'until the place is crawling with media'". Ben admired the meticulousness of the plan and felt the familiar stirring of his blood as the time came to act. Natasha handed him a pair of black, unmarked overalls, he didn't need to ask what they were for and put them on over his clothes, he watched as the strike team did the same but also put on their black webbing harness that held their weapons and ammunition firmly in place. Before every engagement he disassembled his SIG and compared to their dull black TAR assault rifles it looked like something a movie star would own, when he brought out the weapon to most of the teams turned to look at the famous 'piece' (apparently just as well known overseas as it was in Bordania). Although interested, the teams were too focused on their own tasks to give the gun anything more than a passing glance. They opened the sliding doors that led to the beach and three inflatable boats were dragged out into the gentle surf. Each team got into a boat and Natasha went with team three, Ben with team four. The boats had powerful motors but it still took them close to an hour to get to the island. Once ashore, teams one and two instantly peeled off to perform their assigned tasks. Teams three and four headed up to the mansion, the guards were each shot expertly, one shot, one kill, the loudest sound being as the bodies hit the ground. Ben faintly heard a few raised voices coming from the east. At exactly 01:30 hours, the mansion went black and one of the team slipped a device into the door and it noiselessly swung open, they entered and just as silently closed the door behind them. Having carefully studied the floor plans, the teams ran, silent in soft rubber boots, to the meeting room, there they stopped and waited for the power to come back on, when it did the team burst into the room. The power cut had alerted the somewhat paranoid security team that there may be intruders, when the doors to the meeting room had burst open, the alerted Phoenix group flung themselves on the floor leaving the bodyguards to 'shoot it out' with the intruders. Bing somewhat blinded by the surprise resumption of the room's lighting, the three body guards were almost immediately floored by three silence shots issued from the Israeli TARs, the body guards slumped, life extinguished, to the floor.

After securing all the prisoners Natasha took out a cell phone and dialled a number, she simply said, "We're ready for you now", and a few minutes BSA helicopters were heard thumping onto the private helipad. By the time the BSA teams had come in, the Israeli teams were nowhere to be seen, only a few people even knew that the Israelis had even been there.

Gregor Sr was in the study of the Tree family compound in Tedan, meeting with him was his son Gregor Jr, fixing himself a drink of Bourbon on the rocks. Sr fixed a steely eye on Jr then said, "Jr, things have changed in Bordania, the New World Order is changing the globe quickly but I don't think Bordania can keep up. It seems like we're cutting things back when we need to be making ourselves stronger, a few years ago attacks on our country wouldn't have been possible, now look at us, so ridden with terrorist cells that we are like a dog with ticks". "I hear ya Dad", said Jr, "you're really talkin 'bout the military aint'cha"? "Yes Jr, once Bordania used to be a great and respected name, now it is the laughing-stock of other countries", said Sr. He went on, "We need a leader with the guts to tackle the enemies of Bordania head-on. We need a leader that isn't afraid to say 'no' to outside forces, one who isn't afraid to stand up for what he believes in". Jr said, "But I can do all that Dad, I believe in a strong Bordania, I believe that we need to be strong as a country, heck, I'm sending the army into Afghanistan and I aint gonna stop till every terrorist is pushin' up daisies". Sr said, "That's good, real good son, I believe you can take Bordania on from where I left off, I believe you are the leader that can free the whole world from the vice-like grip of the dictator and spread democracy to the whole world. Son, I would like you to come to meeting of people... people with like minds to ours. People who can make it happen, all the group needs is an absolute voice, one which critics can't shout down". "Dad, you know I want that too, why heck, Bordania ain't ever gonna forget us"! Then Sr looked more earnestly at his son and said Jr, "I want you to come with me". So the Secret Service wouldn't realise they had left the room, Sr unpinned the GPS tracking device (disguised as the Bordanian flag) from the lapel of his sons jacket then took him to the underground garage and hid him in a laundry truck. Sr said, "sorry for all the secrecy son, but it is important that not even the Secret Service know where we're going". The Laundry truck drove them to a small private airfield where they boarded a military jet. Jr lost track of where the jet was going, so in stead he turned to his Dad and said, "Where'r we goin"? Instead of answering that Sr said, "Son, I belong to a group that is so secret not even the government knows they exist, in fact you could say that they ARE the government. They open factories and employ hundreds, thousands, of the local population, they build up third world economies by helping to develop their natural resources, they even help to get dictators out of power. Sure, they share in the profits of their endeavours, but so what, why shouldn't they"? Jr thought about this for a moment, his face a little more serious, so you're saying, there's a government behind the scenes that actually pulls the strings"? "Yes son, that is what I'm saying", said Sr. Jr continued, "So you are saying that I am not really the President"? Sr didn't really like the way his son was talking so said, "Yes son, but we only do good things, we help out countries, that's not bad is it"? But Jr continued, "So even though I was elected, someone else is controlling Bordania"? "Gregor, son, don't forget if it wasn't for us you wouldn't have been elected", Said Sr, pulling out what he thought was the ace up his sleeve. What Sr didn't understand was how much his son understood about the electoral system. Jr said, "YOU fixed the election, Is that the only reason I won"? "Son, you have to understand that we only wanted a stronger leader to lead Bordania", Sr was panicking now, he thought his son would have acted totally differently. Sr said, "Look, we are about to land, let's talk about this when we're inside in my den". Jr kept his silence but the minute they were alone in the den he said, "Dad, I can cover-up that this group existed but it has to stop now, or I'll stop it"! Sr said, "Come on Son, you wouldn't do that; would ya"? Jr looked at his dad and said, "I've always stood by you Dad, if always listened to you, but there can only be one leader of Bordania and that is me", with that he walked over a picked up the phone and said, "Operator dial 10 12-717171, say 'Omega threat-con sigma', repeat, tell them 'Omega threat-con sigma', they'll understand". When Jr looked up he hardly had time to register what he saw and even less time to believe it. Sr stood there with a silenced Walter PPK pointed at his son's head, an instant later the deadly 'fipt' and the snapping back of Jr's head signified that the 9mm parabellum bullet had found it's mark. Sr picked up the phone and asked if they had dialed the number that was given, the operator said, "No sir, we only dial numbers you yourself give us". Sr said, "Good, continue with that policy". Sr looked down at the lifeless body on the floor and thought, ''If only he had cooperated'. But his B I A training had taught him not to dwell on the 'if only' scenario so he stepped over the body and walked out to the meeting room. Even though the skies were closed to commercial aircraft, everybody there had 'jetted in' on military planes. Since the 'attacks' they so meticulously planned they finally occurred, a sense of completion had come over the group, but in saying that, they were all professionals and they knew a great deal still lay ahead of them, even more so now that Irios was also 'on the list' of targets. Gregor Sr. said, "Lady and gentlemen, welcome back..

"Hi listeners and welcome to the 'Ear to the ground' radio show, this is your host Larry the eagle-eyed Kosowsky from WCRP independent radio reporting to you live from the sky above the Island of Santa Catalina off the LA coast. I am reporting from the WCRP helicopter as we slowly circle a mansion of the Island of Santa Catalina. The scene below me is incredible, the likes of which this reporter has never seen. After the attacks of 10 12, Bordania seems to have gone crazy. WCRP first said that there was more to learn about 10 12 and we would bring it to you as the story unfolded, well today in another twist reminiscent of a Movie plot, the US Navy and Coast-guard have literally blockaded the island and we shall shortly be switching to our on-the-scene reporter Wendy Sims. After an anonymous Bordanian source leaked the details of this conspiracy, WCRP has, at great expense, interrupted regular programming to bring you this breaking news. There are Bordanian coast-guard vessels surrounding the island and a dozen four-wheel drive vehicles surrounding a large residence. I can see people walking in and out of the mansion and we, oh, wait, ladies and gentlemen we are going to swap to our on-the-scene reporter Wendy Sims, Wendy, hello, Wendy"? After va brief pause a woman's voice replaced the 'eagle-eyed' Kosowosky ,"Yes Larry... hi Larry and a big hello to all our listeners out there in Radio-land. This is Wendy Sims reporting to you live from the scene of what appears to be a well organised raid on this Santa Catalina house said to be the meeting place of a shadowy group known as the Phoenix Group. A few moments ago I was handed a copy of a Press Release that simply says 'Today, in conjunction with several other Law enforcement agencies, the Bordanian Security Agency raided an address said to harbour persons conducting operations against the interest of the National Security of Bordania'. While we are not 100% sure of the details of that statement, it will, no doubt, become clear over the following days. But we can reveal an unconfirmed report that WCRP received earlier today. It states and I stress this is unconfirmed as yet, that a long theorised 'Shadow Government' devised an unprecedented and equally sinister plot. The plotters, known as the Phoenix Group, allegedly planned the events of 10 12. This is indeed monumental news because it means that the reports of WCRP have accurately stated the existence of a shadow government at work in Bordania but until now have been unable to provide anything but anecdotal evidence, should these allegations prove correct and our sources are impeccable, we can finally provide hard evidence, a 'smoking gun' if you will. Shortly we will see the masterminds of the attack on October 12, 2001, an attack that is estimated to have claimed over 4000 lives, making it the most deadly attack on Bordanian soil. Surpassing the attack on Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, when the Japanese air force launched a surprise attack on the Bordanian Pacific fleet. An event itself that has generated some mystery, with many claiming that the encryption code used by the Japanese was cracked and gave the Bordanian government information that they refused to believe. WCRP is not about to appoint blame or say 'I told you so' but we, the station and our loyal listeners stand vindicated for our stance, when millions of Bordanians stood by and called us 'crack-pots' we were standing true to our convictions. When the mainstream media wouldn't report the truth; WCRP did. But there is a stirring at the main door, yes, it is the secret Phoenix group and they are being led out in handcuffs. Gregor Tree Sr, Ricardo Shinovic, Ronaldo Ginfield, Conseulla Rizo, Paulo Dogovic, Carlos Powco, Todd Dean, Keith Kemp, Generals Ashburn, Tyson, Millows and Jay Davis. This is just incredible; it is the biggest thing since, well, since Bordania started recording history. The list of people who have been led out reads like a 'Who's who' of the rich and powerful of Bordania, not an absolute surprise to regular listeners of WCRP, but monumentous all the same! Wait, I see, paramedics are also bringing out a gurney with a body bag on it, who is it we ask ourselves, who could this body belong to", Wendy went up to a BSA agent, probably the scene supervisor and said, "Excuse me". "Yes ma'am", he replied. Wendy held a microphone up to the agent's mouth and asked, "I am Wendy Sims from WCRP, who is the identity of body"? The BSA agent replied, "Ma'am, it would be inappropriate of us to tell you before we have alerted the family, we will inform you there after". The barest of an annoyed expression crossed eyes but she nodded her compliance then went by the police cordon; there were about a dozen camera crews there each busily filming the event. When he was sure the microphone was off and there was no chance of being overheard, Ben, (wearing a BSA badge) walked over to the woman reporter and whispered in her ear, "Keep this quiet, but the body in the bag is President Tree". The reporter's eyes widened, this could be the news scoop of her career", Wendy turned around to thank the man, but instead of her saying anything, he slipped a DVD disk into her hand and said, "You will also find this interesting", and before she could query further he had disappeared into the crowd. The voice of Larry in her earpiece broke the silence, "Wendy, Wendy, the scene looks very chaotic down there, do you have anything else to tell us"? "Yes Larry, I certainly do", the pitch of Wendy's voice had risen slightly, knowing that this 'scoop' could well land here a national presenters job, she pooled all of her composure, "An unnamed source from within the mansion itself has informed me the that the body that was wheeled out earlier on the gurney, was none other than President Tree, or rather the late President Tree himself, remember you heard it here first on WCRP. It seems this scandal reaches deeply into the Bordanian government".

The lighting in the room was dim but beside each seat there was a lamp, Tito Van Leaden stood and spoke, "My friends and colleagues, six years ago we sat around this very table and discussed the problem of Salaman Huzun, at that time I made a promise to you that the Irios infidel would be thrown out as leader, today I am happy to stand before you happy to say that the plan to have this done is in it's final stages. It has taken several years and much money but Salaman Huzun will be cast from his own nest, No longer will this puppet be allowed to reign over Irios. His party will be disbanded, his power base will be cut-off and his army blown to the four winds". The men sitting around the table rose and gave Tito a rapturous round of applause, scarcely believing the day had come when that embarrassment to their countries had been eliminated. Sheik Suffani from Syria said, "Well done Tito, tell us how you will do it"! Tito looked at the now sitting men and said, "Well I try not to brag but I must share this, I helped Gregor Tree Jr to get elected while at the same time buying my way onto the same businesses as his Father Gregor Tree Sr, After I had gained the trust of Gregor Sr I persuaded him to attack Afghanistan for an oil deal we needed to succeed. All that time I knew that Gregor Jr wanted to get even with Irios for trying to assassinate his father, with the Bordanian army in that area of the globe I knew that Gregor Jr would attack Irios to avenge the attempt on his father's life. The beauty of it all is Gregor Jr thinks he is running the country yet Gregor Sr thinks his 'shadow government', the Phoenix Group, is running Bordania, yet in reality it is us here that run Bordania. Their greed and desire for wealth makes them blind to the truth". Again the men all rose and clapped, none louder the Ulrich van Leaden.

The entire operation had gone smoothly, Diane had gone to live with Rosetta and Ben had returned to his New Ella apartment. It was about a week after his 'little adventure' and on a whim he telephoned the BSA and asked to speak with agent Whittaker and asked about the possibility of working for the agency. Whittaker said positively, "Yes, I'm definite that can be arranged". Agent Whittaker added that since Ben lived so close to the BSA national headquarters, he would arrange for the meeting to be there. With that, they agreed to meet on Thursday at 10am, quick and easy, just the way Ben liked it. Ben hung up and sat on his sofa thinking, as was his habit when he was at home thinking, he took out his gun and dis-assembled it to clean it.

Recalling the words of Natasha Ruth, Ben decided to take her advice to pay more attention to the case the gun came in, letting his curiosity get the better of him; he picked up the highly polished rectangular object from the coffee table. Even though the SIG had been minutely examined by the Secret Service armourers, the case never had been. He weighed it in his hands, it seemed perfectly balanced. Slowly turning it, he closely inspected it for visible anomalies, nothing. He took the velvet, then the padding out of it, stripping it back to wood, still nothing. He shook it, nothing, tapped it inside and out, nothing. Asher had always thought the case appeared a little too ostentatious, a little too pretentious; in fact the only time the gun had been in it was during the ceremony when he was first presented with it, a day after the ceremony had ended the gun was to put; more or less permanently (unless he need to use it) in his holster.

Running out of ideas and thinking "Why not", Ben's last experiment was to hurl the Ebony vessel with all of his considerable strength at the brick wall next to his door. Simple physics dictated that the size and speed of the box would be no where near enough for the dark hard-wood to counter the immovable bulk of the brick wall and predictably it broke into at least 20 different pieces. What wasn't predictable was the reaction that followed, because on the ground was a very intricately cut ruby. Ben picked up the stone and looked at the rich red colouring. Without a second thought, he grabbed his leather jacket and headed down to the street. Not being particularly savvy when it came to gem valuation, he immediately knew where to take the gem, the jewellery store he passed nearly every day; which happened to be owned by the de Beers consortium. Ben had never gone into the store before; but he had passed it many times. Occasionally he had paused and looked at the window with the specialised lighting and massively over priced baubles; it was a slightly odd sensation to finally go in there. Half a dozen pretty attendants were standing there: each stationed behind a free-standing glass display case, in what appeared to be a very deliberate and well planned order; the carefully positioned lighting glinting and dancing off each piece. Ben impassively assessed each attendant, he chose an older woman from her position in the store, by her demeanour and body language he guessed she was the floor manager. Standing in-front of her, he withdrew the ruby from his pocket, explaining that he wanted to have it appraised. With a slightly distasteful tone to her voice the woman informed him that she did not do that but would fetch the appraiser from the back of the store. After a few minutes, a middle-aged man followed the lady back out, made brief eye-contact with Ben then gave his full attention to the gem. "This is very nice", the man murmured, then added, "Please follow me to my office". The office itself was nothing special, tidy, well lit, the two points of difference were the wall of books behind the man's beautiful antique oak desk. Motioning Ben to a chair, the man went and sat on an ergonomic modern looking black chair (slightly out of place Ben thought), reaching into the desk he took out an appraising eye-piece and switched on a lamp. After squinting at the gem from every conceivable angle he said, "A ruby of this size would be about US$5000.00", with the timing of a showman he added, "Alas, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this is not a ruby". Ben was a little disillusioned, so somewhat bemused he stood up and said, "Thanks for your time". Delighted by his theatrics, the appraiser continued, "Please, please sit down, there is more". Spinning around and standing up, the man started scanning the bookcase, finding the book he wanted, he took a large leather-bound volume from a high shelf and dropped it with a heavy thud on his desk. Thumbing hurriedly through the pages he went on, "I seem to recall seeing this gem or one very much like it". After a few minutes of searching he exclaimed, "Ah-ha! Here it is". He turned the book around so Ben could see. Taking up most of one page was a portrait of hauntingly attractive woman, with the gem mounted on a necklace around her elegantly long and otherwise bare neck. The appraiser continued, "This is actually a red diamond, the most stunning I have had the privilege of seeing. In 1680 the fabulously wealthy ruler King Louis XIV of France sent the gem to the family his first wife, Maria-Theresia of Spain. A Spanish galleon was especially dispatched by newly crowned King Carlos I of Spain, however, after collecting the gem, a massive storm pushed the galleon far from its intended course, finally sinking it and sadly all hands were lost. The location of the galleon was never established, but rumours of its location have surfaced over the years; never to be proven; the last expedition to find the gem was funded by the Sultan of Brunei in 1973, but nothing was found". The next question was predictable as it was inevitable, "How did you come into possession of it"? Ben could tell that it was an honest question and not an accusation so he told the appraiser that he had saved the life of the Sultan of Brunei and had been gifted the gem in gratitude. The man nodded and scribbled down everything that Ben told him. "Well sir, I will verify the information you have given me, in exactly seven days from today the company shall be in touch with you and give you a value for this absolutely amazing gem, in the mean time you are welcome to store the gem here in our vault; it is one of the most secure safes in the world". Ben agreed, shook hands with the appraiser and walked back out to the store. This time Ben received a much warmer greeting from all the staff present.

Ben couldn't help himself; he had to do a bit of research on the stone. He didn't do much though, in fact, apart from his initial digging, he did his best to NOT think about the gem. Any sum he got was going to suit him. Actually, he knew that there was a small, tiny chance that the gem was a fake and hence worthless. It was a long week.

Finally the phone rang and a man identifying himself as the chief buyer for de Beers diamonds. "Mr Asher...", for a moment Ben wondered how the man knew his last name, then he recalled seeing security cameras in the store – biometric database scans can easily be bought, maybe a huge multi national like de Beers had their own in house database. "...We have verified your ownership of this gem, although it is not the largest red diamond on the market, the history behind it easily makes it the most valuable". He continued, "We have independently valued it at US$12 million, de Beers would be pleased to offer you that amount for it, it is however, your right to sell; should you wish to, how you see fit". Ben had never been the materialistic type and he had never been particularly wealthy, so what he was being told took a few minutes to sink in. The transistorised voice in his ear said, "Mr Asher... Mr Asher... are you there sir...". Finally his brain kicked in, he knew he would get a higher price if he was to sell the gem by auction, "Yes, I'm here", after a few moments he add, "Do me a favour, I don't want to draw this thing out, draw up a bill of sale, but on one strict condition; when you release details about this gem to the media, keep my name out of it".

* * * * *

THE END

