The Panther

Nabeel produced a small white card and handed it respectfully to The Panther, saying, “This is the business card of the agent, John Corey. He gave it to me to present at the government building when I called on him.”

The Panther took the card and held it near the flame of the candle. He read:

John Corey, Detective

N.Y.P.D./FBI

Anti-Terrorist Task Force

26 Federal Plaza

New York, N.Y. 10278

There was the office telephone number for contact, but not the man’s cell phone.

Also on the card were two seals-one of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and one of the New York Police Department.

Bulus ibn al-Darwish stared at the card for longer than it took to read it, then he turned it over and read, Nabeel al-Samad to see Det. Corey.

Nabeel was aware that some men who worked for and with Al Qaeda in America at times exaggerated their deeds and accomplishments, so this card was good proof to have of his work-and his truthfulness.

The Panther handed the card back to Nabeel, who said, “It is yours, sir. I have no use for it.”

“Neither do I. And neither will Corey after you kill him, so keep it, Nabeel, to remind yourself of your task.”

Nabeel took the card and said, “Yes, sir.”

Nabeel made to leave, but The Panther said, “Wait.” He thought a moment, then said, “There will be a good reward for you, Nabeel, if you are able to capture this man instead of killing him. Capture him and bring him to me. And also his wife.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But do not allow this reward to blind you to the task of killing them if that is the only way.”

Nabeel vowed, “This man and his wife will be captured and brought to you, or they will be killed.” He further vowed, “They will not return to America.”

“And neither will you if they escape.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nabeel again made to leave, but The Panther again said, “Wait.” He said to Captain Zuhair and Lieutenant al-Rashid, “Begin the preparations for the march.”

Both officers saluted and left the hut quickly.

Bulus ibn al-Darwish, alone now with Nabeel al-Samad, recently arrived from America, inquired of his aide, “So they looked well to you?”

Nabeel knew who “they” were and replied, “As I said, sir, they looked well, and they send you their greetings and their blessings.” He added, because his chief wanted more, “Your father is prospering in his business and your mother has become closer to her faith.”

The Panther nodded and asked, “And Hana?”

“She, too, has become more devout, and as I have said, she is very content in her work at the office of your father.”

None of this was true, of course-at least about the sister and the mother. The father was prospering, but he had aged badly in the three years since Nabeel had begun visiting them after the Cole attack. The mother, too, looked drawn and sad. Hana, however, was more angry than sad, and she had told Nabeel, “I have no brother,” but Nabeel would never tell that to his chief.

The parents of al-Darwish had given Nabeel photographs and letters for their son, but he could never allow these things to remain on his person, and he had burned everything at the first opportunity after he left these meetings, which were always arranged for a public place in Manhattan or Brooklyn-a park or a museum, or sometimes a department store. The authorities, he was certain, did not know of him, though of course they knew of the al-Darwish family. The authorities sometimes watched their house, and their mosque, and the father’s place of business. But the family was not under constant surveillance, and they traveled often to the city for shopping and entertainment. Also, Nabeel knew, they had a sense, after all these years, of knowing if they were being watched.

Still, it was a danger to meet them, and Nabeel was glad that he had to do this only once or twice in a year. But it was also a good thing for him to do this, because it raised his status with his chief.

Bulus ibn al-Darwish said, “You did not say if my sister was still betrothed.”

“She is, sir.”

“And is there a date set for the wedding?”

“Not yet, sir.” He added, “But soon.” Or perhaps not. In truth, Nabeel had not asked the family about any of this, and Hana had said nothing to him on this subject.

Nabeel always found himself in a difficult situation on these occasions-in New York, and in Yemen. He needed to be careful. A lie was not good, but sometimes necessary. And the truth was not always good.

The Panther stayed silent with his thoughts. He did not want to ask a question that Nabeel had answered three days before, and he did not want to seem overly concerned about any of this. So he said nothing.

He knew that one day he would again see his mother, his father, and his sister, and it would be here in Yemen. And that day would be soon after his total victory. He would see them in Sana’a-in the palace of the president. On the day he became Supreme Leader of Yemen. On that day, his family would be with him to share in his triumph. And they would never again return to America.

The Panther looked at Nabeel and said, “That will be all.”

Nabeel bowed and left the hut.

The Panther remained standing in the light of the flickering candle, then blew it out and went into the night.

Zuhair and al-Rashid were preparing the soldiers for their movement, and The Panther motioned them to him.

He said to his two commanders, “Well, you have heard Nabeel. The Americans are sending more agents here, and soon they will be sending soldiers unless we kill the small numbers who are already here.” He added, “More reason to attack the embassy and the Sheraton Hotel in Aden.”

Captain Zuhair thought that the opposite might be true; every attack on the Americans in Yemen increased the number of Americans in Yemen. The jihadists, he thought, should be attacking the Yemeni Army and security forces, but Bulus ibn al-Darwish, the Amriki, had a hard hate in his heart for his former countrymen. Nevertheless, Captain Zuhair said, “Yes, sir.”

The Panther said to his two officers, “Let us go now and begin the march.”

The three men moved closer to the soldiers, and Captain Zuhair called out to them, “It is time!”

The men cheered.

The Panther, too, called out a last time to his jihadists, “We will meet again, amid the inferno of the oil camp, and among the corpses of the Americans-or we will meet in Paradise!”

The men let out a long, loud shout: “Victory!”

Captain Zuhair and Lieutenant al-Rashid paid their final respects to their leader, who blessed them and blessed the jihadists. Then the officers took charge of their men and began the march toward the American oil compound.

The Panther watched them disappear into the dark, then he turned and walked toward five waiting vehicles, filled with his personal bodyguard. He would remove himself from this place and await the outcome of the attack in a nearby Bedouin camp. It was necessary, he knew, to keep moving, to not stay in one place too long, and to take shelter under a roof or in a cave away from the probing eyes of the American Predator drones. And it was for this reason that he wore the robes and long beard of a Bedouin.

He glanced up at the desert sky. It looked the same as it did since the beginning of time-but there was something new up there, something that had already killed too many of his fellow jihadists. And they were looking for him. And now, perhaps, the Americans had sent a man-and maybe a woman-to look for him also. Well, he thought, the Predators would not find him, and the man Corey would not find him. He could not kill