Chapter Five
Western Massachusetts:
J.W. Hawkins did not have a clue about taking over a country. He had thrown the idea to the Board without really thinking it over. Hawkins was famous for snap decisions that sometimes backfired on him and forced him to retract them. He was facing that same situation. The man was stubborn, however; he had not attained his high standing in the oil business by being squeamish and fainthearted. Hawkins had clawed his way from wildcat speculator to board chairman by brawn and brains. Along the way he had kept his body lean and fit; his dark hair showed some gray at the temples but that only added allure to his suave and polished manners; he was always impeccably dressed; he smiled easily; his bright blue eyes had unsettled many opponents with their guileless directness; he had married once but the marriage ended tragically when his wife died in an automobile accident, thus robbing him of any restraining human influence; there had been no children. As much as J.W. Hawkins exuded sophistication and charm, at heart and mind he remained a pirate, a predator, and a ruthless competitor, devoid of sentiment and basic human feelings. According to his business philosophy, taking over a country was just another left-handed method of doing business. The job should be approached the same way as any other commercial takeover.
Now as he observed the setting sun from the porch of his weekend retreat in the beautiful Berkshire Hills of Western Massachusetts, the Chairman laid out his attack plan.
He needed a leader, someone with military experience, someone who understood politics, especially international politics, someone who could recruit experienced followers, someone who had planning brains. He stopped suddenly. Did he want a full-scale military operation? How could he run the country? He would need an army. That would be impossible. He had to do it first through political means. That meant buying out politicians; that was the easy part. In his experience all politicians were venal, unprincipled, and weak. He had never found one who wasn’t.
What part of the government should he take over? First, the Ministry of the Interior, which in most countries controlled the police, the communication network and the militia would have to be occupied. Second, the armed forces would have to be managed by his chosen people. Third and most important the Prime Minister would have to be Hawkins’s man, bought, and paid for by outright bribery. Could it be done? In his arrogance J.W. Hawkins believed it could be.
The biggest decision would come as he and some select members of the Board, by select he meant members whom he could trust implicitly, would decide on the country to be acquired. That necessitated research. He picked up his private phone and dialed a New York number. The game had started.
Dublin, Ireland:
Michael Devlin, late a Captain in Her Majesty’s Irish Fusiliers, was totally bored with his bucolic existence. Now retired on full pension, even though his departure had come under a cloud, he needed excitement like most men needed drink. Twenty-five years of service, most of it in exotic locales such as Central Asia, the India-Pakistan border and the Persian Gulf had honed his martial skills and instincts to a dangerous level. He could never go back to a catatonic existence. Devlin well knew there was no room for him in this conformist world. He also realized that he was a dinosaur, a throwback to the soldiers of fortune who once roamed the world seeking adventure, but actually doing other people’s dirty jobs for money. There had never been any romance in those undertakings; most of those modern Conquistadors who fought in foreign lands, were either killed outright or lived out their days in lonely exile. All he knew was soldiering; he would end his days soldiering. Where would he do it? That was the question.
He was silently, brutally reviewing his future as he sat by the phone, waiting for some enterprising but unscrupulous businessman to call him.
Baku, Azerbaijan:
Yuri Alexandrov realized that time was running out for him and his political party, the Democratic Reform Party, as he surveyed the booming city from his ninth-floor office in the World Bank headquarters building. Since his country’s independence from Russia in 1991, foreign oil companies had rushed to Azerbaijan in search of oil concessions. They had been involved in an insane scramble to establish contacts with government officials from the President’s office to the most junior member of Parliament. The Caspian Sea area was believed to be the depository of oil and natural gas deposits that could rival the Persian Gulf. The one big problem was that the oil companies could not easily move the oil out because the Caspian Basin was completely landlocked. Therefore, a pipeline was the only answer. Where to put the line was the question no one could yet answer.
Alexandrov sighed as he reviewed the situation. Politics, politics, politics controlled every decision contemplated by the world’s oil companies. The best and cheapest line lay through Iran, down to that country’s sophisticated terminals on the Gulf, but the problem was that America had become embroiled with Iran’s government in silly disputes. The safest route would be through Central Asia into Western China. That line would be 2,000 miles long and very expensive. Russia already had a line going north and west to the Black Sea. No one quite trusted the Russians being the sole carrier, however. That left Turkey and the other Caucasus countries. His own country had been fighting neighboring Armenia over a piece of insignificant territory and losing badly. That left only Georgia as the only stable country that could be trusted with the pipeline. How long could that last? There had already been assassination attempts against the popular president. In fact, how long would his own country remain democratic?
The political parties could not unite on agendas for orderly development of the oil reserves. Rumors of graft, payoffs and corruption in high places circulated at all levels of society. The country could not even clean itself of Russian influence. Why, there was even an ex-KGB man as president. What could be done?
As the wily politician looked out the window, he was just in time to see a demonstration in the streets. He had no idea about the reason. He just knew that life in Azerbaijan was not the best possible. The country needed a firm hand. Alexandrov came to a decision. The Democratic Reform Party was the best qualified to rule the country and he was the party’s leader. He would take over the country in a coup, bloodless if that was possible, by force if it became necessary.
. He would need help, both military and financial. Who could help him? The only foreign firms willing or able to do so were American. Did he know anyone ruthless enough to join him?
Alexandrov shook with laughter. There was only one man: J.W. Hawkins! That scoundrel would do anything to stay on top of the oil business. The politician and would-be dictator placed a long-distance call to New York City.
