He replied, “Less traveled, so it’s easier to avoid suicide trucks. Also, it’s mostly low hills, except for about sixty miles of mountain.”
Clare asked, “Which is the
The answer, of course, was neither, but Mike said, “Depends.”
Anyway, we got to the small decrepit town of Yarim, which Mike informed us was a hot springs resort town with old Turkish bathhouses-sort of like Saratoga Springs, except this place sucked. I mean, I wouldn’t wash my socks here.
Anyway, we stopped again at a military checkpoint, and Buck and Brenner got out to talk to the soldiers.
Mike said, “Whichever road we take will be radioed in by the military to some headquarters, and that info can get to the wrong people.” He added, “In either case, we’re passing through territory where Al Qaeda has a presence.” He further informed us, “That territory starts here in Yarim.”
I suggested, “They should have a road sign: Al Qaeda, Next 100 Kilometers.” But seriously, this sucks.
I watched Brenner and Buck talking to the soldiers, and I imagined the conversation. “So, guys, which road should we take to avoid ambushes and roadside bombs?”
And the soldiers laughed and replied, “You should take the Long Island Expressway.”
Anyway, Buck and Brenner got back in their SUVs. The radios came alive and Brenner said, “We will head toward the new highway, but then double back around this checkpoint and take the old road to Ta’iz.”
Everyone acknowledged and we moved past the checkpoint.
Buck came on the radio with some good news. “Predator reports no suspicious activity on the Ta’iz road.”
That’s because the bad guys didn’t know yet what road we were taking.
In fact, Mike had the same thought and said, “There are a thousand eyes and five hundred cell phones along either route. So it really doesn’t matter what road we take.”
“Right.”
He further added, “We just need to be fast and try to keep ahead of anything that Al Qaeda tries to put together for us.”
Clare said, “This is scary.”
What was your first clue?
Anyway, we did the old, “I’m going this way, fellas,” then the switcheroo and the double-back, and within ten minutes we were south of Yarim on the old caravan road to Ta’iz.
Mike said, “I think this is a smart move.”
That depended on whether or not we actually wanted to make contact with Al Qaeda.
Clare asked, “Is this really Al Qaeda territory?”
Mike replied, “According to what’s called the CIA Areas of Influence map.” He added, “But you can’t always go by the map.” He assured her, “The CIA likes to overstate the danger. Keeps them in business.”
Overstating the danger is also called covering your ass, as in, “Hey, we
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The old caravan road wasn’t bad, and it was lightly traveled so we were making good time, about 120 K per hour, and within half an hour I could see the mountains on the horizon.
As we came over a hill, I saw the brake lights of the two lead vehicles, and on the road ahead I saw a convoy of five military trucks. I took the binoculars from the console and focused on them. There were about twenty men in each open truck, wearing the berets and blue camouflage fatigues of the National Security police.
The radio crackled, and Brenner said, “We’ll pass one at a time.”
The drivers acknowledged, and Brenner’s lead vehicle pulled out into the oncoming lane and accelerated. But suddenly, the last police truck swerved in front of him, and the Land Cruiser had to brake hard, drop back, and get back into the right lane.
Mike said, “Assholes.”
Clare asked, “What’s happening?”
Mike replied, “Probably a shakedown.” He informed us, “The military has some discipline, but the police are banditos in uniform.”
The police convoy slowed, then one of the trucks moved into the oncoming lane, and all the trucks came to a stop. Roadblock.
The five Land Cruisers also came to a halt, but we kept thirty-foot intervals between us. This was a lonely stretch of road, and the only vehicles around were us and them.
Brenner said on the radio, “Everyone stay in their vehicles, but be prepared to make a show of force.”
Brenner and Buck were out of their vehicles, and unarmed; they stood where we could see them and waited. Brenner was carrying his hand-held radio, and Buck was talking on his satellite phone, probably in contact with the embassy. Or maybe the Predator drone ground station. Good. Or at least it looked good.
Mike said, “These clowns want Brenner to walk to them. Not going to happen.”
Clare asked, “Should I be frightened?”
Mike replied, “I think pissed off is better.”
This seemed to be a standoff, and it could go on for a while. I wasn’t sure of the protocol here, but male egos I understood.
The tailgates of the trucks started dropping and the police began jumping out, carrying their AK-47s. Their blue cammies were covered with dust, and I saw that most of them had dust bandanas covering their mouths and noses, making them look, indeed, like banditos. They didn’t make any moves toward the Land Cruisers; they just milled around, and some of them used the opportunity to take a leak.
I saw Brenner raise his radio, and he said, “Everyone just sit tight.”
I saw that Buck was now conversing with a few of the National Security police guys, probably telling them to go get the boss, but it didn’t seem to be working.
Patience is not one of my many virtues, and it was about time I made Buck and Brenner understand I wasn’t just along for the ride, so I opened my door and got out with my M4 slung over my shoulder.
Mike said, “Brenner is going to be pissed.”
Clare said, “Be careful.”
I walked past the two Land Cruisers in front of us, and Brenner saw me and said, “Get back in your vehicle.”
I didn’t respond. I took Buck’s arm and said, “Let’s go find the boss.”
Buck resisted for a moment, then came along with me, and we walked up the road through the mob of police. Brenner stayed behind so he could be in sight of us and keep point-to-point radio contact with the convoy.
I said to Buck, “Find out what these idiots want, and let’s get moving.”
Buck replied, “All they want is to show us who’s the boss here, and a few hundred dollars.”
“They’re not going to get either.”
Before we got to the lead vehicle, a tall guy with important-looking insignia on his uniform walked up to us and said something in Arabic.
Buck replied in Arabic, and the guy didn’t seem surprised that Buck spoke the language-I guess he’d been briefed by radio-and he and Buck started jabbering.
I interrupted, “What is this clown saying?”
Buck said to me, “This is Captain Dammaj of the National Security Bureau, and he wants to know who we are and where we’re going.”
“He knows damn well who we are and where we’re going. Tell him to go fuck himself.”
Buck said something to the guy, but probably not what I suggested.
The guy replied, and Buck said to me, “He says this road is closed for security reasons, and we must go back to Yarim and take the new road.”
