The Panther

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE


When there’s a military convoy coming at you, and the road you’re on is the only road around, you don’t have too many ways to avoid an encounter, except off-road, but that could end in a hail of bullets.

I could see three American-made Humvees in the front of the convoy, followed by four troop carriers that could hold up to a hundred soldiers.

Obviously, they’d responded to the Hellfire attack, and now they were headed toward the Crow Fortress. But why? And who, exactly, were they?

Brenner, Kate, Zamo, and I decided we had to meet them head-on, so to speak, then play it by ear. I reminded everyone, “We’re supposed to have a deal with the Yemeni government, and we’re supposed to have a free hand here in Marib.”

Brenner pointed out, “That information came from Chet and Buck.”

“Good point.” Maybe the deal expired when Chet and Buck got on that helicopter.

Zamo moved to the right, and the convoy continued toward us hogging the middle of the road. When we got within a hundred yards of the lead Humvee, Brenner told Zamo to stop.

Brenner said, “Hopefully someone will speak English, but if not, I’ll do the best I can.”

The convoy also came to a halt, and we could see now that the vehicles were not painted with the brown and tan of the Yemeni Army; they were the camouflage blue of the National Security Bureau, a.k.a. the Blue Meanies.

Brenner said to me, “You and I will get out to meet them. Kate and Zamo will stay in the vehicle and cover us.”

Kate said to me and Brenner, “Clip your sat-phones to your vests.”

Good idea. They didn’t work, but only we knew that.

Without Buck along to be diplomatic, we decided to carry our M4s, which we slung across our chests, ready to rock and roll. Take a few of them with you.

Brenner and I got out of the Land Cruiser and began the walk toward the lead Humvee, paid for with my tax dollars.

I noticed now in the far distance black smoke rising into the sky. That would be the scene of the Hellfire attack—men and vehicles still burning, and, of course, this convoy had already been there to see the carnage. I said to Brenner, who was also looking at the smoke, “Think about how to tell these a*sholes in Arabic that we have a dozen Predators with Hellfires watching us and the pilots have twitchy fingers.”

He nodded.

Someone got out of the second Humvee and began walking toward us. Even from this distance I could see that it was Colonel Hakim of the dreaded secret police. He was wearing cammies and carrying an AK-47, all ready for action. I love armed confrontations. They don’t usually last too long.

We got within a few feet of Colonel Hakim and stopped. Brenner gave Colonel Hakim a half-assed salute, and Colonel Hakim returned the salute in a similar half-assed manner. He also eyeballed the sat-phones clipped to our vests, probably thinking about the American Embassy, or better yet about Predator pilots watching their monitors with itchy trigger fingers.

Brenner and Hakim exchanged peace greetings in Arabic, without much sincerity, and I said, “Buenos días,” using my only second language.

Hakim ignored me and asked Brenner, “What are you doing here?”

Brenner replied, “You know what we’re doing here, Colonel.”

“Yes? Why would I know?”

I said to Brenner, “Just cut to the chase.” I mean, these f*cking people could beat around the bush until the bush died of annoyance.

Brenner asked Hakim, “What are you doing here?”

Colonel Hakim took offense at the question and snapped, “It is my country, Mr. Brenner. Not yours. And I will ask the questions of you.”

Brenner, following my suggestion, got to the point and replied, “We are on a Yemeni-government-sanctioned mission to find and apprehend the Al Qaeda leader Bulus ibn al-Darwish, known as The Panther.” He asked Hakim, “Don’t you know that?”

Hakim replied, of course, “It is my business what I know.”

Total a*shole. But he’d come to meet us alone, and he was talking and not shooting, so that meant he thought he might be on shaky ground. Also, it might mean he wanted something from the Americans. Hey, everybody does. And it’s not advice or love that they want; it’s money.

So I got right to that subject and said, “I assume you were at the scene of the attack”—I nodded toward the black smoke rising behind him and continued—“and if you escort us there, and assist us in identifying the Al Qaeda bodies, we will see to it that you share in the five-million-dollar reward for the death of The Panther.”

That seemed to be what he wanted to hear, and his shitty demeanor softened ever so slightly.

He asked me, not Brenner, “And are you in that position to make such an offer?”

No, but you’ve got a hundred guns with you so I’ll lie all day.

Brenner said, “We will do everything in our power to see that you are compensated for your assistance.”

What kind of lie is that? Come on, Paul. Tell him the check’s in the f*cking mail. I mean, this is not the time for truth, justice, and the American way.

Colonel Hakim seemed to like me more than Brenner now, and he asked me, “How much?”

How about a mango up your ass? No? Then how about… “Two and a half million.”

He’d have to work until he was about two thousand years old to make that kind of money, but he was a greedy shit and countered, “Three million.”

“No,” I replied, “we have to pay the Bedouin. Half for them, half to you.”

He asked me, “And you?”

“Not a penny.” I explained to him, “We get a paycheck every two weeks.”

He didn’t seem to believe that, but it was the sad truth.

Colonel Hakim thought about my offer, then said, “I will take you where you wish to go.”

I want to go to New York, and maybe Hakim could help me get there. I informed him, “We are under surveillance by Predator drones. Capisce?”

He did, and he said, “Let us now go.”

Colonel Hakim told us to follow his Humvee, and Brenner and I got back in the Land Cruiser.

Kate asked, “What’s happening?”

I replied, “Colonel Hakim is taking us to the scene of the attack.”

I explained to Kate and Zamo about the great deal we made and Kate reminded me, “You’re not authorized to promise money, amnesty, immunity from prosecution—”

“I just don’t feel like getting arrested and shot today.”

Brenner said, “Hakim is our ticket out of here, or he’s our worst nightmare. Either way, let’s keep him happy and interested in our well-being.”

Kate pointed out, “He’s not going to let us out of here now until he gets his money.”

I asked her, “Do you have a blank check on you? Or do you have a better idea?”

Zamo thought that was funny. Just like old times.

Brenner assured Kate, “We’ll work something out with the embassy.”

I also informed Kate, “Hakim thinks we’re all on Predator TV.”

“Good,” said Ms. Mayfield. “And maybe we are.”

Maybe. But hopefully Chet was no longer directing the show.

Anyway, Hakim’s Humvee turned around, followed by another Humvee, and we all squeezed past the troop carriers and headed east on the straight dirt road, toward the smoke in the distance.

The third Humvee and the four troop carriers were moving now, and they continued on, west toward the plateau. I asked Brenner, “Why do you think they’re headed toward the Crow Fortress?”

“They must be acting on information.”

“What information?”

Brenner replied, “We’ll ask Colonel Hakim.”

Who was as honest and forthcoming as Chet and Buck. Everyone here carried a large sack of bullshit.

Bottom line, this was not the plan that Chet had laid out for us in Aden, but as I said then, and as we discovered, there was more to Chet’s plan than he was sharing with us. And as Chet discovered, I had a few plans of my own. And as we all discovered, man plans, God laughs.

But part of Chet’s plan had worked out. The Panther was dead, and Chet and Buck were heroes—and better yet, I was going to see what was left of Bulus ibn al-Darwish. I came a long way for this.