The Panther

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE


The following day brought no word from Sheik Musa about Al Qaeda, and I was beginning to think we weren’t worth a hundred thousand dollars, which was a big hit on my ego.

The real problem, of course, was the provision in the deal that it had to be negotiated by the principals. No underlings.

I had the thought that many chiefs from the beginning of time had also found themselves in this quandary. I mean, do you show up and take a chance that the other chief has a surprise for you? Or do you strap on your brass balls and take the meeting?

I guess that decision depends on how brave you are. Or how stupid you are. Or how paranoid you are. Or, in the end, how hungry you are for what was being offered.

By the second day, the A-team was beginning to doubt my conclusion—and their hope—that The Panther would say yes to the meeting. But I kept thinking about those photographs—the message was clear: I hate the West, I hate America, and I will do anything I have to do to cut your throats.

At about half past three of the second day, we had our answer.

Chet got a radio message from a Predator pilot reporting that a single Toyota Land Cruiser was climbing the north slope of the plateau, on its way toward the Crow Fortress—code-named Point A, in case anyone was listening.

The A-team went up to the mafraj and watched the Land Cruiser coming from the direction of the rock pile where Musa’s men guarded the northern approach to the plateau and the fortress.

The Bedouin in the courtyard, who’d been called by the Bedouin guarding the approach, opened the gates and the white Land Cruiser entered.

We watched from the mafraj as five armed Bedouin piled out of the SUV and began talking to the eight men in the courtyard.

Chet said to us, “They’re not delivering food or water, so I think they’re delivering a message.”

Good CIA thinking. But I would have welcomed a few chickens.

Chet and Buck volunteered to go down to the courtyard to see what was going on, and Chet also said, “I need to see what’s happening in the van. Cover us.”

Well, I’ll cover Buck. You’re on your own, Chet.

Buck and Chet, armed and armored, moved quickly down the stairs to the courtyard.

Brenner said to Zamo, “Cover, but don’t aim at anyone.” To us he said, “Same. But be ready. Don’t misinterpret. Only I give the order to fire.”

I thought Brenner was overreacting to what seemed like a non-threatening situation. But something was happening—a transitional moment in the routine and rhythm of life in the Crow Fortress.

Buck and Chet appeared in the courtyard, and Buck walked directly toward the Bedouin, who now totaled thirteen. That’s a lot of AK-47s. Chet unlocked the van and disappeared inside. No one stopped him, and that was a good sign.

Buck was now speaking to one of the newcomers who seemed to be the boss. Yasir was in on the conversation and the other Bedouin stood around listening. With the Bedouin, when the bosses speak, the rank and file stand around and listen. Just like at 26 Fed. Not.

Anyway, it appeared that Buck and the Bedouin were having a normal, though slightly excited, conversation.

Finally, Buck did his Go in Peace thing and entered the van to report to Chet. The Bedouin continued their conversation.

Brenner told Zamo to stay in the mafraj, and we went down to the diwan where we could be closer to the situation, whatever it was.

Finally, Buck appeared from the van and moved quickly toward the tower.

He came up the stairs, slightly out of breath, and announced, “The Bedouin say that The Panther has sent a verbal message directly to Sheik Musa.” He smiled and told us, “They will meet in about two hours”—he looked at his watch—“at six P.M. to discuss various matters of mutual interest, and also to discuss the sheik’s offer of the five Americans.” Buck added, “The Panther just tacked that on as though it was of peripheral importance.” He further informed us, “Typical Arab bargaining technique.”

And not a bad technique. Like, “Hey Abdul, let’s talk about camel grazing rights. And by the way, how much do you want for your wife?”

Anyway, this was good news indeed, and we all did high-fives—even Buck, who didn’t know what a high-five was.

Buck also told us, “The meeting will take place at the same goat herder’s hut where we met Sheik Musa.”

That must be the sheik’s Camp David. More importantly, it was near the road where the Otter had put us down, and would now pick us up after we filled the goo bags.

I glanced out the window and saw that the five Bedouin who’d arrived were still there, and I asked, “Are they staying?”

Buck replied, “Yes. For extra security and also to escort us to the scene of the attack.”

I reminded Buck, “I thought we didn’t want more Bedouin in the courtyard.”

“It’s their property,” he reminded us. “They are on our side.”

“Right,” I agreed, “but maybe they could be on our side someplace else.”

Buck assured us, “The Bedouin won’t be here long, and neither will we. In fact, we are two hours away from a successful mission, and maybe another hour away from jumping on that Otter.”

Right, and we should take Sheik Musa with us. He has some big bucks coming to him, and I know a deli in Brooklyn he can buy, and the Yemeni government would be just as happy to see him gone as see him dead. But happy endings are not always so neat and tidy in real life.

It also occurred to me that what was driving The Panther—hate, revenge, and too many frustrating defeats—was the same thing that was driving Chet. And that’s when your judgment gets clouded.

But to be more positive—like Buck and Chet—and maybe to be less cynical than usual, it could be that what we were seeing was what we were getting: one dead Panther who put his instincts aside and went for the meat.

Buck, who doesn’t like it when he sees me thinking, asked, “What’s on your mind, John?”

“Not much.” I asked him, “What’s Chet doing in the van?”

Buck replied, “Coordinating all aspects of a stealthy assassination attack.” He let us know, “Two more Predators are coming on station over the goat herder’s hut. They’ll be ready for the meeting.” He also told us, “Two Predators remain on station here, over and around the Crow Fortress. They will cover us when we drive with Musa’s men to the scene of the attack, and they will cover the landing and takeoff of the Otter.”

“Right.” I asked, “Who has the goo bags and latex gloves?”

“Chet.”

“If The Panther’s head is in one piece, can I take that home?”

Buck didn’t reply at first, but then said, “We’re primarily interested in the fingers for the prints and DNA.”

“Right.” I like being a little nuts now and then, and I said, “I hope that little shit Nabeel is there. I want his balls in a Ziploc.”

Kate finally said, “John, that’s enough.”

“Sorry. I’m excited.”

Brenner, who’d seen war firsthand, and who may have taken a head or an ear himself, said nothing. War is hell, ladies and gentlemen, and all the euphemisms are not going to change the nature of the act. Kill them before they kill you, then celebrate.

Brenner said to Buck, “I’ll leave Zamo in the mafraj for cover and we’ll join Chet in the van.”

But Buck informed us, “Chet needs an hour or so by himself.” He explained, “What’s happening now is top secret. He’s actually speaking to people in Washington by radio, getting the necessary clearances and go-aheads.”

Kate asked the obvious question. “What is he saying that we can’t hear?”

Buck replied, “Just about everything.” He explained, “This is all verbal so there is no written record of anything, and there can be no witnesses to what Chet says and what is said to him.” He further explained, “Chet is speaking through the secure telephone unit, so names of personnel in Washington are en clair, and we don’t need to hear those names—or hear anything.”

I could almost hear Chet now. “Hey Dick, hi Ralph, Chet here. So, we’re ready to vaporize some a*shole jihadists and burn The Panther’s traitorous ass with a few top-secret Hellfire missiles. You guys still okay with that? Any problems at that end? Just nod… Oh, sorry, I mean just say yea or nay.”

Sounded reasonable. But who knew why Chet wanted to be alone or what he was saying and hearing? Not us.

So we had some time to kill before we were allowed to go into the van and watch the drama taking shape—the arrival of Sheik Musa and his merry Bedouin at the goat herder’s hut, the arrival of The Panther and his retinue, the kiss of death, the tea party on the carpet, and finally the sheik ducking inside the hut on some pretext. And where, I wondered, would the sheik’s men be? Hopefully not too close to The Panther and his men who were going to be hit by four laser-guided Hellfire missiles, each warhead packing twenty pounds of high explosives. Maybe all of the Bedouin would need to go off to take a piss at the same time.

There is an old saying among detectives: Never overlook the obvious.

And what was obvious to me was that Sheik Musa and his men, along with The Panther and his men, were actually going to share the same fate at that meeting. So obviously the A-team was not driving to the scene of the carnage, where some of these men—Bedouin and Al Qaeda—might still be alive and very pissed off.

If the obvious were true, then how do we, the Americans, get out of the Crow Fortress with thirteen Bedouin around us who would know soon enough from the survivors what happened to their sheik and their buddies? Right?

Well, we will see how it actually plays out. I could be wrong. Or I could be half right.

Buck said he was going down to speak to the Bedouin again and see if he could get a better sense of what they knew about the sheik-Panther meeting, and also what their instructions were.

It’s good to have an Arabic speaker on the team. We couldn’t have even attempted this mission without Buck. Next time I volunteer to go into Al Qaeda territory, I want Buck with me. Or maybe another Arabic speaker who wasn’t so full of bullshit. Or better yet, maybe I’d take a pass on the next offer.

Buck left, and I brought up my concern of Hellfire missiles causing collateral damage to friendlies, meaning Sheik Musa and his men, and thereby putting us in a dangerous situation here at the Crow Fortress.

Brenner, who has seen a lot of high-explosive warheads ripping people apart, said, “I was thinking about that myself.” He added, “As accurate as these missiles are, they throw out a lot of shrapnel. You don’t want to be anywhere near a hit.”

Kate said, “Why didn’t you—we—bring this up at the meeting in Aden?”

Brenner replied, “I was thinking that Chet knew what he was talking about.”

Well, he does, but sometimes he forgets the details.

Brenner continued, “I’m thinking that when Sheik Musa excuses himself to go into the stone hut, that’s obviously the signal for Chet to order the Predators to fire the four Hellfires—but it’s also the signal for the Bedouin to haul ass and dive for cover.” He added, “They have about four, maybe five seconds to do that before eighty pounds of high explosives and shrapnel turn the area into a slaughterhouse.”

One, two, three, four… I could be in the next province if I knew a Hellfire was on its way.

Brenner also surmised, “It would take The Panther and his men a few seconds to realize what’s happening, but before they could react, they’ll be in Paradise.”

Probably true. Nevertheless, I did say, “There could still be friendly casualties.”

Kate and Brenner thought about that, and Kate said, “God, I hope not.” She asked, “How would we get out of here?”

“Very quickly.”

On that note, we climbed up the stairs to the mafraj to talk to Zamo and give him a heads-up on some of this. Brenner also said he wanted to show us something up there. Maybe a new species of bird shit, and that wouldn’t smell half as bad as the bullshit we were getting down here from Buck and Chet.