years.”
I said, “Maybe Washington has figured out a way to make Sheik Musa’s death look like an accident or that someone else did it.”
Brenner replied, “Assuming we use a Hellfire missile on Musa, that reduces the possible murder suspects to one. Us.”
“Right. But it’s not murder. It’s termination with extreme prejudice, in CIA lingo.” I added, “Sounds better.”
Kate, who’s been hanging around me too long, said wisely, “When you see a double cross, look for a triple cross.”
Brenner agreed with Ms. Mayfield and added, “As we said in Aden, let’s keep an eye on this and talk to each other.”
Paul Brenner was a good guy, a former cop, and a straight shooter. True, he seemed to have Restless Dick Syndrome, but, hey, we all have a little of that. I wondered what Clare was doing now. Probably floating in the pool with Howard. How did I get from Paul Brenner to Clare Nolan? Could I have RDS?
Anyway, it was interesting that the three of us didn’t completely trust the two intelligence officers. Comes with the territory, I guess, though we were all on the same team. Whatever lies we were told and whatever information Chet and Buck withheld was based on the strong principle of need-to-know. If we needed to know, we’d be told when the time came, and if we never needed to know, we’d never know. And what we didn’t know couldn’t be gotten out of us if we were captured-or worse, interrogated by a congressional committee. And what we don’t know can’t hurt us. Wait. Let’s back up on that one.
Anyway, Kate, Brenner, and I were now on the same page, and we had our antennae up, to mix metaphors.
Brenner’s Bedouin-issued cell phone rang and he answered and listened. Are you allowed to drive while talking on your phone in Yemen? I guess if you’re allowed to fire assault rifles out your window, you can talk on your phone.
Brenner hung up and said, “That was Buck seeing if these cell phones actually worked.”
“Good thinking,” I agreed. Not that we didn’t trust Sheik Musa; it was the Yemen Telephone Company that could be the problem. Especially here. Lots of dead zones. Also, I wondered how the Bedouin paid their phone bills.
Brenner informed us, “Buck said he got a cell phone call from Chet saying Predators report no suspicious activity ahead.”
Didn’t they say that on the road to Aden?
The north side of the plateau, as I saw on the Predator monitor, was a gradual slope, and Buck followed the rutted track as it descended into the flatlands. I could see a road in the distance, a few vehicles, houses, and cultivated areas.
Halfway down the slope, I spotted a white SUV parked behind a big rock formation, and as we got closer I saw four men with AK-47s sitting on the rocks. Obviously they were Sheik Musa’s men, guarding this approach to the fortress as promised. Our two lead escort vehicles had apparently sailed right past these guys, so everyone was in the same tribe. Right? On the other hand, this was Yemen and nothing was as it appeared.
Buck slowed down, and so did we. It’s times like this when you fully appreciate fully armored vehicles. Beats the hell out of a Kevlar vest.
I took my M4 off safety and told Kate to do the same. Brenner drew his Colt.45.
Buck stopped about fifty meters from the men and they waved their arms to continue on. Like, “Come on, people. Haven’t you ever seen four guys in robes with assault rifles?”
The cell phone wasn’t ringing, so I guess Chet and the Predator pilot were okay with these guys-or the pilot was about to put a Hellfire on them.
Our trail vehicle caught up to us, then our hand-held radios all crackled and Buck’s voice said, “They’re Musa’s tribesmen.”
Buck continued on and we followed. I reminded Kate, “Scarf. Don’t make eye contact unless you’re firing at them.”
Brenner thought that was funny.
As Buck drew abreast of the Bedouin, he lowered his window and did his peace greeting-As-salaam alaikum-which they returned. So I lowered my window and called out, “Shalom! Aleichem!”
Kate said, “That’s Hebrew, John.”
“Sounds the same.”
We continued on, and our trail escort dropped back.
We came down into the flatlands and followed the rutted track north through a sparsely populated area of small irrigated fields and brown pastureland where skinny goats wandered around looking for something they might have missed. Life here is tough. And short.
Brenner, Kate, and I made small talk, because to keep talking about the mission sounds like you’re a little jumpy. And that was not cool.
Brenner informed us, “I once flew to the Marib airstrip from Sana’a-about a year ago, before things started to go downhill here.” He explained, “Some VIPs from Capitol Hill wanted to see the ruins, and I led an advance team from the embassy to check out the security situation.”
“And?”
“And I strongly suggested they not come here.” He added, “It was okay for tourists… until the Belgians disappeared last summer. But I couldn’t guarantee the safety of congressmen and their staffs.”
I said to him sternly, “Are you telling me that you missed an opportunity to get rid of some congressmen?”
That got a laugh. I’m way funnier than Paul Brenner.
Anyway, we intersected a paved road, and Brenner followed Buck, who turned right-east toward Marib.
Brenner said, “This is probably the Sana’a-Marib road. The one we saw the sign for in Sana’a.”
Right. And I thought Sana’a wasn’t safe. Sana’a was looking like Geneva about now.
Bottom line about third-world travel is this-there’s always someplace more dangerous and fucked up than where you are. In this case, however, we had reached the very pinnacle of Places You Don’t Want to Visit.
We continued east, toward Marib. I was looking forward to a cold beer and a hot shower in the hotel before I got kidnapped.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
As we approached Marib, Brenner suggested to Kate that she rewrap, and I assured her that the black scarf made her look more mysterious-and thinner.
We entered Marib, which was a ramshackle but bustling town-the provincial capital, according to Brenner, and the only market town for many miles.
The main street was a collection of open-front shops and stalls, government offices, and a few gas stations, but not a single saloon. But to make the town lively, nearly every male was carrying an automatic rifle. I also noticed there was nothing ancient about the place, and Brenner explained, “This is New Marib. Old Marib is a few kilometers from here and it’s mostly abandoned.”
“Why?”
“The Egyptian Air Force bombed it in 1967.”
“Why?”
“Marib was royalist during the civil wars, and the Egyptians were allied with the republican government in Sana’a.”
These people went to war the way kids choose up sides for a football game. And we’re getting involved in Yemen, why? They don’t need us to help them kill each other.
The town smelled of diesel exhaust and dung, but I also caught the aroma of the outdoor grills in front of the food shops and my stomach growled. Maybe I should eat that tuna.
