The Panther

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE


The five-vehicle kidnap convoy drove through the open gates into the walled courtyard of the Crow Fortress and we all got out of the SUVs.

The two Bedouin hadn’t cut Chet’s throat, and he greeted us and said, “It looked picture perfect on the video monitor.” He added, “I hope enough locals saw it happening, and that by now the word has gotten back to Al Qaeda.”

I asked Chet, “What if the locals or Al Qaeda know or suspect that we’re in the Crow Fortress?”

Chet replied, “That’s possible. But Al Qaeda is not going to interfere with a Bedouin kidnapping or mount an operation against a fortress occupied by Sheik Musa.”

Probably not. But I wouldn’t want to leave here again until The Panther and his jihadists were ready for the goo bags.

We thanked our Bedouin hosts for a pleasant kidnapping experience and climbed up to the second floor of the tower, where we would await further developments, as per Chet’s briefing in Aden.

Chet had retrieved a sat-phone antenna from the van that he’d rigged up in one of the windows, and he plugged his phone into one of the antenna cable jacks, saying, “Now we don’t need clear sky to be in direct sat-phone contact with the Predator ground control station.”

That’s good.

“Or with the embassy, Langley, 26 Fed, or Washington, or anyone who needs to call us.”

That sucks.

He advised us, however, “Sat-phone reception is sometimes spotty and also the PSO could be listening. Maybe even Al Qaeda if they have the capability. So we’ll keep our sat-phone calls to a bare minimum.” He assured us, however, “The satellite radio signal from the van is very strong, and it’s scrambled and encrypted, so that’s secure.”

Bottom line, this was a well-thought-out mission, but the ability to operate in this environment was severely limited. Chet, though, wanted this to work, to show that the CIA could mount surgical strikes in hostile territory as they did so well at the beginning of the Afghan war. The U.S. military and others, however, would like to see boots on the ground. Lots of them. I found myself rooting for the CIA on this one.

So now that we saw the new sat-phone antenna, what else do we do for fun? Maybe we could play Chutes and Ladders with the excrement shaft.

Before I could suggest that, Buck said, “I brought along some magazines, paperback novels, and crossword puzzles to kill the time.”

I asked Chet, “Any more cognac?”

“One bottle for a celebration.”

Let’s celebrate.

Anyway, we all sat cross-legged on the carpet, except for Zamo, who went from window to window with his rifle and binoculars.

Kate asked Buck and Chet, “How long do you think it will take for Sheik Musa to contact Al Qaeda?”

Chet replied, “Could be a day or two.” He explained, “Musa will make it appear that he’s biding his time, maybe exploring his options, or maybe waiting to see if Al Qaeda contacts him to inquire if he knows anything about some kidnapped Amriki.” He added, “It has to play itself out and we don’t want to micromanage Musa.”

No, but we want Musa to get his ass in gear.

Chet also reminded us, “The Panther could have felt the heat here after the Hunt Oil attack, and maybe he left the area. If so, when Musa offers him five kidnapped Americans, The Panther will have to make the decision about coming back here or not, because Musa is not going to leave his tribal lands and go to The Panther with the five Americans.” Chet concluded, “So it could be a long wait. But I’m confident that one way or the other, Bulus ibn al-Darwish will show up in the crosshairs of a Predator drone video camera.”

Maybe. But the problem was the long wait, and I asked Chet, “How long do we wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

Holy shit. I asked, “What happens when the tuna runs out?” I prompted him, “Come on, Chet. What’s the max time we sit here doing crossword puzzles?”

Chet thought about that, then replied, “I say we give it two weeks. After that we may have a security problem.”

Not to mention a mental health problem. I mean, two weeks in this dungeon? We could get a disease. Call Clare.

Chet also informed us, “The decision is not wholly ours to make. I need to consult with Langley on a day-to-day basis.” He added, “We’ll play it by ear.”

I suggested, “We should also stay in touch with Sheik Musa. He’s the guy who’s in touch with Al Qaeda.”

Chet replied, “We don’t call Musa. Musa calls us.”

Buck also informed us, “The Arabs in general, and the Bedouin in particular, have a different sense of time than we do in the West.” He let us know, “They can negotiate for months over even a simple matter. They’re in no rush.”

But Chet was more reassuring and said, “The Panther, having a half-American head, will probably come to a quick decision.” He added, “He’s impatient. And hungry.”

“Me, too.”

So we had a long wait. Or a short wait. In the end, the best-laid trap still depends on the guy you’re trying to trap.

Kate had a good question. “Will our disappearance—or kidnapping—be reported to the media?”

Buck replied to that. “There is a news blackout at the embassy PIO office.” He smiled and said, “Which is redundant since the PIO doesn’t put out many news releases from Yemen anyway.” He added, “As for snooping Western journalists, there are virtually no resident American news organizations in Yemen. Only the BBC has an office in Sana’a, and the lone reporter there is on extended home leave. As for Yemeni journalists, or government sources, they either know nothing or they’ve been told to know nothing.”

Right. This was truly the Land That Time Forgot, and the black hole of the Mideast, and you could be missing here for months before anyone outside of Yemen noticed.

Kate asked, “What if our friends or family don’t hear from us, or are trying to contact us?”

I said to Kate, “If you mean your parents, consider this a vacation.” No, I didn’t say that. I kept my mouth shut.

Buck replied, however, “Each of us will write a note that will be delivered by our respective offices in the States to anyone on your list.” He advised us, “Keep it general, and don’t mention that you’ve been kidnapped.” He smiled.

Buck also advised us, “Any inquiries to our offices coming from friends or families will be handled by the embassy in Sana’a.” He added, “We should have no problem staying incommunicado for a week or two.”

Chet informed us, “I stay out of touch with friends and family for weeks at a time.” He added, “Comes with the job.”

Also, no one gives a shit if they don’t hear from you. In fact, they welcome it. That’s not nice. Someone somewhere loved Chet.

On that subject, we knew virtually nothing about Chet’s personal life, and he never volunteered a word. But Kate took the opportunity to ask him, “Are you married?”

Chet hesitated a second, then replied, “I am estranged from my wife.”

Maybe that has to do with Chet being strange.

Kate said, as women do, “I’m sorry.”

The wife is probably not.

Chet volunteered, “This assignment and the separation has put a strain on the marriage.”

I’ll say. And I did feel a little sorry for him. On the bright side, he could have four wives here… or maybe only three. He’s already got one. Right?

Buck, who had seemed to make his marriage work despite decades of foreign assignments—or maybe because of that—said, “This business is difficult for family life. We sacrifice a great deal for our country and sometimes I’m not sure it’s appreciated by the country.”

How about never? And why do we care? We do what we do for other reasons. Appreciation is not part of the plan.

Buck said, regarding the long or short wait here, “Let’s be optimistic and assume that we’ll be on a plane heading home before anyone even knows we are missing.”

Okay. Let’s be optimistic.

I opened one of the crossword books and said, “An Arab who ran out of ammunition? Eight letters.”

Brenner, who knew the joke, replied, “A moderate.”