Nelson Demille - The Panther

How about never? And why do we care? We do what we do for other reasons. Appreciation is not part of the plan.

Buck said, regarding the long or short wait here, “Let’s be optimistic and assume that we’ll be on a plane heading home before anyone even knows we are missing.”

Okay. Let’s be optimistic.

I opened one of the crossword books and said, “An Arab who ran out of ammunition? Eight letters.”

Brenner, who knew the joke, replied, “A moderate.”

It was dinnertime and we feasted on canned tuna, cold mixed vegetables, and tawwa bread, all washed down with warm bottled water. Chet had a smoke.

The light was fading and we lit a few kerosene lanterns. Out in the courtyard it was prayer time again and the Bedouin were praying loudly, making me homesick for Brooklyn.

After the call to prayer, Chet announced that he had to do a sit-rep and he was going to use the secure radio in the van. I said I’d keep him company, and we both went down to the courtyard where he unlocked the van and we entered.

Chet checked his voice mail and text messages, then made his sit-rep-all okay-then signed off and swiveled his chair toward me. He asked, “You wanted to talk to me?”

“I do.” I remained standing and said to him, “About Ted Nash.”

He nodded.

“You knew him.”

He nodded again, then said, “But not well.”

“Whatever. Here’s the deal, Chet. My wife, before we were married, was involved with Nash.” I looked at his face in the dim light of the console. “You know that?”

“I heard.”

“So what happened was maybe more personal than business.”

He didn’t respond.

I continued, “On the other hand, Nash, a few seconds before his death, had a gun pointed at us-at me and Kate-and that was business. Did you know that?”

“I don’t know the details.”

“I’m giving you the details. Here’s another detail. Nash was involved in a rogue operation that would have caused a nuclear attack by the U.S. on the world of Islam.” I asked, “Did you know that ?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you that I did.” He added, however, “I did not.”

“Now you know.” I further informed him, “That might sound like a good idea to you-nuke ’em, as I said, and you agreed. But wiping out tens of millions of innocent people and leaving the Mideast a nuclear wasteland is not really a good idea.”

He smiled and replied, “That’s your opinion.”

“Yeah. And my opinion was the one that counted.” I also informed Chet, “Kate and I were prisoners of a nut job who was going to kill us. And Nash knew this. In fact, after Kate and I whacked the nut job, Nash showed up and was going to finish the job for the psycho. Follow?”

“I guess.”

“So we’re talking about self-defense, with maybe a little personal history between the parties.”

“Okay. But what does this have to do with me? Or this mission?”

“You tell me.”

“Okay. Nothing.”

“Try again.”

Chet stayed silent a moment, then said, “I think I see how your paranoid mind is working. And to be honest, I can understand how you might reach some wild and erroneous conclusions. But-”

“No buts, Chet. Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that Kate and I were asked to come here because we’re perfect for this job?”

“You are perfect for this job, John. And so is Kate.”

“Right. Perfect in every way.”

He asked me a question that I’d asked myself. “If you really believe what you’re suggesting, why in the world did you come here?”

“Because, Chet, this is the belly of the beast. And you are the beast. And I am here to talk to the beast, and if I have to, to kill the beast.”

He had no reply to that.

I advised him, “When I walk out of here, you will cable or speak to Langley, and you will let them know that you spoke to me, and that this problem better be finished.”

Again he stayed silent, then said, “I’ll pass on our conversation.” He added, “But as far as I know, you and your wife being asked to come here has nothing to do with what happened to Ted Nash. It has to do with you and Kate being good Panther bait-because you killed The Lion. Nothing more, nothing less.” He further informed me, “I don’t like being threatened.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you that if I smell a rat, or if something happens to Kate, you’re dead.”

He was getting a little pissed off and snapped, “If something happened to Kate, you can be sure the same thing would happen to you.”

“Not if I blow your fucking head off first.”

He backed off a bit and said in a controlled voice, “I understand how you might come to the conclusion you came to… And you know what? You could be right. But I don’t think you are. But if you are, it has nothing to do with me. I’m not here to settle a score with your wife, or with you. I’m here to kill Bulus ibn al-Darwish.” He assured me, “I don’t assassinate American citizens… well, except for al-Darwish.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Chet. And if you leave here alive, it’s because I didn’t kill you. So that evens the score. Tell the boys back in Langley.”

He nodded, then said to me, “I need to send some cables. Are we finished?”

I turned and left the van.

Well, that was out of the way. Now Chet knew that I knew, and he could think about it and report it to whoever had the bright idea of sending me and Kate here to become unfortunate casualties of war.

I mean, I always thought that there was a CIA contract out on us since Kate whacked Ted, and this seemed like a good time and place for the Agency to act on that. And nothing that Chet said made me believe I was wrong. So, to further answer Chet’s question of why I was here if I thought that, the answer was, “You can’t run from the beast forever.” You have to meet the beast. And you meet him on his turf. And you kill him. Or, because we’re civilized, and because the beast has friends, you might make a deal with him.

I hope Chet understood the deal. If not, the Otter wouldn’t be carrying as many passengers on the return trip.

Without electricity-except in the van-there wasn’t too much to do after the sun went down. Also, I’ll never again take hot running water for granted. Or a chair to sit in, or a cold beer.

I mean, I’m not a softie or a sissy; I’m an urban fighter. Urban is good. Comes from the Latin for city. As in electri-city. Right?

Well, maybe this rustic experience will do me some good. I’ll get in touch with my inner Bedouin. But maybe I should rethink the warlord thing.

Also, it could be worse; this could be a real kidnapping. I could be waiting to have my head sawed off.

Anyway, we were all sleep-deprived, so it was no problem hitting the hay early. We posted a two-person guard for three-hour shifts-Brenner and Zamo first, me and Kate second, Buck and Chet last. That should take us to dawn. And Paul Brenner, I should point out, was fulfilling his desire to sleep with Kate-though probably not the way he envisioned it.

Chet and I had not revisited our conversation at any point during the evening, which in any case was not really possible in a communal setting. But Chet did say to me, in a rare moment of privacy, at the door of the excrement shed, “I sent a cable relating your concerns.” He added, “No reply.”

Bullshit.

During my and Kate’s guard shift, as we looked out a window at the black night, I said to her, “I spoke to Chet about Ted Nash.”

She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then reminded me, “I was going to do that.”