The Panther

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO


Zamo called our room at 11:30 and said he’d be around to pick up our bags and rifles, explaining, “The CIA guy doesn’t want people in the lobby to see that you’re going on a trip.”

Okay. That’s the problem with conducting anti-terrorist operations from a hotel in Sandland; there could be Al Qaeda snitches watching what you do. Chet had good tradecraft. Also, he probably watches too many spy movies.

Zamo also said, “Mr. Harris wants Ms. Mayfield to pack her balto.”

“Wonderful.” I hung up and said to Kate, “Great news. You have an occasion to wear your balto.”

A little after midnight, Kate and I, wearing cargo pants, desert boots, black T-shirts, sleeveless bush jackets, Kevlar, and concealed Colt .45 automatics, walked into the hotel lobby.

The lobby was nearly deserted, and I didn’t see any of our teammates. I said to Kate, “I’ll look outside.”

“No. Chet said to meet in the lobby.”

Kate, who is usually cool before departing on a dangerous assignment, seemed a bit subdued, maybe uneasy. And who could blame her? I mean, just getting to the airport at this hour had some risks.

Anyway, we took a seat in the lobby and waited for our teammates.

After our meeting with Chet, Brenner had called our room and asked to come by to talk. Not a bad idea.

I was ninety-nine percent sure there were no listening devices in our room, but recalling Chet’s possible eavesdropping, and because of the PSO tent on the nearby ridge, I turned on the TV. Some guy in a beard and robe was literally screaming about something, and I kept hearing the words, “Amrika,” “jihad,” and “mawt,” which means “death.”

I asked Brenner, “Is he a stand-up comic?”

“He’s a mullah,” Brenner replied.

Actually, he was an a*shole.

Anyway, we moved three chairs together and leaned close. Brenner got to the point and told us, “I’m not sure about the plan.”

Kate agreed and added, “If I was The Panther, I’d see a setup and smell a trap.”

Thinking about panthers, lions, and other predators, and remembering what Buck said back in Sana’a, I reminded them, “The Panther is always going to be cautious and on his guard. But he wants to eat.” And recalling what Chet said, I added, “If he does smell a trap, he’ll just not show up.” I concluded, “He’s either in the trap or he’s a no-show. I don’t see the danger to us.”

Of course I certainly did see the danger to us. But I wanted to see if Kate or Brenner saw it.

In fact, Brenner said, “The immediate danger isn’t from The Panther. It’s from this guy Sheik Musa. Musa is holding all the cards. Not us, not the CIA, and not even The Panther.”

Kate agreed with Mr. Brenner and said, “We have no idea what the politics are here, or who owes who what, or who is ready to betray whom.”

I agreed with that, but to continue to play devil’s advocate, I said, “Chet and Buck made a good case for why Sheik Musa could be trusted, and I don’t see any holes in that logic. I mean, what’s in it for Musa to betray us to Al Qaeda? Hellfire missiles. There’s much more in it for him to take our five million bucks to get rid of Al Qaeda and The Panther.” I explained, “That would not only make the Americans happy, but also make the Saudi royal family happy as well as the idiots in Sana’a. It’s a win-win-win for Sheik Musa.”

Kate and Brenner thought about that, and they both nodded, though reluctantly.

Of course there were other parts and pieces to this plan and to the bigger picture. For one thing, Brenner might or might not know that his new friend Kate had whacked a CIA officer. But was that relevant to what was going to happen in Marib? Possibly.

And then there was the Political Security Organization. Yemen’s CIA. Birds of a feather, as Buck said in an unguarded moment. Why did Chet not address the question of his Yemeni counterparts?

Kate, thinking along the same lines, said, “Chet never mentioned the PSO, the National Security Bureau, or the Yemeni Army. That’s like totally discounting the fact that even this place has a security apparatus.” She added, “Colonel Hakim knows from the prisoner where The Panther was last seen, and he can guess that we’re going there.”

Brenner agreed. “This is true. We could wind up in a confrontation with the army, the NSB, or the PSO.”

The devil’s advocate replied, “The tribes and Al Qaeda rule in Marib province, and the security forces are scarce there. So maybe that’s why Chet didn’t address that.” I added, “Or Operation Clean Sweep has been cleared with the Yemeni government at the highest levels, but neither Chet nor Buck is authorized to share political information.”

Again, Kate and Brenner nodded reluctantly.

I’m smart enough not to believe my own bullshit, and I certainly didn’t believe Chet’s bullshit or Buck’s bullshit. In fact, there was something else going on here, and I was beginning to get a picture of what it was. But not so clear that I could put it into words and share it with Kate or Brenner, or confront Chet or Buck with my suspicions.

Brenner was worried about Sheik Musa, and Kate was worried that The Panther would smell a trap, and they were both worried about the Yemeni authorities. My worry was the CIA. I mean, it was their plan. And there seemed to be something wrong with the plan. And the CIA, for all its faults, is not stupid. So if the plan seemed flawed, it really wasn’t. The fact was, there was actually another plan.

But to calm the troops, I said, “Bottom line, Chet and Buck are putting their asses on the line with us.” I said to Brenner, “In the Army, you would never send your men on a mission that you yourself wouldn’t go on or didn’t believe in. Correct?”

He nodded.

So we kicked this around for a few minutes while the mullah was working himself into a frenzy about Amrika or whatever. I mean, the whole Mideast was f*cked up long before we got here, and it would be f*cked up long after we left. And with all the Jews gone, who are they going to blame for all their problems? Amrika. Truth is, as Al Rasul told me, they really hated themselves. Nevertheless, we were about to give them another reason to hate us—a whack job perpetrated by the infidels on the sacred soil of Islam.

Brenner said, “Well, we have to make a decision.”

I informed him, “The decision has already been made. Unless you two can come up with a fatal flaw in this plan—something other than it sounds dangerous—then we’re getting on that plane tonight and flying to Marib.” I reminded everyone, “We all volunteered for this. And what did we think we were volunteering for?”

Brenner looked at me and said, “I’ve volunteered for missions in Vietnam and other places that were more dangerous than this. But I always had guys I could trust to watch my back. We don’t have that here.”

“Sure we do,” I replied. “Buck and Chet. And Zamo. And don’t forget the Predators.”

Kate, who knows me too well, said, “John, you feel the same as we do about this mission.”

“Maybe. But forewarned is forearmed. We’ll keep an eye out for one another, keep an eye on Chet and Buck, keep Zamo close, and be ready to take charge if things start to smell bad. Agreed?”

Kate and Brenner nodded, and Brenner asked me, “What’s motivating you? Aside from the Cole?”

“That’s enough motivation. But aside from that, all of us are in this business, and this is not a safe business. Never was, never will be. Look at Buck. He’s put his balls on the line for over thirty years. And even Chet, living in this shithole for three years to avenge the Cole. And you, Paul, you’ve been in harm’s way for a good part of your life. And so has Kate. This is not a career, it’s a calling. It’s not a paycheck, it’s a life.” I concluded, “We’re making the homeland just a little safer.” Plus, I have a big ego, but I didn’t mention that.

Brenner nodded and said, “I’m still in. I just wanted to see if you two understood the problems with this plan and this mission.”

Kate said, “We all understand. And I’m glad we spoke about it.” She added, “We’ll keep alert for problems.” She looked at me, then at Brenner, and said to him, “John actually likes bad plans from higher-ups. He can’t wait to change the plan, rescue the mission from disaster, and show everyone how smart he is.”

Totally not true. That’s just the way it happens. Anyway, I said, “First things first. First we have to get to the airport without getting kidnapped.”

We all stood, and I said, “See you downstairs,” and Brenner left.

The guy on the TV was still going nuts and I thought he was going to pass out like that TV newscaster in Network. I wondered if the Evening News with the Mad Mullah had a big market share.

“John?”

I shut off the TV. “Yes, dear.”

“I know you know what you’re doing.”

“Absolutely.” Not a clue.

“And I’ll trust you on this.”

“Smart move.”

She let me know, “I think Paul still has some valid misgivings, but not enough to pull out.”

“We actually don’t need him even if he does.” To be provocative and snotty, I added, “And I know you won’t think any less of him if he hightails it back to the safety of the embassy.”

“You’re an a*shole.”

“I am an alpha male on the A-team. We will kill The Panther, then go to Washington and get a handshake. Maybe we’ll take a week and go to a nude beach in St. Maarten. No Muslims on a nude beach to worry about. And if there were, where would they hide a gun or a suicide belt?”

She didn’t reply to that, but she did give me a kiss.

So we stuffed some things in our overnight bags, and Zamo called to say he’d come for our bags and rifles, and now here we were in the lobby, waiting for the rest of the A-team.