some very badly.” He added, “A multi-million-dollar warship was put out of service for nearly two years.”
Right. That was almost three and a half years ago, and the ongoing investigation has had mixed results.
The Evidence Response Team in Yemen, by the way, has long ago discovered any existing forensic evidence, and the crime scene-Aden Harbor-has been dredged, and the USS
Walsh sat, then confided to us, “We have identified one of the masterminds of the attack, and we have good intelligence that this individual is now back in Yemen.” He added, “The focus of our team in Yemen is to find and apprehend this man.” He looked at Kate and me and said, “You would be part of that effort.”
Neither of us replied, so Walsh continued, “This assignment could take you out of Sana’a and out of Aden and into the tribal lands.”
I thought about that. The tribal lands, otherwise known to the Americans there as the Badlands, or Indian Territory, were basically lawless. Also known as dangerous.
Walsh said to us, “As John knows, this could be risky.”
Right. Now I knew the answer to “Why us?” Walsh wanted me dead. But he liked Kate. So… maybe I would be the only one riding a camel into the Badlands, looking for this guy.
I pointed out to Walsh, “You’re not making this job sound very attractive.”
He replied, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it.”
“Right. I appreciate that, Tom. But I just don’t see what’s in this for us.”
“Why is it always about you?”
Well, that made me feel bad. Tom knows how to do that. So I said, “Look, Tom, I’m a patriot, a soldier in the war on terrorism, and I’ve never backed away from my duty or from danger-”
“I know that. Both of you are brave, dedicated-”
“Right. But I sort of like my danger in an urban setting. Like here.” I reminded him, “I’ve been there. We slept with our boots on and our guns in our hands.” I assured him, “I’m not thinking of my own safety. I’m thinking of Kate.”
Kate, of course, said, “I can take care of myself, John.”
“Right.”
Walsh told us, “You would need to report to the American Embassy in Sana’a no later than next weekend. So I’ll need your answer Monday at nine.” He added, “If you say yes, then I can give you the classified details of your assignment. Once you have those classified details, you are committed to the assignment.”
“In other words, we don’t know what we’re saying yes to until after we say yes.”
“Correct.” He assured us, “If you say no, there will be no record of this meeting and no adverse entry in your file.” He reminded us, “Your careers will take a normal course.”
Right. I’d be unemployed in New York, and Kate would be in Washington.
Walsh continued, “This assignment-if you choose to accept it-will ensure your futures-”
“Shorten our futures?”
He ignored me and continued, “Even if this mission is not successful. If successful, you and the other members of the team who are already in Yemen will be appropriately honored by a grateful government. That’s all I can say about that.”
Honored where? Arlington National Cemetery?
He had some good news. “Your assignment in Yemen would actually be over as soon as you apprehend this man.”
Good incentive to wrap it up in a week. The other side of that deal is that our assignment could be over if this guy found us first.
Tom looked at me and said, “This assignment will give you ample opportunity to demonstrate your sometimes unorthodox methods, which are not always appreciated here, but will be invaluable over there.”
How should I take that? Loose cannon makes good in Sandland?
Kate said, “We’ll think about it.” Then she asked Tom, “Can only one of us say yes?”
He nodded.
Well, I was seeing the old handwriting on the wall here. What did I do with my desert duds from my last trip to Sandy Arabia?
Tom stood and we also stood. He said, “I’ll see you both here in my office, Monday, nine A.M. Have a good weekend.”
We shook, and Kate and I left.
On the way back to our cube farm, I suggested, “Let’s get a drink.”
She didn’t reply immediately, then said to me, “John, we have to do this.”
“Absolutely, and we’ll have dinner, too. Where would you like to go?”
“We have to go to Yemen.”
“Why not Ecco’s?”
“I’m going.”
“Good. Should I call ahead for a table?”
“And I’d like you to go with me.”
“I wouldn’t let you drink alone.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
We grabbed our coats, rode down in the elevator, and exited the lobby of 26 Federal Plaza onto lower Broadway.
It was windy and cold on the street, but I like the cold. Good drinking weather. Yemen was hot and alcohol was illegal.
On the plus side, I could, as Tom said, and as I had discovered myself in Yemen, be free of the bureaucratic bullshit here, and free of the political correctness that permeated 26 Federal Plaza. I could be me. Nuts.
Also… I had the feeling that someone in Sandland needed to be whacked. That could be interesting. I mean, I never had or wanted a license to kill-but I could conceive of a situation where this might be necessary and right. Especially since 9/11.
This was a lot to think about, and I think better at the bar.
We got to Ecco’s on Chambers Street, and as we made our way to the crowded bar, Kate said to me, “We’re getting into a rut here. I’m ready for a change. An adventure.”
“Let’s go to a different bar.”
“We’ll appreciate our lives and jobs more when we come back.”
“Right.” But not everyone who went to Yemen came back.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ecco’s is an Italian restaurant, but the bar is sort of old New York, though the prices are new New York.
The place was hopping on this cold Friday night after work, and most of the clientele were lawyers, judges, police officials, and politicians whose wallets hadn’t seen the light of day in years.
Kate and I found a place at the bar, said hello to a few people we knew, and ordered the usual-Dewar’s and soda for me, a Pinot Grigio for the lady.
Kate asked me, “Are there any places in Sana’a or Aden where you can get a drink?”
“Is that all you think about?”
My ex, Robin by name, is a high-priced criminal defense attorney, and she introduced me to this place years ago, and she still comes here. I don’t care, and I don’t dislike her, but I don’t like her life’s work, which is defending the scumbags I spent twenty years trying to put in jail. That caused some strain on the short marriage. Now I’m married to another lawyer. As I often say, I like to screw lawyers.
