Gunnymede jumped up, removed a large plastic box from his pack and opened it to reveal a drone in pieces. He snap-clipped the rotor arms to the body, attached a swivel camera to the underside, unfolded the slender legs and rested it on the sand.
Granger watched the vehicles draw closer, the engines growing louder. They passed a hundred metres across their front. A Land Cruiser and a Hilux. The Hilux came to a stop and the Land Cruiser continued on for another fifty or so metres before stopping.
All engines went dead.
‘Right on station,’ Granger said. ‘Don’t we just love creatures of habit?’
Gunnymede flicked a switch on the drone and the propellers hummed to life. A touch of the joy stick and the drone rose off the ground into the night sky and disappeared amongst the stars, sight and sound.
Granger kept his eyes on the vehicles. ‘Bods climbing out the Hilux. No movement on the Cruiser.’
Gunnymede hit a memory key on his sat phone and plugged his throat mic into it. A moment later a short buzz indicated a connection.
‘Charlie, Charlie. We’re green, green,’ Gunnymede said as he piloted the drone while watching a bird’s eye thermal image of the vehicles on the console monitor.
Eleven hundred and fifty miles south east of their position, the Dubai operations room displayed the drone’s view on a massive screen filling a high wall of a modern military operations room packed with electronics. The image occupied one section of the multi-split screen, the others showing weather fronts, aircraft patterns and an eye in the sky of the operational area pinpointing Gunnymede and Granger’s position using graphics. Half a dozen personnel managed the room, five British and an American female colonel, all wearing military fatigues, most of them busy in front of computers.
There was one other person in the room, at the back, in the shadows, detached, observing; Neve Murray, pretty woman dressed in civvies. She looked up from her coffee as Gunnymede’s voice broke the silence, smiling thinly to herself as she focused on the satellite view of the two operators, pinpricks in a sea of sand.
‘That’s a de-bus,’ Gunnymede said.
A dozen thermal figures climbed out of the rear vehicle. Several moved away to urinate, the warm liquid outlined as it pooled before soaking into the sand. The heads of others suddenly flared as if exploding as they ignited cigarettes. A couple set about making a fire.
‘Do you have the drone?’ Gunnymede asked.
‘Acquired,’ a controller replied.
‘Anything on those aircraft a few minutes ago?’ Granger asked.
‘Russians,’ the British SAS Major who was operations officer said. ‘They’re still in the sector.’
‘We good to continue?’ Granger asked.
‘Affirmative. Let’s do it,’ the ops officer said.
‘The drone’s all yours,’ Gunnymede said.
‘Let’s take a look at the lead vehicle,’ the ops officer said to the drone operator.
The drone operator moved a joystick and the drone’s point of view shifted from the Hilux to the Land Cruiser.
Granger and Gunnymede made cursory checks of pouches and pockets, reminding hands where spare magazine and toys were stowed. Grenades were felt, release catches thumbed. Pistols touched.
‘You good to go?’ Granger asked.
‘Yes.’
Granger gave Gunnymede a look.
‘What?’ Gunnymede asked.
‘You up for this? Could get nasty.’
‘I’d rather be buying a drink for a long legged spy in the American Colony in Jerusalem.’
Granger smiled. ‘I’d rather be ’ere,’ he said as he touched his throat mic. ‘Green green is foxtrot.’
‘Roger that,’ the Ops Officer replied.
Granger moved off at an easy pace, Gunnymede behind and to one side. The surface of the higher ground they occupied had a hard, wind-packed crust with softer sand beneath it. Some parts were thick enough to support a man’s weight while others gave way, their feet breaking through to the soft sand below up to their knees.
By the time they dropped down onto hard packed ground between the dunes the vehicles had gone out of sight. They slowed as they closed on the edge of a rise. The Land Cruiser came into view. The wind continued to be the only sound as they stepped into the open. The Hilux was in view further away, the men standing around the fire focused on making a brew. None would be able to see Gunnymede and Granger even if they looked straight at them, their night vision blanked by the fire.
Granger paused to study the Cruiser through his imager. ‘Two occupants. Driver plus one in back,’ he reported.
‘Red for Charlie,’ a voice came over Gunnymede’s earpiece from the Dubai operations room. ‘They’re on comms now.’
‘You want me to take out the driver?’ Granger asked Gunnymede.
‘I’ll manage.’
‘And if Saleem doesn’t want to come?’
‘He’ll come.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘I’ll whack him and grab the gear.’
‘Don’t get into a conversation with him.’
‘We had this discussion back in Dubai,’ Gunnymede complained.
‘Just making sure. You ready?’
‘Yes.’
They brought their rifles into their shoulders, placed their fingers on the triggers and walked towards the Cruiser. The wind picked up a little. The cab light was on. The driver was turned in his seat to face the man in the rear.
As Gunnymede reached for the door a voice came over his earplugs stopping him dead.
‘Red, red! Aircraft! Standby!’ It was one of the controllers in Dubai, her voice betraying her concern.
Granger and Gunnymede looked at each other and then skyward.
‘Two birds,’ the ops controller continued. ‘Turning towards your location.’
Their ears picked up the sound of the jets above the wind. Getting louder. The Land Cruiser’s doors opened and the two men scrambled out to look skyward. Daesh fighters were very sensitive to threats from the air. The sound of aircraft was the herald of death to them.
The one who’d climbed out of the back suddenly realised someone was nearby. He
