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
‘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
Similar Books
Finding Forever (Smoky Mountain Lawmen Book 1)
Ashley Quinn
Poems 1962-2012
Louise Glück
Private Politics (The Easy Part)
Emma Barry
Unquiet Slumber
Paulette Miller
Exit Lady Masham
Louis Auchincloss
Sunset & Vine: Loose Lips
Per Hampton
Trade Me
Courtney Milan
The Day Before
Liana Brooks
