It began July 4, 2011 at 4:45am Iraq local time.

The Americans announced on the previous day, the long and costly war in Iraq was over. They stated they were organizing and preparing to withdraw all remaining combat troops inside the borders of Iraq.

How could they know that there will be no withdrawal, at least not on their terms?

After ten years of organizing the war of wars, the surprise invasion by America’s enemy is quick and deadly. Nobody knows what is coming until it is too late. The American people, and their allies, listen in disbelief as the media announces the single day’s death toll exceeds that of the whole war tallied.

Then, the world is stunned by the first major surprise attack on the U.S.

The White House, President Obama begins immediate discussion with his staff and heads of allied heads-of-state on the use of nuclear weapons. There will be no “clean” war this time. Perhaps this will be the end of all wars.

One thing is certain. The world is about to be changed, if not destroyed.

A New World Order

Phase One: The Iraq WarBy S.G. Taylor

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 S.G. Taylor
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-4338-4

Chapter One

It Begins With Words:

January 30th, 2002 4am Local Time

3541'N, 5125'E Tehran, Iran

"Did you hear that Ahmad?" demands the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. His tone rings out both loud and annoyed, his dark eyes alight with anger. He is a tall, thin man with an austere expression that daunted most people, especially his own. After the top secret meeting he'd attended last month between the Iran and the United States, he had been certain Mr. Bush would not take outright actions against his regime. Obviously, he had been wrong.

"Yes." Ahmad answers in his sternest tone. He name is Ahmandinejad and he is known around the world as President of the Unified Republic. The Iranian President, in truth, possesses very limited powers. Ahmad is all too aware how easily he could be removed from office by Khamenei and thus subjugates his own ambitions to please the man. He has long since learned to accept the impotence of his role. He understands he is just a face for the government to wear. He is meant to placate the populace by his presence and be a mouthpiece, speaking the words of the Ayatollah. The President of Iran knew he was a political puppet, his very position created to calm the people and soothe the West. And, while he might inwardly long to rebel, to flout the strict rules imposed upon him by Khamenei, he would not. He understood duty.

"How dare he label us this 'Axis of Evil'?" Khamenei demands. "How dare he? We cannot stand for this anymore, Ahmad! We must unite and bring down this beast. The time has come!" The Ayatollah's outrage is palpable, radiating out from him to fill the room. He has long thought of Iran as his country, and the Iranian people as his own. He is a powerful and ambitious man. He is a dangerous man.

The large conference room where they sit is utilized every time an important world leader spoke or an international conference was broadcast. It seemed to Ahmad that, more and more often, it is the Americans who performed on the screen. For tonight's American State of the Union address, Ahmad and Khamenei had met alone and now watched as they had many times before. They sat across from one another at the large oval table which could seat fifty-two. They shared coffee and mocked the speech until it ended. The following day both knew the table would be covered in papers, laptop computers and the paraphernalia of politics. Each of the high backed chairs would be filled with members of the President's staff and the Country's military leaders. Each of them would be dissecting the speech, picking it apart and then comparing it carefully with any intelligence they'd gathered. Some of them, Ahmad knew, would look for hidden messages or secret agendas in the American president's words, all in an attempt to impress their Leader. The truth, Ahmad understood, was that most of the time the speeches did not matter at all. They held no hidden messages. The West was simply a menace to observe from behind a veil of cordial diplomacy, at least until now. He understood why Khamenei was angry. He was angry, as well, though not as livid. He had long since become inured to the idea of the American's ever appreciating the unique situations of the Middle Eastern nations. Their history was too short, their vision too limited for them to grasp the subtle nuances of Arab diplomacy. Still, he was troubled that there had been no warning from their operatives in the West about the vicious direction the speech had taken. Neither he nor the Supreme Leader enjoyed this sort of surprise.

"Sir," Ahmad addressed Ayatollah cautiously. "I think it best we discuss this information with clear heads. I would like to sleep on it and then convene our council to go over the matter in detail tomorrow morning. I can have our ministers and our intelligence officers here early. I share your wish to know why we were not given warning that such unjust accusations would be uttered in this speech. We must meet and decide what actions to take publicly."

"Yes." Khamenei concurred, his dark eyes cold. "Today shall be the day the world will begin to change. I want everyone here in three hours. I want a full briefing and ... there better be a damned good explanation about the lapse in intelligence on the speech. If you require sleep, you have three hours." With this he turns and walks through the oak door, his back ramrod stiff.

Ahmad's eyes follow Khamenei as he exits the room. He glimpses beyond the portal the elegant white marble of the hallway. Its walls are filled with great paintings, many by artists of renown. They are adorned by finely woven, ornate draperies and scented with precious oils. It is a beautiful and gracious place, but tonight it feels like a prison to the young Iranian President. Suddenly, he wants desperately to race down that hallway, out through the doors into the courtyard and thence into the pearl gray of early morning ... to be gone. He cannot, of course, nor would he. But he wished that he could. Instead, he has a meeting to organize and precious little time in which to do so. He knows most of those who will attend will already be awake. They will know what, or at least suspect, what is coming. Before there will be any peace in his life much less sleep, Ahmad will need to make someone pay for letting the West's accusations come as a "surprise".

January 29th, 2002 11pm Local Time

The White House

"Damn it George! If you want to start stamping labels on people, will you at least inform your staff first?" The Secretary of Defense yells into his phone. He had been home with his family watching the television when the President had dropped what the Secretary considered a verbal bomb. He knew the President, had known him for years. The move to the Whitehouse had changed him. "How the hell can I protect our people and this country if you don't keep me in the loop? You just can't go around ..."

"Calm down." The President's tone as he cuts the Secretary's sentence short is upbeat, even a little buoyant. "The changes in the speech were a sudden decision. You, of all people, know it's way past time for us to take a firmer stance. Besides, the American people loved it. We're already getting early poll results. Look, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. We can sit down and discuss it, and not just the two of us. Get your people together." With that the President clicks off his phone and leans back into the leather seat of his limousine with a sigh. Let them say what they wanted. It had been a big step but then, the people had demanded a big step. They are looking to him to lead them and that's what he'd do and no one will be getting in his way.

When the limo and its accompanying security detail reach the white house gates, they swing open soundlessly to admit the four vehicles and then close automatically as the last car enters. Armed escorts create a path from car to door to protect the President as he enters through a side door at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. There will be no incident today, he thinks. The strong arm of America and its resolve have not wavered in over two hundred years. His people know it. The world knows it.

The Secretary of Defense is standing in the foyer waiting for him. He motions and the larger man falls easily into step beside him. "You couldn't wait five more minutes?" The President says with a grimace. "Damn but you're impatient."

"I suppose I could, Mr. President." The Secretary answers politely but brusquely. He and the President have the sort of friendship that allows him more levity in speaking his mind. "But if I sit inside and wait, you might not realize how darned upset I am. Do you have any idea how much hard work your speech has just ripped apart?"

"Is everyone ready?" asks the President, pointedly ignoring the comment. At times, he thinks perhaps it might have been better not to appoint someone who was a friend to top-level cabinet positions.

"Yes. They're in the East Conference room, sir" The Secretary answers in a tone that is both frustrated and anxious, but he doesn't add more. He will let the President play this game his way.

"Let's do this then, shall we?" The President says, and quickens his pace. They are still walking side by side. Their Secret Service escorts shadow their steps, silent reminders of perilous times in this Land of the Free. Inside the President feels confident; he possesses a firm resolve to carry out his duties. And yet, tonight, he feels something more, a sort of power rush, as if the blood pumping through his veins is more alive. Hell, tonight he feels twenty years younger. Perhaps it is the power? He speculates. This is what pure power, the kind few will ever know, feels like and it's a heady drink. The meeting about to take place may very well dictate the course of history and he was in charge.

They reach the conference room at exactly 11:27p.m. The conference room is in an uproar, voices raised, cell phones singing and then, the doors swing open to admit the President. It falls silent. Not a word, not even a whisper, is heard. All eyes focus on him as he scans the room. He wears the expensive tailored suit and polished shoes of his office and notes that most of the attendees managed to attire themselves properly even at this hour. Some, however, have shown up in casual dress. Well, on short notice, it must be overlooked. He surveys the room. Papers and coffee cups cover the long table. While he cannot know it, the room is, oddly, very much like its counterpart in Iran. This table can also seat over fifty people and, at the moment, there are no empty seats. And quite a few people, including the ever-present Secret Service Agents, are standing along the walls. A huge flat screen television with direct connection to a laptop computer fills one wall. On its red screen, centered in block letters is a single word. Secret. The in-house communications system that connects this room to lines in other parts of the building has been cut off. There can be no mistake. This is a high level secure meeting and those present are both silent and solemn as they await its beginning.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the President begins, "by now you are aware we have a new direction in foreign policy. I deeply regret that we could not have had this conversation prior to my speech, but it was necessary. The American people have spoken. Their anger over the events of September 11, 2001 has not been assuaged. They want us to bring the monsters that masterminded that attack, and their allies, to justice. It is up to all of you to make this happen. We must go after these countries, and if we cannot get them to cooperate in the systematic destruction of that network of terrorists that have struck at the heart of our great nation, then we will be forced to weigh military options. Better that we defeat our enemies before they make it to U.S. soil. We will never suffer a repeat of the atrocities we experienced on that fateful day. I charge you to more actively target these threats on their own ground, or the ground of those who aid and abet them." He pauses and looks around the room, assessing the reception of his words.

No one speaks, each anxiously waiting for the Presidents next words. The red screen flickers a second and then settles, creating a bit of a stir. The bright florescent lighting creates a glare on the polished surface of the table. Cool air flows into the room through overhead vents. The Secret Service personnel stand silently, two on each side of the room. Each keeps one hand on their holstered weapons and the other by their sides. The room crackles with the electricity of the moment. The air is so thick with it, it feels as if might erupt into chaos at any second. But it does not. Instead, the President takes a deep breath and begins to speak again.

"The Middle East is extremely unstable right now. We must bring stability to the region. It is imperative we bring the extremists that make no secret of their hatred for democracy under control. I believe we must begin this bold venture first by ending the murderous reign of Saddam Hussein in Iraq. By establishing a democratic government there, we will be in a strategic position to bring stability to a part of the world that has existed on the cusp of war, if not in war, for centuries." As he speaks he looks around the room at all the familiar faces, some of them long-time friends. He knows this next year will be fraught with difficulties, horrors and hardships. But, he also believes that it shall be his legacy to establish a lasting peace in the Middle East. The President knows it will cost American lives, not to mention taxpayer dollars. But, the American people make no secret of their demand for national security. Moreover, they are still thirsty for the blood of the persons who attacked them on 9/11/01. There is no doubt in his mind that they will support him in this. His cause, he assures himself, is just.

"Mr. President," the Secretary of Defense breaks the silence, "we'd need a lot of evidence before we dare go after Iraq ..."

"I couldn't agree more," the President agrees, cutting off the Secretary's speech. "So, from this moment on, I want to increase our financial support for the Kurdish Resistance in the North of Iraq. We need to increase the number of Special Operations personnel on the ground in Iraq, too. Also, squeeze out as much intelligence as you can. Squeeze hard. We need to make a case against Hussein and this regime that will stand up to worldwide scrutiny. I think I'll need a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff tomorrow to talk over the specifics." He turns to an aide. "Set it up." The aide nods and the President looks back to those gathered at the table. "It's up to you, friends. I'm asking a lot but I know you're up to the task. I want you all to work together, as a team. Get me the information I need to make this happen. I will expect a full briefing from each department before my meeting with the Joint Chiefs tomorrow. And thank you, in advance. I know you'll get it done." Having said this, he smiles and then strides out of the room. The two Secret Service agents turn as one and follow as he exits. When the door closes behind him, the room returns to a state of uproar once again.

The Secretary of Defense stares at the closed door. He wonders just when George lost his mind. Oh, he agreed that Saddam Hussein was a bully and a tyrant. He would love to see peaceful democracy thriving in the Middle East. But he didn't want to see his country dragged into another Vietnam, all because they could make a case for it. He would, however, do his job. And the President had been quite explicit about what he expected.

January 30th, 2002 7:30 a.m. Local Time

3541'N, 5125'E Tehran, Iran

Khamenei's head whirls giddily as he considers the possibilities of war with the United States. Of course, an outright declaration of war is out of the question. The U.S. would crush them quickly. But even as he admits this to himself, he knows that there has to be another way to bring down this upstart tyrant and disgrace him in the same way he has insulted the people of Khamenei's own country. He has been thinking along these lines for some time, and has come up with the outline of a very dangerous, far reaching scheme, one that will ensure that his people will be treated with the respect they deserve, and that the Americans will get their just desserts, as well.

He walks slowly down the opulent hallway that leads to the conference room. He passes delicate ironwork doors that lead through arched portals into other parts of the palace. As he continues, there is no doubt in his mind that all his people are assembled and waiting. The people respect and fear him too much to disobey and that is as it should be. As he reaches the door and it opens.

Ahmad greets the Supreme Leader in the traditional manner. The younger man's face is haggard and drawn. His dark, brown eyes bear large bags beneath as evidence of the sleepless night. And there is a ghost of fear deep in those eyes. He could not sleep. He had been forced to spend his three hours calling together those gathered, and all the while pondering the once unimaginable possibility of war with the United States. He has also been thinking of his family, and toying with the idea of sending them away to a safer place, at least for the time being. Yet he is all too aware that the times are dangerous and such thoughts might be misconstrued as treason. He fears what will happen, not only to him but also to his family if he sends them away and is caught. He sighs silently. There may not be time to get them out anyway, if the Ayatollah's mood has not improved. Better he concentrate on his duties for now. He can do nothing until after the meeting at any rate. He will decide when he has gleaned the knowledge of their ministers and military, and when he has learned what he can of Khamenei's plans to exact revenge upon the United States.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from A New World Orderby S.G. Taylor Copyright © 2009 by S.G. Taylor. Excerpted by permission.
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