The Panther

PART VI


Marib,

Yemen





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


Bulus ibn al-Darwish, al-Numair, The Panther, wearing the white robes and shiwal of a Bedouin, sat on the dirt floor of a goat herder’s hut situated in a narrow gorge in the highlands south and west of Marib town. The sun was low over the mountains and the hut was in shadow, though a shaft of sunlight came through the doorway.

Sitting around the walls of the stone hut were ten men—his inner council of advisors, and also his most senior aide, Altair, an older man, from the province of Ta’iz where the al-Darwish family originated. In fact, Altair was a distant kinsman, and the old man had known the father of Bulus’s father, and had also known Bulus’s own father as a young man, before he emigrated to America.

Nearby was the camp of The Panther’s jihadists, but he could not go there for this meeting because of the American Predator drones. The drones may have seen the camp—though from the air it appeared to be a Bedouin village of tents and also stone and mud huts. And in fact it once was a Bedouin village, but not any longer, thanks to Sheik Musa, who had given—for a price—this village to the jihadists of Al Qaeda. The Panther did not know if the Americans had become suspicious of the camp, but in any case he had called for a gathering here, in the narrow gorge, which was also not far from The Panther’s maghara, his cave, where he lived alone—except for a woman—and which was known to only a few of his most trusted aides, including Altair.

The Panther addressed his council of advisors, saying, “God is testing us.”

The men nodded.

The Panther had just recently received the news that the ambush on the American convoy had failed—because of the Predator drones firing Hellfire missiles—and many jihadists had been killed and wounded.

He said to his council, “The Americans are operating freely on the sacred soil of Yemen. And they are doing this with the blessing of the government in Sana’a—the corrupt lackeys of the Americans who sell their souls for the American dollar.”

Some of the men made sounds of agreement. But not all.

The Panther continued, “We will avenge these deaths.”

Again, there were only a few signs of agreement among his ten advisors.

Bulus ibn al-Darwish knew that some of these men had been against the attack on the Hunt Oil installation. And for that reason, he had not consulted with them about mounting an ambush on the American Embassy convoy. This was the first they were hearing of it, and they were not pleased.

He had suffered two defeats at the hands of the Americans within days, and he needed someone to blame for these defeats. He also needed a victory.

He reminded his advisors, “Forty of our jihadists are as of this moment on their way to Aden. They will attack the Sheraton Hotel and kill all the Americans there—the spies and the soldiers who are using the hotel as a base on the holy soil of Yemen—and also the Americans from the embassy who have arrived from Sana’a. All of them will die within the next few days.”

A few in his council of advisors nodded, but The Panther was aware that some of them were beginning to doubt him—to doubt that he was blessed by God.

He continued, “And forty jihadists have journeyed to Sana’a and will mount an attack on the American Embassy compound.”

A senior advisor, Jawad, reminded his chief, “This council must approve of the embassy attack and it must also be approved by the Supreme Council.”

The Panther did not reply.

Jawad also reminded his chief, “If the embassy attack is successful, and if our jihadists enter the embassy compound and kill all the Americans—perhaps a hundred who live and work there—this act will have consequences which go beyond these borders.” Jawad also told his chief and the others, “I fear an invasion of American soldiers in our country if these attacks on the embassy and on the hotel in Aden are successful—or even if they are not.” He also reminded his chief, “You recall what happened after the successful attack on the American warship.”

The Panther replied, “Yes, Jawad, I recall.” He told Jawad and everyone, “Men and money flowed to us in abundance.”

“And so did the Americans flow into Yemen in abundance.”

The Panther again did not respond.

Another man on the council said, “We are not ready yet to attack. We must build our forces. We need another year, perhaps.”

The Panther replied, “The more we attack, the more men and money will come to us.”

Altair, sitting at the right hand of The Panther, looked at the advisors in the dim light and he could see their doubt. His young friend, Bulus, he thought, was still glowing in the victory of his bold and successful attack on the American warship, the Cole. But that was over three years ago, and since then Bulus ibn al-Darwish had only small victories against the Sana’a government and no victories against the Americans. The council was willing to wait, but The Panther was not.

Altair knew also that the killing of the nine Belgians and the two Yemenis at the Bilqis ruins had not been celebrated by all jihadists, or by all sympathizers to the cause. True, the Supreme Council of Al Qaeda had approved the attack, but the population of Marib province, including the Bedouin tribes, were not happy that the foreigners had been killed, and many saw it as an act of cowardice, and many in the province had suffered financial loss because the tourists had ceased to come to the ruins.

Altair knew also that if the attacks on the Sheraton Hotel in Aden and on the American Embassy in Sana’a did not result in victory, then his young friend’s leadership would be in jeopardy. Also, perhaps, his life.

The Panther was still addressing his council of advisors, and Altair thought he was saying too much. What more was there to say? What had already happened—the two defeats—spoke for themselves. If his jihadists were successful with their attacks in Aden and Sana’a, that, too, would speak for itself.

In any case, Altair did not believe in The Panther’s strategy of attacking the Americans. The jihadists should be attacking the government forces. If al-Darwish wished to someday live in the presidential palace, as he said, then he needed to defeat the hated government—not the Americans, who were here in small numbers.

He knew also that if the government was not defeated, the corrupt men in Sana’a would give in to American pressure to let the Americans build a military base in Aden, as the British and then the Russians had done. And if that happened, then the Yemeni people would have the Americans with them for a very long time. But al-Darwish could not see that far into the future. He was blinded by the sight of a small number of Americans, and did not see the ones waiting for an excuse to do what they had done in Iraq and Afghanistan. That would be a disaster for Yemen.

Altair leaned toward al-Darwish and whispered, “We have much to do.”

The Panther paused in his address to his council, then said to them, “We will meet again in perhaps one week—after our victories in Aden and Sana’a.”

The Panther stood and his advisors stood also. The advisors left the hut silently, and only a few took their leave with proper expressions of respect.

The Panther and Altair stood alone, and Altair said, “Perhaps you should reconsider these attacks.”

The Panther replied with a question. “How can you live as a Muslim and as a Yemeni while the Americans are on the sacred soil of Yemen?”

Altair replied, “They are here because the government invited them. And they are here because you attack them here.” He advised, “Destroy the government and the Americans will leave.”

“They will not leave unless we kill them here.”

Altair had already had this discussion with al-Darwish, and he had concluded that his young friend was more interested in killing his former countrymen than in a wise strategy to free their country from the corrupt men in Sana’a.

Altair did not want to argue with this man—and if the attacks in Aden and Sana’a failed, he would not need to argue with him. But he advised, “Hate blinds us to the truth.”

The Panther had no reply.

The Panther’s junior aide Nabeel al-Samad was standing a respectable distance from the open door, and Altair motioned him to enter. Nabeel entered quickly and made proper greetings, kissing the hands of both men.

The Panther remained standing and said to Nabeel, “Tell me and tell Altair what happened with this ambush, and also about your mission in Sana’a to kill the American agents.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nabeel did not wish to make this report, but if he was truthful and direct, it would go better. As he began to describe the ambush, The Panther interrupted and said, “Tell us first about your failed mission in Sana’a.”

Nabeel licked his dry lips, then said, “Yes, sir…” He related his journey by vehicle to Sana’a after The Panther had given him the mission to kill the two Americans who had landed at the airport.

Altair interrupted, “I did not know that. Who are these Americans?”

It was The Panther who explained to Altair about John Corey and his wife, and that these two American agents were on the assassination list of the Supreme Council of Al Qaeda. The Panther explained also that the Americans were marked for death because the man Corey had killed Asad Khalil, The Lion.

Altair nodded and said to Nabeel, “Continue.”

Nabeel was surprised that The Panther had not consulted his most senior and trusted aide on this matter, but he knew why that was so; Altair did not want to provoke the Americans, thinking correctly, perhaps, that the Americans were seeking an excuse to send more forces into Yemen—as happened after the Cole attack. The Panther, however, wanted to kill more Americans.

Nabeel continued, “Friends at the airport informed me that Corey and his wife had left that location in a convoy of three armored vehicles which took them to the American Embassy, where they spent the remainder of the evening.”

Nabeel continued his report, saying that embassy watchers as well as friends in the Sheraton Hotel confirmed that the two Americans had been transported to the hotel in the late morning by a single armored vehicle, and that they had registered there and gone to their rooms.

Nabeel also said, “I arranged for our watchers in Sana’a to keep them under observation, and I also called together four jihadists with myself to assassinate the Americans at the first opportunity.”

The Panther commented, “That opportunity apparently did not present itself.”

Nabeel took a long breath and replied, “It is difficult in Sana’a—”

“Continue.”

“Yes, sir.” Nabeel related what he had heard from the watchers. “The two Americans were later met at the Sheraton Hotel by two American security men from the embassy, with an armored Land Cruiser, and they drove into the city.”

Nabeel then told The Panther and Altair of the movements of these four Americans in Sana’a—the khat souk, the Old City, lunch at Old Sana’a, the shop called Hope in Their Hands, the jambiyah shop, then the drive to Ghumdan Fortress.

The Panther already knew from his sources in the Ghumdan prison that Corey and the security man called Brenner had come to the prison and had spoken to Rahim ibn Hayyam, his jihadist, who had been taken prisoner at the Hunt Oil installation. This was troubling, because if Rahim ibn Hayyam had given information to the Americans, or to the Political Security Organization, then perhaps Rahim ibn Hayyam had revealed that The Panther was in Marib province on the night of the attack. If that were the case, then he, The Panther, could expect more Predator drones and perhaps more government activity, or even the presence of Americans who might come here to find him.

Altair also understood this and said to al-Darwish, “Perhaps you should leave Marib province before the government forces—or the Americans with their drones—come here to find you.”

The Panther did not think Altair should have said that with Nabeel present. In any case, he replied, “It is acceptable for men in our situation to hide, but it is not acceptable to run.” He vowed, “I will remain here.”

Altair responded, “As you wish.” He thought Bulus ibn al-Darwish would be wise to remove himself from this province, but al-Darwish was not wise; he had acquired in his youth the arrogance of the Americans whom he so hated.

Altair also understood that if the prisoner, Rahim ibn Hayyam, had revealed the location of The Panther, he may also have revealed the plans to attack the Sheraton Hotel in Aden—if he knew of these plans. And Hayyam might know from talk in the camp. And Bulus knew this, and yet he had said nothing to the council, and he had not halted the plan to attack the hotel. Truly this attack could end in disaster if the Americans were alerted.

Altair took al-Darwish aside and asked him about this.

The Panther replied, “Even if Hayyam is speaking under torture, he would not know of this plan to attack the Americans in Aden.”

Altair disagreed. “Soldiers in camp talk, my friend.”

The Panther told Altair, “We have many watchers at the Aden hotel, and they report no increase in the security there. No army troops have been dispatched to the hotel.”

Altair thought about this, then said, “The Americans may have chosen not to ask for additional soldiers.” He explained to al-Darwish, “They may be waiting for the attack, and they may welcome it. Just as they did at the Hunt Oil installation—and as they may have also done with the ambush.”

The Panther did not reply.

Altair said to him, “Do you not see? This is how they conduct war. You think you are surprising them, but they are surprising you, Bulus.”

The Panther replied, “That is not true. You will see.”

Altair looked at Bulus ibn al-Darwish. Clearly this man did not have the wisdom or patience of his forefathers. In Yemen, war is a slow thing, a never-ending struggle against the invaders and also against whoever sits in the palace in Sana’a. But al-Darwish, al-Amriki, did not understand how war was done in Yemen. And Altair was not going to tell him again how it was done. He would discover that for himself—and become either a great leader, or a dead man.

Also, Altair knew, this man was dangerous. He killed those who disagreed with him and those who proved him wrong. Altair did not fear The Panther, but perhaps he should.

Altair returned to Nabeel and asked him questions about what he had related, and Nabeel stressed that his watchers had been thorough, and that they kept in contact by cell phone with friends who watched outside the embassy, and friends in the Sheraton Hotel. Even the proprietor at the Old Sana’a restaurant had called an assigned telephone number to report the presence of the Americans.

The Panther nodded in approval. He had gone to great lengths to build a telephone network of friends in each town and city in Yemen. These friends, who asked only a few rials for their trouble, numbered in the hundreds, and most of them, he thought, did not know or care whom they were reporting to when they called the telephone number assigned to them. Some of them would be surprised to learn it was Al Qaeda who wanted this information about the movements of the Americans and British, and also other Westerners—but most understood who was paying them. There were so few Westerners in this small country that they could be tracked by only a few hundred friends. The Panther believed that his network of informants was even larger than that of the PSO, who in any case were more interested in Yemeni political opponents than in Westerners.

Also, The Panther knew, the number of Westerners who came to Yemen for tourism, business, and aid work was smaller each year as the security situation became worse for them. And this was the purpose of his attack on the Belgians. Soon, he thought, the number of Westerners in Yemen would be reduced to the embassy staffs—and also the American spies and military men in Aden.

Nabeel was now speaking of the embassy party on the Sunday night. Two of the Yemenis working in the embassy kitchen were friends. Nabeel continued, “Four Americans then left the embassy with a security man who drove the armored vehicle to the Mövenpick Hotel, where the Americans had dinner.” Nabeel informed his chief and Altair, “Two of our watchers entered the hotel and confirmed to me that two of the Americans were Corey and his wife, and one was the security man, Brenner, and one was a diplomat called Harris.”

The Panther nodded again. This would have been a good place for Nabeel and the jihadists to visit and kill all four Americans at dinner as they drank alcohol. The Mövenpick employed National Security police and private guards on the premises, but these were of no consequence. What was of consequence was the money paid by the Mövenpick and other Western hotels to Al Qaeda in return for peace. But if The Panther had known of the four Americans in the hotel—if Nabeel had telephoned him—he would have ordered the assassination in this case.

Nabeel continued, “The Americans then drove in their vehicle to the Russia Club.” He reminded his chief, “The security in this compound is very strong, and we have no friends in this place.”

The Panther responded, “Soon, when our jihadists enter Sana’a, there will be no one alive in that filthy place.”

“Yes, sir.” Nabeel completed his report, which on balance, he thought, showed that he had done a very fine job of knowing where the Americans were throughout the day and evening.

The Panther, however, said, “So, it was good that you knew every movement of the Americans. But I believe you were supposed to kill them.”

Nabeel explained, “As you know, sir, these are trained men and they take precautions.” Nabeel reminded The Panther of the armored vehicles, the weapons, the bulletproof vests, and the possibility that other American security men were watching their compatriots. Nabeel also said, “And, of course, sir, the PSO also watches the Americans.”

The Panther stared at Nabeel for a long moment, then asked him, “Were you frightened, Nabeel?”

Nabeel replied quickly, “No, sir. We were waiting for the moment when we could be certain the Americans could not escape our bullets—when they could be shot in the head, to ensure—”

“But that moment never arrived.”

“Not on that day, sir. But for the next day, we set forth a plan to—”

“Or were you waiting for the opportunity to kill only the security men, then kidnap Corey and his wife and claim your reward?”

Nabeel hesitated, then replied, “No, sir. A kidnapping was not possible in Sana’a with the police, the PSO—”

“Enough!” The Panther said to Nabeel sharply, “So on the following day, your two fortunate Americans again escaped death. Correct?”

Nabeel took another breath and replied, “They were taken from the Sheraton Hotel in an armored vehicle in the early morning and delivered to the American Embassy. Sometime later, the embassy watchers observed a convoy of five vehicles leaving the embassy.” Nabeel reminded his chief, “The armored vehicles have black glass, so neither the watchers nor a soldier who is a friend could say for certain if Corey or his wife were in any of the vehicles, but—”

“But you made the assumption that they were.”

“Yes, sir.” He explained, “Corey and his wife had arrived at the embassy at an early hour, then perhaps half an hour later the convoy passed through the gates, so—”

“I understand, Nabeel. So it was at this time that you decided to ambush the convoy.”

Nabeel had made no such decision. He had, in fact, called The Panther, who agreed that Corey and his wife were most probably in the convoy, and that an ambush should be set for the convoy. But this was not what The Panther wished him to say with Altair present.

Altair asked Nabeel, “Are you saying that you took it upon yourself to authorize an attack on the American Embassy convoy?”

Nabeel lowered his head and replied to Altair, “I did attempt, sir, three times to call al-Numair on the cell phone and satellite phone.”

The Panther said to Nabeel, “You should have attempted calls to others around me.”

“Yes, sir.” Nabeel knew that if the ambush had been successful, then this conversation would not be taking place in this way. He remembered something from the Hebrew Book of Leviticus: Let him go for a scapegoat into the wilderness.

The Panther said to Nabeel, “Now tell us what you know of this ambush.”

“Yes, sir.” Nabeel could take no blame for the failure of the ambush—that blame went to Faris, the local Al Qaeda leader who had organized the ambush—but by taking the blame for ordering it, Nabeel knew he had perhaps condemned himself to death.

“Nabeel? Speak.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood straight and addressed The Panther and Altair. “When I received word of the American convoy leaving the embassy, I immediately contacted our provincial leaders along the expected route.”

It was actually The Panther who had told him to do this, and it seemed a good strategy. Nabeel continued, “The route, as usual, was south, toward Aden, which is where the Americans go by convoy.”

The Panther said, “That was a good thought, Nabeel. I would have approved—if you had contacted me.”

“Yes, sir.” He continued, “Many friends along the route reported on the location of the convoy, and within hours, Faris had assembled fighters for an ambush in the hills south of Ibb.”

“Excellent,” said The Panther. “So is the convoy destroyed? Are all the Americans dead?”

Nabeel had been witness to his chief’s unusual manner of speaking to men who displeased him. He wondered if Bulus ibn al-Darwish had learned that way of speaking in America.

“Nabeel? Am I not speaking loudly enough for you?”

Nabeel drew a deep breath and replied, “I apologize, sir, for my slowness in responding—”

Altair interrupted, “Continue, Nabeel. What happened with this ambush?”

Nabeel continued, “Faris has told me that the ambush was well planned, with twenty jihadists, a car bomb, a roadside bomb, and a bomb in a donkey cart, whose driver was prepared to become a martyr, but—”

“Enough.” The Panther had already been told that the American Predator drones had seen the ambush and launched Hellfire missiles at the jihadists, so he said to Nabeel, “I have heard enough from you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He said to Nabeel, “I wish to see Faris. He is to travel to Marib town and await further instructions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Or perhaps I should have someone else call him. Perhaps you will not be able to contact him with your troublesome cell phone.”

Nabeel did not reply.

The Panther commented, “You seem frightened, Nabeel. What is frightening you?”

Nabeel again lowered his head and replied, “My own inadequacy frightens me, sir.” He looked directly at The Panther and said, “I have failed you, and I have failed our great cause.”

“I agree with you, Nabeel. I agree that you failed to kill the two Americans as I ordered, and I agree that you ordered an ambush that ended in disaster. And what do you think your punishment should be?”

“Whatever you wish, sir.”

“Even death?”

“If it pleases you, sir.”

The Panther drew his jambiyah from its sheath and held the razor-sharp blade against Nabeel’s throat.

Nabeel felt his body and legs begin to tremble, and felt himself losing control of his bladder.

Altair said, “That is not necessary, Bulus.”

Perhaps, hoped Nabeel, the old man suspected that The Panther was lying and that it was The Panther who had ordered the ambush. Altair knew Bulus ibn al-Darwish well—perhaps too well. Nabeel prayed that Altair would save his life.

The Panther pressed the blade harder against Nabeel’s jugular vein, but did not draw the dagger across his throat. “Look at me. Look into my eyes.”

Nabeel looked into the eyes of The Panther and saw hate, but not of him, he thought. The hate was always there when the talk was of the Americans.

The Panther said to Nabeel, “So the Americans are now at the Sheraton in Aden, Nabeel. They are perhaps swimming in the pool. Or on the beach. Or perhaps they are having alcoholic drinks in the bar room. And how many jihadists lie dead in the hills and on the road because of your stupid decision to attack this convoy? How many, Nabeel?”

Nabeel swallowed and felt the blade press deeper into his flesh. “Ten, sir…”

“I think more.”

Altair said, “Bulus, we have been here too long.” He reminded him, “If the drones and the missiles trouble you, then we need to leave before they visit us.”

“Yes, but first I need to cut a throat.”

“Yes, but not this man’s throat. Another throat awaits you.”

The Panther did not reply to Altair, but he said to Nabeel, “Perhaps your throat can wait for another time.”

Nabeel felt a flood of relief passing through him and he closed his eyes, which filled with tears, and he nodded.

Still holding his curved dagger to Nabeel’s throat, The Panther said to his aide, “You are to travel to Sana’a with all speed, and board an aircraft to Aden. You are to take a room in the Sheraton Hotel and complete the task I have given you.”

Though he knew this was a suicide mission, Nabeel managed to say, “I will, sir.”

“And if you do not, or if you should leave Yemen out of fear, I assure you I will find you. And if I do not find you, I will find your family.” He asked, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I will kill—”

The Panther drew his blade across the left side of Nabeel’s neck and cut into his flesh.

Nabeel let out a sharp sound of surprise and pain, staggered backwards and grasped his neck with his right hand. Blood ran between his fingers as he probed the wound and satisfied himself that it was not fatal.

The Panther slipped his bloody jambiyah back into its sheath and said to Nabeel, “Come outside. I want you to see that I do know how to cut a throat.”

The Panther and Altair left the hut, and Nabeel hesitated, then, pressing his hand against his wound, he followed.

Outside, sitting on the rocks of the narrow gorge, were the survivors of the failed Hunt Oil attack. Kneeling on the ground facing the men was their commander, Captain Behaddin Zuhair. His wrists were bound behind his back and his head was bowed so he did not have to look at his men, who had passed the time in conversation while waiting for The Panther.

The men grew silent as their chief and the old man, Altair, stepped out of the hut.

The Panther walked directly to Captain Zuhair, but he did not address him. Instead, he addressed his jihadists and his council of advisors and his aides, and called out, “This man, Behaddin Zuhair, showed cowardice and stupidity as he led his brave jihadists against the American oil facility. He ignored the advice of our council and of his own lieutenant, Sayid al-Rashid, who died a hero’s death while his captain cowered behind a rock.” The Panther continued, “When Zuhair should have pressed the attack to total victory, he hid, then fled like a woman as the Americans and their mercenaries fired their weapons.”

The jihadists and the council of advisors sat silently.

The Panther continued, “I share in the blame for this defeat, because it was I who failed to see that Zuhair was not a true leader of men.”

The Panther’s council of advisors remained silent, but one of his personal aides called out, “No! No! It is Zuhair who is to blame!” Another aide shouted, “Zuhair spoke bravely, but hid his cowardice!”

The Panther motioned for silence. He noticed, as did Altair, that no man in the council of advisors had spoken for their leader as they were expected to do when the leader publicly confessed to a lapse of judgment or a wrong decision.

But he also noticed that the jihadists who were with Zuhair in the attack did not say anything in defense of Zuhair. They sat quietly, avoiding the eyes of their captain, and of The Panther.

The Panther knew he had to end this quickly, so he moved closer to Zuhair’s side and shouted at him, “Confess your cowardice and your incompetence and I promise you a quick and merciful death.”

Zuhair turned his head toward The Panther and spoke in a loud, clear voice, “I have nothing to confess. I have done my duty on the field of battle—”

“Quiet! I have asked you for a confession. Not excuses.”

“I make no excuses.” Captain Zuhair faced his men and, still kneeling with his wrists bound, he exhorted them to come to his defense. “Tell what you know! Tell what you saw! Speak truthfully of my actions—”

“Quiet!”

Zuhair suddenly stood and shouted, “Have I not led you well? Have I not done my duty…?” He looked out at the men who had trusted him with their lives—his men who themselves had faltered under the intense fire from the American compound. Did they not remember that he had rallied them and shouted words of encouragement and comfort as they lay on the ground, paralyzed with fear?

But no one spoke for him.

He called to them, “I do not fear death in battle, but I do not deserve this death. I do not deserve to have my reputation and honor—”

A shot rang out, and Zuhair fell forward on his face.

Everyone looked at the old man, at Altair, who had fired the shot from a pistol.

They then looked at Captain Zuhair, who was still alive, and those who were closest saw that Zuhair had been shot in the left buttock, where blood was spreading across his white fouteh.

The Panther looked at Altair, who was now standing close to him, and Altair said softly, “You let him speak too long, Bulus. Now finish it your way.”

The Panther nodded, then ordered two fighters to lift Zuhair into a kneeling position.

The Panther drew his jambiyah and came up behind Zuhair as the two men held him up. The Panther said to Zuhair, “You have chosen this death.”

Zuhair summoned all his energy to shout, “You will burn in hell!”

The Panther had heard too much already from this man, so instead of cutting his jugular and his arteries, he sliced deep into Zuhair’s throat where his larynx sat, and said, “Satan will be pleased not to hear you speak.”

The two men held Zuhair in the kneeling position as the man began choking and spitting up blood.

The minutes passed as Zuhair continued to drown in his own blood.

The Panther took this opportunity to mock Zuhair, saying to him, “You were too cowardly even to confess your cowardice. A man of honor, a soldier, would have said he had lost his courage and begged for a quick death. But instead, you dishonored yourself further by lying. You—”

Another shot rang out and the front of Zuhair’s head exploded with bone, brain, and blood.

Altair holstered his pistol and said to the jihadists, “Bury him quickly and deep so the animals do not find him.”

To Bulus ibn al-Darwish he said quietly, “You may show no mercy, Bulus, but you may not show such disrespect.” He reminded The Panther, “We are civilized.”