At the final briefing that evening, Rusty talked them through the techniques for driving over dunes of soft sand. ‘Sand dunes are shaped by the wind,’ he explained. ‘On the windward side they’re convex and can be several hundred metres in height. On the lee side they’re usually concave. The skill to driving in the dunes is to accelerate up the windward side until you’re almost at the top, but then you must take your foot off the throttle and use the impetus of the vehicle to just clear the crest. Then you can coast down the lee side using the remaining impetus of the vehicle and gravity to keep up your momentum. If you’re going too fast, you risk the vehicle plunging down the lee side and turning turtle with potentially serious consequences for the crew. If you are going too slowly you will be constantly getting bogged down in the sand. That means a lot of digging and the use of sand channels - perforated aluminium sections in a sort of flattened-out U-shape. In areas where the sand is soft we might have to offload the vehicle and carry the stores to where the vehicle has been moved to. Trust me, that’s bloody tiring and uncomfortable in those extreme temperatures. So whoever’s doing the driving has to know what’s doing.’
Shepherd grinned. ‘Well after that build-up, you’ll have to put your money where your mouth is and drive the lead vehicle yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the second vehicle unless anyone else thinks they can do a better job.’
‘One other thing,’ Rusty said. ‘You often find hard gravel plains among the dunes. They may only be going in the general direction of your route but you can drive at high speed across them. So you may have to do drive three sides of a square to keep on your general heading but it will still be quicker than travelling the direct route across the sand.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ said Shepherd.
They set out at dawn the following morning, laden with weaponry, fuel and ammunition and with Rusty’s chuggles lashed to the outside of the vehicles. Despite Jimbo’s scepticism, Rusty’s faith in them proved correct. Despite their porous skins they lost remarkably little of their contents during the day and the water was always pleasantly cool to drink.
Parker, who had still not fully recovered from the IED blast, stayed behind with Beebop to co-ordinate any support they might need. ‘When we give you the word,’ Shepherd said, ‘we’ll need your magic electronic filing cabinet to put a temporary black-out over the area, blocking any transmissions, particularly IED detonation signals. Can do?’
Parker glanced at Beebop who was operating the equipment, then nodded. ‘No problem,’ said the MI6 officer.
‘You not coming with us this time, Jonathan?’ Jock said, his expression a picture of innocence. ‘Had your fill of desert trips with us after the last one?’
‘Let him be, Jock,’ Shepherd said. ‘We need someone back at the base.’
They maintained radio silence as they drove all day through the searing heat of the Great Sand Sea. They followed a course well to the west of the sole road to the oasis and made slow progress through the shifting sands. That night they camped in a depression in the desert inhabited by semi-wild camels. ‘There are never any totally wild camels,’ Rusty said. ‘The Bedu just turn their camels loose to find their own grazing and then recover them when they need them.’ Now firmly established as their desert expert, he then began telling them about some of the desert fauna while they ate their rations. ‘Have any of you heard of camel spiders?’ he said. ‘They’re as big as dinner plates and covered in hair just like the hair on a camel. They’re reputed to inject their victims with an anaesthetic and then eat their flesh. Incredibly creepy.’
‘Can you get us one?’ asked Geordie. ‘Spider here likes nothing better than to chew on an arachnid.’
Rusty grinned at Spider. ‘Is he serious?’
‘I did it once, for a bet. During jungle training.’
‘What did it taste like?’
‘Like a spider. What do you think?’
‘I was hoping like chicken.’
Shepherd laughed and shook his head. ‘No, definitely not chicken. The trick is to burn the hairs off with a flame. That stops it sticking in your throat.’
They bedded down for the night. The following day they resumed their long, slow haul through the dunes, eventually arriving in the area of the oasis towards sunset. They raised the camera pole to survey the area. On the high resolution screens they could see thousands of date palms planted in orderly rows and interspersed with small gardens of exotic fruits and vegetables. There were even gardens of exotic blooms flourishing in the shade of the trees and a shaded pool of water, but they also spotted several patrols of heavily armed men.
‘We’re in the middle of the desert, miles from the nearest watercourse,’ Geordie said. ‘Where the hell does the water come from for all this?’
‘Out of falajas,’ Rusty said. ‘They’re circular-section, stone and mud watercourses running underneath the sand.’
‘Like water mains?’ Jimbo said.
‘Yeah, but bigger, they’re more like sewer pipes. They were built by either the Assyrians or the Persians in the dim mists of time, long before the birth of Christ. They were designed to bring water from the mountains, where it’s plentiful, into the desert. It meant the Bedu tribes could survive in the most arid areas and set up agricultural communities. They were built to tolerances of a drop of one yard over a thousand yards, allowing a gentle flow of water all year round.’
After dark, using the thermal imaging camera, they began to realise how difficult a task they had set themselves. Cutting through the foliage they could see the body heat of a man slumped against a date palm in the middle of the oasis, the ropes securing him showing up in the thermal imaging as thin black lines across his body. He was closely guarded by two men with AK 47s and other weaponry.
‘They might kill him at once if they detect a threat or hear an attack,’ Shepherd whispered. They withdrew to consider their options but Shepherd could not see a solution to the problem until a thought suddenly struck him. ‘Those falajas you were talking about, Rusty,’ he said. ‘Is there any way to access them?’
Rusty nodded. ‘Sure, there are stone slabs every few hundred yards, like modern drain covers. They allow access to shafts leading down into the falajas, so that the Bedu can get water or get into to the tunnels to remove blockages and repair damage from roof falls.’
Shepherd grinned. ‘Then that could be our way in. Let’s take a look.’
Rusty and Shepherd set off to recce the falaj a couple of miles from the oasis. After searching for a few minutes, they saw a flat stone slab, its rectangular shape making it stand out against the sand and gravel of the desert floor. They slid it aside and found themselves looking down into a narrow vertical shaft, some twenty feet in deep, with a series of rough hand- and foot-holds carved out of the shaft walls. At the bottom, Shepherd could see the glint of running water.
They replaced the slab, hurried back to where the rest of the team were waiting and quickly formulated a plan. ‘I’ll infiltrate using the falaj,’ Shepherd said, ‘but if we all try to go in that way and are detected we’ll be caught like rats in a trap. One grenade or burst of fire will take us all out. So you guys lie up on the edge of the oasis and wait until you hear me open fire. I’ll take out the two guards on the sheikh, and then try to hold off the rest of the Chechens long enough for you to arrive and finish the job.’
Shepherd set off at once so that he would be in position by dawn. He climbed down into the bottom of the water-course, finding the water surprisingly cold as it flowed around his feet. It was pitch black inside the falaj but he knew that he only had to follow the direction of the water flow to emerge by the pool in the oasis. The tunnel varied in diameter between two and four feet and as he crawled along it, his MP5K slung across his chest, his shoulders brushed against the rough stones of the walls. There was an occasional partial blockage where part of the falaj wall had given way, but he was able to clear enough of a passage to squeeze past.
After crawling for over an
hour he became aware of a faint glow of pre-dawn light ahead of him and realised he was nearing the end of the falaj. He peered out and saw that he was by the pool in the middle of the date palms. He quickly orientated himself before moving slowly through the trees.
Eventually he reached the edge of a small clearing. He peered through the screen of vegetation. He could see the sheikh still tied to the tree on the far side, with his two guards close by. Shepherd released the safety catch on his MP5K, stepped out of cover and put two shots into the Chechen guards. Almost immediately he heard Jimbo, Jock, Rusty and Geordie open fire.
Shepherd barely glanced at the sheikh before taking up his stance with his back to him, shielding him from any threat. Two more Chechens burst into the clearing, firing as they ran. Shepherd put a double tap into the first man as he broke cover. Every instinct and all his SAS training would normally have seen Shepherd diving and rolling after the first shots, throwing off the second gunman’s aim before taking him out with another double tap from a prone position on the ground. But to do so would have left the sheikh exposed, so Shepherd stood his ground and calmly put another double tap into the other Chechen. He heard the crack of MP5Ks getting closer as his team mopped up the last of the Chechen fighters.
A figure moved through the vegetation at the edge of the clearing. Shepherd swung his weapon to cover the threat but then lowered the barrel as Jock moved into the open, followed by the rest of the team. Geordie, the patrol medic, sprinted across the clearing and flung his medical pack onto the ground next to the sheikh. He was about to start treating his injured hand when he caught a glimpse of something visible at the neck of the sheikh’s robe. He gently eased it open a fraction and saw that a crude, home-made bomb vest had been fastened around the sheikh’s chest.
‘Spider, you need to come and take a look at this,’ he said, his voice icily calm.
Spider and Rusty jogged over and immediately realised the seriousness of their situation.
‘You’re going to have to stay absolutely still,’ Shepherd told the sheikh.
The sheikh nodded and forced a smile. ‘I had already come to that conclusion myself,’ he said.
‘I’ve had experience with demolition work,’ said Rusty.
‘Specifically bombs like this?’
‘More blowing up bridges, but the principle is the same.’
‘We could take him back to the base and deal with it there,’ said Jimbo.
Shepherd shook his head. ‘I don’t think we want to go shaking it around.’
‘There could be a time on it,’ said Rusty. ‘Or some sort of distance trigger.’
‘They said it would go off if I ran away,’ said the sheikh quietly.
Shepherd nodded. ‘Okay, Rusty and I will deal with this. You guys get to a safe distance.’
‘Sod that,’ said Geordie. ‘All for one and one for all.’
‘I’m serious, Geordie. If anything does go wrong, we don’t want everyone hurt.’ He smiled at the sheikh. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine, really. I’m just covering all the bases.’
The sheikh nodded but he didn’t say anything.
Geordie, Jock and Jimbo walked to the far side of the clearing and took cover.
Rusty was already scrutinising the crude vest. ‘We can’t remove it without cutting a wire.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘So all we have to do is deactivate the detonator and the vest will be safe. But which wire controls the detonator?’
Four wires led from the vest. Rusty eliminated two of them but that still left them with a life or death choice. ‘Which one?’ Shepherd said, feeling a bead of sweat trickling down his brow.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ said Rusty.
‘I’d rather not depend on a guess,’ said Shepherd.
‘Let me check the circuit again,’ said Rusty. He stared at the circuit and eventually settled on one wire. ‘This one.’
Shepherd nodded and took out his penknife. He flicked out a blade. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Sure as I can be.’
Shepherd took a deep breath and winced as he cut the wire, bracing himself for the flash of light and the searing pain that would be the last sensation he’d ever know if Rusty was wrong. He breathed out as he realised that all was good. ‘It’s safe,’ he said to the sheikh.
‘Thank Rusty,’ said Shepherd.
‘No need to thank me,’ said Rusty. ‘I was using the old “eeny meeny miny moe” technique.’
‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ said Shepherd, but Rusty only laughed.
Geordie ran forward, examined the sheikh and quickly diagnosed that he had lost a lot of blood due to the traumatic amputation of his finger and was also severely dehydrated. Shepherd radioed Parker to ask for a casevac. The helicopter had been on standby at an airbase in the capital ever since they had set off into the Great Sand Sea, and it arrived in a whirlwind of dust and noise within an hour.
Although the Chechen terrorists had all been eliminated, there was no sign of the sheikh’s cousin among the bodies and after the casevac was completed, Shepherd and the team fanned out and began carrying out a systematic search of the oasis. They eventually found the man cowering in a mud-walled farmer’s hut, covered in dirt and in a state of shock. They cuffed their prisoner’s wrists with plastic ties and force-marched him back to the vehicles.
A few days later the team, by now ensconced in one of the capital’s finest hotels, were summoned with Parker in tow to see the sheikh, in his hospital suite. He was well on the way to recovery, with only his missing little finger as a permanent reminder of his ordeal.
As soon as they appeared, he began thanking them. ‘You have saved my life and my country,’ he said, ‘and I am forever in your debt. In the Arab tradition it is “alla sharifnee” which translates as “on my honour”. And from this day onwards, if any of you ever have a problem of any sort, it is my duty to provide help to solve it. All you have to do is ask. However first of all I have a further favour to ask of you. I would like you all to stay on in my country as my military advisers. What ever Her Majesty’s Government is paying you at the moment I will double, tax-free, and all your transport, accommodation and living expenses will be covered.’
There was a stunned silence for a moment. ‘Ya sheikh,’ Shepherd said at last. ‘Your offer is most generous and very tempting, but we are still committed to our army service for our country, with many more years yet to serve.’ He glanced at the others for confirmation. Geordie and Jock were nodding in agreement but Jimbo looked as if he was considering the sheikh’s offer, then he too began to nod. ‘So I regret that the four of us must reluctantly decline your offer,’ said Shepherd. He paused. ‘However, Rusty’s position is different. He is not only a fluent Arabic speaker, with a deep knowledge of your culture, he is also due to retire from the Regiment in a few months anyway. If he’s willing, I’m sure ways could be found to deal with the technicalities and bring forward his retirement date.’
Rusty nodded. ‘Ya sheikh, I would be honoured to serve you.’
The sheikh smiled. ‘Then the matter is settled, providing Mr Parker can make the necessary arrangements.’
‘I’m sure there will be no difficulties with that, sir,’ Parker said. ‘I will personally deal with any problems relating to Rusty’s immediate discharge from the British Army.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘Forgive me, but there still remains one other pressing problem to address: the fate of your cousin.’
‘He cannot be executed,’ the sheikh said. ‘He deserves it, of course, and I know that he would have killed me without a second thought if it had suited his purpose. But to take my revenge by executing him would cause discontent among some sections of my people. In any case, I’m not sure it would be wise to encourage the belief in my subjects that members of the ruling house can be executed just like other men.’ He gave a brief smile. ‘Who knows where the axe might fall next? However, he cannot be allowed to remain in my country as a focus for discontent and sedition.’
&nb
sp; After a further discussion, Parker finally agreed that he would arrange for the sheikh’s cousin, like his father before him, to go into an involuntary exile, albeit a gilded one, in a Park Lane hotel in London. ‘Then it is all agreed,’ the sheikh said. ‘And perhaps this time I can rely on the British authorities to take rather better care of him.’
Parker inclined his head in acknowledgement of the implied rebuke.
‘You know what, Jonathan?’ Shepherd said as they walked back down the marble stairs. ‘I’ve only just realised that the root cause of the problem all along was the inability of the UK security services to keep tabs on a known serious potential threat. Not very reassuring is it? And you know what else? We’ve just saved your arse for the second time in six months. You owe us, big time. Make sure you don’t forget it.’
‘I won’t,’ said Parker. He took out a pack of small cigars and lit one. He offered the pack to Shepherd but Shepherd shook his head. ‘Mind you, you have to understand that “alla sharifnee” is an Arab thing.’
‘You mean there’s no honour in MI6?’
‘We do our best,’ said Parker. ‘But needs must, right? Still, you and the guys did a great job. When you get this soldiering thing out of your system, you should think about working for the security services.’
‘That’ll never happen,’ said Shepherd.
‘Never say never,’ said Parker. He waved a languid hand and walked away.
Geordie, Jock and Jimbo came up behind Shepherd. ‘Penny for them?’ asked Geordie.
‘Dark thoughts,’ laughed Shepherd. ‘Let’s go get a beer.’
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