Nelson Demille - The Panther

“Tom.”

“It’s”-she looked at her watch-“past eleven P.M. there.”

“The FBI never sleeps.” I dialed zero and got the embassy operator. I gave him Walsh’s cell phone number and he said to me, “This is not a secure-”

“Right.”

He put the call through, and I got Tom Walsh’s voice mail. I said, “Tom, John here. I thought you’d be waiting up for my call. Well, as you may have already heard, we’re here. And guess what we just found out? I can’t say because it’s not a secure phone, but you know what I’m talking about. Cat food, Tom. This is exciting and I wanted to thank you for this opportunity.” To mess with his head, I added, “We may take the next flight out and thank you in person. Don’t give away our desks.” I hung up.

Kate asked rhetorically, “Was that necessary?”

“Tom wanted to hear from us.”

She reminded me, “We have no business with Tom anymore and vice versa.”

“That was a personal call.”

She had no further thoughts on that subject, and she began to undress, so I did, too. There didn’t seem to be a closet in the room, so we threw our clothes on a chair, and I put a gun on each nightstand.

Kate collapsed on the bed, naked, and said, “We need to burn those clothes. And I need a shower.”

“Down the hall.” I reminded her, “If we hear the siren, it’s come as you are to the safe room.”

She smiled and said, “That could be fun.”

I asked, “Is the bed hard?”

“No.”

“Well, I am.”

“Oh… my goodness. How can you think about sex now?”

“That’s a silly question from a naked lady.”

She smiled again, then motioned me to hop aboard.

Kate and I came down to the atrium lobby with our luggage, dressed in our Sunday best-Kate in a tan pantsuit, and me in fresh khaki trousers, black blazer, and another Dior shirt. Onward Christian Dior.

For footwear, we both had black running shoes; the mark of the urban guerrilla. To accessorize, we carried our Colt.45s-Kate’s under her loose top, and mine discreetly strapped to my pants belt. Kate was also wearing her new scarf draped over her shoulders, and my outfit would be complete when I bought a jambiyah.

Paul Brenner, wearing his blue windbreaker, black pants, and a sports shirt, was waiting for us in the lobby, and he had another man with him-a guy in his early forties, sporting a mustache and wearing a dark suit, who I thought might be our CIA guy. But Brenner said, “This is Howard Fensterman, the new legal attache.”

Kate and I shook hands with Mr. Fensterman, who said to Kate, “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Kate replied, “I’m excited about opening the new office.”

So maybe Kate really was the assistant legat, and I was going down to Aden to join the Cole investigation. Great. Better than Panther bait.

But Mr. Fensterman cleared that up by saying, “I’ll be providing any legal assistance you might need for your mission in Yemen. Feel free to call me when you leave Sana’a if you have any questions or need any clarifications regarding procedures.”

“Thank you,” said Kate.

I mean, did George Patton have a lawyer on his staff? Hey, Counselor, can the Third Army cross the Rhine yet? Are we still waiting for a legal opinion?

Mr. Fensterman asked us to call him Howard and continued, “I’m working closely with State and Justice regarding extradition procedures, and I’m being kept up-to-date by Justice regarding the Federal lawsuit brought by the suspect’s parents.”

I said, “I hope you’re also working on covering our asses if by chance the suspect should meet an untimely end during his apprehension.”

Howard replied, “I’ll address that if and when it occurs.” He added, “It’s all a little complicated because, as you know, the suspect is an American citizen.” He reminded us, “He has Constitutional rights.”

“Of course.” And I had the answer to all those pesky rights on my hip.

Howard informed us, “I’m about to attend the church service in the parlor. Would you like to join me?”

“No,” I replied. “We’re carrying guns, and we’re pagans.”

“That’s all right,” Howard assured us. “I’m Jewish.”

Huh?

Howard told us, “Friday night I went to one of the mosques that allows non-believers to enter. Saturday, I went to services in the home of a Yemeni Jew. So today I’m going to the Christian service here in the embassy.”

I asked him, “Are you very spiritual?” Or confused? Or maybe covering all your bases?

He replied, “The three religions have much in common.” He also said, “I’m bored.”

Try khat.

Howard really wanted company, and he also wanted to show Kate her office after the service. Kate didn’t want to disappoint her new boss, and Brenner was in no hurry to get to the hotel, so Kate, I, and Brenner accompanied Howard to the parlor.

The big, sunlit room was filled with about fifty people-embassy staffers and spouses and about ten uniformed Marines. Everyone was sitting on the upholstered furniture or in folding chairs, and they were all dressed nicely. The American taxpayers, who were there in spirit, had provided vases of cut flowers.

The preacher, or whoever he was, was standing at a lectern wearing a celestial blue suit, and he greeted us and introduced himself as Ed Peters, adding, “It’s always good to see new faces, and I’m happy to see Mr. Brenner.”

As we searched for empty seats, I saw Buck sitting comfortably in an armchair, still wearing his white jacket. I found a folding chair in the rear on which was a photocopied program of only four pages. Thank God.

Mr. Peters began, “Welcome to all who slept late and missed the service in the British Embassy.”

A few chuckles.

It occurred to me that maybe half of these people never went to church back home, but when you’re in weird-land you get religion, or maybe you just want to accentuate the difference between you and the people on the other side of the embassy walls. How’s that for insightful analysis?

Mr. Peters asked us to rise to sing “Rock of Ages,” the words to which were in the program. There was a baby grand in the parlor, and a nice lady in a floral dress tickled the ivories.

I could see Kate standing near the window and she seemed angelic singing in the sunlight with a post-coital glow.

Buck was singing without looking at his program, and Howard was belting out the hymn like he was auditioning for the church choir. Brenner was two seats away from me and he was moving his lips like he was reading an eye chart. As for me, I hummed along.

Anyway, we got through that, sat, and Mr. Peters read from the Old Testament, the First Book of Kings: When the Queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon… she came to test him with hard questions. And my favorite: King Solomon loved many strange women. And from the New Testament, Matthew: Ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars.

We sang two more hymns and recited two prayers, then Mr. Peters gave a talk or homily about the sacrifices we were all making here in the service of the American people, and about the difficult times we lived in.

He also urged us to see this time as a growing and learning experience, and he predicted that when we looked back on our service in Yemen, we would all come to appreciate our days in this shithole. But he used another word.

Mr. Peters went on a bit about reaching out to the Yemeni people, about being guests here, and about tolerance of the host country even though it was fucked up beyond all understanding. Or words to that effect.

According to my program there was no Holy Communion, so we were basically finished as soon as this guy wrapped it up. Is that a siren I hear?