Personal Protection (A Spider Shepherd Short Story) (2 page)

 ‘Sorry chaps,’ Parker said imperturbably. ‘No rest for the wicked and all that. There’s a rather delicate situation in a certain Middle Eastern country and we need your expertise. There is no one else available with your range of skills, and don’t worry, it’s already been cleared with the MoD and Hereford.’

‘So have some of your pet mercenaries gone rogue on you again?’ asked Shepherd.

Parker flicked a speck of dust from his lapel, as if brushing away the comment. ‘No, nothing like that, this is purely a training task.’ He paused. ‘Now I don’t want to spoil your fun, but it is a matter of some urgency. Shall we say 1600 hours in the briefing room back at the base?’

‘If it’s just a training task, why the urgency?’ Shepherd said, but Parker was already walking away up the beach.

The four SAS men were in a mutinous mood as they filed into the briefing room just before four o’clock. Rusty was already there and Parker swept in a moment later, followed by five signallers, between them carrying a piece of electronic equipment the size of a three-drawer filing cabinet.

Parker glanced around the room, then cleared his throat. ‘Right then, you are to deploy on a top secret bodyguard training task in a Middle Eastern country. After neglecting the Middle East in the dash to join the EU, HMG is concerned to maintain what little influence we still have in the region and the state in question is a crucial part of that.’ He paused, and made eye contact with them one at a time.  ‘Background: there are two cousins from the ruling family locked in a power struggle. The Ruler is a modernist aligned to the West. He has two wives, one an American Muslim, a college graduate and a licensed pilot. The second wife is the daughter of another Middle Eastern ruler. She was brought up as a strict Muslim but is trying to modernise her outlook with the help of wife Number One.’

Jimbo laughed out loud. ‘Any man who wants two wives needs his head examined,’ he said. ‘Twice the nagging.’

Parker ignored the interruption. ‘The ruler is an interesting character, a trained F16 pilot who also flies his own Airbus, and needless to say the country’s huge oil reserves mean that he’s one of the richest men in the world. So far, all pretty straightforward. However, the ruler’s religiously conservative cousin is determined to get back what he believes, probably rightfully, is his throne.’

‘Why rightfully?’ asked Shepherd.

Parker grimaced. ‘We deposed his father in a bloodless Palace coup several years ago - he was threatening the security of our oil supplies and even flirting with the Russians  - so we sent him into exile in London and he lived out his days in a Park Lane hotel before dying a few years ago. His son insists that if we had not deposed his father and forced him into exile, he would now be the legitimate ruler of the country, so he has set out to depose his cousin and reclaim his throne.’

‘Sounds like he has a point,’ said Jimbo. ‘Who are we to decide who runs a country? Our politicians do a shit job running the UK, they’ve no business telling other countries what to do.’

Shepherd threw Jimbo a warning look. ‘Is the cousin a serious threat?’ he asked Parker.

‘He’s been missing from his usual haunts for several weeks now and sigint and humint suggest that he’s recruited a group of Chechen mercenaries. It looks as if he is getting backing, money, arms and men from somewhere, though we’re not sure where as yet.’

‘Now why does that not surprise me?’ said Jimbo.

Parker ignored the interruption but his lips tightened. ‘We picked up electronic intelligence on the plot, and so we’ve decided to dispatch you to train a hand-picked cadre of the ruler’s troops as an elite bodyguard group,’ he said.  ‘And of course we want you to keep the ruler alive until the BG group you’ve trained is operationally ready and the coup plot has been dealt with.’

‘Why us?’ Jock growled.

‘Because you’re the best available team and you’re already on the spot,’ said Parker. ‘You’re here and you now your stuff.  The proverbial bird in the hand.’

‘Now that I could work with,’ said Geordie. ‘A bird in the hand is just what I need right now.’

Parker gestured towards the signallers’ equipment. ‘I’ve brought along something that should help, state of the art electronic gadgetry to support your team in-country.’

Parker nodded to one of the signallers, a ginger-haired guy in his late twenties whose Adam’s apple wobbled when he cleared his throat. ‘It’s an electronic comms and suppression system,’ said the signaller in a West Country accent that hinted of cider and sheep-filled fields. ‘It can detect bugs and intercept them and also put a blanket transmission blackout on an area.  It will also suppress signals to detonate IEDs and other types of bomb. The system operates largely automatically and is part of a network run from GCHQ in Cheltenham.’

‘What’s it weigh?’ Shepherd asked.

The signaller frowned, not understanding the point of the question. ‘Just under one hundred pounds,’ he said.

‘Then the system’s fine,’ Shepherd said, ‘and we can make good use of it, but if that’s all it weighs and it operates semi-automatically, why do we need a five-man team of Scalies to run it?’ He saw a couple of them bridle at the use of the semi-derogatory nickname the SAS used for signallers but he was in no mood to be sparing feelings.

‘Because,’ Parker said, with exaggerated patience, ‘you need them available 24-7 and working the same hours that you do.’

‘Exactly. And we’ll only need one man for that. We work hard and he can do the same. Having too many guys lying around with nothing to do is just a recipe for problems in-country. He glanced across at the signallers. ‘So which one of you Scalies is the most experienced?’ he asked.

‘That would be me,’ said the one who had spoken before. ‘Mike Smith. They call me Beebop’.

‘And if I tell you that we will be working all the hours God sends and maybe a few more on top, Beebop, would that put you off?’

Beebop grinned. ‘No, it’ll keep the boredom at bay.’

‘Good, you’ll do then,’ said Shepherd. He looked at Parker. ‘You can send the rest packing. Beebop’s all we need. ‘ Parker nodded at the remaining signallers and gestured at the door with his chin.  Shepherd waited until the other four had filed out of the room before continuing. ‘Okay, so a five-man team then: me Jock, Geordie, Jimbo and Beebop.’

‘And I’ll be there from time to time to liaise with the Sheikh on behalf of HMG,’ Parker said.

Jimbo’s hackles were up straightaway. ‘I’m guessing you’ll be doing your liaising from the comfort of a five-star hotel in the capital, not in a tent in the middle of the desert with us,’ he said.

‘I’d sooner he was in a hotel anyway,’ Shepherd said, heading off Jock, whose short fuse was legendary. ‘That way he won’t be getting under our feet. Right, let’s get on with the planning. Usual rules: if you don’t speak up at the planning stage, you don’t get to complain about anything afterwards.’ 

‘Just before you start,’ Rusty said. ‘I may be talking out of turn here but, correct me if I’m wrong, none of you guys speak Arabic, do you?’

‘No, we’ll be using translators,’ said Shepherd.

‘Well, like I told you before, I speak fluent Arabic and I’ve worked extensively in the Middle East. Make me part of the team and I can run the admin for you.’

Shepherd grinned. ‘At this rate, we’re going to be up to battalion strength before we even get out there.’

‘But it makes sense to take Rusty,’ Jock said. ‘He’s up to speed on admin, right?’

Rusty nodded. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ he said,

‘It’ll make the training a whole lot easier with an admin guy who can anticipate our needs,’ said Jock. ‘If the ammo is on the firing point before we arrive we can get straight into the training.  If the vehicles are filled up and serviceable when we need them, that saves hours if not days out in the desert.  And don’t forget the daily grind of making sure we’re properly fed and watered allows us to get on with the job in hand.’

‘I’m your man for that,’ agreed Rusty. ‘Plus you won’t find a better Arabic speaker.’

As Shepherd still hesitated, Rusty added, ‘Plus if I’m on the ground in the Middle East, I’ll be in a much better position to latch on to some work for when I leave the regiment.’ He grinned. ‘You’d be doing me a big favour.’

‘What about the admin here?’ asked Shepherd.

‘My oppo can cover it,’ said Rusty. ‘There’s not enough work for one, let alone two of us here anyway.’

‘Fair enough,’ Shepherd said. ‘All agreed?’ He looked around the circle of faces. Jimbo, Jock and Geordie all nodded. ‘Then you’re in, Rusty. Welcome aboard. You can start by giving us the Intel brief.’

‘Brilliant, thanks,’ said Rusty. ‘There’s little to add to what Mr Parker has already told you. We’re monitoring the ruler’s cousin and his group and they have been flagged as top priority, but there’s not much sigint, electronic chatter or any other sign of immediate concern.’

‘Okay,’ Shepherd said, ‘Let’s get the kit sorted. Weaponry?’

‘Just one point on that,’ Rusty said, ‘unlike bodyguards in Western countries, it’s normal for BG’s in the Middle East to carry their weapons openly, so there’s no need for the usual worries about concealment. You can have whatever you want.’

‘Thanks,’ Shepherd said, ‘you’re proving your worth already. So, what do you reckon Jock?’

The Scotsman thought about it for a moment. ‘I think we’d be best with the Heckler and Koch MP5K,’ he said eventually.  ‘There’s nothing better for close quarter work. And for shorts we’ll use the Browning 9mm pistol. They use the same ammunition and I’m assuming there’ll be no shortage here?’ He looked over at Rusty and Rusty nodded.  ‘Anyone disagree?’ asked Jock.  There were no objections; everyone could see the sense of his suggestions.

‘Now, let’s talk training,’ said Shepherd. ‘Geordie?’

‘I’m assuming that most of the guys we’ll be training won’t be university educated,’ Geordie said. He glanced at Rusty for confirmation.

‘They’ll probably be illiterate,’ said Rusty. ‘But that doesn’t mean they’re unintelligent and their powers of recall may surprise you. Because they don’t write anything down, their memories are generally pretty good. They’ll speak very little English, though.’

‘Okay, so we’re best sticking to an uncomplicated syllabus,’ Geordie said, ‘with much of the normal intellectual content removed. We can take out the complicated large convoy drills and keep it simple, with just the three vehicle drills.  We don’t need to do any visiting Heads of State planning now; we can do that later when the internal security situation has stabilized, and we can cut out the counter-bombardment and anti-sniper training completely.’

They spent the next two days planning the training, assembling the equipment and stores they would need and loading them on to an RAF Hercules. On the evening of the second day they took off and flew due south over the waters of the Mediterranean before turning east to cross the desolate, desert wastes of Saudi Arabia. They followed the old pre-jet age route of pipelines and pumping stations before entering the target country covertly, flying at low level without navigation lights. In the distance they could see the glare from the capital’s glass and steel skyscrapers piercing the night, lit up like an Arab Las Vegas. But as they flew on into the ink black night, the vast emptiness of the desert was broken only by the occasional tiny flicker of a Bedu camp fire.

The Hercules landed at an air strip deep in the desert and they unloaded their stores and equipment under the curious gaze of the men they would soon be training. Rusty took charge of the stores and having seen them stowed to his satisfaction he began sorting out the camp routine, planning training sessions and meals around the regular Muslim calls to prayer.

The training base was a tented camp with rudimentary facilities and, like all desert locations, it was burning hot by day, and bitterly cold as soon as night fell.  The SAS men shared two tents while the Arabs slept in a large communal marquee. There were a couple of showers, one for the Brits and the other for the Arabs, which were topped up daily by a municipal water bowser that trundled in across the desert each morning.  The same vehicle also supplied the water for all of the other camp requirements.

The Sheikh arrived early the next morning in a convoy of vehicles that raised a dust trail that could be seen from miles away. Armoured vehicles and troop trucks travelled at the head and tail of the convoy, with three armoured Mercedes limousines with blacked out windows in the centre.

Geordie laughed out loud at the convoy. ‘All we’re missing are marching bands and fireworks. Is there no Arabic word for covert?’

‘He’s a Sheik,’ said Rusty. ‘That’s how he travels.’

‘How do I address him, Rusty?’ Shepherd said as they watched the convoy rumbling towards them.

‘When you first greet him you should call him “Ya Sheikh min al Shayookh” which means “Oh Sheikh of the Sheikhs”. The Ya always precedes the greeting and makes it more respectful.  After that you should call him  “Ya Sheikh” unless you’re talking to him later on a private, one to one basis, then you should call him “Ya Seedee” which means “Oh Sir” But he’s Western educated, just calling him “Sir” will probably be just fine.’ 

The convoy swept into the compound and after a pause to allow some of the dust cloud to dissipate, the sheikh emerged from his Mercedes, followed by his retinue. He wore traditional dress - a thobe in dazzling white cotton decorated with gold thread, and a light sandy brown bisht also with elaborate gold trimming - and his skin colour and features were unmistakably Arab, but when he spoke, his accent was pure Eton and Oxbridge. ‘Gentlemen, I bid you welcome,’ he said, ‘you are honoured guests in my country.’

‘Ya Sheikh min al Shayookh,’ Shepherd said, hoping he was pronouncing it right, ‘we are proud to be of service to you.’

He introduced himself and his team and the sheikh then led them into a marquee, spread with a huge Persian carpet. The sheikh’s servant served mint tea and then withdrew leaving them to talk. ‘I walk a tightrope in my country,’ the sheikh said. ‘I try to do enough to keep happy those who, like me, want to see our country modernise and play the part in the world that our wealth and our destiny requires. But it also has to be slow enough to take with us as many as possible of the more traditional and conservative elements of our society.’ He sipped his tea.  ‘It is necessarily a slow process but we are winning, though there are those such as my cousin who would seek to set the country on a different path.’ He sipped his tea again. ‘I assume that, once trained by you, the bodyguard teams will work in very close proximity to myself?’