Destiny in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ben pursed his lips and sampled the coffee, trying to decide how to explain his philosophy of leadership to this woman who obviously had no clue about the importance of input from men and women who toiled in the field.

  “Claire,” he explained, “I invite my field officers to my staff meetings for a reason. Staff officers, while often brilliant tacticians, are not field officers and usually are a bit removed from the real world of combat. Field officers, who have been out there taking fire and making decisions about how to proceed against an enemy, usually have some very good ideas about tactics and procedures the enemy is using that may have escaped the notice of the staff officers. In all my years of leading an Army, I have never been disappointed in the insights I’ve gained from listening to my men and women who do the actual fighting.”

  Claire nodded, evidently seeing the wisdom of such input from junior officers. “I agree, Ben, these people can be useful, but do they have to be so ... boisterous?” she asked.

  He grinned. “The exuberance of youth, Claire, should never be discouraged. They’ll grow old and stuffy like us soon enough, so why rush it?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I should know better than to argue with you, Ben. You always have an answer for everything.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but my answers are not always right, Claire. That’s why I like to have other opinions at my staff meetings—to help give me perspective when I miss the boat with my suggestions.”

  Claire turned away and went to take her place at the head of the conference table, with Ben following to sit across from her.

  Ben put his coffee cup down and picked up the transcript of the interrogation, copies of which had been provided to each of the participants in the meeting.

  After Claire finished reading her copy, she peered over the pages at Ben. “This is very interesting, and certainly gives us some insight into the workings of El Farrar’s mind. Do you have any immediate ideas on how to best make use of what he told us about their plans, Ben?”

  “The first thing that comes to mind is the fact that El Farrar and his followers intend to double-cross their FFA allies as soon as they gain control of the country.”

  “Yes, I saw that,” Claire said.

  “And it’s just what you’d expect from these assholes,” General Goddard observed. “I can’t believe the FFA traitors were dumb enough to think they could ever trust these terrorists to keep their word and share in the governing of the country if they won the war.”

  “From what our FFA prisoner Jim Short said,” Ben said, “the FFA types were desperate and saw the invasion by El Farrar as their only chance to ever change the direction the country was taking. Of course it was naive of them to believe they could outsmart the Arabs, who are past masters at deceit and backstabbing and have been for centuries, but that’s the way idealists often think.”

  “So, Ben, how do you think we can best use this information?” Claire asked.

  “Show the videotape to Jim Short and let him see the treachery the Arabs had planned for their FFA allies once the battle was over. Then get him on television and let him make a statement to all his FFA comrades about what the Arabs have planned, and follow it up with calls to the leaders that Sharif identified, telling them they are fighting for the wrong team. Perhaps they will believe him and spread the word, and the terrorists’ allies may just desert the sinking ship.”

  Claire shrugged. “It’s certainly worth a try,” she said, glancing at Goddard. “What do you think, General?”

  He nodded. “I agree, though I don’t know if it’s going to do any good. Traitors are traitors and who knows if they’ll listen to reason.”

  Clifford Ainsworth, Claire’s Minister of Propaganda, cleared his throat.

  “You have something to add, Cliff?” she asked, looking in his direction.

  “Yes, Madam President. It is a basic tenet of propaganda that it never hurts to sow the seeds of distrust among one’s enemies. Even if all of the FFA traitors do not believe what we tell them about the plans of the Arabs to double-cross them once the war is over, it will at least cause some discord and distrust among the two allies.” He shrugged his shoulders. “In other words, it may cause them to work together less efficiently, and that in turn will be good for us.”

  “Okay,” Claire said, “we’re agreed then. Short will be shown the videotape and then asked to make a statement publicly calling for the FFA people to stop helping the terrorists.”

  “What if he refuses?” Ainsworth asked.

  Claire shook her head slowly. “Then he’ll rue the day he was born.”

  She glanced back at Ben. “Any other thoughts about the interrogation?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Sharif gave us his codes for the cell phones the terrorists are using to keep in touch, and we have his cell phone in our hands. Is there any way your technicians can reverse-engineer the phone so we can eavesdrop on their conversations?” Ben asked.

  Claire looked puzzled. “I don’t know.” She looked over at Josh Currey, her Chief of Intel. “What about it, Josh?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not,” he answered, a disappointed look on his face. “I’ve already had our communications experts look the device over, and they say that even with the codes there is no way the conversations can be tapped. The satellite feed is just too secure.”

  “Damn,” Ben said. “I was hoping . . .”

  Corrie, Ben’s own communications expert, interrupted. “Uh, Ben . . .”

  He glanced at her. “Yes, Corrie?”

  “As far as I know, El Farrar doesn’t even know we have Sharif in custody. What do you suppose would happen if you gave the big man himself a call on Sharif’s phone, letting him know we have it and have the codes to make it work?”

  “Yeah,” Coop added. “You could even drop a hint or two that we’d be listening in on his conversations with his group leaders and would be privy to his plans from now on.”

  “But,” General Goddard said, a look of derision on his face, “you’ve already been told we don’t have the technology to do that.”

  Coop’s lips turned up in a sly smile. “So? How is Farrar going to know that?”

  Ben agreed. “And even if he doesn’t quite believe us, he won’t know for sure.”

  He looked at Corrie and gave her a thumbs-up. “That’s a hell of an idea, Corrie.”

  Coop glanced at the propaganda expert down the table. “And as us accomplished liars know, it never hurts to fuck with an enemy’s mind.”

  Beth, who was Ben’s team’s most avid reader and researcher, looked up from the written transcript of the interrogation of Achmed Sharif.

  “Ben,” she said, “speaking of ideas, I have one that might be of interest to you.”

  Ben leaned back in his chair and smiled at Beth. She almost never spoke out in public meetings, and usually kept her thoughts to herself, being the most shy and retiring of his group of individuals.

  “Go on, Beth. Let’s hear it,” Ben said.

  “I notice that Sharif gave us quite a bit of information about El Farrar’s background and family and stuff back in Iraq in his interrogation.”

  “Yeah, he did,” Ben agreed, “but we haven’t had time to go through it fully with our Intel people. Did you notice something that may be of immediate help to us?”

  “A couple of things. First of all, Sharif said that most of the money El Farrar is using to finance this invasion comes from his family’s oil holdings in Iraq, most particularly a refinery near Al Basrah on the coast of the Persian Gulf. That’s point number one,” Beth said, glancing back down at the transcript on the table in front of her.

  Ben nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

  Coop interrupted. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I thought the U.N. took all the oil fields away from the Arabs after the war.”

  “They did,” Ben explained, “but the oil refineries were left in the hands of the previous owners. Even with less money being paid to th
em for the refining process, they still make a bundle off the oil fields, though not nearly so much as before.”

  “Oh,” Coop said.

  “Point number two, Sharif said that El Farrar was worth something in the neighborhood of a billion dollars or so, and that he’d recently taken his money out of his Swiss banks and put it in the Central Bank of Iraq so as to be able to use it more freely to buy arms and pay his troops.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ben said, now really confused about what Beth had in mind.

  “Dear,” Claire said in a condescending tone, clearly impatient with the slow pace at which Beth was getting to the point, “this is all very interesting, but just how can this possibly help us deal with this fanatic?”

  “There is an old adage in politics that can also be used in war,” Beth said firmly.

  “Now we’re talking about adages,” Claire said, smiling at her cabinet members.

  “Yeah, it’s ‘Follow the money,’ ” Beth finished.

  “As I said, that’s very interesting, but please get to the point,” Claire said a little testily.

  “The point is, if you cut off Farrar’s source of money, he can no longer finance his war. Once his funds dry up, so does his ability to hire troops and buy war materiel.”

  Claire started to speak, but Ben interrupted her. “For God’s sake, Claire, let her talk. I have a feeling I know where she’s going with this,” Ben said.

  Claire looked startled that someone would dare speak to her in such a manner, but she did shut up and let Beth finish her speech.

  “What do you propose doing with this information, Beth?” Ben asked.

  “First, either send in some Scouts from nearby Kuwait to sabotage the refinery, or bomb it into rubble with a couple of jets. That will cut off ninety percent of his family’s and his income.”

  Ben nodded, smiling. “And second?”

  “You remember that kid that Mike’s got working in Intel back home? The one that’s only about fifteen years old and is a computer geek?”

  “Yes,” Ben answered. “Mike uses him to monitor e-mail transmissions across the world. How can he help us in this matter?”

  “Well, he kinda likes me and he’s been trying to get me to go out on a date with him for several months.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Claire interjected, almost at the end of her patience.

  Ben silenced her with a look, and told Beth to go on with her talk.

  “Anyway, when he was trying to impress me with his computer knowledge, he told me he could hack into any banking system in the world, except the ones in Switzerland.”

  Ben grinned. “Ah-hah. Now I got you,” he said.

  “Would someone please explain to me what this is all about?” Claire asked, glancing at her cabinet, who all looked as perplexed as she did.

  Beth leaned back and gestured at Ben to go ahead.

  “Beth has come up with a great idea. We’ll cut off Farrar’s money in two ways. First, we bomb or sabotage his refinery so there will be no money coming in for the months it’ll take to get it back up and running. Second, we get one of our guys to hack into the Central Bank of Iraq and transfer all of Farrar’s savings to some other account, or if that’s not possible, at least screw up the bank’s computers enough so the money won’t be available to him for some time.”

  Claire leaned forward, now clearly excited by what she was hearing. “Yes! And if this crazy terrorist has no access to money, he can’t pay his troops and he can’t buy more guns and ammunition. In short, he’ll be out of business!”

  Ben smiled. “You got it,” he said, and then his expression sobered. “Of course, this will stop him from bringing in more men and equipment to replace those he lost in the airport incident, but his troops here will continue to fight until they are exterminated, money or no money. They won’t have any choice.”

  Claire waved his objections away with her hand. “That’s a relatively small matter,” she said. “We can deal with a few thousand infiltrators and guerrillas. As long as he can’t back them up with more troops and matériel, he’s at a dead end as far as taking over the country.”

  “That’s the way I see it too,” Ben said.

  “How soon do you think you can get your computer experts working on his bank account, and your men over to Kuwait to sabotage his refinery?” Claire asked.

  “I’ll have to check with Mike Post,” Ben said, “but the computer stuff can be started immediately. I’ll have to find out if we have any assets in Kuwait or if it’d be better to send a couple of our planes over there.”

  “I don’t care how you do it, just please get it done as soon as possible,” Claire pleaded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ben said, a touch of irony in his voice.

  Thirty-seven

  After the meeting broke up, Ben got to work on the assignments he’d been given.

  He arranged for an airplane to take his son Buddy and Mike Post back to their headquarters in the SUSA so Buddy could arrange to take out the refinery in Al Basrah and Mike could get his computer guru to work on Farrar’s bank account.

  Once they were on their way, he hooked up Sharif’s cell phone to a speaker device in the office Claire had provided for him and his team and gathered them around.

  “I thought you guys might like to hear this,” Ben said as he got ready to make a phone call to Farrar.

  Abdullah El Farrar, Mustafa Kareem, and Farrar’s eastern commander, Osama bin Araman, were in the middle of a strategy session with John Waters, the head of the eastern contingent of Farrar’s FFA allies, when the cell phone on Mustafa Kareem’s belt began to ring.

  Kareem carried the phone so it wouldn’t be a bother to Farrar, and he handled the more routine matters that didn’t need Farrar’s input.

  They were all bent over a map on the table, studying troop positions and movements, when the phone rang.

  Kareem stepped back from the table with a muttered “Excuse me,” and pushed the button on the phone that would answer the call.

  “This is Kareem,” he said into the handset.

  “Let me speak to Farrar,” the voice on the phone said, without the customary deference the group leaders usually used when calling their supreme commander.

  “Who is this?” Kareem asked harshly, intending to give the caller a rebuke for his insolent manner of speaking.

  “It’s somebody your boss will want to talk to,” the voice said, evidently unfazed by Kareem’s tone. “So, unless you want him to have your balls for breakfast, let me speak to him.”

  Kareem was stunned. No one had dared speak to him in such a manner for years. He held the phone out and glared at it for a moment, trying to decide what to do.

  Farrar looked up from the map and saw the expression on Kareem’s face. “What is it, Mustafa?” he asked, wondering which of his team leaders was on his private line.

  “I don’t know, excellency,” Kareem said. “The caller refuses to give his name and is speaking in a very insolent manner.”

  Farrar held out his hand. “We will see about that,” Farrar said, his expression darkening. He was not used to anyone treating him with anything less than the most abject respect and fear.

  He took the phone and put it to his ear. “This is Abdullah El Farrar. Who is this?” he asked in a very harsh tone.

  “Abdul, you old son of a bitch. How’re you doin’?” the voice asked cheerfully.

  Farrar’s face flushed with anger. “How dare you address me so!” he exclaimed, his anger turning to rage at the insolence of the caller. He would have him executed for this.

  “This is Ben Raines, Abdul. Just thought I’d call and have a chat with you.”

  Farrar’s entire body jerked at the name. How in Allah’s name did the infidel Raines get a coded phone and the codes to use it, not to mention having Farrar’s secret phone number?

  He forced himself to calm down. He would get the answers soon enough. Now he must exercise extreme caution. Ben Raines had a reputation as a devil when it
came to war strategy, and Farrar knew he would have to be careful how he handled him.

  “Hello, Mr. Raines,” Farrar said, struggling to keep his voice calm, even as the men in the room looked up at him with surprised expressions at the mention of Raines’s name.

  “How are you enjoying your visit to the United States?” Farrar asked. “I hear that you are assisting President Osterman in her efforts to retain control of her country.”

  “Oh, the visit has been fine so far,” Ben replied, his voice still cheery, as if he were having a casual conversation with an old friend. “In fact, I might even say it has been very interesting.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Farrar said. “As for me, the country is entirely too cold for my liking, and the food is simply abominable.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said, “I don’t imagine you can find too many five-star restaurants in the States that serve goats’ heads and dates, can you?”

  Farrar’s face flushed anew at the insult. Raines must know that only peasants and extremely poor people in Arab countries dined on goats’ heads.

  “Might I ask how you came into possession of one of our phones and my private number?” Farrar said, ignoring the insult for the moment.

  “Oh,” Ben said, “I almost forgot. Achmed Sharif says to tell you hello and to give you his regards.”

  The mention of Sharif’s name and the fact that Raines evidently had him as a prisoner came as a shock to Farrar. His team leaders had been told that under no circumstances were they to be taken alive.

  “Uh ...” Farrar said, trying to stall for time while he formulated a response. “How is Achmed?” he asked. “Well, I hope.”

  “He’s just fine,” Ben replied. “I didn’t realize your commanders were such talkative fellows, but I swear we’re having a hard time shutting old Achmed up. Talk, talk, talk, that’s all the man wants to do,” Ben said, twisting the knife a little in Farrar’s guts.

  “I hope what he says is not boring you,” Farrar said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, not at all, Abdul,” Ben said, calling Farrar again by the diminutive of his name, a terrible insult. “In fact, what he’s been telling us has been most illuminating.”