by Alex Shaw
The Home Secretary raised his eyebrow as Patchem’s use of the word ‘insurgent’.
Patchem continued, “The insurgents seem to be heading south towards the Empty Quarter where they will have to change their mode of transport if they are to attempt to cross the desert. There are no roads in this area, it is virtually impassable and its borders completely unenforceable. The Empty Quarter flows over the borders of Yemen, Oman and the UAE. If we lose contact with our man once in the desert we may not be able to find them without direct assistance from US Surveillance satellites. If however, they decide to continue south west there is a road leading via the mountains to Abha. By taking this route they could hide in the mountains.”
“Any questions gentlemen?” Knight took the helm again.
The head of The Intelligence Service spoke first. “You said that the first three British nationals to be targeted worked for the Al-Kabir group? That company is owned by Prince Al-Kabir whose daughter was abducted in Brighton.” The Intelligence Service had handled the investigation in the UK, as per their remit. “So is it just coincidence or is this another attack on Al-Kabir?”
Knight replied to her MI5 contemporary. “At this stage we cannot rule anything out. The Al-Kabir group is a high visibility target. An attack is always a possibility.”
The Intelligence Service Director, Burstow made a note on his pad. “So we send a team to Roedean to beef up their ‘Royal Protection’ detail.”
“What demands have they made?” Wibly, the Home Secretary had seen the footage but wanted to be sure.
The Foreign Secretary snorted and folded his arms. “The usual! Leave Iraq, leave Saudi, convert to Islam or we’ll kill them all. Am I correct?”
Knight did not like Robert Holmcroft, as he revelled in talking at her, but in this instance he was correct. “Yes Foreign Secretary. They have given us until midnight tonight, then they say they will execute one hostage every twelve hours.”
Around the room heads shook and faces became grim.
The PM again fiddled with his hair. “I’m confused. Are these demands for both kidnap groups or only the second? Also, have both incidences been perpetrated by the same group? What do we actually know about the insurgents?” He wanted all the answers.
“We do not know if both groups are being held by the same people, the video demands make no reference to the first group.”
“It would be a very bad case of coincidence if they were different groups!” The Foreign Secretary again spoke over Knight.
Knight continued undaunted, ignoring the Foreign Secretary. “To answer your question Prime Minister, we know very little except for their video demands. It is a group that is unknown to us.”
The PM’s face showed signs of shock. Still new in his position he had yet to realise or at least accept the limitations of ‘Intelligence’. He sipped coffee from his cup and touched his hair. Of the seven people in the room only two had not been present at the ‘no eyes’ meeting, Patchem and Sir Trevor Innes, Director of UK Special Forces. Events had however moved on and serious consideration now had to be paid to the very real possibility that these abductions, in an otherwise ‘quiet’ Saudi Arabia may be part of the alleged ‘Russian plan’.
“Is this linked to the intelligence we received from our ‘Ukrainian’ source?“
“We have no way to verify that either way Prime Minister.” Knight replied.
Daniels looked at the soldier. “General, what assets do we have in place to launch an assault?”
If Innes felt ‘out of the loop’ he didn’t show it. “There are some Royal Air force personnel in Bahrain training the Bahraini air force. The Americans have some Marines in their Saudi air bases...”
“Where are the nearest SAS units?”
Sir Trevor cleared his throat. Officially the British Army was not in Iraq anymore. “We have a team currently rotating out of Basra. Their replacements are due to arrive after the weekend.”
“Send them in.” The PM folded his arms to show that he had reached a decision.
The Foreign Secretary started to quiver, he’d had to hold back his bullish PM on other occasions too. “Prime Minister, as I am sure you are aware, Saudi Arabia is a sovereign state, a friendly state. We cannot send any armed forces in unless we get the express permission of the Saudi government. I am afraid they would never agree on time.”
“I agree with the Foreign Secretary, on the last part. We had problems during both Gulf wars regarding operating rights out of Saudi bases.” Innes frowned. “The Saudis have their own Special Forces unit and a hostage rescue team. They would, I believe, insist upon using these two units to assault any insurgents. These units have been trained by the Americans, Prime Minister, but they are unproven. I believe we have no alternative but to send in our own unit.”
“Which we, cannot do.” The Foreign Secretary pointed with his finger.
Patchem listened and tried not to look annoyed. Precious time was ticking away; it was 10:25 a.m. in the UK which meant 12:25 in Saudi. In less than twelve hours an innocent British citizen would be murdered, on camera.
“Prime Minister, we need a decision.” Knight broke the silence in her business-like manner. “We currently know where the second group of hostages are. We cannot let the insurgents get away.”
“Agreed.” The PM looked down the table, “Mr Patchem isn’t it?”
“Yes Prime Minister.”
“What would be your suggestion?”
All eyes focused on Patchem, the Foreign Secretary’s glared.
“We send in our own men and assault the insurgents. Once our people are safe we then inform the Saudis and let them take all the glory. Al-Jazeera and the Western media can then broadcast news of a successful hostage rescue attempt by the Saudi military. The Saudis will initially have their noses put out of joint but once we have explained our reasons to them for acting unilaterally and the kudos they will gain internationally for taking the credit, I am certain there will be no repercussions.”
Innes nodded, Wibly furrowed his brow but remained silent, Burstow scribbled notes whilst Holmcroft made eye contact with Patchem and shook his head slowly. Knight remained a passive observer; her pit bull was challenging the PM’s.
“You have my agreement. General, contact Hereford and task the SAS unit with drawing up a hostage rescue plan. Liaise with Ms Knight. The sooner we can get our men on the ground the better.”
The decision taken, the meeting was called to an end. The PM exited the room followed by both the Home and Foreign secretaries. He took Holmcroft to one side as Wibly continued along the corridor towards the lobby.
“Robert, I know that this is not a course of action that you approve of but we have no other choice. I am counting on you to smooth things over with the Saudi Ambassador.”
Holmcroft sighed. “He will not like this one bit.”
“Could you not offer our assistance in looking for those who kidnapped his brother’s employees or perhaps offer to send over SAS directing staff to train his men?”
The PM was making sense but Holmcroft did not want him to think that he knew best. It was no secret that Holmcroft had coveted the ‘party leader’ position as his own, challenging all comers – including the now PM Daniels, but loosing. He had not wanted to be the deputy PM and was glad that he had not been asked. The Foreign Office was where the real power and prestige lay. A place where he spoke to the wealthy and the influential, he did not deal with the drudgery of ‘day to day domestic politics’.
“I think David, that I may be able to persuade the Ambassador to let us help him but he will surely ask about the second kidnapping. Shall I lie to him and say we do not have any leads?”
The PM looked perplexed. “Well, Yes. Isn’t that what you are meant to do Robert? Lie on behalf of HM Government if it protects our citizens?”
“Of course.” There was a moment of silence. “I shall phone the Ambassador from my office and arrange to see him.”
“No Robert. You’ll cal
l him now from a secure line; we cannot waste any more time.”
“Of course, Prime Minister”
“Good, good.”
In room A the General was already patched through to Basra via Hereford and relaying orders. At the other end of the table a live feed from a US satellite was displayed on the screen showing the two vehicle convoy slowly moving along a metalled road that skirted the desert. Patchem sat and spoke to Vauxhall Cross.
“So why is Paddy Fox in Saudi Arabia?” Burstow asked Knight. “Coincidence?”
The inter service rivalry had subsided somewhat in the short post 911 years. Banter had now replaced boasts and secrecy.
“He was offered a job as a security adviser to the Al-Kabir group by Prince Fouad. We felt it would be a good opportunity for all if he took it.”
Burstow shrugged. “We really don’t have anything on these people do we?”
Knight shook her head. “If the insurgents gain a foothold in Saudi…”
She let her words trail off. Both directors knew what turmoil would ensue. The Saudi authorities would launch an all-out war, a crack-down on anyone suspected of being a militant or insurgent. The Mabahith, the Saudi secret police, would make arrests in the hundreds and use torture freely. It would split the nation in half, those who tolerated the presence of Westerners in the Kingdom and those who believed that the presence of infidels in a country that housed two of Islam’s most holy sites, Mecca, where the prophet Muhammad was born and Medina, where he was buried, was sacrilege.
The House of Saud would be caught in the middle, having to at the same time appease those who were anti-west and also look out for their oil revenues from sales to the West. The insurgents believed that the monarchy were puppets and had to be removed. In short, a civil war would ensue, that would attract every Muslim fighter from around the globe to defend Islam. Oil supply would stop and unless another source could be found, or US Troops went in, the West would in effect be crippled.
“We’re going to lose the satellite in about an hour.” Patchem turned in his seat. “We could ask the Americans to re-task it but there would be some explaining to do, at the moment we’re just lucky that it’s covering the Riyadh and central Saudi area.”
“We could use their help but I’d rather keep this HM at the moment. “
“If you need me I’ll be at the office.” Burstow stood and held out his hand, Knight shook it with her ‘professional’ firm grip.
*
The heat had been building all morning and Snow could feel his skin burning through his clothes but he had no choice but to stay lying on the truck bed. He had slowly turned over a couple of times to lie on his arms, protecting them from the worst of the sun. For the last forty minutes or so the two vehicle convoy had slowed as it moved along an ever worsening road. Snow had been bumped and banged more and more, the pain in his back however had become a dull ache as his body had become stiffer, the muscles contracting, whilst all the while his ears had been treated to the best Arab pop that the Ford’s radio had to offer. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and read the screen, he had two bars left of reception. If they headed any further into the desert he would lose contact with the network and more importantly anyone tracking him. It was now or never. He dialled Patchem’s number.
He felt the phone vibrate before the ring tone had a chance to kick in. “Patchem.”
“Jack can you hear me?” Snow’s voice was low and faded.
“Yes.” Patchem held the handset tighter to his ear. “We have you visual on satellite.”
The pick-up hit a bolder and lurched, Snow rolled to one side as he tried to keep hold of the phone. His head hit the bulkhead; he let out a silent gasp.
Oblivious to Snow’s agony, Patchem continued. “We are going to lose visual in less than an hour. What is your situation?”
Snow hung onto a cargo hook and pressed himself even flatter. In as few words as possible, Snow gave Patchem a ‘sit-rep’. The number of men he had seen, a description of the leader, the murder of Thacker. Knight listened as Patchem put the phone on speaker, Snow’s voice sounding ever fainter.
“I’m losing the signal.” Snow cursed that the phone was not an Iridium but then Aidan Mills would not have brought a satellite handset into the country.
“Stay with the insurgents we are sending in a team.”
Another bump, Snow winced. “Team?”
“Regiment.”
The line went dead.
There was a moment of silence before Patchem moved to a computer terminal and brought up a map of Saudi Arabia and the surrounding gulf on the wall.
“We know they are here now.” He circled the area with a light pen. “The only possible route for them to take with the vehicles is here.”
Knight nodded. “If, they stay in their vehicles.”
The road that the kidnappers were on led them out of ‘the Nejd’, the Kingdom’s central plain skirting the Empty Quarter and up into the mountain range of the Jabal al-Hejaz before descending towards the administrative capital of Abha. It was at Abha, that the Saudi government had made its first steps towards tourism. Almost all vehicles, especially commercial traffic entered the town via routes from Jeddah, Mecca or Taif. However it was not unknown for some to take the older and more arduous route preferred by the Bedouin. It was for this very reason that the insurgents had chosen this road and encountered only a handful of trucks.
“If, they stay in the vehicles, we can estimate that they will have reached this point by nightfall.” He indicated an area at the foot of the mountain range. “Once here they will be untraceable should they ‘de-bus’.”
Knight let out a sigh. The mountains although not particularly high could hide a myriad of caves, a potential Saudi equivalent of the Afghan ‘Tora Bora’ complex. “But on foot, would they not be very slow?”
“Very slow.” Patchem echoed her words as an answer.
“Impossible is not easy.” Innes joined them by the screen, “But possible.”
“General?” Knight frowned.
“May I?” Innes took the light pen from Patchem. “HMS Tipperary is currently here.” He made an X in the Persian Gulf. “We can get our boys from Basra to there in a Helo. No problem, just moving personnel around.” He drew a line. “However the interesting part is getting our team from the ship to the target area.” To demonstrate further he drew another line. “This means cutting right across Saudi territory undetected and not having enough fuel to return.”
All three stared at the map as if to will a solution to appear.
Innes cleared his throat. “The other option would be a HAHO insertion.”
“HAHO?” Knight frowned again.
“It’s a parachuting term meaning ‘High Altitude High Opening’. The men would be released at a high altitude, to reduce threat of the delivery aircraft’s discovery by radar. We could fly a C130 out of Basra, down the gulf. Arc into Saudi, high over the drop zone, then return to base citing engine problems.” Innes could feel his fingers tingling. He wished he could be out there again.
“Which option is fastest?” Knight asked.
“HAHO is much faster than any HELIOPS, using a helicopter.”
Knight smiled. She knew what it meant, she wasn’t completely clueless. What are the risks?”
“The helo would have to ditch in the desert, not enough fuel to return so we would have to explain that away. With HAHO the same risks as any night jump, but with the added complications of navigating into the unknown. The desert is quite featureless so they would have to rely 100% on GPS, but without visual way points.”
“Neither option is perfect but HAHO it is. We have to get your men there a.s.a.p.”
“We can have them up within the hour.”
“I’ll inform the Prime Minister.” Knight took a deep breath and picked up a phone.
The Desert, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia
With blurred vision Snow looked at his phone in disgust and put it back in his pocket. The engine note of t
he Ford changed as the incline of the road started to increase. Summoning all his strength he raised his head and could now for the first time see the shimmering peaks of mountains in the distance. He imagined the air getting cooler and fresher. Throughout the day his head had throbbed as the relentless sun bore into it. Without water and exposed he had become dangerously dehydrated and sleepy. Dehydration was by far the biggest cause of death in the desert. Snow’s only hope was that they stop soon and that he find both water and shelter. If not, he was prone to pass out never to wake.
Snow squinted in an attempt to clear his vision. Up ahead he made out figures emerging from the desert, as though painted with watercolours, their forms blurring into the sand. They waited at the side of the road. As the vehicles drew nearer Snow could see that these men too were armed and had with them several camels. It was a scene as ancient as the distant mountains but as foreboding as the automatic rifles they held close to their robed bodies. The vehicles slowed and stopped next to them. The driver of the truck jumped down and hugged the first Bedouin. The men in Snow’s vehicle also stepped out and stretched. One walked to the other side of the road and down a sand berm where, unseen by all except Snow, he urinated. The Arabs when it came to boldly functions were ‘modest’.
Snow dropped slowly down to the scorching road surface and made his way around the blind side of the Ford. Both doors to the cabin were open. Thoughts flooded through his head of gunning the accelerator and ramming the insurgents but he knew that would not save the hostages. Instead he saw something that would mean the difference between life and death, his life and death. A bottle of water. He grabbed the bottle and retreated back from the cab and towards the rear of the vehicle. The head of the ‘relieved’ Arab started to show above the sand. Snow crawled under the Pick-Up, behind the wheel and lay still. The Arab passed the truck and moved to the van, Snow crawled back out and crouched. The Arab was met by two Bedouin, who helped him open the rear doors. Out stumbled several missioners overcome by heat and exhaustion, unlike Snow they had been protected from the sun by a steel roof this however had raised the temperature even further. Lermitte and Kennington clambered out, helping the perfume manufacturer and the interior designer who fell almost on top of them. One of the Arabs laughed and kicked one of the fallen women. Snow was disgusted but again unable to react. Lermitte however was not and as Kennington complained to the man in Arabic, using his outraged diplomatic tone, Lermitte rose, swung his fist wildly and hit the Arab in the jaw. The Arab fell sideways – his thin robed body knocked clean off his feet. Every muscle in Snow’s body tensed, as he saw the rifle land at Lermitte’s feet.
