Nabeel hesitated, then replied, “No, sir. A kidnapping was not possible in Sana’a with the police, the PSO-”
“Enough!” The Panther said to Nabeel sharply, “So on the following day, your two fortunate Americans again escaped death. Correct?”
Nabeel took another breath and replied, “They were taken from the Sheraton Hotel in an armored vehicle in the early morning and delivered to the American Embassy. Sometime later, the embassy watchers observed a convoy of five vehicles leaving the embassy.” Nabeel reminded his chief, “The armored vehicles have black glass, so neither the watchers nor a soldier who is a friend could say for certain if Corey or his wife were in any of the vehicles, but-”
“But you made the assumption that they were.”
“Yes, sir.” He explained, “Corey and his wife had arrived at the embassy at an early hour, then perhaps half an hour later the convoy passed through the gates, so-”
“I understand, Nabeel. So it was at this time that you decided to ambush the convoy.”
Nabeel had made no such decision. He had, in fact, called The Panther, who agreed that Corey and his wife were most probably in the convoy, and that an ambush should be set for the convoy. But this was not what The Panther wished him to say with Altair present.
Altair asked Nabeel, “Are you saying that you took it upon yourself to authorize an attack on the American Embassy convoy?”
Nabeel lowered his head and replied to Altair, “I did attempt, sir, three times to call al-Numair on the cell phone and satellite phone.”
The Panther said to Nabeel, “You should have attempted calls to others around me.”
“Yes, sir.” Nabeel knew that if the ambush had been successful, then this conversation would not be taking place in this way. He remembered something from the Hebrew Book of Leviticus:
The Panther said to Nabeel, “Now tell us what you know of this ambush.”
“Yes, sir.” Nabeel could take no blame for the failure of the ambush-that blame went to Faris, the local Al Qaeda leader who had organized the ambush-but by taking the blame for ordering it, Nabeel knew he had perhaps condemned himself to death.
“Nabeel? Speak.”
“Yes, sir.” He stood straight and addressed The Panther and Altair. “When I received word of the American convoy leaving the embassy, I immediately contacted our provincial leaders along the expected route.”
It was actually The Panther who had told him to do this, and it seemed a good strategy. Nabeel continued, “The route, as usual, was south, toward Aden, which is where the Americans go by convoy.”
The Panther said, “That was a good thought, Nabeel. I would have approved-if you had contacted me.”
“Yes, sir.” He continued, “Many friends along the route reported on the location of the convoy, and within hours, Faris had assembled fighters for an ambush in the hills south of Ibb.”
“Excellent,” said The Panther. “So is the convoy destroyed? Are all the Americans dead?”
Nabeel had been witness to his chief’s unusual manner of speaking to men who displeased him. He wondered if Bulus ibn al-Darwish had learned that way of speaking in America.
“Nabeel? Am I not speaking loudly enough for you?”
Nabeel drew a deep breath and replied, “I apologize, sir, for my slowness in responding-”
Altair interrupted, “Continue, Nabeel. What happened with this ambush?”
Nabeel continued, “Faris has told me that the ambush was well planned, with twenty jihadists, a car bomb, a roadside bomb, and a bomb in a donkey cart, whose driver was prepared to become a martyr, but-”
“Enough.” The Panther had already been told that the American Predator drones had seen the ambush and launched Hellfire missiles at the jihadists, so he said to Nabeel, “I have heard enough from you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He said to Nabeel, “I wish to see Faris. He is to travel to Marib town and await further instructions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Or perhaps I should have someone else call him. Perhaps you will not be able to contact him with your troublesome cell phone.”
Nabeel did not reply.
The Panther commented, “You seem frightened, Nabeel. What is frightening you?”
Nabeel again lowered his head and replied, “My own inadequacy frightens me, sir.” He looked directly at The Panther and said, “I have failed you, and I have failed our great cause.”
“I agree with you, Nabeel. I agree that you failed to kill the two Americans as I ordered, and I agree that you ordered an ambush that ended in disaster. And what do you think your punishment should be?”
“Whatever you wish, sir.”
“Even death?”
“If it pleases you, sir.”
The Panther drew his jambiyah from its sheath and held the razor-sharp blade against Nabeel’s throat.
Nabeel felt his body and legs begin to tremble, and felt himself losing control of his bladder.
Altair said, “That is not necessary, Bulus.”
Perhaps, hoped Nabeel, the old man suspected that The Panther was lying and that it was The Panther who had ordered the ambush. Altair knew Bulus ibn al-Darwish well-perhaps too well. Nabeel prayed that Altair would save his life.
The Panther pressed the blade harder against Nabeel’s jugular vein, but did not draw the dagger across his throat. “Look at me. Look into my eyes.”
Nabeel looked into the eyes of The Panther and saw hate, but not of him, he thought. The hate was always there when the talk was of the Americans.
The Panther said to Nabeel, “So the Americans are now at the Sheraton in Aden, Nabeel. They are perhaps swimming in the pool. Or on the beach. Or perhaps they are having alcoholic drinks in the bar room. And how many jihadists lie dead in the hills and on the road because of your stupid decision to attack this convoy? How many, Nabeel?”
Nabeel swallowed and felt the blade press deeper into his flesh. “Ten, sir…”
“I think more.”
Altair said, “Bulus, we have been here too long.” He reminded him, “If the drones and the missiles trouble you, then we need to leave before they visit us.”
“Yes, but first I need to cut a throat.”
“Yes, but not this man’s throat. Another throat awaits you.”
The Panther did not reply to Altair, but he said to Nabeel, “Perhaps your throat can wait for another time.”
Nabeel felt a flood of relief passing through him and he closed his eyes, which filled with tears, and he nodded.
Still holding his curved dagger to Nabeel’s throat, The Panther said to his aide, “You are to travel to Sana’a with all speed, and board an aircraft to Aden. You are to take a room in the Sheraton Hotel and complete the task I have given you.”
Though he knew this was a suicide mission, Nabeel managed to say, “I will, sir.”
“And if you do not, or if you should leave Yemen out of fear, I assure you I will find you. And if I do not find you, I will find your family.” He asked, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I will kill-”
The Panther drew his blade across the left side of Nabeel’s neck and cut into his flesh.
Nabeel let out a sharp sound of surprise and pain, staggered backwards and grasped his neck with his right hand. Blood ran between his fingers as he probed the wound and satisfied himself that it was not fatal.
The Panther slipped his bloody jambiyah back into its sheath and said to Nabeel, “Come outside. I want you to see that I do know how to cut a throat.”
The Panther and Altair left the hut, and Nabeel hesitated, then, pressing his hand against his wound, he followed.
Outside, sitting on the rocks of the narrow gorge, were the survivors of the failed Hunt Oil attack. Kneeling on
