next year, but for now the deal is made and he will live up to his end of the bargain.”
Chet agreed and added, “If Musa has changed his mind, he will just tell Tariq to wave us off, and we return to Aden.”
I observed, “Musa may be trustworthy, but all it would take to get us killed is for one of his tribesmen to be working for Al Qaeda.”
Neither Chet nor Buck responded to that, and Chet seemed a bit impatient and got down to the question of our participation in this plan. He looked at me, then at Kate and asked, “Are you all right with this?”
I glanced at Kate, who nodded. I said to Chet, “If you like it, Chet, then we love it.”
“I love it,” Chet assured us. “In fact, I conceived of it.”
Wonderful. It takes an egotist to catch an egotist.
Chet looked at Brenner.
Brenner had probably been betrayed by the natives here and in Southeast Asia one time too many. Nevertheless, he was going to give it another shot and he said, “I’m in.”
“Good,” said Chet. “The A-team is ready to kill The Panther.” He added, “And about a dozen of his jihadists.”
As I said, the bait never likes the plan, but at least Kate and I weren’t the only ones with skin in the game.
Chet, to further incentivize us, said, “I believe, based on what we know of the structure of Al Qaeda in Yemen, that if we kill The Panther and his top lieutenants, and destroy their training camp, then the Al Qaeda attack on the Sheraton won’t happen.”
Buck seconded that and said, “If the Marib operation is successful, Al Qaeda in Yemen will be in disarray and they won’t risk an attack on the Sheraton, which could end in another failure.” He added, “And that is also true for the suspected attack on the embassy.”
Okay. I got it. Captain Mac would be disappointed if he couldn’t kill jihadists attacking the hotel. Same for the Marines in the embassy. But for everyone else in the embassy and the hotel, they would be happy if the attacks didn’t happen-or were at least postponed.
Chet said to us, “We’ll meet in the lobby at midnight. Two DSS vehicles will take us to the airport, where the Otter will be waiting to fly us to Marib.”
This is where the coach gives the team the pep talk, and Buck, our leader and life coach, said to us, “I believe we have assembled an excellent team for this mission, and I thank you for volunteering. There may not be any public glory in this, but somewhere your names will be recorded and known to future generations. You are risking your lives for a cause greater than yourselves, knowing that the success of this mission will make America safer and bring us closer to victory over those who wish us harm.”
Sounds good. Buck had lived long enough to see the end of the Cold War-but none of us would live long enough to see the end of this war.
Chet Morgan got down to specifics and said, “Bulus ibn al-Darwish, al-Numair, The Panther, head of Al Qaeda in Yemen, is a traitor to his country of birth, a mass murderer of innocent civilians and seventeen American seamen, and a sworn enemy of America.” He assured us, “We should have no moral qualms about ending his life and the lives of his jihadists on the field of battle.”
That’s much better than me trying to read him his rights in Arabic.
Chet concluded, “I know someone is watching over us to ensure our success and our safe return home.”
Correct. The Predator drones.
We all stood, shook hands, and left the SCIF tent. Chet went to the balcony to fuel up on whatever, and the rest of us went into the bright light of the hallway.
Buck, obviously not wanting to engage in a post-coital chat, said, “See you later in the lobby,” and walked toward his room.
Kate, Brenner, and I went to the elevator and rode down to our rooms on the third floor.
As I was taught, and as I’d learned over the years, if the goal is simple-like whacking someone-the plan should be simple. When the plan is complex, then something else is going on.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Zamo called our room at 11:30 and said he’d be around to pick up our bags and rifles, explaining, “The CIA guy doesn’t want people in the lobby to see that you’re going on a trip.”
Okay. That’s the problem with conducting anti-terrorist operations from a hotel in Sandland; there could be Al Qaeda snitches watching what you do. Chet had good tradecraft. Also, he probably watches too many spy movies.
Zamo also said, “Mr. Harris wants Ms. Mayfield to pack her balto.”
“Wonderful.” I hung up and said to Kate, “Great news. You have an occasion to wear your balto.”
A little after midnight, Kate and I, wearing cargo pants, desert boots, black T-shirts, sleeveless bush jackets, Kevlar, and concealed Colt.45 automatics, walked into the hotel lobby.
The lobby was nearly deserted, and I didn’t see any of our teammates. I said to Kate, “I’ll look outside.”
“No. Chet said to meet in the lobby.”
Kate, who is usually cool before departing on a dangerous assignment, seemed a bit subdued, maybe uneasy. And who could blame her? I mean, just getting to the airport at this hour had some risks.
Anyway, we took a seat in the lobby and waited for our teammates.
After our meeting with Chet, Brenner had called our room and asked to come by to talk. Not a bad idea.
I was ninety-nine percent sure there were no listening devices in our room, but recalling Chet’s possible eavesdropping, and because of the PSO tent on the nearby ridge, I turned on the TV. Some guy in a beard and robe was literally screaming about something, and I kept hearing the words, “Amrika,” “jihad,” and “mawt,” which means “death.”
I asked Brenner, “Is he a stand-up comic?”
“He’s a mullah,” Brenner replied.
Actually, he was an asshole.
Anyway, we moved three chairs together and leaned close. Brenner got to the point and told us, “I’m not sure about the plan.”
Kate agreed and added, “If I was The Panther, I’d see a setup and smell a trap.”
Thinking about panthers, lions, and other predators, and remembering what Buck said back in Sana’a, I reminded them, “The Panther is always going to be cautious and on his guard. But he wants to eat.” And recalling what Chet said, I added, “If he does smell a trap, he’ll just not show up.” I concluded, “He’s either in the trap or he’s a no-show. I don’t see the danger to us.”
Of course I certainly
In fact, Brenner said, “The immediate danger isn’t from The Panther. It’s from this guy Sheik Musa. Musa is holding all the cards. Not us, not the CIA, and not even The Panther.”
Kate agreed with Mr. Brenner and said, “We have no idea what the politics are here, or who owes who what, or who is ready to betray whom.”
I agreed with that, but to continue to play devil’s advocate, I said, “Chet and Buck made a good case for why Sheik Musa could be trusted, and I don’t see any holes in that logic. I mean, what’s in it for Musa to betray us to Al Qaeda? Hellfire missiles. There’s much more in it for him to take our five million bucks to get rid of Al Qaeda and The Panther.” I explained, “That would not only make the Americans happy, but also make the Saudi royal family happy as well as the idiots in Sana’a. It’s a win-win-win for Sheik Musa.”
Kate and Brenner thought about that, and they both nodded, though reluctantly.
Of course there were other parts and pieces to this plan and to the bigger picture. For one thing, Brenner might or might not know that his new friend Kate had whacked a CIA officer. But was that relevant to what was going to happen in Marib? Possibly.
And then there was the Political Security Organization. Yemen’s CIA. Birds of a feather, as Buck said in an
