added, nicely, “But I appreciate your dedication.”
Brenner asked, “What’s the purpose of us leaving now? I’m not understanding
Chet explained, “Something could go wrong as we drive between here and the scene of the attack, or at the scene, or something could go wrong with our rendezvous with the Otter.” He further explained in a paternalistic tone of voice, “There is no reason for all of us to take that risk, and there is every reason to split up so as to ensure that… well, some of us get out of here.”
Right. But who?
Chet added, “We don’t want a situation where the mission is successful but the whole team is lost.”
Like, the operation was a success, but the patient died. Got it.
Kate asked Chet, “Do you think it’s safe for a single vehicle to drive from here to the Marib airstrip?”
Chet assured her and us, “The roads are safe enough in the daylight, and you don’t have to worry about a Bedouin guest kidnapping in Sheik Musa’s territory, and you don’t even have to worry about Al Qaeda, who rarely leave these highlands in the daylight.” He reminded us, “If you move fast, you’ll be at the airstrip before anyone even knows you’re on the road, or even knows who you are. These Land Cruisers are generally recognized as Bedouin vehicles, and as you know, the windows are tinted, but Kate should wear her balto and sit in the rear.” He again assured us, “You’ll have a Predator covering you just in case, and we have sat-phone contact with each other. The drive to the airstrip should be a piece of cake.” He inquired, “Any worries?”
I, like Buck, had remained uncharacteristically silent, but I now asked, “Any reason we won’t have a Bedouin escort?”
Chet replied, “You don’t need that, and quite frankly, if something goes wrong at the scene of the attack, the last thing you want is a carload of Bedouin near you talking to other Bedouin on their cell phones.”
Chet, it seemed, was concerned about our safety and our survival. And he and Buck would do the dangerous job of driving to the scene of the carnage, then they’d do the dirty work of collecting, bagging, and labeling the mortal remains of The Panther and his men, and maybe they’d also take some photos of the dead-as The Panther had done at the ruins. As for Sheik Musa, I was sure he and his Bedouin would be long gone from the scene, either in their Land Cruisers-or on their way to Paradise. So either way, Chet and Buck didn’t have to deal with them. Check’s in the mail, sheik.
And did Brenner, Kate, or I need to be here for any of that? Not really, but I was going to miss the blood and guts, and the smoking bones and flesh. That’s not fair.
Chet asked us, “Any other worries?”
“Worries” was a word designed to make us look and feel like nervous troops who needed to man up and follow orders. Chet, like most crazy people, thought he was the smartest man in the room-or in the fish van. Well, he wasn’t. That would be me.
Anyway, I looked at Kate, then at Brenner, and we exchanged glances of, I guess, acceptance of the situation.
I said to Chet, “Okay. No worries.”
Kate said, “I’m not okay with this, but I understand.”
Brenner said, “I also understand the reasoning. But Zamo will make his own decision about coming with us or staying here.”
Chet said, “His orders are to stay here and provide security.”
Brenner replied, “I don’t care what his orders are. He’s not under your control. He’s under the control of the DSS and me.”
Chet didn’t reply, and Buck didn’t explain to Chet about embassy procedures and protocols.
Finally, Chet conceded, “All right. It’s his decision.”
But we-Kate, Brenner, and me-had no decision to make. We had been ordered to get out. Not by Chet, but by someone at the top. To be honest, I was more than a little ambivalent about this. Getting a head start on the trip home was good, and the road trip to Marib airstrip was a much smaller danger than sticking around here for the fireworks. Still, this was a big disappointment, and I’m sure Kate and Brenner felt the same. But Chet and the mission planners were right-if we split up, there was a better chance of someone getting back to make a full report, and Washington needed a few people alive to congratulate.
Chet said to us, “Take only what you need and be on the road in ten minutes. When you land in Saudi Arabia, you’ll turn in your weapons, Kevlar, and commo, and you’ll be flying up to Riyadh Airport within fifteen minutes.” He further instructed us, “Burn the passports that Buck gave you and take your dip passports for the international flight to the U.S.”
Chet kept mentioning that flight home as though us hearing it would make us believe it was going to happen. And maybe it was. And maybe it wasn’t.
Chet also reminded us, “Stick your head in here before you leave.”
I promised him, “We wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye, Chet.”
He smiled.
I said to Buck, “See you later.”
He nodded, sort of smiled, and said to us, “See you later.”
The now-unemployed members of the A-team left the fish van, mission completed.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
We returned to the tower, and Brenner called Zamo down from the mafraj and told him what was happening.
Brenner said, “It’s your decision if you want to stay here and cover Buck and Chet or come with us to Marib.”
Zamo didn’t agonize much over his decision and replied, “I work for you.” He also reminded Brenner, “I don’t get paid to make decisions.”
Brenner did get paid to make decisions, and he said to Zamo, “You’ll come with us.”
I suggested, “Let’s get moving.”
We gathered up what we needed, which all fit into our overnight bags, and we left everything else for the Bedouin, including my socks and underwear.
Kate slipped her balto over her clothes, and we went down to the livestock and excrement level and built a small bonfire of passports and crumpled magazine pages, which Zamo lit with a match from his field survival kit. We made sure everything burned, then we went out into the fading sunlight of the courtyard.
The Bedouin were still sitting and squatting along the wall, probably thinking about their approaching sundown prayers, and a new recipe for goat.
Kate covered her face with her hijab, and Brenner, in his limited Arabic, seemed to be thanking our hosts for their hospitality. The Bedouin remained sitting as they all said, “As-salaam alaikum.”
Brenner responded with, “Wa alaikum as-salaam.”
And arrivederci.
Brenner said something to Yasir, who stood and waved his arm toward the parked SUVs, and Brenner told us, “He says take any one we want.”
“Which one has the bag of khat?”
Brenner didn’t ask, but Yasir did give us three shiwals, one off his own head and two from his buddies, and Brenner said to us, “This is a gift to remember them by.”
And they have my underwear to remember me.
Brenner told them that everything we’d left behind, which was mostly luggage, clothing, and one can of mixed vegetables, was theirs to keep. And, no, they couldn’t have Zamo’s sniper rifle.
I said to Yasir, “See you in New York. Ben’s Deli.” I also said, “Shuqran,” which means “thanks.”
We threw our overnight bags into the rear of one of the Land Cruisers, and carrying our weapons, we all walked to the fish van.
Chet and Buck were still watching the screens, and Chet was on the radio speaking to someone. As we
