The Panther

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR


The kidnapping itself was sort of anticlimactic.

I was with Buck in the lead vehicle, sitting in the rear of the small Hilux, and Kate was up front so she didn’t have to sit with the kidnapper. I am a gentleman.

Brenner and Zamo were about twenty meters behind us.

We had pulled over after we left the ruins and everyone had retrieved their M4s, which we now had on our laps, and Zamo had his sniper rifle. Most importantly, Kate was wearing her scarf for her kidnapping. All was right with the world—if your world was Yemen.

As we approached the narrow bridge over the wadi, a white Toyota Land Cruiser pulled onto the road from the shoulder and slowed down on the bridge. A second white SUV pulled onto the road behind us and in front of Brenner. A third SUV fell in behind Brenner. So we were boxed and sandwiched. This might be a staged kidnapping, but these guys had done this before, for real.

The SUV in front of us came to an angled stop at the far end of the bridge and Buck stopped about ten meters from him.

I turned to see the SUV behind us stopping close to our rear. Brenner, too, came to a halt, then the last SUV stopped behind Brenner and bottled up the bridge. Nice job everyone.

Kate, who probably thinks all Bedouin look alike, asked, “How do we know these are our… people?”

I assured her, “Our Bedouin were bearded and wearing white robes, and these guys in the SUVs are bearded and wearing white robes.”

Buck was a bit more reassuring and said, “Those are Musa’s three vehicles, and I’m sure those are the men who escorted us last night and today.”

I added, “We had lunch with them.” And Musa is still working for us. Right?

My Colt automatic was still in the pocket of my bush jacket, and I took it off safety.

I noticed a number of women on the banks of the wadi washing clothes, and some boys were wading in the water, and some men were fishing. A few of these people glanced up at the five SUVs stopped on the bridge: two Hiluxes and three Land Cruisers. They must have figured out it was a guest kidnapping—happens all the time—so they looked away.

Up ahead, a big truck stopped at the approach to the bridge, but he wasn’t blasting his horn the way they would in New York. Just be patient, Abdul. The Bedouin are kidnapping a few tourists. Takes a few minutes.

The rear door of the Land Cruiser in front of us opened and a Bedouin got out, carrying an AK-47. I looked behind me and saw another Bedouin approaching Brenner’s Hilux.

I recognized the Bedouin coming toward us—it was Yasir, the guy who had fondled my jambiyah—and he was waving the business end of his AK-47 at us as he opened the rear door next to me. He slid in quickly, slammed the door, and rested his rifle across his chest with the muzzle a foot from my head.

He didn’t have much to say, but there wasn’t much that needed to be said.

The Land Cruiser in front of us began moving, and Yasir said to Buck, “Yalla nimshi.” Let’s go.

We drove past the stopped truck and I looked at the driver, who was literally covering his face with his hands. I mean, he didn’t see nuthin’!

Anyway, the kidnap convoy continued north, toward Marib, but before we got to the Bilqis Hotel, the lead vehicle turned left on a dirt trail, west toward the hills, and we all followed.

Our passenger seemed to relax a bit and he said something to Buck, who replied.

Buck said to us, “This gentleman, Yasir, says it is good to see us again.”

I asked Yasir, “Have you done this before?”

Anyway, everything seemed cool so far, and I didn’t pick up on anything wrong or suspicious. Bottom line, I had my Colt automatic in my pocket, my M4 on my lap, my Kevlar in place, and my antenna way up.

Regarding that, everyone’s hand-held radio crackled and Zamo’s voice said, “Clean Sweep Five here. Read?”

I replied, “Sweep Three, loud and clear.”

“Everything good?”

“So far.”

“Same.” He added, “This sucks.”

Could be worse. Could be real. Or it could turn real.

There weren’t many vehicles on this dirt trail, and not too many people in the scattered fields, but there were a number of goat herders sitting around on stone fences, and they seemed interested in the five-vehicle convoy kicking up dust.

Buck made small talk with Yasir, who still seemed a little jumpy. Probably, I thought, despite the fact that this was Bedouin territory, Yasir didn’t want to run into an army patrol, or even the National Security police, though the NSB was bought and paid for. I doubted if Yasir and his friends were worried too much about the Mukhabarat, a.k.a. the PSO, a.k.a. the secret police, who operated mostly in the towns. In any case, the fix was in with the government, though Yasir didn’t know that, and neither did he know why the fix was in—because the Americans were going to whack his sheik as a favor to President Saleh.

The other thing on Yasir’s mind would be Al Qaeda. They were on my mind, too. It was possible that Al Qaeda had been tipped off by now about the Americans at the Bilqis Hotel and at the ruins, and maybe they had put together a snatch job of their own.

Bottom line, though, if Al Qaeda was around, they’d have to defer to the Bedouin, who’d been here for two thousand years. Right?

Anyway, I saw that we were going southwest, and I could see the hills ahead, meaning we were on our way back to the Crow Fortress, which was the plan. If, however, we were going someplace else—like the Al Qaeda training camp—I was ready to cut this trip short.

I said to Buck, “No detours, no bullshit from Yasir.”

Buck replied, “Relax, please.”

“I’ll relax when I’m on that Otter.”

Kate said, “I’m going to call Chet.”

“Good idea.”

She opened her window and leaned out to get clear sky and dialed Chet on her sat-phone, but he didn’t answer.

Yasir didn’t seem to care if we used our hand-held radios or sat-phones or that our automatic rifles were on our laps, so maybe I shouldn’t be paranoid. We were on our way to the safe house, the Crow Fortress. However, if we found Chet there with his throat cut, that would not be a good sign. Or was I ambivalent about that?

I reminded Kate, “The Predators are watching us.”

Kate reminded me, “You have a Bedouin sitting next to you with an AK-47.”

“Right. I’m on top of that.”

Buck said, “This is all going as planned.”

And it was. So I said to Yasir, “Where did you go to college?”

Buck translated, and Yasir replied, and Buck said to me, “He thanks you for your compliment.”

“What compliment?”

“I told him you said you admired his shiwal.” Buck added, “He might give it to you. Then you have to wear it.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

“And if you keep making me translate silly remarks, you’ll be wearing his underwear.”

Kate thought that was funny, and I was happy she was starting to relax.

Anyway, I gave up on trying to make conversation with Yasir, and I paid attention to where we were going.

Within ten minutes we intersected the wide dirt road that I recognized as our landing strip, and we turned right toward the plateau where the Crow Fortress stood.

Kate said to me, “Try Chet.”

So I opened my window, leaned out, and dialed Chet.

He answered and I said, “We’ve been kidnapped.”

He replied, “I saw that.”

I reminded him, “In case you forgot, we’re in the two small Hiluxes. Tell the Predator pilots.”

“Thank you. Anything further?”

“Any dust?”

There was a short pause, then he replied, “No dust tonight.” Chet let me know, “You should be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Keep the beer cold.”

“Further?”

“Negative.”

So I sat back and relaxed.

Chet thought I was funny, but annoying. Maybe even a bit silly. And it was good that he should think that. There are a lot of felons in jail who thought that.

Brenner, however, ex-cop, recognized the act. Zamo, too, may have seen beyond the jokes, and Buck had also been perceptive enough to figure out my M.O.

Kate, of course, had seen me play dumb and funny with suspects, as well as supervisors. Playing dumb is smart. People let their guard down. And make mistakes.

Buck and Chet were my colleagues, my compatriots, and my teammates. But they were not my trusted friends. In fact, they were up to something.

We got to the ravine at the base of the plateau, and up we went. This was actually scarier in the daylight.

We made it to the top and headed toward the Crow Fortress.

I had no idea how long we were going to be here waiting for the Al Qaeda delegation to come check us out and confirm who we were. But if I had to spend more than a week with Chet and Buck, I’d surrender to the first jihadist who came through the door.

Meanwhile, I had to keep an eye on Chet and Buck. Especially Chet. I could wait to see if Chet was here to settle an old CIA score with Kate and me, or I could confront him with it. If I waited, it might be too late to tell him, “I knew you were up to something.” So maybe I needed to make a pre-emptive strike. Before he did the same.