Dupree's Crude War

By Charles P. Carriere III

"The attack of the French oil tanker suggests Al-Qaeda plans to weaken the petroleum industry by conducting sea-based attacks against large oil tankers."
October 24, 2002, Transportation Security Information Report

"Osama bin Laden has a 'terrorist navy' of 15 ships [to be used for] missions of destruction. Ship insurer Lloyd's of London is said to be helping MI6 and the CIA trace vessels bought by Al-Qaeda ."
The Daily Mirror, February 12, 2004

On and off for the past 17 years, Charles P. Carriere III has been trying to get his Arab terrorism novel published. In June he sent the same letter to literary agents.

"All you interested in [a] novel about the plot of wealthy Muslim fundamentalists to devastate the oil industry by running freighters ? Think of it, an insurance agent as a hero who suspects [a] plot using Lloyd's worldwide resources."
Angus Lind column, The New Orleans Times Picayune, September 23, 2001

As you read Dupree's Crude War, which forecast events of today's global conflict, you'll wonder if the author is Nostradamus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 31, 2004
• ISBN: 9780595763931

Charles P. Carriere III

For the past 35 years, Charles P. Carriere, III, attorney, Chartered Life Underwriter (CLU) Chartered Property and Casualty Underwriter (C.P.C.U.), has been in the insurance business or practicing insurance law in New Orleans. He and his wife, Cynthia, have four children and eight grandchildren who also, happily, all live in New Orleans.

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DUPREE’S CRUDE WAR

Charles P. Carriere, III

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

DUPREE’S CRUDE WAR

All Rights Reserved © 2004 by Charles P. Carriere, III

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

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ISBN: 0-595-31580-1

ISBN: 978-0-5957-6393-1 (ebook)

CONTENTS

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

Epilogue

For Cynthia

Arabia Deserta, the Bedouin homeland beloved by Burton and Lawrence is no more. In its stead stand corrupt desert Sheikdoms whose formerly sparkling oases are now likelier to sprout oilrigs than palm trees. With the discovery and exploitation of the world’s largest petroleum reserves, desert ruling castes switched role models: from Wahabi warriors like Ibn Saud; to profligate nepotists like Adnan Khashoggi whose ruling passion is to batten off the Arabian Peninsula’s sole cash crop.

With the desert’s black gold the sine qua non of the industrialized nations, the PetroSheiks now possess the means to dominate whole economies: even involve the world’s only remaining SuperPower in a seemingly endless Gulf War, whenever the source of its wealth is threatened.

Consumed by greed, the PetroSheiks and oil-dependent nations failed to reckon on a charismatic Bedouin Prince obsessed with restoring his Peoples’ ancient way of life. In his Jihad, he runs across an unlikely adversary in a resourceful New Orleans insurance agent.

PROLOGUE

A pretty face peeked around the hesitantly opened door, and into the office of Sir Reginald Hawkins who stood over a conference table surrounded by gentlemen also surprised at the interruption. Yes, Mary? abruptly.

Terribly sorry to disturb you, Sir Reginald, but there is a gentleman to see you and he says it’s extremely urgent.

Who is he?

His name is Hamilton Eggleston Dupree, the third, she carefully enunciated while looking at her notepad. He is from America, and he says he is here about a very important matter.

Only an American would presume to come unannounced to the Chairman of Lloyd’s expecting to see him immediately. I cannot see him now, and not for several days. You know I have reports to prepare for scheduled conferences. Returning his attention to his papers, he expected to hear the door closed softly, but surprisingly he heard Mary’s voice again, perseverance mixed with apprehension.

I advised him he could not possibly meet with you now, Sir Reginald, but he is very persistent. I only came in because he said that if you do not see him, there might not be any more Lloyd’s.

1

An Arabian Peninsula desert slumbered beneath a sea of darkness, lighted only by stars and scattered oases. These oases were not pools of water surrounded by lush vegetation, but industrial complexes housing tanks of the oil that moved the world and also shattered the mores of the natives.

One such oasis glowed from lights marking a protective perimeter and from huge brilliant torches burning excess fuel the opulent petroleum lords could not use or profitably sell. Within the facility, a crew monitored the contents of thirteen tanks, each holding 150,000 barrels of oil, pocket change to this member nation of OPEC, the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter and two manned a control tower at the main entrance.

Beyond the umbra of the lights, three Bedouins rode their camels in the cool of the night. The tower guards thought they were riding past the facility, but they were keeping a constant distance from the ten-foot high fence which surrounded it, and when in front of the main gate, they pulled light anti-tank weapons from the far side of the camels’ humps and fired.

One projectile hit the power plant, the electrical lights went out, their brightness momentarily replaced by the flash of the exploding power source. The light fueled by the unwanted petroleum continued to glow, but the torches were so high that the desert floor was again where it had been at night for millions of years before the oil: at the bottom of a black sea.

The second round hit the base of the control tower and it toppled to the sand. The third blew open the main gate and sent the guard detail running for cover. Men in desert camouflage rose from the sands over which they had been crawling on their bellies, or appeared from behind dunes closest to the perimeter. All ran for the main gate as a half-track with mounted machine gun seemed to ski into the action, raising a wake of sand behind.

The leader was obvious even in the desert camouflage that covered all but his eyes. Over six feet, broad-shouldered, he stood in the half-track and drove fearlessly toward the main gate, steering with one hand, firing a mounted machine gun with the other at the guards and a few technicians who were now armed. An expert marksman, he hit only a few of the refinery personnel. Most of his rapid fire hit inches from guards firing from a prone position, filling their eyes with sand and obscuring their view. Other fusillades tore the cable fence near gunners who had to turn from the flying fragments. If a guard was standing away from the fence, he was cut down with a shot to the legs, and only if there was no other way for the leader to protect his men did he fire a fatal blast. The half-track neared the fence, but the leader still stood tall, oblivious to the shots ricocheting off the bulletproof windshield. He drove through the destroyed gate and headed for the most distant storage tank.

Behind the half-track came the foot soldiers, who secured the area by disarming the outmanned guards and rounding up the technicians who were more interested in surrendering than fighting. Other teams raced toward the tanks, quickly found a four inch water draw-off valve which they opened and then broke so that it could not be closed, careful not to cause an explosion of the contents. The crews then damaged the spare parts and equipment used to repair these valves and soon the oil, precious to some but detested by these raiders, was spilling rapidly into the sand. Another team moved on the double to the refinery facility and destroyed every vital piece of equipment needed to turn crude oil into good oil, store it properly and keep the facility operational.

The teams worked until they heard a muezzin repeatedly chanting, Allahu Akbar. The troops took up the chant, which they had all heard from the tops of Mosques five times a day all their lives. It was the first phrase of the Islamic call to prayer and also the signal that their work, done in the name of Allah, was at an end. They quickly retired from the tanks and refinery, pausing only to deliver one last destructive blow to another piece of equipment. Running to the main gate they boarded personnel carriers which had brought them to distant dunes from which they had marched and crawled to the attack. The carriers, stationed out of the hearing and eyesight of the guards in the control tower, had headed for the refinery as soon as the drivers heard the attack begin, and when the troops were on board, they moved out over the sand and quickly disappeared into the desert darkness. A few men remained, pointing the most sophisticated weapons at the bound guards and refinery personnel who had been herded together, and the leader, who stood in the darkness where his face could not be seen, spoke.

We will contact the devils you work for to send doctors to care for the wounded. We do not kill or injure unless it is necessary to fulfill our mission, to return Satan’s oil into the earth where it belongs and allow Allah to reclaim the hearts, souls and spirits of our people. This is our Jihad, our Holy War. He and the few men who had remained with him jumped on the half-track which soon disappeared into the night. Even as they rode off into the darkness, the leader’s presence seemed to linger around the refinery crew, who could hear in the distance the raiders chanting in their native tongue, There is no God but God.

Who was that masked man? asked a technician with a South Louisiana Cajun accent. His humor was lost on most of his fellow workers, who began to help untie the cords that bound them. As they gained their freedom, some tended the wounded while others went about the site to see if they could salvage or repair anything, feeling certain that they could not. Their movement was limited by the huge volume of oil that was spilling over much of the compound and flowing in rivers through the troughs of the sands.

Out on the desert, the leader caught up with his caravan of personnel carriers and took the point, then moved out of the driver’s seat as a trusted aide climbed forward, took the wheel, and stepped on the gas pedal as the leader relinquished it.

Congratulations. Another successful raid, said the driver.

Thirteen tanks with over six million gallons capacity each. Much of it will be back in the sand where it belongs before the valves can be repaired.

A significant sum.

A damned pittance! A pitiful percentage of the total reserves, to say nothing of what has not yet been discovered, or discovered but not yet pumped out of the ground.

Will it help our cause?

I do not know. The reserves are so great. And we killed one and may have fatally wounded two more. That does not help. Our enemy is the oil, Satan’s poison, not our own people or even the foreign infidels who work here.

The deaths and injuries could not be avoided.

No, he said sadly and then forcefully, but we have to remove this curse from our land and people. We have to return to the ways of Allah.

The leader’s eyes seemed to light the darkness looking for a solution, a way to save his people’s culture which had been primitive since the fall of Egypt, had followed the Straight Path of Islam since the seventh century and now, in a very short time, had become dramatically changed by the accumulation of an unbelievable amount of wealth from the production and sale of oil.

Dawn rose as the raiders’ caravan arrived at a militarized camp in rocky, rolling terrain fringing the desert. The leader jumped from his half-track before it stopped and moving like a panther went quickly into the largest tent and there to a table piled high with Arabian delicacies. As he reclined on a couch and devoured his meal, a tall, distinguished gentleman with graying neatly trimmed beard walked into the tent. Wearing desert dress, a long robe and burnoose which covered his head, he said, I heard the raid went well.

We accomplished our mission, but what have we accomplished? We cannot return all the oil to the sand. There is so much that is taken from it every day.

And there are those who do not agree that the oil is evil. I know you have not slept for many hours, but we have to leave to meet with those who oppose us.

When?

Soon. They are angry about these raids. They will be even angrier when they hear of the one this morning.

When must we leave?

As soon as you finish your meal.

*           *           *

Two days later, the dark one, the gray one and their cohorts were riding camels across the sands of their beloved homeland. This was their preferred mode of travel and mechanized transportation was used only when necessary. They had arrived at an oasis around which flowered large tents, and they dismounted before the most magnificent.

But before going inside, the dark one stopped and looked with contempt miles across the desert to where building tops of a modern city rose just above the sands, and as he watched, a huge passenger jet climbed skyward from behind the towering structures. As the engine’s noise grew dim, he looked from the sky to the oasis, the water beautifully nestled within the rich foliage, and then slowly walked into the tent.

Inside, the gathering was as incongruous as the modern city being near to this nomadic setting. The camel riders wore long, colorful coats over kaftans, ankle length garments tied at the waist and a kaffiyeh, the Arab headdress, a diagonally folded cloth secured by an agal. This was desert garb for thousands of years. The others present wore the kaffiyeh but the headdress draped over the shoulders of Saville Row suits from which dangled expensive watch chains, and many fat fingers were choked by gold and diamond rings. One huge man in suit and headdress motioned with a jeweled hand and they all sat on the heavy rugs. Then he spoke.

We asked to meet with you and agreed to your demand that we meet here in the desert. We must resolve our differences about the merits or harm of the wealth generated by the oil. I see no problems, but I know you feel strongly that the new wealth is not good for our people.

The wealth is not the problem, said the gray one, but the foreign fads and fashions that come with it. You told us steps would be taken to curb the influx of Western ideas and products into our Islamic culture, and yet our people are influenced by the West more each day.

Yes, yes, I know we have talked about this, and, of course, it is distressing to see the old ways change, but the people seem to be accepting new ideas while still keeping their faith, and do not seem to be concerned.

We are certainly concerned, and we know we speak for many others who are also concerned. Moreover, what difference does acceptance make. The Western ways are of the Devil. They are wrong—wrong, wrong!

Well, who is really to say they are wrong? Do we…

The dark-eyed one answered with much more fire and conviction than his righteous friend and his slovenly hedonistic adversary. How can you ask, ‘Who is to say they are wrong’? Allah and the Quran and the Prophet say they are wrong. I have visited your new cities of sin. Abu Dabi and other modern Sodoms and Gomorahs. What I see makes me wonder why Allah does not destroy them and all who live there. They are abominations. Satan’s dwelling places! The music, the dress, or lack of it, the cinemas, the alcohol, the sexual promiscuity. Recently a horse race in one of your cities attracted an international audience which brought all the sins of the West into our world. You and others like you are responsible for this plague that has come upon our people.

The fat man could listen to the elder statesman and assume the role of the heavy, bad kid who really had meant no harm, but when he spoke to the younger, more passionate one, he too became emotional and a dedicated and vicious defender of his own interests. He spoke menacingly to the dark one, If Allah wants something destroyed, he will destroy it. I do not believe Allah has been destroying the storage tanks and the refineries. I suggest some less than godly creatures of this earth have had something to do with that destruction. And I warn you that you should stop it now!!! The people can still believe in Allah. But they can believe in Allah in comfort, as easily as they can from a hole in the ground, in which many will continue to live without the wealth from the oil. Did not Allah give the oil to us, the oil which has helped improve the way of life of all our people?!?!

Yes, shouted the dark one, but the Western Devils brought it forth and they and their ideas will destroy us and with your assistance.

There was a painful silence as the heavy one tried to remain still, but then he began shouting and his whole body shook with the tension and anger inside him. This is a waste. We have taken time to come here to the desert at your request, to discuss how our interests might be joined. But it is useless to talk. You will accept nothing but a return to the old ways and a total rejection of all the benefits of the wealth of the oil. We will not give up our gains, never! Preach what you want, he continued, as he struggled to stand. Have everyone pay homage to Allah. But if you continue to destroy this country’s only source of wealth and attempt to send the people back to their survival existence, we will crush you!!!! He motioned, and the three-piece-suit contingent departed, the gray one pleading with them to stay. Minutes after they were gone, those left behind heard a deafening noise, and a high wind made the huge tent billow. Thinking that Allah was delivering his Divine Retribution on the modern Sodom or Gomorra not far from the oasis, the camel-riders rushed outside the tent, but were forced back by the sand-filled wind generated by the prop of a large helicopter which lifted from behind some dunes and began to ferry its occupants back to their air-conditioned offices atop the huge structures miles away.

They are determined on a journey to Hell, said the dark one.

And I fear if there is another raid, they will take action directly against us, added the gray.

But we must, we will prevail!

We are not enough, and they have too much power. I know you will not like it, my young lion, but tonight you must enter the city of Satan. Why!?

Because we must leave here if we are to continue our work. And much as we love our camels, now we must use one of the Devil’s aircraft. Allah will understand.

Where are we going?

To the West. I have been formulating a plan, but we must find out from minds more technical and experienced than ours if it will work.

And what is this plan?

I have realized we have been attacking the enemy at the wrong point. Why do our Arab brethren produce so much oil?

To sell it to the West and to the industrialized nations where it is needed in great quantities every minute of every day all over the world.

Can we destroy that demand?

"Stop speaking as if I were