Mustafa’s fervor stirred the passions of his brothers, and he wanted to maintain their excitement and energy as he reviewed the plan. He gazed a long moment at each person in the room before continuing.
“Once I give the word, you must be prepared to act within forty-eight hours. We must overthrow the regime within twenty-four hours of our first move. If not, the government will have had time to call on their American and Chinese allies for help.” He paused to let this point sink in—everything depended on it.
“Our great revolution will start with special covert operations conducted by Commando Unit 22,” Mustafa said with obvious pride in his elite force of five hundred special-ops-trained mercenaries. “About half of this force will be deployed to plant dirty bombs in Saudi oilfields. Once that task is completed, we will notify the world that any attempt at a counteroffensive will result in the detonation of the dirty bombs, an action that will make the oil fields a radioactive wasteland for the next fifty years and spell doom for all oil-starved industrial economies. We will shortly thereafter explode an atomic bomb in the southern desert to prove that we possess nuclear weapons and to show our serious intent.” He waved off another comment and continued, thinking, Why must they always interrupt me?
“Concurrent to the dirty bomb emplacements, a number of Commando Unit 22 assassination squads will be deployed to take out designated leaders of the royal family and military unit leaders at a brigade or higher staff level. Unit 22 commandos will be equipped with Israeli and American weapons and carry identification linking them with Zionists and the American CIA. Their casualty rates will be heavy, and a search of their dead bodies will suggest that this is a threat against our homeland led by Zionists and the CIA.”
Mustafa noticed an appreciative smile on General Ali Jabar’s face, as he continued. “Under the pretext of protecting, not overthrowing, the royal Saudi government, we will order the regular army and air force units under our command to take out the military and political leaders deemed to be supporting the infidels. The situation will be chaotic, and rank-and-file soldiers are unlikely to question our orders—they’ll obey orders from their superior officers without hesitation.”
Ali Jabar will enjoy settling scores with a legion of air force officers and will probably enjoy doing some of the killing himself, Mustafa mused.
“The beauty of our plan,” Mustafa beamed, “is that while we are the over throwers of the royal Saudi regime, we will position ourselves as the protectors of it from Zionist and CIA infidels. We will brand everyone we kill as infidel supporters, and we’ll blame the assassinations of the royal family on the infidels. Once our opposition is eliminated, I’ll go on the air and express my regrets that the royal family had been assassinated. I’ll reluctantly agree to assume the leadership of the Saudi government under the terms and provisions of the 1992 Law of Succession and, as a direct descendent and legitimate heir of Abdul Aziz ibn Saud, I will take the throne of power.”
Mustafa could sense that his summary was whetting the appetites of his compatriots and continued: “Upon overthrowing the Saudi government and booby trapping our oil fields with dirty bombs to deter foreign aggressors, we will start the purification process to rid our new regime of enemies and infidels. We may eventually be branded as the attackers and not protectors, but by the time the opposition finds its voice we will hold all the levers of power.”
“But remember, my brothers: we must not categorize the Saudi government overthrow as jihad. Always remember, we are protectors of the regime from outsiders, not perpetrators of the overthrow. Once the coup is consummated and consolidated, we’ll commence our international jihad. We will begin by issuing our ultimatums, first to the infidels, leading to the fall of Israel; second to other OPEC nations, announcing our expectations and the consequences if they fail to comply; and third to any countries hoping to purchase OPEC oil without our knowledge. In the process, we will make every effort to marginalize Iran and neutralize Iraq.”
The very thought of disempowering the hated Iranian government pleased Mustafa to no end, and he noticed the satisfaction on the faces of his coconspirators. Iran was an unacceptable threat and a roadblock to the true teachings of Allah.
“I will then call on our Gulf Cooperation Council partners—particularly Kuwait, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates—for support, along with our Monotheistic brothers in Pakistan and Iraq.” As lead partner in the GCC, Mustafa knew his stock was high among key leaders in the cartel. If personal diplomacy failed, his secret plan B would certainly change their minds.
“We will cut off all oil shipments for a limited period of time to let the magnitude of our actions sink in for all oil-importing nations—particularly the United States and China. After a short period of time we will partially lift our moratorium on oil sales but charge penalty fees that will increase weekly for nations failing to comply with our directives.”
Bawarzi interrupted, asking, “Could you refresh me, Prince Mustafa, on the final penalty fee number upon which we have decided?”
“Of course,” he answered politely, amazed that Bawarzi couldn’t remember this all-important detail. “For every week a government fails to meet our demands, we will add a ten percent surcharge. So, if oil is trading at $300 per barrel and they are not in compliance after the first week, oil prices will increase to $330. Add another ten percent to the total for every week they fail to comply, and it will be only a matter of time before we bring the infidels to their knees.” Irritated with Bawarzi’s interruption, he continued.
“This move will enlarge our coffers while bringing the world to the brink of total financial collapse. We will quickly see how willing the American infidels are to back their friends in Israel, and we’ll not make things easy for China either should they choose to purchase backdoor oil from Iran or other OPEC nations.”
He conveniently skimmed over the challenge of getting other OPEC nations to play ball, but had confidence in his unspoken plans.
“In one grand move, we will bring the two superpowers to their knees. At that moment the conditions will be right for the declaration of our global jihad. We will once and for all establish the supreme rule of Allah and rid the world of infidels.”
Mustafa had poured his heart and soul into the presentation and sat back in his chair, tired from the effort. He took a long swig from his water bottle. His brothers applauded, confident that a more holy world was within their grasp. More importantly, he knew they understood the need to act with ruthless efficiency if they were to succeed.
“Thank you, Prince Mustafa, for your masterful presentation,” said Mohammed al-Hazari. “You have stated with simple elegance the plan we have all worked on for so long. Somehow it has never sounded so imminent as when you have spoken of it tonight. We all know what we have to do, and you may rest assured that every person in every school and mosque in our country will be told what has happened and why within twenty-four hours of our victory. We will reach them long before they have a chance to see it on the Internet or read about it in the paper, and when they finally do, it will be through the media sources we control. We will be ready.”
“Thank you, my brother.” said Prince Mustafa, with gratitude for the mullah’s comment. “You are an inspiration to us all; you speak with Allah in your heart.”
Prince Hahad ibn Saud rose to his feet and stated, “My men will eliminate the commanding officer of the royal guard along with his top loyalist officers and replace them with our own. Once the apostate officers have been eliminated, my troops will do what they are ordered to do. We’ll be ready, and if the key Saudi leaders are all in Riyadh at the same time, our job will be that much easier.”
Prince Mustafa rose again to report that his Commando Unit 22 was already staging near the location of Prince Bawarzi’s 15th Armored Brigade.
“Unit 22 will move fast to plant the dirty bombs in Saudi oil fields throughout the kingdom. They will then regroup and be made available later, if needed, to infiltrate and destroy the oi
l fields of any potentially antagonistic members of OPEC. Unit 22 hit teams will, as I mentioned, take out key leaders of major Saudi military units and thereby create discontinuity in the command structure of loyalist military units in the early hours of the coup. This will be of critical importance.”
Prince Bawari smiled and said, “The 15th Armored Brigade is prepared to occupy the major crossroads, airports, and communication centers around Riyadh. In addition, we have brother military units in other parts of the country—specifically in Jeddah, Mekkah, Madinah, and other locales—that stand ready to take over important roadways, communication centers, airports, and local police forces. There will be shooting between loyalists and our forces, but the losses will be acceptable. To the extent Unit 22 can take out key military commanders, our chances for a less violent takeover will be greater.”
General Aakif Abu Ali Jabar, a ruthless, arrogant man, smugly reported, “In essence, I am the commanding officer of our air forces and will be for at least another month, as the commanding general is now recuperating from open-heart surgery. I will immediately arrest a leading echelon of about a dozen officers and have them shot on the spot as traitors. Dealing with their subordinates—who will be quaking in their boots—will be easy; I will demand their full loyalty. I will shut down all airports and air services not friendly to us and provide our ground forces with transport planes and fighter cover as needed. We’ll secure the special air-force units and missile sites capable of delivering nuclear weapons, should that option be needed, and we’ll also be ready to support our forces in maneuvers against shipping or port facilities.”
Ali Jabar glowed with delight as he envisioned the next phase of his involvement.
“Last, we will detonate an atomic bomb to demonstrate our nuclear capabilities. We will warn the infidels that we can use them in a variety of ways including an EMP attack, which is truly our ultimate weapon of mass destruction.”
“My brothers,” said Prince Mustafa with sincere affection, “I am deeply grateful for your commitment and judicious planning. I only hope my many visits to the GCC Gulf countries over the years will bear fruit, and that they will join us in the jihad you have so masterfully planned. The world’s preoccupation with the Chunxiao event will continue for a while, and the departure of the American naval forces will open the window of opportunity for our plan. While jihad is imminent, we must wait for the most opportune time to launch it. Once we start, there is no turning back.”
Indeed, he mused, we can not maintain a high state of readiness for long without being detected. Silently, he vowed that they would not be disappointed.
16
Hart Senate Office Building
22 September 2017
Hugo Bromfield could easily have won the Most Despised Senate Staffer in Washington award, if ever such an award were to be given out, and he was tremendously proud of his carefully cultivated take-no-prisoners persona. He couldn’t care less what others thought of him, as long as they feared him.
Sitting behind his oversized desk in the office next to the senator’s, he snarled at a young assistant to fetch him a coffee and several files. He was preparing for a conference call with his boss and Wellington Crane, a man he deeply admired. His boss, Senator Tom Collingsworth, though a lightweight, had connections that were important to Hugo’s career.
When he had first met Senator Tom Collingsworth a few years back, Hugo knew he hit pay dirt. Collingsworth was his kind of guy—far more interested in results than the methods used to get them. He had been thrilled when Collingsworth offered him a job as his chief of staff and absolutely ecstatic when Collingsworth was named chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee in 2017. He now had a position that transcended the mundane duties of representing the people of Texas. He despised the daily stream of ten-gallon hats and cowboy boots that flowed through the Collingsworth office, but he welcomed the bigger challenges of foreign policy. He quickly discovered his boss was an intellectual featherweight who could be easily swayed. And, like the hapless Colonel Klink in the old Hogan’s Heroes sitcom, he could also be easily manipulated.
He finished his coffee and walked next door for the three-way 8:30 meeting just as the phone rang “Good morning, Senator Collingsworth,” came the familiar voice heard by twenty million Americans every day, “How are you this morning?”
“Just fine, Wellington,” the senator replied, “although the weather has turned cold and rainy here in Washington. I’d sure like to be down in Myrtle Beach with you, but that will have to wait.” The senator certainly isn’t above shamelessly angling for an invitation, Hugo mused.
“I hope it will be in the near future, Senator. You know how much I admire and respect you,” Crane responded. Was it Bromfield’s imagination, or did he detect a hint of bile in that resonant voice?
“Thank you, Wellington. That means a lot to me, and I think you know I feel the same way about you. I’m on the phone, by the way, with my chief of staff, Hugo Bromfield. You remember Hugo, don’t you Wellington?”
“Why of course,” said Crane, “How are you, Hugo?”
“Just fine, Mr. Crane, and thank you for asking,” Bromfield replied. He could play the part of obsequious fan even better than his boss.
“Hey, none of this ‘Mr. Crane’ stuff. We’re friends, Hugo, and I want you to call me Wellington. Okay?”
“Thank you, Wellington, I’ll remember that,” Hugo replied, pleased by the offer of intimacy with this great American icon. Hugo could take or leave the ideological drivel that Wellington dished out, but he sure admired his ability to manipulate public opinion.
“As you know, Senator, I’m as outraged as you by the shabby treatment the BM administration has given our loyal ally, Japan, throughout this whole Chunxiao affair. It is absolutely unconscionable, and what’s worse, it makes it look like we are cozying up to those no-good commies in China. It makes no sense, and my twenty million listeners are as outraged as you and I. It goes entirely against the philosophy of the Pax-Americana movement I am privileged to lead, and it has to stop.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Wellington,” the senator replied in a self-righteous voice. “Burkmeister and I may technically be in the same party, but you know the utter disdain I have for him and his administration.”
“I certainly do, Senator, and that is precisely why I am talking to you today and not the other ninety-nine of your so-called colleagues. You were an absolute hit on my program last week. I’m telling you, I have never received more emails, phone calls, or letters after a show as I did when you were on. I wish I could tell you how many times you were described as ‘that great American’ or something to that effect.” Crane was smearing it on, but Hugo knew the senator was too obtuse to know the difference. There was no such thing as over flattering a man like Collingsworth.
“I’m truly humbled by your remarks, Wellington,” Collingsworth simpered. “What can I do for you today, sir?”
“That’s what I like about you, Senator—you’re a no-nonsense, right-to-the-point kind of guy. All right, here it is: I plan to launch a nationwide campaign against the BM boys, using my Pax-Americana program as a foil to show how morally and intellectually bankrupt the administration is. I want to expose them for the threat they are to American society and our standing in the world. I’m dead serious about this. I’ll take my show on the road, broadcasting from cities all over the country. It will be a constant theme on my show for weeks—months if necessary—however long it takes for America to wake up.” He paused for a moment.
“Keep talking, Wellington,” said the Senator. “I really like what you’re saying.”
“Here’s the deal, Senator. I want to anchor my entire campaign around a few great Americans. I have already lined up the Most Reverend Payton Eastwood to represent the religious angle, and the retired four-star Marine Corps General Michael Axman to give us the military slant. I’m now looking for an American statesman who represents the true values of Pax-Americanism and is no
t too shy to take a stand on them. Frankly, Senator, there’s no greater American statesman I know of today than you, and I would be mighty pleased and proud if you would join me in this effort.”
“Wellington,” said the senator with a tear in his eye and quiver in his voice, “I would be deeply honored to join your team. I’ll do whatever I can in my own modest way to help the cause. I may even have some additional ammunition to bring to the battle in the next couple of weeks.”
“That’s great, Senator, you just made my day. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that we’ll be working together to save America. I thought you might be reluctant to go against the BM administration, what with your shared party affiliation.” Crane surely knew that this subtle challenge to Collingsworth’s manhood would set him off, Hugo mused. “But then, I know you are a man of principle, not party, and I shouldn’t be surprised. By the way, what’d you mean by ‘bringing in some additional ammunition'?”
“Let me say a couple of things, Wellington. First, I’m not at all reluctant to take on the Burkmeister administration. They don’t scare me a bit.” Collingsworth paused, obviously hoping his great act of political courage would not go unnoticed.
“Second, Hugo and I have been working overtime this past week to draft a resolution I’ll soon introduce to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. I’m calling for official censure of the Burkmeister administration for its failure to honor our longstanding treaty agreements with Japan and for jeopardizing the national security of the United States of America. We hope to do this later next week. We may not have the political juice to get the resolution passed, but it’ll certainly call the media’s attention to the abominable policies of the Burkmeister clique. We’ll also be serving notice that we won’t sit back and let their flawed policies proceed unopposed.”
Lethal Trajectories Page 11
