Brenner didn’t reply, and asked me, “When you were interrogating the Cole suspects in Aden, did the name Bulus ibn al-Darwish or al-Numair-The Panther-ever come up?”
“No. I don’t think the FBI or CIA knew about him at that time.” I thought a moment, then added, “But I remember now there was some suspicion, or a rumor, that an American-born Muslim may have been involved.”
Brenner nodded, then said, “It was apparently The Panther’s idea to attack an American warship that was on a regularly scheduled refueling stop in Aden Harbor.” He informed us, “This was different from most Al Qaeda attacks in Europe or the Mideast, which are directed against soft targets. This was a rare attack against the American military.” He added, “Very bold, with a high risk of failure. And yet they succeeded in crippling a high-tech American warship and killing seventeen American sailors.”
Right. But in a way, The Panther miscalculated. This attack got the Americans into Yemen, and now Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula was under pressure. I said, “As with 9/11, Al Qaeda got more than they bargained for.”
“Agreed. And that’s what we have to show them. There is a price to pay.”
Kate said, “They know that. But it hasn’t stopped them from escalating the attacks. In fact, they’re stronger in Yemen than they were at the time of the Cole attack.”
Brenner replied, “That’s partly due to a dysfunctional government.”
I asked, “Ours or theirs?”
Anyway, we called for the check, which was written on a scrap of paper-eight million rials or something, which came to about three bucks, drinks included, and Brenner treated. I could live like a sultan in Yemen.
I would have asked for a doggie bag, but the waiter might misunderstand and I’d wind up eating Fido later.
I asked, “Does anyone have to use the excrement shaft?”
On the way out, I said to the guy at the front desk, “Everything was terrific. We’ll be back tomorrow for lunch. One P.M. John Corey.” Tell The Panther.
“Good. Tomorrow.”
“Is one of these guns mine?”
“No, you don’t bring gun.”
“Okay. I think I left it on my donkey-”
“John.”
“Ciao.”
Kate wrapped her scarf over her face, and Brenner checked in with Zamo, then we went down to the street into the bright sunlight where it had gotten hotter.
Without any discussion, we checked out the crowded street, then crossed to the other side and watched the door to the restaurant.
You always need to go through the drill, even when things look and feel safe. In fact, that’s when you most need to keep your head out of your ass. And you needed to keep reminding yourself that the hunter is also the hunted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brenner knew his way around the narrow, twisting streets of the Old City, and he said we had time to stop at Hope in Their Hands before we met Zamo.
I’m usually good at spotting a tail, but half the men here looked alike, with the same white robes, headgear, and beards. And we three had the opposite problem; there weren’t many Westerners in Sana’a, and we stuck out like pigs in a mosque.
We reached Hope in Their Hands and entered. The clientele were all Western-male and female backpackers, a European tour group, and some ladies who could have been aid workers or Western embassy people.
Brenner said to Kate, “You can remove your scarf here.”
I suggested, “Wrap it around your eyes while you shop.”
“Maybe I’ll wrap it around your neck.”
I saw that coming.
Kate unwrapped, revealing herself as the best-looking woman in the shop, except maybe for a twenty- something backpacker with an Australian accent and long red hair. But I digress.
As Kate looked around the shop, and Brenner looked at the door, I got into a conversation with a young guy, an American named Matt Longo from New York. Young Mr. Longo was living in Sana’a in a tower guest house, though not the one where we had lunch. He was a Yale grad with a degree in Mideast studies, spoke passable Arabic, and he was here to learn the more pure and ancient Arabic in the Land That Time Forgot. He’d been in Yemen a month, and he had another month to go.
I asked him, “Has anyone tried to kidnap you yet?”
He thought that was funny and replied, “No. These are really nice people.”
“Right. But the State Department keeps issuing travelers’ warnings about the not so nice people here.”
He shrugged and said, “They overreact. I’ve been all over the Middle East. Never had a problem.”
“Good. But watch yourself.”
He confessed to me, “I’m half Jewish, so I get it.”
“Keep that to yourself.”
“Yeah.” He asked me, “Have you seen the Jewish Quarter yet?”
“It’s on my list.”
“It’s worth seeing. Still mostly deserted. Like, houses with Stars of David on them that haven’t been lived in for fifty, sixty years. It’s weird. Like, why don’t the Yemenis tear them down? Or move in? It’s like they’re waiting for the Jews to come back.”
“That might be a long wait.”
“Yeah. But you never know.”
“Maybe after the next flood.”
He told me, “Next week, I’m going to Marib with a few people.” He explained, “The pre-Islamic ruins. Temples to the sun and moon gods. Queen of Sheba’s palace. You should check it out.”
“You should check out the security situation first.”
“Yeah. I know.” He informed me, “There’s like a police force here-the National Security Bureau. They protect tourists. For a price. They’re giving us, like, twenty armed guys for the trip for two hundred bucks. Includes transportation.”
I reminded him, “You get what you pay for.” I gave him some recent intel. “There was an attack in that area last night. American oil installation. Looks like Al Qaeda.”
Mr. Longo, who was twenty-something and immortal, did not seem concerned.
He asked me, “Why are you here?”
“I thought the travel agent said Sweden.”
He laughed, then assured me, “You’ll get more out of this.”
“I plan to.” I asked, “You alone?”
“My girlfriend’s coming in a few days.”
I advised him, “Register your names and local address with the consulate at the embassy.”
“Okay.”
“You know where the American Embassy is?”
“No.”
“Find out.”
“Okay.”
“Do I sound like your parents?”
“Sorta.”
I told him where I was staying, and I said, “If I’m still in town when your girlfriend gets here, come on over to
