The Panther Page 15

  Buck continued, “Al Qaeda in Yemen, like us in Yemen, are small in numbers. They have perhaps four or five hundred hard-core members. But they also have thousands of sympathizers and active supporters, including, as I said, inside the PSO, and also inside the army, the police, and probably the government.”

  I inquired, “How many sympathizers and supporters do we have in Yemen?”

  “Two,” replied Buck. “The lady who runs the craft shop and the man who cuts my hair—and I’m not sure about him.”

  Good one, Buck.

  He continued, “But as I told you in New York, among the general population there is not an attitudinal animosity here against the West or Americans. But neither can we expect any help from the average citizen, except maybe from a Jew or Christian. Also, some tribes can be rented on a short-term lease with an unknown expiration date.”

  Brenner said to us, “The sheiks who are tribal chieftains are mostly clients of the Saudi government, and our arrangements and payments to the tribes go through the Saudi royal family. The Saudis are our allies and they’ve been helpful—except when they’re not.”

  Buck reminded us, “As I said in New York in answer to Kate’s question, the tribes do not like Al Qaeda, and the feeling is mutual. However, a few tribes have now and then accepted Al Qaeda money—or Al Qaeda favors—so we can’t always trust them.”

  I observed, “It sounds like the tribes are part of the plan.”

  Buck replied, “They have to be. They control most of the countryside.”

  Kate asked, “Does that mean we’re going into the tribal lands?”

  Brenner replied, “That’s the plan.” He explained, “The cities and towns are where the government security forces are strongest, and we don’t want any interference from them, and we don’t want to get into a shooting match with Al Qaeda in a complicated urban setting.” He further explained, “In the hinterlands we have the advantage of tribal help, or at least tribal neutrality. Also we have the big advantage of Predator drones armed with Hellfire missiles.”

  Right. I always knew this would play out in Indian Territory, but I asked, “How do we know The Panther will meet us on that turf?”

  “We don’t,” Brenner replied, “but if he wants you, he’ll go where you are.”

  “We’re in Sana’a,” I reminded him.

  Brenner replied, “As I indicated, we’re not staying here.” He further informed us, “In a day or so, we’re traveling by road to Aden, and with luck we’ll run into trouble on the way.”

  It seemed to me that Paul Brenner’s idea of good luck and my idea of good luck were not the same.

  Buck let us know, “I’m not certain that The Panther himself would lead a frontal attack on our convoy, but it’s possible he would, and also possible that we can capture someone who knows where he is.”

  Right. You bring the water, I’ll bring the board.

  Buck continued, “Also, we don’t know if The Panther would like to kill you or capture you.” He said, unnecessarily, “Killing is easier, but capturing both of you would be a real coup for Al Qaeda and The Panther. A major humiliation for the U.S.”

  “Not to mention a major inconvenience for me and Kate.” I observed, “I see you’ve thought this out, but I’m not hearing an operational plan that’s based on concrete information.”

  Buck replied, “As I said, our fifth team member will provide that.”

  “Okay.”

  Buck also said, “It’s my understanding, Mr. Corey, that you’re not plan-oriented. That you shoot from the hip and make it up as you go. So you shouldn’t be too concerned about a detailed plan.” He added, “In fact, that’s one of the reasons you were invited to be here.”

  “Right.” The other reason was the same reason that the turkey is invited to Thanksgiving dinner. I said, “I’m flexible.”

  Kate, in a rare instance of agreeing with her husband, said, “John is very good at reading a situation and changing tactics on a dime.” She added, “But sometimes he bends the rules.”

  That’s my girl.

  Brenner and Buck made a mental note of that, and then Brenner continued, “We don’t want to run this operation from the embassy, which can cause problems. So Aden will be our operational base. From there, we’ll go where we think we have to go. Also, Aden is where Al Qaeda has many eyes and ears.” He looked at me and said, “You remember that, and it hasn’t changed much. Point is, if we’re at the Sheraton in Aden, The Panther will know it. Also, Aden is where you’re supposed to be for the Cole investigation.”

  “Got it.”

  So we spent the next ten minutes talking this out, and I was alert despite the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the mocha coffee. Maybe the subject matter. War and talk of war focuses your mind and body like nothing else can do except maybe sex.

  It occurred to me that Buck and Brenner, via the CIA, knew something I didn’t know—like hard information from a radio or satellite phone intercept, or a paid informant, or a vigorously interrogated detainee—that indeed Al Qaeda already knew Kate and I were here, and that The Panther would strike.

  It also occurred to me that the State Department’s application for our visa—before we even knew we were coming to Yemen—was the trigger that set Al Qaeda in motion, long before we landed at Sana’a Airport. In any case, whatever information the CIA had was not necessarily going to be shared with Mr. and Mrs. Corey at this time. And whatever information The Panther had would be shared with us at a time and place of his choosing.

  Buck and Brenner wrapped it up and Buck said, “You must be exhausted. So I thank you for your attention.” He smiled and said, “I hope this was more interesting than my class in New York.”

  I assured him it was, except for the info on khat.

  Before we retired to our rooms, I said, “One thing that’s bugging me—Bulus ibn al-Darwish. We haven’t focused on him, and I’m trying to figure out why an American-born Muslim would defect from America. I mean, most defectors defect to America. Right? What’s motivating this guy? What’s his problem?”

  Brenner replied, “I don’t know, and I’m not sure I care. But when we get him into an interrogation room, you can ask him.”

  I replied, “At that point I don’t care either. But if we knew now why he turned against his country, and if we could get into his head a little, it might help us predict what he’ll do and what his strengths and weaknesses are.”

  Buck informed us, “In fact, the CIA has a psychological profile on him that we’ll see shortly, and that might be helpful.”

  “Good.” It takes crazy to know crazy. Not that I meant the CIA was crazy. Or did I?

  Buck asked me, “Are you aware that the suspect’s parents are bringing suit in Federal court to have their son removed from the CIA kill list?”

  “I am.”

  Mr. Brenner said, “That’s one reason why we need to make every effort to take him alive.”

  Actually, it was a good reason to whack him quickly, before some Federal judge intervened.

  I looked at Brenner, who motioned toward the ceiling to remind me that we were being recorded. Then Paul Brenner made a cutting motion across his throat.

  Great minds think alike. I was starting to like this guy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Brenner said the guest house in the embassy was full, but we could get a few hours’ sleep in the chancery building before going to the Sheraton, and he showed us to a bedroom on the second floor where our luggage had been delivered.

  He informed us, “We had to convert a few offices here in the chancery into sleeping quarters.” He explained, “If the threat level goes up, embassy personnel who live outside the compound are required to move into the compound, so it gets crowded inside the fort until it blows over.”

  I asked him, “Is that why the guest house is full?”

  “It is.”

  Well, I was glad we were getting out of Sana’a. Unfortunately, we were going to Aden.

  Anyway, the room loo
ked comfortable enough for an embassy staffer on the lam from psychotic jihadists. Two stars.

  Brenner informed us, “The bathroom is down the hall.”

  One star.

  Brenner told us, “You’ll check in at the Sana’a Sheraton this afternoon.” He assured us, “It’s heavily guarded, and more comfortable than here.”

  “Also,” I added, “you’d like us out there to see if we come to the attention of the person we’re looking for.”

  “That is correct.” He also told us, “I’ll have satellite phones for you later, but meanwhile feel free to use the room phone, though as I remind everyone, we record everything for security purposes, and the PSO records for their own purposes. And in answer to your next question, there are no electronic bugs in your room—only real bugs.” He smiled.

  I believed him, because if Kate and I found a listening device in our bedroom, we all knew that would be the end of our Yemen visit.

  Kate asked him, “Do you live in the embassy?”

  “No. I have an apartment not far from here.”

  “And are you staying there even though the alert level is elevated?”

  He smiled. “I’d rather take my chances with terrorists than living with State Department people.”

  Me, too.

  Kate also asked him, “Are you alone here?”

  He looked at her and replied, “I am.”

  “Sorry… I didn’t mean to ask a personal question.”

  He assured her, “Over the next few weeks or months we’ll learn a lot about each other.” He let us know, “There’s someone back in the States.”

  He changed the subject and said, “I’d like us to meet in the lobby at, let’s say, eleven A.M. Is that good?”

  Kate and I said it was.

  He informed us, “There is a non-denominational church service at eleven in the parlor if you’d like to attend.”

  Kate thought that would be nice, and I was trying to think of a reason why it wasn’t.

  Brenner said, “You can decide when you come down.” He advised us, “Bring your luggage down and we’ll go over to the Sheraton, then if you’d like we’ll take a walk around town.” He smiled. “Hopefully someone will try to kill or kidnap us.”

  Especially if Mohammed dropped a dime on us. Maybe we should go to church instead.

  He reminded us, “Sana’a is relatively safe. But bring your guns.”

  Goes without saying.

  He also advised us, “If you hear a siren, move immediately to the basement.”

  “Wine tasting?” I asked.

  He thought that was funny. I think I was one up on him.

  He said, “There is a safe room down there. Blastproof. Use the stairs, not the elevator, and come as you are.” He reminded us, “Take your guns with you.”

  He gave us instructions on how to find the safe room—follow everyone else—and he wished us a good sleep and left.

  Kate said, “I didn’t know what to expect here, but I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I don’t know… I guess I didn’t understand the security situation.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “I guess… also, I thought we’d have an apartment, then I’d spend some time in my office…”

  I reminded her, “You’re not really the legal attaché.”

  She nodded and said, “I was surprised to see Buck here and surprised to discover that we were bait for The Panther.”

  “Were you?”

  “Maybe not.” She asked me, “How did you know about that?”

  I was almost certain the room wasn’t bugged, but I didn’t want to say “Al Rasul,” so I said, “I figured it out,” which was partly true. I told her, “So did you.”

  She nodded again, then asked me, “What do you think of Paul?”

  “I feel the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  She said, “I like him and I trust him.”

  “Let’s see how he and Buck handle the CIA guy. That could be the game changer.”

  She advised me, “Don’t let your past experiences with the Agency prejudice you.”

  “Of course not. My mind is open to a miracle.”

  I took both Colt .45s out of the bag and asked Kate, “Which one would you like?”

  “They’re the same, John.”

  “The serial numbers are different.”

  She didn’t reply so I threw both guns on the bed.

  Kate looked around the room, then out the window. The sky was getting light, and she said, “I can see the city from here. We’re on a hill.”

  “Right.” And in the surrounding hills were guys with mortars and rocket launchers who could target this big compound with their eyes closed.

  As though reading my mind, Kate asked me, “If I hear the siren, would you like me to wake you, or let you sleep?”

  Do we need a third wiseass? I said, “The explosions will wake me.”

  I went to the phone on the nightstand and picked up the receiver.

  Kate asked, “Who are you calling?”

  “Tom.”

  “It’s”—she looked at her watch—“past eleven P.M. there.”

  “The FBI never sleeps.” I dialed zero and got the embassy operator. I gave him Walsh’s cell phone number and he said to me, “This is not a secure—”

  “Right.”

  He put the call through, and I got Tom Walsh’s voice mail. I said, “Tom, John here. I thought you’d be waiting up for my call. Well, as you may have already heard, we’re here. And guess what we just found out? I can’t say because it’s not a secure phone, but you know what I’m talking about. Cat food, Tom. This is exciting and I wanted to thank you for this opportunity.” To mess with his head, I added, “We may take the next flight out and thank you in person. Don’t give away our desks.” I hung up.

  Kate asked rhetorically, “Was that necessary?”

  “Tom wanted to hear from us.”

  She reminded me, “We have no business with Tom anymore and vice versa.”

  “That was a personal call.”

  She had no further thoughts on that subject, and she began to undress, so I did, too. There didn’t seem to be a closet in the room, so we threw our clothes on a chair, and I put a gun on each nightstand.

  Kate collapsed on the bed, naked, and said, “We need to burn those clothes. And I need a shower.”

  “Down the hall.” I reminded her, “If we hear the siren, it’s come as you are to the safe room.”

  She smiled and said, “That could be fun.”

  I asked, “Is the bed hard?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Oh… my goodness. How can you think about sex now?”

  “That’s a silly question from a naked lady.”

  She smiled again, then motioned me to hop aboard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Kate and I came down to the atrium lobby with our luggage, dressed in our Sunday best—Kate in a tan pantsuit, and me in fresh khaki trousers, black blazer, and another Dior shirt. Onward Christian Dior.

  For footwear, we both had black running shoes; the mark of the urban guerrilla. To accessorize, we carried our Colt .45s—Kate’s under her loose top, and mine discreetly strapped to my pants belt. Kate was also wearing her new scarf draped over her shoulders, and my outfit would be complete when I bought a jambiyah.

  Paul Brenner, wearing his blue windbreaker, black pants, and a sports shirt, was waiting for us in the lobby, and he had another man with him—a guy in his early forties, sporting a mustache and wearing a dark suit, who I thought might be our CIA guy. But Brenner said, “This is Howard Fensterman, the new legal attaché.”

  Kate and I shook hands with Mr. Fensterman, who said to Kate, “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  Kate replied, “I’m excited about opening the new office.”

  So maybe Kate really was the assistant legat, and I was going down to Aden to join the Cole investigatio
n. Great. Better than Panther bait.

  But Mr. Fensterman cleared that up by saying, “I’ll be providing any legal assistance you might need for your mission in Yemen. Feel free to call me when you leave Sana’a if you have any questions or need any clarifications regarding procedures.”

  “Thank you,” said Kate.

  I mean, did George Patton have a lawyer on his staff? Hey, Counselor, can the Third Army cross the Rhine yet? Are we still waiting for a legal opinion?

  Mr. Fensterman asked us to call him Howard and continued, “I’m working closely with State and Justice regarding extradition procedures, and I’m being kept up-to-date by Justice regarding the Federal lawsuit brought by the suspect’s parents.”

  I said, “I hope you’re also working on covering our asses if by chance the suspect should meet an untimely end during his apprehension.”

  Howard replied, “I’ll address that if and when it occurs.” He added, “It’s all a little complicated because, as you know, the suspect is an American citizen.” He reminded us, “He has Constitutional rights.”

  “Of course.” And I had the answer to all those pesky rights on my hip.

  Howard informed us, “I’m about to attend the church service in the parlor. Would you like to join me?”

  “No,” I replied. “We’re carrying guns, and we’re pagans.”

  “That’s all right,” Howard assured us. “I’m Jewish.”

  Huh?

  Howard told us, “Friday night I went to one of the mosques that allows non-believers to enter. Saturday, I went to services in the home of a Yemeni Jew. So today I’m going to the Christian service here in the embassy.”

  I asked him, “Are you very spiritual?” Or confused? Or maybe covering all your bases?

  He replied, “The three religions have much in common.” He also said, “I’m bored.”

  Try khat.

  Howard really wanted company, and he also wanted to show Kate her office after the service. Kate didn’t want to disappoint her new boss, and Brenner was in no hurry to get to the hotel, so Kate, I, and Brenner accompanied Howard to the parlor.

  The big, sunlit room was filled with about fifty people—embassy staffers and spouses and about ten uniformed Marines. Everyone was sitting on the upholstered furniture or in folding chairs, and they were all dressed nicely. The American taxpayers, who were there in spirit, had provided vases of cut flowers.