Full Blast. Don Pendleton

have one irritating fault, my friend,” he finally said.

      “That is?”

      “You think too much. It’s a mistake to keep going over everything. Create your plan, decide how to make it work, carry it through. Simple. It works for me. Once I make my decision, I send it off and sit down to have a drink. You should try it.”

      The door opened and Abdul Wafiq entered. He spotted Khariza and went to stand beside him.

      “We have had a communication from our people back home. They are asking when the next shipment of weapons is going to arrive.”

      “Tell them to contact the Syrian base. I had confirmation the weapons were delivered two days ago. We have to be careful. The Americans are concentrating on the border area heavily now. There are patrols. Air surveillance. We have to alter the routes and will only be able to move small consignments for the present.”

      “They have asked about air-drops. I told them that would be difficult with the Americans and British maintaining patrols.”

      “I understand their frustration, Abdul, but we have to proceed with caution. We are not in a position to mount a large-scale assault. Our brothers must understand this. Impatience will not serve us in the long run. As long as we continue our isolated attacks, we will still achieve results. Over time, even the Americans will begin to feel the pain we cause. With all their might and their superior firepower they cannot defeat a mobile hit-and-run force. We can deliver telling punishment and be gone before they can find us. Remember this. We are fighting on our own ground. We know the country well, better than they ever will. We have a thousand places to hide. We have support. And we have the will to continue as long as it takes.”

      Wafiq turned to leave.

      “Wait. One more thing. We may have an informer in our group. This American appears to have some knowledge about the nuclear devices. Have an investigation carried out, but make certain it is done carefully. Use only those people you can trust fully. If there is a traitor, it will do no good to alert him. You understand?”

      Wafiq nodded and left.

      “I must go to the training area to see how the volunteers are coming along,” Khariza said, voicing his thoughts.

      “It won’t do any harm,” Dushinov agreed. “Tell them they are important to the cause. That they are going to make a valuable contribution.”

      “They are helping to shape Iraq’s future.”

      “That sounds a little cynical considering your final solution. It’s not as if they know about that.” Dushinov raised his bottle, teeth showing in a wide smile. “But tell them how important they are anyway.”

      “Be honest, Zoltan. Am I being rash? Going too far with this nuclear blackmail? Will it even work?”

      “My mistake was not putting enough of this in your tea,” Dushinov said, waving the bottle in Khariza’s face. “Here, have some more.” The rebel leader topped up Khariza’s mug.

      “We live in changing times,” he continued. “To achieve what we desire means taking chances. Ignoring all the rules and challenging the way things are. We can’t do that without drastic measures. If we sit around and bleat like mangy goats, nothing will change. Only we can do that. If it takes a nuclear bomb to make the Americans realize they will never be masters of Iraq, then so be it, my friend.”

      “Would you do such a thing?”

      “If it was guaranteed to piss off the Russians, I would press the button myself. Ah, listen to me, Razan. In the end you have only yourself to satisfy. I love my country as you love Iraq. The last thing I would want would be the Americans tramping all over it. Telling me what to do. All they want is to get their hands on the oilfields. Under their control. To put Iraq under their boots and bleed the country dry. They don’t care about Iraqi freedom, only U.S. wealth and power. Deny them their oil and see how long they stay then.”

      KHARIZA’S INSTRUCTOR was a broad, giant of a man called Bertran. He was a mercenary. French-born, he had served in Algeria, but now sold his expertise for a price. A high price because he was good. Khariza had used the man before, in Iraq, to train his own combat squads. Bertran didn’t care about religion or politics. He liked his work and the rewards it brought.

      He was putting the group through their paces when Khariza arrived. When he recognized his visitor, Bertran put one of the men in charge and made his way over to where Khariza was climbing from the battered Toyota pickup.

      “How are they doing?”

      Bertran glanced back at the group. “When they leave here they will know everything there is to know about the AK-47, how to set explosives, the best way to kill a man without making a noise. What I can’t give them is experience.”

      “We all have to go through our first taste of combat. Didn’t you?”

      “I was born ready for it,” Bertran said, smiling. “Razan, this is not going to be an easy campaign. You understand what you are going to be facing?”

      “And what is that?”

      “The most powerful military machine the world has ever known. From a country with so much wealth and material it can sustain this for years.”

      “And yet they are unable to defeat my people. We use small strikes. Here and there. We worry at them like a small dog nipping their heels and running away before they can respond. Bertran, my friend, what good are a hundred battle tanks and an electronic airforce against a car packed with explosives driven into a building? Or an innocent-looking young woman walking into a crowd with explosives beneath her clothing?”

      “You make it sound so easy.”

      Khariza shook his head. “Nothing of worth comes easily. This is a war that cannot be won by usual tactics. It is intended to wear down the Americans. I will hit them in Iraq. Anywhere around the world American interests are vulnerable. They are easy targets. And most of all, I will hit them on their own soil. These warriors you are training will be my army. I will send them wherever they are needed to carry out the struggle. Here and at home, the American government is going to have to live with the bitter taste left by its foul actions against us. We will see how long the American people and their allies are prepared to suffer as we have suffered.”

      A chill wind blew in from the north, coming off the timbered peaks and sweeping in over the high cliffs and down into the isolated valley. It brought with it the smell of rain. Khariza huddled into his thick coat.

      “We need to step up our attacks. When can you have people ready?”

      “Give me two more days with this group and you can ship them out. Razan, are you all right?”

      “Why do you ask?”

      “You look tired. Take time to rest or you’ll not be able to think straight.”

      “It would be pleasant. But there is so much to do, and I need to be in Syria now that my delivery from North Korea has arrived.”

      “Your special cargo? Do I get to know what it is? Or should I keep my nose out?”

      “When the time comes, Bertran, you will be told. I promise.”

      “Good enough. Now, let me get back to see if they have remembered everything I’ve told them.”

      “I will talk to them before I leave.”

      Khariza stood and watched Bertran return to the group, taking back his command. His raised voice drifted across the rocky landscape. The wind was increasing, tugging at the canvas of the tents where the group was housed when they were not training. It pulled at Khariza’s coat. The first cold drops of rain stung his face and he raised it to the sky. The clouds, heavy and dark, were moving in across the valley.

      Razan Khariza saw them as a warning.

      There was a storm coming and when it arrived they would all feel its destructive power.