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with – he became a wealthy man. And over the years, according to the Wall Street Journal piece I’d read online, he’d used that money to become even more wealthy, investing profits from the oil company into a burgeoning property and business portfolio that – back in 1999 – had put his net worth at over four hundred million dollars.
    There was scant information about his family life, but it appeared that he’d been married late, although it hadn’t lasted; his wife had been killed in a car crash while well over the legal limit, a tragic end to their short relationship. Their marriage had left him with a daughter however, so at least some good had come of it.
    Badrock’s retirement – even after thirty-three years – had come as something of a surprise to many, as he’d been on the road to making full General, with a place on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The military was in his blood, a part of him that ran deeper than any other, and in several articles he claimed he had the desire to serve until he was no longer allowed to. But despite searching everything I could, there was no solid information anywhere as to what had eventually changed the man’s mind.
    It was an interesting anomaly and I contacted an old friend of mine in Army records to see if she could provide me with any more detailed ‘insider’ information on the good general. She agreed to try but – given the man’s importance and super-high security clearances – it would take some time to get it to me. With no way of her contacting me direct, I said I’d check in with her in a couple of days to see what she’d managed to find out.
    Whatever the reason though, Roman Badrock had retired and – in between conducting various business deals and arranging high-value security contracts – he had purchased a huge cattle ranch in New Mexico, fifty thousand acres of land that incorporated sandstone bluffs, huge mesas, rock formations, open valleys and huge swathes of expansive grassland.
    It was here – at the re-named ‘Badrock Park’ – that he immediately set about moving the cattle operations to surrounding ranches and converting the seventy square miles of land into a gigantic nature reserve.
    An article in Time gave some indication as to the reasons behind his move –
    ‘I’ve been around, you know? I’ve seen the best the world has to offer, and I’ve seen the worst. But what stood out for me, many times during my career, was the effect we humans were having on the landscape, on the natural world. Have you ever seen what Agent Orange does to a jungle? What artillery and mortar fire does to forest or grassland? Conflict all over the world comes at a cost, and not all of it is human cost; the damage to nature is extraordinary. And whereas we can make those decisions ourselves, wild animals cannot. And that’s why I’m creating Badrock Park, to provide a refuge for some of these animals who are struggling to survive in warzones and conflict areas around the world, give them a safe haven if you will. For it would be a true tragedy if we were to lose some of these species as a result of our own barbarism and bloodlust.’
    I guess I’d been impressed by those words, if a little surprised – it wasn’t every day that a man whose money came from oil spoke out in favor of the environment.
    But, as I joined the small group on the jeep as it headed out into the park, the sun already warm over our heads, the proof of Badrock’s intentions was plain to see. The park was, as advertised, an almost perfect replica of the African savannah, the grasslands interspersed with occasional trees, giving way to higher ground beyond; and just like on the African plains, herds of elephants coexisted alongside wildebeest, buffalo, giraffe, zebra, gazelle and hippopotamus. They were all here, ready and waiting to be seen by the hordes of eager tourists; and yet even though the parking lot was full and I’d passed by hundreds of families at the entrance, out