The Paradigm Shift

Wednesday, 16th June 2008 Evening - Rub Al Khali, South YemenLuke Weaver crouched behind the rock observing the Bedouin camp below him. It was late evening and only the excited crackling of the campfire broke the peaceful tranquillity of the desert. In the darkness, he adjusted the lens on his night vision binoculars and magnified the red silhouettes of the Yemeni royal guards. They were obviously not anticipating any danger; they lay in various states of repose around the campsite. The sight did not surprise Luke; he had become accustomed to the ruler’s bodyguards’ poor state of readiness. Surrounding the campfire, there were six large Majilis tents with their canvas flaps tied open to let in the breeze. About a hundred yards beyond the camp, there was a makeshift corral for the camels and horses, which were tethered to palm trees on the edge of the small oasis. Little was happening down below so Luke lifted the binoculars slightly to scan the horizon. The light from the moon helped him make out the wind-shaped dunes in the distance but there were no unusual signs of activity. After he had satisfied himself that everything was as normal, Luke dropped the binoculars to his side and relaxed for a moment. He had picked a spot about fifty feet up a rocky Jebel mountain that offered a perfect vantage point from which to watch the movement in the Ruler’s camp below. Turning around and sitting with his back to the rock, he gazed up at the peak looming above him. Luke Weaver was used to hiding undercover and working alone. Five years ago he had been hand picked from the SAS to work in special ops for the British Secret Service. Now thirty-seven, he was a veteran of the Gulf War, numerous SAS encounters and several clandestine operations for the British government. This particular mission was distinctive in that it was more solitary and nomadic than usual. In stature, Luke was a couple of inches over six feet with broad shoulders, a strong jaw line and classic good looks. His light brown hair, which had been blond as a child, was cut short around his ears in an army style. His strongest features were his piercing blue eyes, which could be unnerving for those trying to meet his gaze for the first time. Dressed partially in combat uniform and partially in local Arabic attire, he had adapted to cope with the terrain and the weather extremes. His boots and green khakis were standard issue and functional but above his waist he wore the white, ankle-length Arabic dress of the locals, which he had tucked into his fatigues. The evening humidity was high, particularly so because they were stationed close to an oasis. After taking a drink from his water canteen, he removed the black Arabic headdress that was wrapped around his head. During the day, temperatures soared to over forty degrees and he was grateful to the headdress for providing some protection against the heat and the sandstorms. It was all a million miles away from England. He let his mind drift, closing his eyes and pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He contemplated the recent events that had brought him to his present position on the rockface in the Yemeni interior, twenty-five kilometres from the Omani border. Working for the British government on his previous encounter, he had been forced to eject from a light aircraft just before it became a ball of flames and crashed into the side of a mountain in the Andes. Reports remitted to MI6 headquarters indicated no survivors and, without any eye witnesses, operatives in Whitehall could only presume that Luke had died in the crash. In reality, it took Luke a long time to escape through the Andes and march back to civilization. When, months later, the opportunity finally arose, he contacted Sir Thomas Boswell, the head of MI6, directly. Sir Thomas saw the opportunity immediately. Luke was informed that to all intents and purposes he was a dead man - and that was how Sir Thomas wanted it to remain. Only a handful of trusted senior MI6 executives were to know of his continued existence and he was asked to remain undercover while they established his new identity. After two months had passed, the department processed his death certificate and carried out the final formalities, although these were minimal. There wasn’t even any need to inform his next of kin. His parents had passed away before he entered Her Majesty’s service and, since he was without siblings, his only remaining relatives were distant. Although some had briefly entered his life during his youth, he had lost contact with them a long time ago. A memorial service was held in his honour and all dossiers covering his military and government career were moved to archives. That was over a year ago. Now he turned his thoughts back to his current mission and its objectives. Below him, inhabiting the six Majili tents, was the ruler of Yemen, Sheikh Obaid bin Faisal Al Salah, accompanied by members of his family, his royal guard and an assemblage of very attentive menservants. The ruler and his entourage were spending a few days in the desert, hunting with their falcons and enjoying the simple traditional customs of Bedouin life that was part of their rich heritage. Historically, Yemen had always been a trouble spot in the Middle East, dating back to the cold war, when, in the seventies, the country had been divided into the Russian-supported North, and the British-American-maintained South. Since the early eighties, the country had become re-united under the wise patronage and leadership of Sheikh Obaid. Acceptance from their wealthy Arab neighbours and the international community was slow in coming but through his perseverance, Yemen’s own sovereignty was gradually re-established. Sheikh Obaid was given a seat on the influential Gulf Cooperation Council and further positive relationships were established with the western world. Unfortunately, and a major cause for world concern, the rulership and continued succession of Sheikh Obaid and his descendants was in jeopardy. The diplomatic progress made by Yemen over the years was at risk. Rebel forces led by the outspoken Jumal Al Suweidi had denounced Obaid’s right to rule and had shown their teeth in bomb attacks on Foreign embassies and by taking western hostages to publicize their cause. Their leader, Jumal Al Suweidi, was dubbed the Desert Snake by the international media for his ability to vanish into the rocky terrain that characterized the landscape of Yemen’s mountainous interior. The Desert Snake was ruthless and showed no mercy in his quest for power and recognition. Even the international TV networks could not show footage of his more barbaric acts because they were deemed too shocking for public consumption. In one incident, he grabbed a ten-year-old Swedish girl he was holding hostage and dragged her in front of the TV camera crew. While her captive parents watched screaming in the background, he jerked her head back violently and slowly slit her throat. As the vital fluid of life seeped down the young girl’s dress, he smiled at the camera with his manic, beady eyes and licked the blood off his curved Arabic dagger. Luke had seen the gory recording as part of his MI6 preparation and the haunting look of terror on the girl’s face would never leave him. In disgust, he had sworn privately to avenge the killing if the opportunity arose. His assignment from MI6 was to stay concealed and protect Sheikh Obaid from attack by the rebel forces loyal to the Desert Snake. The British government knew that the death of Obaid would knock the region back twenty years. Old border disputes would re-surface and tensions over access to holy shrines of Islam would make war a real possibility. In loud shows of public hostility, the rebels had raised border tension by announcing their commitment to redrafting the lines of demarcation with Saudi. They wanted their share of the oil reserves and the wealth that came with it. Unbeknown to Sheikh Obaid, Luke had been watching over him for months - even residing undiscovered in his palace grounds. Suddenly, Luke opened his eyes. His acute sense of hearing was trying to separate the sounds of the night. He had heard what sounded like a small shower of shale running down the mountainside above him. An animal maybe? he thought to himself, probably one of the mountain goats that were so common hereabouts. For a few seconds he strained to hear it again but all he picked up was the camels’ groaning and sporadic murmurs from the campsite below. Seizing his binoculars, he began scanning the rocky Jebel above him to his right. Luke saw their glowing red images as the thermal imaging equipment located their heat sources and amplified them: five armed figures making their way cautiously down the steep rock face towards a small shelf. Focusing, he could make out that two rebels were carrying weapons over their shoulders that looked like computerized mini rocket launchers potentially capable of destroying the camp below with one hit. The hi-tech weapon was actually spawned from the American Dragon anti-armour device popular at the turn of the century. Furtively, he picked up his semi-automatic weapon and started to move quickly and silently across the rock face towards a large jagged boulder that offered some rudimentary cover next to the rock ledge. He reached it at the same time as the rebels arrived at the shelf and he could hear their frantic whispers as they began setting up the two tripods ready for the composite alloy barrel of the missile launcher. Although Luke had taken the precaution earlier, he re-checked his ammunition clip and made a mental note to take out the three rebels standing behind the launchers first. The other two were in the process of squatting down behind the tripods making final preparations to fire the missiles. They would take a lot longer to react once he was in full view than the revolutionaries standing behind them with their rifles at the ready. Just as he heard the leader give the signal to fire when ready, he took a deep breath and swung around the boulder to face the rock shelf from the side. With five rebels against him, Luke was relying heavily on the element of surprise. His semi-automatic gun was fitted with a laser that cast a thin red beam directly on to the heads of the three agitators. Luke walked towards them, squeezing the trigger as the red dot from the laser jumped to each successive target. The remaining two holding the launchers stared up at him in horror as their comrades fell to the ground behind them. In front of them, on the tripods, were the very latest in modern weaponry yet around their chests hung the old ammunition belts of yesteryear. Looking up in shock, their long symbolic beards emphasized their fanatical way of life. They had no time to manoeuvre and although one clutched at the pistol in his belt, he was too late. They died instantly as Luke’s gun fired twice. Unfortunately, Luke was powerless to control the next sequence of events. The missile launchers were not actually fired by conventional triggers but by a control button on a miniature computer pad attached by a thin cable to the weapon’s barrel. As the nearest rebel fell against the tripod, knocking the barrel skywards, he landed on the button, firing the rocket like a flare into the night sky. As it exploded harmlessly in the air, it lit up Sheikh Obaid’s camp and, glancing over the edge of the plateau, Luke registered the hive of activity below him. The ruler’s guards were running in all directions, waving their rifles and screaming in Arabic as they passed each tent. It won’t take them long to get organized, he thought, before turning around to face the rebels he had just killed. Luke looked down at the dead men as the light began to fade. As he considered his next move he saw something glitter out of the corner of his eye and he reached down into his pocket for a packet of matches. He struck one next to the face of the rebel that had caught his attention. It was the Desert Snake, his mouth ajar and showing his bloodied gold teeth. In that instant, Luke realized that his covert operation was complete. He gritted his teeth. The Desert Snake’s death would go some way towards his exorcism of the ghostly apparition of that tragically butchered young Swedish girl. A noise behind him brought him back to his senses. He could hear the first wave of the Sheikh Obaid’s royal guard clambering up the mountain behind him. They wouldn’t catch him - but he didn’t want to take any chances. Keeping low, he scuttled back across the rock face to his supply pack. He looked back one last time to check his bearings and then started climbing upwards, over the summit and on towards the Omani border. Three days later, Luke entered Salalah on the southern coast of Oman. His sand-strewn, Arabian dress convinced the inhabitants that he was a Bedouin from out of town and he moved freely through the backstreets of the local souq. Several months earlier, he had made escape preparations by hiding a package in the basement of the National Stadium on the highway to Muscat. The stadium was empty, as it was most of the year. Sultan Qaboos, who ruled the country from the capital city in the north, had commissioned its construction in the early 1980s to symbolize his control over the Omani families in the south at a time when there were rumblings of a potential coup. Luke had no difficulty in retracing his steps and breaking into the basement below the stands of the stadium. Once inside, he calmly pulled out a small flat black case from the hole he had made in the foundations before heading back into Salalah. That evening he accessed the internet and left an encrypted message on the prearranged page of a website he had agreed with Sir Thomas Boswell. An additional package attached to the black case contained currency and passports, which he stored in his belt, hidden beneath his Arab dress. The following day he re-entered the site and looked at his instructions. The sentence would be meaningless to anyone browsing casually but to Luke it translated into a new set of geographical coordinates. Two days later he was sitting on the tarnished deck of a wooden dhow as it headed out of the Port of Salalah on its trading run to India.