The Panther

Panther being multicultural and the conflicts in his head. I wondered what language he dreamt in. Maybe it depended on the dream. Sex dreams in English, killing Americans in Arabic.

Chet let us know, “There are a growing number of American-born or American-raised Muslims who have followed this path back to their ancestral countries and become leaders in the jihadist movement.” He added, “To be fair, however, many Muslim Americans have returned to these countries to do good.”

I observed, “That’s what al-Darwish thinks he’s doing.”

“Maybe. But he’s not. He’s a sick puppy.”

I agreed, “He sucks.”

Chet continued, “Under the category of megalomania and delusions of grandeur, Bulus ibn al-Darwish is not content to have become the leader of Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula. According to an Al Qaeda defector who knew him, al-Darwish has bigger ambitions. He sees himself as the supreme leader of Yemen. The prodigal son returns and takes over. He wants to unify and purify Yemen, to kill or kick out all foreigners. And while he’s at it, he wants to wipe out all political opposition, including the Westernized intelligentsia in the cities, and then he’ll move on to the armed opposition, including the al-Houthi rebels, the tribal sheiks and warlords, and the South Yemen secessionists.”

Sounds like a lot of work. But maybe he’d enjoy it.

Chet continued, “Al-Darwish wants to restore Sharia law in Yemen and make the country into a medieval theocracy.”

I asked, “How can we help him?”

Chet nodded in understanding and maybe agreement. I think everyone in this business was a little tired of trying to save these people from themselves. It was a thankless task and usually counterproductive. If left to their own devices, they’d find a century they were comfortable with-maybe the tenth century-and go live in it.

The problem was assholes like bin Laden and al-Darwish who engaged in attacks on the West. If they were smart, they would cut this shit out and the West would ignore them-as long as the oil kept flowing.

On that subject, Chet told us, “Yemeni oil is not important to us now, but geologists believe there are vast oil deposits in Ar Rub al Khali, the Empty Quarter, which straddles the undefined border with Saudi Arabia.” Chet said, unnecessarily, “We want to control that oil with the Saudis.”

Of course we do.

Chet continued, “Aside from that consideration, if al-Darwish actually did gain power in Yemen, our political analysts are certain that Yemen would become a big Al Qaeda training camp, as Afghanistan was, and that Bulus ibn al-Darwish, the American, would surely export violence-not oil-to America.” Chet let us know, “Aside from avenging the Cole, that is what is at stake here.”

Right. It always comes back to oil and to protecting the homeland against terrorism. The terrorist thing I get. The oil… well, produce more corn alcohol. You can drink it, too.

Anyway, Chet changed the subject and continued, “The Panther is also known within Al Qaeda as al-Amriki- the American. Oddly, this is not used in a pejorative sense. There are a number of men in Al Qaeda and other Islamic groups who are known as al-Amriki. But it is our understanding that Mr. al-Darwish does not like this nickname. Possibly this reminds him that he is an outsider here-just as he was an outsider in America.”

His whole life might have been different if he’d just called himself Paul, or even Al.

Chet went on, “Our sources tell us that al-Darwish often misses the nuances of Yemeni culture, society, and even the language, which is understandable for someone who spent their first twenty-five years or so in another culture. Al-Darwish tries to compensate for this by acting more Yemeni than the Yemenis, and more Islamic than the mullahs. But in the end, he has no tribal affiliation, he wasn’t born in a mud hut, he never raised goats, he doesn’t chew khat, and most importantly he was not imbued by his father and male relatives with the warrior ethos that is common here. And yet he’s come a long way, mostly because he’s been a successful jihadist, and because Al Qaeda has suffered from the loss of so many leaders, in battle and in assassinations-Israeli bombs, American Hellfires, and unfortunate accidents.” Chet smiled, gave himself a CIA pat on the back, and added, “Also, maybe al-Darwish does sometimes think logically like an American, and therefore he’s made some good career choices, plus he’s had some luck in murdering people.”

Brenner said, “I think it was more than luck. The Cole was an intelligence failure on our part.”

Chet, a member of the intelligence establishment, didn’t like that and he stayed silent. Well, Chet was not here just to avenge the Cole, but also to redeem the reputation of his Company. Everyone is driven by something.

Chet picked up his train of thought and said, “Think of an Italian-American from, say, New Jersey, who goes to his ancestral Sicily to join the Mafia. His accent and mannerisms are wrong, but his head and heart are in the right place. People such as this may be accepted and even trusted, but at the end of the day… well, they are different.”

Right. You can take the boy out of New Jersey, but you can’t take New Jersey out of the boy.

Chet added, “Al-Darwish’s American background might impress most Yemenis, but it does not impress the Bedouin, who would be distrustful of anyone born and raised outside of Islam.” He said, “Sheik Musa is not impressed, and this is another reason why Musa would betray al-Darwish, al-Amriki.”

I guess. But the A-team are real Americans. Like, Christians and all that. Chet, I thought, was overanalyzing this. But that’s what the CIA does.

Chet further informed us, “Regarding the warrior thing, al-Darwish has gone out of his way to be a hands-on warlord. We’re sure he was present when the Belgian tourists were killed, and he’s led his jihadists in attacks against Saudi soldiers on the border. But for some reason he didn’t lead his men in the failed attack on the Hunt Oil installation-maybe God told him to sit it out-and I’m sure that didn’t look good to his close lieutenants or his jihadists. Plus, The Panther has just had another setback with the failed ambush on our convoy. So when Sheik Musa requests The Panther’s presence at this meeting to negotiate the sale of the Americans, Bulus ibn al-Darwish, the weirdo from Perth Amboy, has little choice but to be there-to be The Panther, and to meet with the great tribal sheik on equal terms, man to man, Yemeni to Yemeni, warlord to warlord.” Chet concluded, “That is my analysis.”

Either Chet had been here too long or I’d been here too long, because some of this made sense to me.

So we all sat there for a minute as the Otter continued toward Marib, sipping our drinks, thinking about Bulus ibn al-Darwish. Killing this guy would be good for everyone, including maybe Mr. al-Darwish himself, who didn’t seem to enjoy life. But when you kill these guys, they become martyrs, and they go on beyond death.

And yet maybe when all was said and done, that’s where he belonged. Dead. Remember the Cole.

Chet asked, “Any questions? Any comments?”

No one had either and we all returned to our seats.

Kate said to me, “Chet is overconfident. This thing could easily go the other way.”

“We all know that.”

So, did I now have my question answered? Like, how could someone born in America, in a free and open society, raised in material comfort and educated in a liberal atmosphere, become a fucking terrorist? A murderer.

Maybe. But not completely. The answer wasn’t in the externals of life. The answer was deep in Bulus ibn al- Darwish’s head. The mind excludes external reality, or processes it differently, and justifies nearly anything.

No matter what kind of society we created, the terrorists, the murderers, the bullies and the wife-beaters and the sexual predators and all the rest would always be with us and among us.

So, no, I still didn’t know how Bulus ibn al-Darwish got to where he is, and what happened on that long, strange journey from Perth Amboy to Marib. Only he knew that.

And in the end, it didn’t matter. It only mattered that he died very soon.

The big, lumbering Otter flew on through the night, toward our rendezvous with Bulus ibn al-Darwish, who I imagined was sleeping now, unaware that his fate had been discussed and sealed. Or someone-maybe the voice in his head-had tipped him off and it was our fate that had been sealed. We would know soon enough.

The pilot said, “Landing in about an hour.”