Chapter 32 – Operation Sand Scorpion

The Middle East was on fire.

But it wasn't the chaos of disorder—it was the precise, measured incineration of threats, kindled by a master tactician. Michael Ogunlade, now Chief of Station in Tel Aviv and the head of Nigeria's Middle East Intelligence Division, was running one of the most audacious covert operations in modern history.

Operation Sand Scorpion had a singular aim: destabilize both Iran and Saudi Arabia by turning them against each other—while keeping Nigeria's hand invisible.

To Israel, Michael was a miracle. Mossad analysts watched Saudi airstrikes on Iranian proxies with glee, convinced Michael was "one of theirs." They opened doors, shared intelligence, and permitted deeper coordination between their elite units and the IIS.

But they didn't know the half of it.

Michael was playing every side. The Saudis believed Nigeria was quietly supporting their fight against Iran. The Iranians suspected something—but their focus was pulled inward by domestic unrest and shadowy assassinations of key Revolutionary Guard figures. Meanwhile, Michael's moves ensured both were bled dry—politically, militarily, and economically.

Israel's hands were busy, their targets in Lebanon, Gaza, and Yemen suddenly exposed through anonymous intel drops. Hezbollah safehouses leveled. Houthi drone engineers found face-down in hotel bathtubs. Precision hits—silent, swift.

The Saudis? Even more entangled. Every Iranian drone in Yemen they downed felt like a victory—yet they never realized the pattern they were locked in was manufactured, their attention pulled away from regional diplomacy and internal reform.

While Riyadh and Tehran sparred, Michael struck elsewhere.

ISIS safehouses in Syria and Iraq were reduced to ash. The operations were silent—snipers, car bombs, electronic traps disguised as Qur'anic texts. Michael coordinated directly with his stations in Baghdad and Damascus. Balarabe, the stoic Hausa veteran in Iraq, and Aisha Yusuf, a veiled but ruthless strategist in Syria, ran brutal counterinsurgency networks.

A suitcase detonated in Raqqa. A high-ranking ISIS leader found dismembered in Mosul. A convoy disappeared in Anbar. Each strike left behind no fingerprints—only a haunting message:

> "We are the sand. We swallow empires."

Not a signature. A prophecy. And it traveled.

The Americans were intrigued. The CIA's regional coordinator in Jordan met with Michael in a rooftop café under heavy security. MI6 dropped subtle compliments during a weapons tracing seminar in Doha. Even the Russians, always wary, requested secure backchannel exchanges via their Syrian handlers. The Chinese sent encrypted cables through Oman.

Michael gave each one something.

Not too much.

Just enough to keep the alliances warm—and the distrust burning among them.

The web widened. Mossad wanted more operations. The CIA wanted collaboration. The Saudis wanted revenge. The Iranians began hunting ghosts.

And Michael? He simply moved the pieces. He didn't need bullets—only leverage, whispers, and dead men in the right places.

By the end of the quarter, 11 key jihadist commanders were dead. Four terrorist financial pipelines disrupted. At least three nations' covert networks were compromised or flipped.

Still, no one could trace it back to Nigeria. All they had was the message:

> "We are the sand. We swallow empires."

It was a warning. A myth. A calling card.

And it was only just beginning.