The Panther

CHAPTER SEVEN


Tom stood and greeted us at his desk. He asked, “How was your weekend?”

I informed him, “We saw the Monet exhibit at the Met.” And I got laid Saturday night. How about you?

All the pleasantries aside, he asked us, “So have you reached a decision?”

Kate, without even a glance at me, said to Tom, “We’ll take the assignment.”

He smiled. “Good. Have a seat.”

There’s a grouping of armchairs and a couch around a coffee table that Tom uses for important people, or people he needs to screw nicely, and Kate and I took the chairs facing the window. Tom sat on the couch and began, “First, I want to say that I appreciate your willingness to accept this overseas assignment.”

And so on. We got a short speech that he probably gives to everyone who’s going off to some craphole or another.

I interrupted Tom’s good-bye, good-luck speech and asked, “Are you going to tell us what this is about?”

He feigned surprise at the question and replied, “It’s pretty much what I said Friday.” He elaborated, “One of the three masterminds who were behind the Cole attack is in Yemen. He has been indicted in absentia. You will be part of a team that is looking for him.”

I asked, “What do we do with him when we find him?”

“You arrest him.”

“And?”

“And, we will extradite him to the U.S. Or maybe to Guantanamo.”

“Right. But as I was told when I was there, and as you probably know, Tom, the Yemeni constitution specifically forbids extradition of any Yemeni citizen for any reason—including terrorism and murder.”

“Yes… that’s true. But they make exceptions. And that’s what Kate will be working on as our legal attaché.”

“They haven’t made an exception yet, but okay.” I asked him, just to set the record straight, “Are you sure we’re not supposed to terminate this guy?”

He informed me, “We don’t assassinate people.”

“We don’t assassinate people,” I agreed. “But we have used Predator drones with Hellfire missiles in Yemen and elsewhere to… let’s say… vaporize about fifty or a hundred people.”

“That’s different.”

“I’m sure the vaporized guys understood that.”

Tom seemed a little impatient with me and said, “I’ll give you both a piece of information that you will get in Yemen. This suspect holds an American passport. He claims dual citizenship—Yemen and U.S. So yes, we have a good case with the Yemeni government for extradition.” He also reminded us, “We don’t kill U.S. citizens.”

“Actually we do if they’re enemy combatants. Also, as you know, if we do apprehend him and turn him over to the Yemenis, we may never see him again.” I reminded him, “Some of the Cole plotters were captured, put in Yemeni jails, and miraculously escaped.”

Tom nodded, then said, “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. First things first. First, we need to apprehend this man.”

“Right. So to recap, we find this Yemeni with U.S. citizenship, turn him over to the Yemeni government, and hope they give him back to us.”

“Correct.”

“Can we at least torture him? Just a little?”

Tom asked, “Any other questions?”

Kate asked, “What is this man’s name?”

“You’ll be given his name when you get there. But he goes by the nom de guerre of al-Numair. Means The Panther.”

It seems to be my fate to get mixed up with Arabs who name themselves after big cats. The last guy was Asad—The Lion. Now I’ve got a panther to deal with. Hopefully, the next one will call himself Kitty.

Anyway, it seemed to me that Tom wanted to say as little as possible at this end. Or he didn’t know much.

In fact, he said to us, “To be honest with you, I don’t have a need-to-know, and what I know is what you now know. You’ll be fully briefed when you get there.”

Since Kate and I were about to depart on a dangerous mission into a hostile country, I felt I could be a little disrespectful of Tom with no consequences, so I reminded him, “You indicated Friday that what you were going to tell us was classified, and that once we heard it, we were committed to the assignment. Correct?”

He nodded.

I continued, “What we’ve heard is nothing. We could get up, go back to work, and forget about Yemen.”

“I suppose you could. But that wouldn’t make me happy. Or you happy.”

“Okay, let’s try a different approach. On a scale of one to ten, how dangerous is this mission?”

He thought about a reply, then said, “Capturing a top-ranking Al Qaeda leader is dangerous.”

“One to ten.”

“Ten.”

“Because?”

“Should be obvious.” He explained the obvious, “He’ll be guarded, he’ll be in hostile territory, he’s aware that he’s a target, and our resources and assets in Yemen are scarce.”

“Right. And we’re not going to vaporize him with a Hellfire missile because…?”

“I suppose because we want him alive. To interrogate him.”

“So we’re not really turning him over to the Yemeni government. Our job is to kill his bodyguards, take him alive, and sneak him out of the country for interrogation.”

“You’ll be briefed over there.” He added, “As I said, you’ll be part of a team.”

Kate asked, “Who is on this team?”

“I have no idea.”

Kate had an important question. “If we’re detained by the Yemeni government, who comes to our aid?”

“The embassy. You’ll both have diplomatic immunity, of course.”

Love that diplomatic immunity. It works about half the time when you get caught breaking the local laws. The other half of the time, the embassy can’t seem to remember your name.

I thought I understood one reason why Kate and I were chosen to participate in what amounted to a Black Ops mission. It had to do with my cover and Kate’s cover. Officially, the U.S. was there only to aid the Yemeni security forces in investigating the Cole bombing, and our FBI personnel, people like me, rotated into and out of the country on a regular basis. As long as we kept the numbers small and didn’t stay too long, the Yemeni government was okay with Americans operating on their soil.

Most of the Americans doing anti-terrorist work were attached to the embassy for cover—as Kate would be—so that the Yemeni government could take the public position that their country hadn’t become an American ally or outpost. In fact, if the USS Cole hadn’t been bombed in Aden Harbor, we wouldn’t have anyone in Yemen except a small embassy staff. But now we had our foot in the door—or in this case, the Yemenis had let the camel get his nose under the tent. But they didn’t want the whole camel sleeping inside.

And for all those reasons, the CIA was not welcome, but a few CIA officers were tolerated.

I asked Tom, “Is the CIA involved in this operation?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out when you get there.”

“I’m sure we will.” I reminded him, “You said this guy was Al Qaeda.”

“Did I?” Tom fessed up, “He’s actually the head of the Yemen branch of a newly formed group called Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula—AQAP.”

“Thanks for sharing.”

He reminded me, “You have no need to know this now, and you didn’t hear it from me. When you get there, you’ll know more than I know. But I will tell you that this guy is wanted for other crimes aside from the Cole bombing.”

“Such as?”

“The usual. Murder, kidnapping, conspiracy, and so forth.” Tom added, “He’s killed a lot of people—Yemenis, Europeans, and Saudis—before and after the Cole.” He let us know, “Most terrorist activities in Yemen can be traced to The Panther.”

“Bad dude,” I observed.

“One of the worst,” Tom agreed. He added, “And a traitor to his country.”

“He’s an a*shole.” I asked, “Is there a bounty on this guy’s head?”

“The Justice Department is offering five million.”

“Not bad. Dead or alive?”

“Either.”

“How much do we get to keep?”

“None of it.” He reminded us, “You get a paycheck every two weeks.”

“Will the Justice Department use the reward money to spring us if we wind up kidnapped or in a Yemeni jail?”

He replied, “I’ll make sure of that for Kate.” He smiled. “You’re on your own.”

I smiled in return. Tom can be funny. Especially when the joke is on me. I asked him, “Are you going to miss me?”

“No.”

He stood, and we stood. He said to us, “Make sure you go to the Medical Office today, and call the Travel Office. I’ve asked Legal Affairs to assist you with whatever you need. Also, I’ll set up a meeting for you with the Office of International Affairs—for a cultural awareness briefing.”

Oh, God. Not that. Before my last trip to Yemen, I’d managed to avoid this four-hour State Department lecture, but I’d heard about it from other guys who’d had to sit through it. I said, “That’s cruel, Tom.”

“It’s mandatory for Kate,” he informed me, “but I know you’ll both benefit from it.” He concluded, “You have until Thursday to put your personal affairs in order. I’ll see you here Friday, ten A.M., for a final briefing and contact info in Sana’a. You leave Friday night. Any questions?”

Neither Kate nor I had any further questions, so we all shook hands and we left.

On the way to the elevator, Kate said, “I can’t believe we’re going to Yemen to capture one of the masterminds of the Cole bombing—the head of Al Qaeda in Yemen.”

She sounded excited, but maybe a little apprehensive. Indeed, this was a big deal with a big upside for us professionally, and a big victory for the home team if we got our man. The downside was also big—like, we could get killed or captured. I’ve come to terms a long time ago with getting killed. But getting captured by terrorists in a foreign country was, as they say, a fate worse than death.

“John? Are you still good with this?”

I didn’t recall ever being good with this. But I do like a challenge. And I was still pissed about how I and the other FBI agents in Yemen had been jerked around by the Yemeni police and their political security force when I was there. They were playing both sides in the Cole investigation, not letting us do our job and also tipping off the bad guys. Great allies. Actually, a*sholes. So this was a chance for me to shove it up their butts.

“John?”

“There is an old Arabic saying—‘It is easier to kick a camel in the balls than it is to capture a black panther who’s eating your ass.’ ”

“Do you have more of those?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Can you keep them to yourself?”

“Maybe they sound better in Arabic.”

“This is going to be a long year.”

“Be optimistic. We’ll be dead before then.”