The Panther

“Good.” Bullshit.

Kate is career FBI, which is maybe why she likes the boss. Or maybe she just likes him, which is maybe why I don’t.

A quick word about Special Agent in Charge Tom Walsh. He’s young for the job-mid-forties-good-looking if you like store mannequins, never married, but in a long-term relationship with a woman who is as self-absorbed and narcissistic as he is. Did that come out right?

As for his management style, he’s somewhat aloof with his own FBI agents, and he’s borderline condescending to the NYPD detectives under his command. He demands total loyalty, but he’s forgotten that the essence of loyalty is reciprocity. Tom is loyal to his superiors in Washington; everyone else is expendable. I never forget that when I deal directly with him. Like now.

But human beings are very complex, and I’ve seen a better side of Tom Walsh. As a for-instance, in our last major case, involving the Libyan terrorist Asad Khalil, a.k.a. The Lion, Walsh exhibited a degree of physical bravery that matched anything I’ve seen in my twenty years with the NYPD and my four years with the Task Force. If it wasn’t for that one act of incredible courage, when he put his life on the line to save thousands of innocent lives, I’d now be thinking about another job when my contract expires next month.

Tom got right to the point and said, “Let me get right to the point.” He glanced at an e-mail in front of him and informed us, “Two overseas postings have come down from Washington.”

I inquired, “Paris and Rome?”

“No,” he replied, “two jobs in Sana’a.” He reminded me, “That’s the capital of Yemen.”

“Not happening,” I assured him.

“Hear me out.”

Kate said to Tom, “If my husband is not interested, then I’m not interested.”

Actually, she didn’t say that. She said to me, “Let’s hear this.”

Thanks, partner. Kate is always putting career and country ahead of her husband. Well, not always. But often. I have notes on this.

Also, my detective instincts told me that Tom and Kate had, in fact, started without me. FBI people stick together.

Walsh continued, “One posting is for a legat, and the other is for an ERT person.” He added, “Both in Sana’a, but with some duties in Aden.” He informed us, “The Sana’a embassy currently has no Legal Affairs Office, so this is a new position, beginning next month.”

He then went into an official job description, reading from a piece of paper. I tuned out.

A legat, FYI, is a legal attache, attached to the U.S. Embassy in a foreign capital, or to a U.S. consulate office in a major city. In this case, it would be Sana’a and maybe Aden, the only two cities in Yemen as far as I knew.

Kate, like many FBI Special Agents, is a lawyer, so I, as a detective, concluded that the legal job was hers. The ERT is the Evidence Response Team-the Fed equivalent of forensic or crime scene investigator-so I concluded that that was to be my job.

The crime in question, I was certain, was the bombing of the USS Cole, a warship that had been refueling in Aden Harbor. This took place on October 12, 2000, which was why I had been in Yemen in August 2001. The investigation of this terrorist act is ongoing and will continue until everyone involved is brought to justice.

As for Sana’a, the capital of Yemen, the word in Arabic means A’nus. And by the way, the port city of Aden is no treat either. Trust me on this.

Mr. Walsh continued, “As John knows from his last visit, the Yemeni government will issue only forty-five-day visas to our ERT personnel who are investigating the Cole bombing. But with some pressure, we can usually get this extended for up to a year.”

A year? Are you kidding?

Walsh editorialized, “The Yemenis are being cooperative, but not fully cooperative.” He explained, “They’re walking a fine line between pressure from Washington and pressure from sources inside and outside of Yemen who want the Americans out of their country.” He further explained, “The government in Sana’a is currently going through an anti-American phase.”

I informed him, “I don’t think it’s a phase, Tom.” I suggested, “Maybe we should stay home and nuke them.”

Tom ignored my suggestion and continued, “Kate’s job with the embassy comes under diplomatic rules, so she can be there for any reasonable length of time.”

How about five minutes? Does that work?

Tom further briefed us, “Bottom line, you can both figure on a year.” He added, “Together.” He smiled and said, “That’s not so bad.”

“It’s wonderful,” I agreed. I reminded him, however, “We’re not going.”

“Let me finish.”

This is where the boss tells you what’s going to happen if you say no, and Tom said, “Kate’s time here in New York is approaching a natural conclusion in regard to her career trajectory. In fact, Task Force headquarters in Washington would like her to transfer there. It would be a good career move.”

Kate, who is from someplace called Minnesota, did not originally like New York, but she’s grown fond of being here with me. So why wasn’t she saying that?

Tom continued, “If Kate accepts this overseas hardship assignment, the Office of Preference will move her to the top of the OP list.” He explained, unnecessarily, “Meaning, after Yemen, she can return to New York-or any place she chooses.”

Kate nodded.

Tom said to me, “If you accept this assignment, your contract, which I understand is about to terminate, will obviously be renewed for the time you’re in Yemen, and we’ll add two years afterwards.”

I guess that was the carrot. I think I liked the stick better-don’t renew my contract.

Tom had obviously thought about that, too, and said to me, “Or, after your return from Yemen, you can have a Federally funded job with the NYPD Intelligence Unit.” He assured me, “We’ll take care of that.”

I glanced out the window. A crappy February day. It was sunny in Yemen. I looked at the nearby brick tower of One Police Plaza. It would be nice to be back on the force, even as a Federal employee, though I’d be working in intelligence rather than homicide. Still, I’d be out of 26 Federal Plaza, which would make me and Tom equally happy. Kate and I could fly paper airplanes to each other from our office windows.

Tom seemed to be done with the carrot and the stick, so I asked the obvious question. “Why us?”

He had a ready answer and replied, “You’re the best qualified.” He reminded me, “You’ve already been there, and the team in Yemen would appreciate someone with experience.”

I didn’t reply.

He went on, “You two work well as a team, and the thinking is that a husband and wife might fit in better.”

“I’m losing you, Tom.”

“Well… as you know, women are not fully accepted in some Islamic countries. And professional women and unmarried women run into many obstacles. But Kate, as a married woman traveling with her husband, can move about more freely.” He added, “And more safely.”

Neither Kate nor I responded to that, but I was getting the feeling that he wasn’t talking about Kate’s work as a legal attache at the embassy.

In fact, Kate asked, “What’s this about, Tom?”

He didn’t reply directly, but said, “You both may be asked to go beyond your official job descriptions.”

I inquired, “Do we have to kill somebody?”

He didn’t laugh and say, “Of course not, you silly man.” In fact, he didn’t say anything, which said a lot.

Tom stood and went to the sideboard. He returned with three glasses and a bottle of medicinal brandy. He poured, we clinked, said “Cheers,” and drank.

He turned and stared out the window awhile, then said, as if to himself, “There were seventeen American sailors killed-murdered-when a boat pulled up beside the Cole in Aden Harbor and the suicide bombers on board detonated a large explosive device that blew a hole in the side of our warship. Thirty-nine sailors were injured,