The Panther

CHAPTER EIGHTY


On the way to the goat herder’s hut, I said to Brenner, “We can take some evidence at the scene.” We’ll stop at a 7-Eleven for Ziploc bags.

Brenner replied, “We’ll let the PSO and NSB do that and also take photos for us, and that will make Colonel Hakim think he’s earning his two and a half million.”

“Right.” Just like Sheik Musa thought he was earning his five million. I mean, even I wasn’t trusting the Americans anymore.

It took us less than twenty minutes to get to the scene of the attack, but I could see it and smell it before we got there.

Hakim’s two Humvees pulled onto the path to the goat herder’s hut and stopped.

We all got out of our vehicles and walked up the path to what remained of the stone hut. As we got closer, the smell of burnt tires and gasoline got stronger, and so did the smell of charred bodies. Kate wrapped her hijab over her face.

Despite my enthusiasm for seeing this, it was a bit jarring. Most of the bodies were intact, though they’d been ripped up by shrapnel—Bedouin bodies in their blood-drenched robes, and Al Qaeda bodies in their foutehs. The ground was strewn with AK-47s, sandals, shiwals, and even cell phones.

Where the direct hits from the Hellfires had landed, the ground was blasted away, and the human remains were scattered in all directions, making me remember what an old Vietnam vet had told me about getting an accurate body count after an air or artillery strike. “Count the arms and legs and divide by four.”

Brenner, who’d seen things like this, didn’t seem fazed, and neither did Zamo. Kate, however, was a bit shaken, and the NSB guys were eyeing her, so Zamo walked her back to the Land Cruiser.

Colonel Hakim spoke first and said, “You see what has happened here. I have secured the area and I will cooperate with the American authorities in any way they wish.”

Brenner said to Hakim, “We would like photographs of everything, and we will need your men to collect tissue samples of all the dead Al Qaeda who are identifiable by their clothing.”

Hakim didn’t seem to understand and he asked, “Why do you need that?”

Brenner explained, “We have DNA of Bulus ibn al-Darwish.” He informed Colonel Hakim, “His family lives in America.”

Colonel Hakim did not reply, and Brenner further explained, “We can identify al-Darwish by this means, and also by his fingerprints if you would be kind enough to include as many fingers as possible.”

Again, Colonel Hakim had no reply, so I took a shot at it and said, “We need a positive, scientific identification. Proof that al-Darwish died in this attack.”

Colonel Hakim nodded this time and said, “Everyone has died. None escaped.”

Well, not true. At least one Bedouin had survived and called his Bedouin buddies at the Crow Fortress. So it was possible that other Bedouin and maybe Al Qaeda guys survived. But probably not The Panther, who was in the crosshairs of the first Hellfire missile.

Hakim said, “The Panther is dead.”

Brenner and I exchanged glances. Something was not right here.

I asked Hakim, “Were you able to identify al-Darwish?”

Colonel Hakim waved his arm around at the bits and pieces of men, as though saying, “Are you kidding?” He did say, however, “I have found the shiwal of Sheik Musa. That is all the proof I need of his death.”

Musa’s nose would clinch it for me, but, okay, the sheik was dead—score a hit for President Saleh. But we’re talking about The Panther, Colonel. The bad guy.

I moved slowly through the blast area, and there were lots of heads intact, on and off their bodies, but about half of them were bearded, and most of the faces were disfigured by shrapnel or burns. The Panther’s own mother wouldn’t recognize him. Also, I was looking for Nabeel, who had a scruffy beard the last time I saw him, but people look different when they’re dead.

One head was lying facedown on a shred of carpet, and I gave it a kick to turn it over. Most of the face was missing.

Brenner came over to me, away from Hakim, and said softly, “Either he doesn’t get what I’m saying, or we have a problem with positive ID.”

I nodded, then I remembered the video replay—Sheik Musa had hesitated for a second before taking The Panther’s hand and kissing it. Was Musa unsure of his guest’s identity? I mean, to me, most fully bearded men looked alike, and forget bearded Arabs. They may as well be wearing veils. Musa, too, apparently had a moment of doubt.

Colonel Hakim came over to us and said, “You can congratulate yourselves on a successful attack.”

Okay. Congratulations to us.

Brenner said to him, “I suggest you collect what we need and get it to the airport in Sana’a as quickly as possible. You will be met there.”

I also suggested, “Get some ice from Marib. Maybe the Bilqis Hotel.” They don’t need the ice for cocktails.

Colonel Hakim informed us, “It is a sacrilege to do what you are asking.” He told us, “All these remains must be buried as quickly as possible, according to our religion.”

I figured that was coming, and I didn’t want to argue religion with this guy, so I said, “Tell you what, Colonel, let’s make this clean and easy for everyone. You get a hunk of hair from each head or beard here, number it, and deliver it to the embassy. We’ll do a DNA match, and you get your money. How’s that sound?”

Colonel Hakim couldn’t think of any objection to that, so he said, “I think you are trying to change our arrangement.”

“Not at all,” I assured him. “We pay top dollar for dead Al Qaeda chiefs. But you can’t tell me which of these heads belongs to al-Darwish. Right?”

“You know he was here. And you know that everyone here is dead.”

Ergo, and so forth. I pointed out, “We don’t know he was here. And neither do you.” And I was starting to think he wasn’t. Holy shit.

So we stood there, trying to figure out how to get this resolved. The stench of open body cavities and burnt flesh was overwhelming, and that smell, mixed with the acrid smell of smoldering vehicles and fuel, made my stomach heave. Anyone who thinks war is exciting should see and smell something like this.

I reminded Colonel Hakim, “We just need some hair. Like, no disrespect to the dead. Okay?”

“That is not possible.”

Hokum, Hakim. I said to Brenner, “We have a problem.”

Brenner nodded, then asked Colonel Hakim the question that had come up in the Land Cruiser. “Where were you going with your convoy?”

“That is my business, Mr. Brenner.”

He reminded Hakim, “We are in business together.”

Colonel Hakim did not reply, and he was probably thinking that his two and a half million bucks was slipping away. He might also be thinking that if he was going to lose the money, he might as well get rid of us. Or maybe kidnap us for ransom and make it look like a tribal kidnapping. In Yemen, anything was possible.

Finally Colonel Hakim said, “I was going to the Crow Fortress.”

Brenner nodded and asked, “Why?”

He confessed, “There was a survivor of the attack. An Al Qaeda man. He has told me that a Bedouin in the Crow Fortress, a man called Yasir, who you may know from your stay there, has told Al Qaeda by cell phone that the Americans were not kidnapped, and that they were in fact guests of Sheik Musa at the Crow Fortress.”

Brenner and I looked at each other, and Brenner said to me, “Like I said, all it takes is one rat, and there’s always one rat.”

Right. And usually the guy you least suspect. So what was in it for Yasir to rat us out? Probably the hundred thousand bucks that The Panther was going to pay to Sheik Musa to buy the Americans. And that would be a lot more money for Yasir than his share of his sheik’s five million. Well, greedy Yasir was dead, and I was feeling not sorry about whacking him.

I said to Brenner, “Chet’s ingenious plan actually sucked.” I added, “He didn’t factor in the human element.” And how could he? He wasn’t human.

Brenner agreed and added, “Even his plan to kill us didn’t work.”

That was almost funny.

Bottom line here, if The Panther knew we were actually guests of Sheik Musa, he also knew that the Americans would not be in this goat herder’s hut at the meeting between him and Sheik Musa, and The Panther further knew this meeting was a sham and a trap.

I said to Brenner, “The Panther is not here and not dead.”

Brenner nodded and looked at Colonel Hakim, saying to our new partner, “I’m not understanding why you were going to the Crow Fortress.”

Colonel Hakim, probably trying to salvage a smaller reward, replied, “The Al Qaeda survivor has also told me that the jihadists from the Al Qaeda camp in the hills were preparing to attack the Crow Fortress and take the Americans.”

I said to Brenner, “I think we always knew that.”

Brenner nodded and said to Hakim, “And what were you going to do at the Crow Fortress?”

He replied, “It was my intention to come to your rescue.”

What a nice man. Doing his duty. Actually, if Colonel Hakim was in business to make money, that was a good way to do it. But I doubted if he wanted a fight with Al Qaeda. More likely he was trying to get to the Crow Fortress before Al Qaeda got there, then he could arrest or attack his traditional enemy—the Bedouin—and say he rescued the Americans from the Bedouin. And that was worth some American dollars.

That didn’t work out for him, but Colonel Hakim was still trying to figure out how to make a buck here. The dead Panther thing wasn’t working out either, and rescuing the Americans from the Bedouin was a bust, so what was left?

Brenner said to him, “We appreciate your intentions, but as you can see, we don’t need to be rescued.”

Colonel Hakim said to us, “I am told by the Al Qaeda man who survived this attack that the Bedouin, Yasir, told him there were six Americans at the Crow Fortress.”

Brenner informed him, “Two have left.”

Hakim thought about that, then said, “I believe I saw smoke coming from the top of the plateau.”

Well, that’s a long story, but I shortened it and said, “We had a problem with the Bedouin.”

He nodded and informed us, “They are treacherous.”

They’re amateurs, Colonel, compared to you.

Colonel Hakim also informed us, “According to this Al Qaeda survivor, the jihadist attack on the Crow Fortress was to begin after the meeting with Sheik Musa—but only if the Americans were not at the meeting.”

“Right. Sorry we missed the meeting.” Sorry, too, The Panther missed it. Bottom line here, The Panther was willing to sacrifice his men to see if the meeting was a trap—which it was—and The Panther was elsewhere. I asked Hakim, “Is The Panther supposed to lead this attack on the Crow Fortress?”

Hakim replied, “I asked that very question of the Al Qaeda survivor, but he did not know.”

Right. The Panther kept things to himself. Which was why he was still alive.

Hakim said to me and Brenner, “I have no radio message from my men that they are encountering any Al Qaeda forces on the way to the Crow Fortress.”

That’s because the Al Qaeda forces in the camp have been turned into hamburger by the U.S. Air Force, but that was none of Hakim’s business.

Recalling that the Bedouin in the courtyard of the Crow Fortress had taken a sudden dislike toward us, I said to Hakim, “We know that there was also a Bedouin survivor of this attack who called his friends at the Crow Fortress to report what happened here.” I asked, “Where is this man?”

Hakim informed us, “Unfortunately, he died of his wounds.”

I asked, “Hellfire wounds or a bullet wound in his head?”

To set the record straight, and set me straight, Colonel Hakim replied, “It makes no difference.”

This guy was a cold, hard sonofabitch.

Colonel Hakim continued, “We have made this arrangement—the Americans and my government—and it has been a successful arrangement.”

I replied, “You have your dead sheik, but I don’t think we have our dead Panther.”

Hakim replied, “I think you do, but if you do not, that is no fault of mine and no fault of my government.”

Right. It’s Chet’s fault. In fact, Chet got hustled by the Yemeni government. They knew they’d get their dead sheik, and they didn’t care if the Americans got their dead Panther. Now we were on the Bedouin shit list forever, and The Panther was still out there.

I said to Hakim, “Is this Al Qaeda survivor still alive or did he die of a bullet wound?”

Hakim replied, “I believe he is still alive.”

Hakim was still trying to work the deal, but he didn’t have much left to offer. Nevertheless, I said, “If the Al Qaeda man is still alive, and if we can speak to him, then our arrangement has not changed.” You’re still not getting shit.

Colonel Hakim nodded and led us toward one of the blue trucks.

We climbed into the open truck and on the floor was an older man with a white beard who didn’t look as lucky as he was. Also, he didn’t look like a jihadist. He looked more like a Bedouin, but he was naked, so it was hard to tell by the clothing.

Someone had bandaged him up, and his wounds didn’t look too bad, and he had no burn marks on him, so he hadn’t been too close to the blasts. He seemed to be shivering, and I thought a blanket would be a good idea, but the NSB and the PSO weren’t famous for taking care of wounded prisoners, as I saw at Ghumdan.

There were bench seats in the truck, and Colonel Hakim invited us to sit, which we did, and he sat opposite us.

The wounded man was semi-conscious, but Hakim got his attention by kicking him.

The man opened his eyes, and Hakim said something to him in Arabic, and the man answered.

The man apparently wanted water, and Hakim called out to an NSB guy, who came in with a canteen and poured water on the old guy’s face, then Hakim took the canteen.

Hakim said to us, “This man calls himself Altair, which means soaring eagle.”

The guy looked more like a dying duck, but whatever.

Hakim told us, “That is his Al Qaeda name, and he will not give his true name unless he believes he is going to die. Then he asks that we tell his family of his fate.”

Altair was looking at me and Brenner now, and I had the impression he didn’t like us. Probably something to do with the Hellfire missiles.

I said to Hakim, “He doesn’t look like a jihadist.”

Hakim informed us, “Altair, who I know by name, is a senior advisor to al-Darwish.” He added, “A friend of the al-Darwish family. And perhaps not truly Al Qaeda.”

Interesting. And what did he advise The Panther about taking this meeting?

Brenner had the same thought and said to Hakim, “Ask him why he came here if he thought the Americans were not here and that this meeting could be a trap.”

Hakim informed us, “I have already asked that of him, and he tells me that he did not believe that information from the Bedouin called Yasir.”

I guess not, or he wouldn’t be lying here all f*cked up.

I asked Hakim, “Did Altair get that call directly from Yasir?”

Hakim again said, “I have asked him and he says no, he received that message from one of his jihadists who received the call from Yasir.”

Right. And where would Yasir get the cell phone number of an Al Qaeda jihadist? Let me think. Well, maybe from the same person who gave Yasir those photographs. I asked, “Did Yasir make this call to a man named Nabeel al-Samad?”

Hakim replied, “In fact, it was that man.” He added, “How do you know this?”

“I’m a detective.” I asked Hakim, “Was this message, this warning, passed on to al-Darwish?”

Hakim replied, “Of course. Altair told me he delivered it personally.”

“And were the jihadists told of this warning?”

Hakim looked down at Altair, then said to me, “He has told me that the jihadists were told, but I am not sure of Altair’s truthfulness.”

Right. The Panther kept this to himself, and the only one who acted on this warning was The Panther. In fact, he sent a double in his place, and he used his men to see what would happen at the meeting. If it wasn’t a trap, and if the Americans were at the meeting to be bought, then all was well. If, however, it was a trap, then all it cost The Panther to discover that was about a dozen of his men. No big deal for The Panther, who wasted his men’s lives for the cause—the cause being Bulus ibn al-Darwish’s greater glory.

But The Panther had sent at least one senior advisor—Altair, a friend of the family. Why would al-Darwish do that? Maybe he was willing to risk the senior guy for appearances at the meeting. And Altair, apparently, was willing to take the risk for his boss. And if the meeting was legit, then Altair would advise The Panther’s double on how to do the deal with Sheik Musa.

Brenner, too, concluded, “Altair was willing to take a big risk for his boss, and his boss was willing to send Altair and his men into what was sounding like a trap.”

Right. The Panther really wanted the Americans, and he didn’t care who he had to put at risk to get them—as long as it wasn’t himself.

Recalling what Rahim ibn Hayyam told us at Ghumdan Fortress, about his boss’s leadership style, I said to Hakim, “Tell this guy that his chief is a coward. That he sends his men into danger, but he hides in a cave, like he did when his jihadists attacked the Hunt Oil installation. Tell Altair he owes no loyalty to al-Darwish.”

Hakim nodded and translated that, and Altair replied by spitting at me. And then he had the nerve to ask for more water. So Colonel Hakim, the soul of compassion, poured the rest of the canteen on Altair’s face. Good practice for waterboarding.

I said to Hakim, “I assume you’ve asked this guy where The Panther is right now.”

“Of course, and he tells me he does not know.”

“You believe that?”

Hakim shrugged and said, “Only a very few people would know the hiding place of The Panther.”

Right. And a guy like Altair might be one of those people. I changed the subject and said to Hakim, “Ask him if Nabeel al-Samad was here.”

Altair understood the name and so understood the question, and replied to Hakim, who told us, “Nabeel al-Samad was not here.”

Bummer. I wanted Nabeel’s balls in a Ziploc bag. But I’d find him someday. Maybe back in New York.

Brenner, combat vet, wanted to know, “Where was Altair when the Hellfires hit?”

Hakim asked and Altair replied. Hakim smiled and said, “The old man had the need to urinate and so he went off behind the stone fence to do this. He says he was spared by God.”

Or a bad prostate gland. Or he had a last-minute thought that standing on the carpet near The Panther look-alike and near Sheik Musa might not be the safest place around. Time for a piss.

Brenner asked Colonel Hakim, “What will you do with this man?”

Hakim replied matter-of-factly, “Probably I will shoot him.”

I suggested, “You may want to bring him to Ghumdan, get him patched up, and continue the interrogation.”

Hakim assured us, “He has nothing more to say.”

Brenner informed me, “The Yemeni government doesn’t like to have Al Qaeda prisoners.” He explained, “The Al Qaeda guys have a way of breaking out of jail and embarrassing the government, or they radicalize the other inmates.” He concluded, “So most of them are shot when captured, or die under interrogation.”

Sounds a bit harsh, but I had a better idea and said to Hakim, “If, as you say, you know Altair is a senior advisor to The Panther, then I’m certain he knows where his boss is hiding.”

Hakim replied, “This could be true, but he will not tell us this, even under torture.” He added, “Or even if you tell him unkind things about his chief.”

“Try another approach,” I suggested. “Offer him his freedom and, let’s say, a hundred thousand dollars. The Americans will guarantee his freedom and the money.”

Hakim thought about that, and maybe he saw a chance to get that money for himself, then shoot Altair anyway. He made the offer to Altair, who didn’t respond, but neither did he spit.

I said to Hakim, “Remind him again that al-Darwish sent him and his men like sheep to the slaughter.”

Hakim shrugged and spoke to Altair, who did not respond. When they don’t respond, you’re making progress.

I also suggested, “Maybe The Panther thinks such an old man is expendable. Maybe he doesn’t like Altair.” I said to Hakim, “Tell him that.”

Hakim did and Altair closed his eyes, indicating he had no more to say.

Well, what now? I guess if you’re partners with a PSO colonel, your options open up. And I had an idea.

I announced, “I have to take a pee,” and jumped out of the truck. Brenner followed and I asked him, “What do you want to do?”

He replied, “We need to contact the embassy as soon as possible to report our status and to report what happened here.”

“That’s the right thing to do,” I agreed.

“Then we need to get to the embassy first thing tomorrow.”

“Right. But I’m thinking that Chet and Buck are bad-mouthing us wherever they are, and we may have some problems at the embassy.” Like being locked in the basement bomb shelter waiting for the CIA station chief.

Brenner replied, “I don’t think that’s true—about having a problem… but in any case, Zamo and I need to report in person to the embassy.” He thought a moment and said, “You and Kate, however, could probably go directly to Sana’a Airport and take the first flight out that’s heading anywhere except Sandland.”

“Good thinking. But here’s another idea. Ready?”

He nodded tentatively.

“We throw Altair into the Land Cruiser and take him into the hills. He shows us where the Al Qaeda camp is, and we show him what two-thousand-pound bombs can do. We tell him that if The Panther was in the camp, he’s probably dead, but if not, he should be because he’s an a*shole, a coward, and an incompetent f*ck-up. And then we ask Altair nicely to show us where The Panther’s hideout is. And if he does that, we’ll save him from Colonel Hakim, give him a nice reward, and send him to the Bahamas.” I asked Brenner, “What do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy.”

“Good. Look, Paul, Altair is our one and only link to The Panther, and I’m sure that old bastard knows where that a*shole is hiding. We gotta give this a shot.”

Brenner thought a moment, then said, “It’s actually not a terrible idea, but we are definitely not authorized to make up our own missions.”

“Why not? Someone authorized Chet to bump us off, so we can do whatever the hell we want.”

Brenner took a deep breath and said, “We have no backup, no logistical support, no commo, and we’re low on ammo.”

“But we have a new partner. He’s got what we need and we’ll take him along.” I added, “Hakim is authorized to do whatever he wants to do.”

“Actually, Hakim should do this on his own.”

“Hakim,” I pointed out, “is incompetent, probably lazy, and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Al Qaeda or Bulus ibn al-Darwish.”

“But he cares about the reward.”

“Right. So he’ll come with us. We need an interpreter anyway.”

Brenner went into thinking mode, weighing the pros and cons of getting out of this shithole or getting deeper into it. He pointed out, “Altair may not be able to make the trip.”

“He looks fine. He’s a tough old goat. Or eagle. And if he dies, he dies. Better than Hakim’s bullet in his head.”

Brenner said to me, “I think you’ve been here too long.”

“I’ve been crazy for years.” I suggested to him, “When you get home, you’ll realize how crazy you were here.”

He forced a smile, ruminated, then said, “All right… if Hakim says okay to this, and if he comes with us, we’ll go.”

“Good. We’re going to complete this mission.”

Mr. Brenner asked, “How about Kate?”

“She wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Brenner was about to say something about that, but Colonel Hakim, who wanted to see what his new partners were up to, hopped out of the truck and asked us, “So what do you do now?”

“Glad you asked.” I explained my plan to him and he listened, nodding a few times. I assured him, “If we can kill or capture The Panther, I’ll see to it that you get the three million you asked for.” I pointed out, “The Bedouin were helpful to us, but one of them betrayed us, and we don’t have a dead Panther.” So f*ck them.

Colonel Hakim nodded, but said, “The old man is perhaps not well enough to make this journey.”

“Have your medic give him something to perk him up.” But not Viagra. We’ve been f*cked enough today.

Hakim nodded again, but said, “He may not be as cooperative as you wish. He will protect his chief.”

“We won’t know what he’s going to do until we get up there.”

Colonel Hakim asked us, “Do you know where this Al Qaeda camp is?”

“Altair knows,” I assured him.

“He will not tell us.”

“I’m sure you can make him tell us.”

“Perhaps.” He let us know, “I have some idea where it is.”

“Good. And I happen to have map coordinates.” I asked Hakim, “Do you have a map of the area?”

“Of course.”

“Well, then, between you, me, and Altair, we’re practically there.”

Colonel Hakim excused himself, and Brenner and I walked toward our Land Cruiser. I asked Brenner, “How about Zamo?”

“He likes looking for jihadists in the mountains.”

“Right. Doesn’t everyone?” So Operation Clean Sweep, sans Chet, Buck, and Washington, continues. No complicated plans, no high tech, and no John and Kate for bait; just a bunch of guys in the hills trying to kill each other the old-fashioned way.