The Panther

PART VIII


Marib,

Yemen





CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR


The pilot announced that we’d reached our cruising altitude of thirteen thousand feet, and we were free to help ourselves to refreshments from an ice chest in the rear.

So we all got up and fished soft drinks and bottled water out of the chest, and Chet invited us to sit on the facing bench seats. Zamo had no need or desire to know what Chet was going to say, so he returned to his seat with a Dr Pepper. Was it my imagination, or did his left arm seem not to be moving normally? I mean, if you take a hit like that, with soft tissue trauma, it’s going to stiffen up, and maybe it was also infected. Great. A sniper with a bum arm.

Anyway, Kate, Brenner, and I sat together, and Buck and Chet sat facing us. Chet turned on an overhead light and I saw that he had a file folder in his hand—what the CIA calls a dossier, just to be très cooler than the FBI.

Chet spoke over the steady din of the twin engines. “This is our psychological profile and background analysis of Bulus ibn al-Darwish. It was put together by a team of FBI and CIA psychologists and investigators over the last three years since we identified Mr. al-Darwish as a prime suspect in the Cole bombing.” Chet also informed us, “This report is based on interviews with the suspect’s parents, a younger sister, childhood and college classmates, teachers, school counselors, Muslim clerics, and others who knew the bastard in the States.”

I asked, “Any girlfriends?”

“Only one that we know of.”

“There’s the problem. He wasn’t getting laid enough.”

“John, please.”

Who said that?

Chet agreed, “Young men without women are a problem in this culture, and that often leads to male aggressiveness and other abnormal behavior.”

“Right.” When I get horny, I get mean.

Chet continued, “It may not seem necessary to know all of this, considering that we’re going to terminate the subject. But I thought you’d find this interesting, maybe for future assignments. And maybe you’d also just like to know what’s inside the head we’re going to blow off.”

I would. And I’d also like to know what’s going on in Chet’s head.

Chet continued, “Also, if you know how al-Darwish got to where he is, and who he is, you’ll see why I think he’s going to walk into that meeting with Sheik Musa and get himself killed.”

Chet, as I said, was a small breath of fresh air after my four years with the FBI, which, as part of the Department of Justice, needed to at least sound legalistic. Ergo Howard. And Kate, too. But I was working on Kate. The CIA, on the other hand, made few public statements, and therefore they had not developed a politically correct vocabulary for public consumption. Maybe I should consider asking Chet for a job. I was sure I could explain about my wife killing one of his colleagues.

Chet informed us, “The subject, as he is called in this report, was born in New Jersey to Yemeni-born parents. As I said, he has a younger sister, Hana. His father, Jurji, was and is a successful importer and wholesaler of Mideastern goods, and he commutes to his office in Newark. He uses the name George, which is Jurji in Arabic. The mother, Sabria, is a stay-at-home housewife. They live in a large Victorian house in the waterfront section of Perth Amboy, which is more affluent than most of the working-class city.”

Right. The house I’d seen in that photo.

Chet said, “FYI, Bulus means Paul, but the subject never used Paul to identify himself to non–Arabic speakers.” He added, “We shouldn’t make too much of that, but it’s interesting that his father calls himself George, and mother’s and sister’s names are nondescriptive—Western-sounding.”

Right. A shrink would have a field day with that. More importantly, in a few days Bulus would be known as Mayit—Dead.

Chet also told us, “The al-Darwish family and the wife’s family in Yemen are city dwellers—Ta’iz—and they remain there. We have asked the PSO to keep these families under surveillance, but nothing has come of that.” He added, “I’m sure the suspect doesn’t go to Ta’iz for family visits. The senior Mr. al-Darwish, George, sends money to his and his wife’s relatives, and he used to visit now and then on business, but since the Cole, George hasn’t set foot in Yemen.”

Right. War separates families and divides loyalties, and for the emigrant, the fatherland can become a dangerous place. As for jihadists like Bulus, who do come home, they discover they can’t pop in on Uncle Abdul for a cup of tea. They are alone. Except for their new friends with AK-47s.

Chet continued, “The family in Perth Amboy kept a halal home, read the Koran, and attended a storefront mosque in the downtown section of the city. The mosque has not come to the attention of the authorities and neither has the al-Darwish family.” He added, “Mr. and Mrs. al-Darwish have been known to have a cocktail or two with Christian friends.”

I hoped they reciprocated with a khat chew.

Chet flipped a page and continued, “The subject terrorist attended the public schools and had few friends in grade school or high school, possibly because he lived in a non-Muslim community. The people we interviewed claim, however, that the subject’s social isolation was his choice and not a result of any prejudices in the community. As possible proof of this, most of those interviewed confirmed that the subject’s parents and sister had friends and social contacts in the non-Muslim community.” Chet speculated, “If we believe that, then maybe the subject wrongly perceived prejudice and animosity, and reacted accordingly, and that reinforced his social isolation.”

Right. Little Bulus was an angry, unhappy, and weird kid, and this made him a prime target for other kids. And that’s why he wanted to be a terrorist when he grew up.

Chet continued, “The subject seems to have ignored the fact that his parents and sister were integrating well into the community, and the analysts believe that this shows the subject’s tendency to exclude any realities that don’t fit his preconceived beliefs.”

Kate suggested, “That describes half the world’s population.”

Chet nodded, but said, “The subject takes it to an extreme.” He also said, “But to be objective, we need to concede that the subject, being a Muslim, may have experienced some degree of prejudice.”

Right. But it’s how you handle it that determines if you’re going to move on and live the American dream or if you’re going to become the American nightmare.

Chet went on, “Bottom line on this is that the subject could never see himself as anything but an outsider in American society, and he had no attitudinal loyalty to the country of his birth. His alienation and anger were, of course, reinforced by the daily news, which gives extensive coverage to foreign and domestic acts of terrorism, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, our strained relations with Islamic countries, and so forth.”

Unless you listen to NPR.

Chet reminded us, “Young people are impressionable and sensitive and there is a whole generation of American-born Muslims who are growing up in what some of them perceive as a hostile environment, especially after 9/11.” He added, “Ironically, their foreign-born parents are better adjusted because they have voluntarily made the decision to become Americans. Most of them are happy with that decision, and if they’re not, they can move back to wherever they came from. Children don’t have that option, and the children of Muslim immigrants sometimes feel trapped and blame their parents for bringing them to America or for having been born in America. In contrast to earlier immigrants, these children sometimes romanticize their ancestral land and think they would have been happier if they’d never left there.” Chet concluded, “We think this is what happened to Bulus ibn al-Darwish, based on statements he’s made, letters and e-mails he’s written, and long, rambling audiotapes that he’s recorded and distributed.”

“So,” I said, “this is all Daddy and Mommy’s fault.”

“For starters.” Chet added, “He became completely alienated from his parents in college, which is very unusual in this family-oriented culture.”

Brenner commented, “But al-Darwish must know that his parents are trying to save his butt.”

Chet replied, “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t thank them for the opportunity of a better life in America—he blames them for coming to Christendom and living among the infidels.” Chet also informed us, “The parents actually did screw him up, but not in the way he thinks.” He told us, “As their only son—a rarity in traditional Muslim homes—they spoiled and indulged the little bastard the way most Western parents do with their children. Possibly the parents felt guilty about their decision to live in America, and they overcompensated by not pushing the kid to go play baseball or something.”

Kate commented, “We see a lot of that in our work—young Muslims who are caught between two worlds.” She added, “American culture does not fit them as well as it fits other immigrants, and their response is alienation, which eventually leads to radical websites and then radical friends.”

Right. Plus, America is the superpower, and America makes war on Islam, so Muslim Americans think of themselves as the neighborhood face of the enemy. And sometimes they’re right.

The aircraft droned on as Chet flipped through the dossier and also droned on a bit about little Bulus’s boyhood and adolescence. Chet concluded, “The subject was treated like a prince at home, an outsider in school, and a target on the streets of Perth Amboy. He was headed for trouble, but not the kind of trouble we usually associate with an angry, alienated male.” He added, “You can take this analysis for what it’s worth. If the subject was ever brought to trial, you’d hear the same crap in the courtroom, and the media would dutifully report it. Therefore, no one will ever hear how and why the defendant got his head messed up by a cruel, uncaring, and prejudiced society.”

I agreed that it was probably better to terminate the subject rather than apprehend and prosecute him—for sure it was the easier thing to do. But I asked, for the record, “Doesn’t he have info we can use?”

Chet replied, “Lots. But his legal status as a U.S. citizen puts him and us in an awkward situation.” He explained, “We would probably have to inform him of his right to remain silent, and that’s exactly what he’d do. Plus, of course, his parents are all lawyered up. So…”

Right. Mr. al-Darwish as an American citizen with the right not to be taken to a secret location and waterboarded was a problem. Therefore, as I’d guessed from the beginning, Bulus ibn al-Darwish had to be terminated. End of problem.

Chet moved on to the subject’s college years and said, “Despite the bastard’s problems in public school, he did well academically and got accepted to Columbia University, which as you know is one of the best schools in the country.”

I asked Chet, “Where did you go to school?”

“Yale.”

I pointed out, “So you and the subject terrorist have something in common. You both went to Ivy League schools.”

Chet ignored that and informed us, “He actually has a genius I.Q.—top two percent of the population—and he could have joined Mensa, but he didn’t join anything in college except a campus Muslim group and a mosque.”

I wondered if the subject a*shole was smarter than me. I don’t think I’ve ever met or killed anyone smarter than me. This could be interesting.

Chet continued, “Being a genius doesn’t make you smart, happy, or successful. In fact, sometimes the opposite. Studies have shown that people with genius-level I.Q.s are often unhappy, alienated from the society around them, impatient with people of lesser intelligence, angry at how stupid and ignorant the world is, and generally self-absorbed and untrusting. In fact, they only trust themselves and they rarely take the advice of others.”

Why is everyone looking at me?

Chet went on, “As this relates to what may or may not happen in the next few days, we believe that Bulus ibn al-Darwish will ignore any advice or warnings he gets from his aides or advisors about the meeting with Sheik Musa. He is driven first by hate and what he sees as revenge against America for our attacks on Islam, and by the American military presence on the sacred soil of his country and other Islamic countries. And somewhere deep in his subconscious he’s remembering all the shit he got from his schoolmates in Perth Amboy, and this is payback time.” Chet added, “The Cole was payback, too, but that was impersonal. He wasn’t even there to see the Americans die—and as you know, he didn’t even get to see a videotape.” Chet let us know, “But this time… Well, this is his chance to get his hands on five live Americans—his former compatriots—people who remind him of all those years of misery and loneliness.” He let us know, “If you—we—ever did fall into his hands, don’t expect a quick death.”

I already knew that. In fact, what we could expect was months or years of brutal captivity, until The Panther got tired of playing with his captured mice, then he’d saw our heads off. I glanced at Kate, Buck, Brenner, and Chet, and thought about spending years with them as a prisoner. I mean, The Panther wouldn’t even have to torture me; a few weeks with Chet and Buck would be torture enough.

Chet continued, “The subject’s college years were unremarkable, but this is the period when he seems to have become radicalized.” Chet informed us, “As you may know, Columbia has a large Jewish student body, and it’s generally understood that these Jewish students, and in fact most of the students at Columbia are, let’s say, overly tolerant and empathetic toward the relatively small Muslim student body.” He speculated, “You’d think that this would have opened al-Darwish’s eyes and mind to the idea that not everyone was against him or against Muslims. He could have fit in very well in college, and gotten happier and made non-Muslim friends. Instead, he ignored the generally open and liberal atmosphere on campus and withdrew into a narrow world of like-minded Muslim friends on and off campus.” Chet also informed us, “Interestingly, to appease his father, he majored in economics, but he minored in Middle Eastern studies.”

Ironic that he learned about his culture at an American university.

“He also took Arabic-language classes to improve his proficiency in the language,” Chet went on, “and he lived off campus in an apartment with other Muslim students, American and foreign-born, who were observant of the calls to prayer, the dietary laws, and other strictures of the religion.” Chet added, “He studied the Koran… I guess you’d say religiously… and did well in class.”

Young Bulus wasn’t exactly Joe College. I mean, every American knows that you go to college to get drunk, get laid, and give your parents heartburn. But this idiot actually studied. I’m surprised he didn’t come to the attention of the FBI as a possible subversive. But maybe he did. I asked, “Any problems with the law?”

“Just once. The girlfriend.” Chet explained, “He was dating a European Muslim lady from Bosnia, who had become Americanized. She was secular, liked a drink now and then, dressed Western, and apparently had sex outside of marriage. This was interesting, because in every other way Mr. al-Darwish was a strictly observant Muslim. But he became involved with this lady who was not exactly the ideal Islamic woman by Mr. al-Darwish’s standards.”

I was happy to learn that even fundamentalist Muslim men think with their dicks. A ray of hope in the war on terrorism.

Chet informed us, “We interviewed this lady where she lives in Manhattan, but she wouldn’t say much except that her college boyfriend, Bulus, was not a barrel of laughs.” He added, “They dated for two semesters, then she broke it off and began dating a non-Muslim. A Christian. Well, Mr. al-Darwish became violent and he physically assaulted her in her apartment, someone called the police, and they came and arrested him.” Chet let us know, “She refused to press charges and the case was dropped.”

Right. Before I was a homicide detective, I responded to dozens of domestic violence cases. Most of the guys involved would turn up again in one way or another, usually another violent crime. Mr. al-Darwish, too, had turned up again—big-time.

Chet went on a little about the subject’s college years, and truly there was nothing remarkable about his four years at Columbia. One instructor described him as “brooding,” another as “quiet.” One Muslim student, however, described him as “seething.” Most of his classmates couldn’t remember him at all. Not exactly big man on campus, and not a campus troublemaker. Interestingly, no one recalled him ever making anti-American remarks, or anti-Semitic statements. In fact, the impression I got was of a young man who was quiet in public, but filled inside with bad stuff. Like a ticking time bomb.

Chet also told us, “This brush with the law—arrest, the booking procedure, which probably included a strip search, the night in jail—seemed to have a profound effect on him. A few college classmates said he became even more withdrawn and went into a deep depression.”

Right. For the average middle-class kid, this was a traumatic experience. The upside was that most of them got scared straight and kept their noses clean. But as I said, when you’re frightened you later get angry, and you look for payback. If I fell into this guy’s hands, I should probably not mention that I’m former NYPD. But I’m sure he already knew that.

Chet continued, “Interestingly, although al-Darwish apparently visited a number of radical websites, he did not seem to be under the influence of any specific fundamentalist or radical religious mentor as many of these radicalized young people are. Our profilers and behavioral science people believe he saw himself as his own inspiration, and quite possibly he believed then, and believes now, that he’s being guided from above.”

Right. Like, I hear voices. I’ve had a couple of those. Scary people.

Chet added, “But we don’t know if he’s that kind of nut job. And we’ll never know.”

“Well,” I pointed out, “if he walks into the trap we’ll know that no one from above warned him.”

Chet conceded, “Good point.” He continued, “If you study the lives of men who’ve gone on to become powerful dictators and mass murderers, you’ll discover that many of them were like this bastard—angry, driven, obsessed, and sociopathic—but they were also quiet as boys and young men, as though they were biding their time until they could break away from the restraints of society and the law.” Chet continued, “It was almost inevitable, in retrospect, that al-Darwish would go to Yemen, a country that shares many of his beliefs, and also a country that’s dysfunctional enough for him to gain some power. In other words, he was a zero in America, but here in Yemen he filled the void in the power vacuum and blossomed into a feared and respected leader.” Chet added, “Ironically, being an American—or as the Arabs say, al-Amriki—gave him some cachet and credibility. And some respect.”

Right. Everyone else here was born in this shithole and lived and died here. Bulus ibn al-Darwish came from Amrika to save and serve his people, and they thought that was pretty cool. It was ironic. Plus, the bastard knew America—Islam’s number one enemy—firsthand. I recalled what Al Rasul told me about The Panther being multicultural and the conflicts in his head. I wondered what language he dreamt in. Maybe it depended on the dream. Sex dreams in English, killing Americans in Arabic.

Chet let us know, “There are a growing number of American-born or American-raised Muslims who have followed this path back to their ancestral countries and become leaders in the jihadist movement.” He added, “To be fair, however, many Muslim Americans have returned to these countries to do good.”

I observed, “That’s what al-Darwish thinks he’s doing.”

“Maybe. But he’s not. He’s a sick puppy.”

I agreed, “He sucks.”

Chet continued, “Under the category of megalomania and delusions of grandeur, Bulus ibn al-Darwish is not content to have become the leader of Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula. According to an Al Qaeda defector who knew him, al-Darwish has bigger ambitions. He sees himself as the supreme leader of Yemen. The prodigal son returns and takes over. He wants to unify and purify Yemen, to kill or kick out all foreigners. And while he’s at it, he wants to wipe out all political opposition, including the Westernized intelligentsia in the cities, and then he’ll move on to the armed opposition, including the al-Houthi rebels, the tribal sheiks and warlords, and the South Yemen secessionists.”

Sounds like a lot of work. But maybe he’d enjoy it.

Chet continued, “Al-Darwish wants to restore Sharia law in Yemen and make the country into a medieval theocracy.”

I asked, “How can we help him?”

Chet nodded in understanding and maybe agreement. I think everyone in this business was a little tired of trying to save these people from themselves. It was a thankless task and usually counterproductive. If left to their own devices, they’d find a century they were comfortable with—maybe the tenth century—and go live in it.

The problem was a*sholes like bin Laden and al-Darwish who engaged in attacks on the West. If they were smart, they would cut this shit out and the West would ignore them—as long as the oil kept flowing.

On that subject, Chet told us, “Yemeni oil is not important to us now, but geologists believe there are vast oil deposits in Ar Rub al Khali, the Empty Quarter, which straddles the undefined border with Saudi Arabia.” Chet said, unnecessarily, “We want to control that oil with the Saudis.”

Of course we do.

Chet continued, “Aside from that consideration, if al-Darwish actually did gain power in Yemen, our political analysts are certain that Yemen would become a big Al Qaeda training camp, as Afghanistan was, and that Bulus ibn al-Darwish, the American, would surely export violence—not oil—to America.” Chet let us know, “Aside from avenging the Cole, that is what is at stake here.”

Right. It always comes back to oil and to protecting the homeland against terrorism. The terrorist thing I get. The oil… well, produce more corn alcohol. You can drink it, too.

Anyway, Chet changed the subject and continued, “The Panther is also known within Al Qaeda as al-Amriki—the American. Oddly, this is not used in a pejorative sense. There are a number of men in Al Qaeda and other Islamic groups who are known as al-Amriki. But it is our understanding that Mr. al-Darwish does not like this nickname. Possibly this reminds him that he is an outsider here—just as he was an outsider in America.”

His whole life might have been different if he’d just called himself Paul, or even Al.

Chet went on, “Our sources tell us that al-Darwish often misses the nuances of Yemeni culture, society, and even the language, which is understandable for someone who spent their first twenty-five years or so in another culture. Al-Darwish tries to compensate for this by acting more Yemeni than the Yemenis, and more Islamic than the mullahs. But in the end, he has no tribal affiliation, he wasn’t born in a mud hut, he never raised goats, he doesn’t chew khat, and most importantly he was not imbued by his father and male relatives with the warrior ethos that is common here. And yet he’s come a long way, mostly because he’s been a successful jihadist, and because Al Qaeda has suffered from the loss of so many leaders, in battle and in assassinations—Israeli bombs, American Hellfires, and unfortunate accidents.” Chet smiled, gave himself a CIA pat on the back, and added, “Also, maybe al-Darwish does sometimes think logically like an American, and therefore he’s made some good career choices, plus he’s had some luck in murdering people.”

Brenner said, “I think it was more than luck. The Cole was an intelligence failure on our part.”

Chet, a member of the intelligence establishment, didn’t like that and he stayed silent. Well, Chet was not here just to avenge the Cole, but also to redeem the reputation of his Company. Everyone is driven by something.

Chet picked up his train of thought and said, “Think of an Italian-American from, say, New Jersey, who goes to his ancestral Sicily to join the Mafia. His accent and mannerisms are wrong, but his head and heart are in the right place. People such as this may be accepted and even trusted, but at the end of the day… well, they are different.”

Right. You can take the boy out of New Jersey, but you can’t take New Jersey out of the boy.

Chet added, “Al-Darwish’s American background might impress most Yemenis, but it does not impress the Bedouin, who would be distrustful of anyone born and raised outside of Islam.” He said, “Sheik Musa is not impressed, and this is another reason why Musa would betray al-Darwish, al-Amriki.”

I guess. But the A-team are real Americans. Like, Christians and all that. Chet, I thought, was overanalyzing this. But that’s what the CIA does.

Chet further informed us, “Regarding the warrior thing, al-Darwish has gone out of his way to be a hands-on warlord. We’re sure he was present when the Belgian tourists were killed, and he’s led his jihadists in attacks against Saudi soldiers on the border. But for some reason he didn’t lead his men in the failed attack on the Hunt Oil installation—maybe God told him to sit it out—and I’m sure that didn’t look good to his close lieutenants or his jihadists. Plus, The Panther has just had another setback with the failed ambush on our convoy. So when Sheik Musa requests The Panther’s presence at this meeting to negotiate the sale of the Americans, Bulus ibn al-Darwish, the weirdo from Perth Amboy, has little choice but to be there—to be The Panther, and to meet with the great tribal sheik on equal terms, man to man, Yemeni to Yemeni, warlord to warlord.” Chet concluded, “That is my analysis.”

Either Chet had been here too long or I’d been here too long, because some of this made sense to me.

So we all sat there for a minute as the Otter continued toward Marib, sipping our drinks, thinking about Bulus ibn al-Darwish. Killing this guy would be good for everyone, including maybe Mr. al-Darwish himself, who didn’t seem to enjoy life. But when you kill these guys, they become martyrs, and they go on beyond death.

And yet maybe when all was said and done, that’s where he belonged. Dead. Remember the Cole.

Chet asked, “Any questions? Any comments?”

No one had either and we all returned to our seats.

Kate said to me, “Chet is overconfident. This thing could easily go the other way.”

“We all know that.”

So, did I now have my question answered? Like, how could someone born in America, in a free and open society, raised in material comfort and educated in a liberal atmosphere, become a f*cking terrorist? A murderer.

Maybe. But not completely. The answer wasn’t in the externals of life. The answer was deep in Bulus ibn al-Darwish’s head. The mind excludes external reality, or processes it differently, and justifies nearly anything.

No matter what kind of society we created, the terrorists, the murderers, the bullies and the wife-beaters and the sexual predators and all the rest would always be with us and among us.

So, no, I still didn’t know how Bulus ibn al-Darwish got to where he is, and what happened on that long, strange journey from Perth Amboy to Marib. Only he knew that.

And in the end, it didn’t matter. It only mattered that he died very soon.

The big, lumbering Otter flew on through the night, toward our rendezvous with Bulus ibn al-Darwish, who I imagined was sleeping now, unaware that his fate had been discussed and sealed. Or someone—maybe the voice in his head—had tipped him off and it was our fate that had been sealed. We would know soon enough.

The pilot said, “Landing in about an hour.”