Nelson Demille - The Panther

I didn’t worry too much about Kate or me being on a CIA kill list-I mean, I thought about it, but it had been a year and a half since the incident, and officially it was over, and the CIA had been advised that they should forget it. But there’s only one way to get off a CIA kill list.

Back in the States, it would be unlikely that Kate or I would meet with an unfortunate accident. But overseas, especially in a place like this where the CIA is its own law, it was quite possible that John Corey and Kate Mayfield could have that unfortunate accident. That is, if The Panther didn’t get us first. A win-win for the Agency would be dead Panther, dead John, and dead Kate-and all these deaths obscured by the fog of war.

Crazy, I know. I shouldn’t even be thinking like this. I mean, yeah, this was a CIA operation, and yes, the Agency wanted me and Kate in Yemen-but not to settle an old score. No, they wanted us in Yemen to lure The Panther into a trap; not us into a trap. Right?

Anyway, I didn’t think I should share these thoughts with Kate at this time. Maybe I’d wait until we met our CIA guy and see if I picked up on anything that didn’t smell right.

Kate asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

“The CIA wants to kill us.” No, I didn’t say that. I said, “The CIA has been taken to task for failing to predict, suspect, or warn of the attack on the USS Cole. It was a total intelligence failure.”

Kate replied, “There’s enough blame to go around. Naval Intelligence, Defense Intelligence, and the Navy itself for not instituting better security procedures when entering a hostile port.”

“Right. But the CIA always catches the flak. So I think they’re motivated and anxious to even the score.” I added, “They never forget a failure, especially if their failure leads to American deaths.” How’s that for planting a thought in her head?

Kate didn’t reply for a second, then said, “The FBI is no different.” She asked me, “What point are you trying to make?”

“I’m not sure. Just thinking.”

We put on our vests, put a few things in the room safe, then spent the next fifteen minutes getting familiar with our satellite phones and hand-held radios.

The problem with satellite phones was that you needed a clear view of the sky, and the antenna needed to be clear of obstructions, so the sat-phone didn’t work well in the woods or work at all indoors. That, plus the line-of-sight limitations on the hand-held radios could make for some interesting situations if the feces hit the fan.

As Brenner said, the satellite phones had about a dozen speed dial numbers, all identified by initials in case the phones fell into the wrong hands. I scrolled through the directory: B.H.-Buck Harris; J.C.-Jesus Christ or John Corey; K.C.-Kate Corey; P.B.-Paul Brenner; and M.D., which could be the closest McDonald’s or a doctor. Last time I was here, we usually had a medical doctor with us when we traveled. Not a bad idea.

The embassy number was also on speed dial, plus about six other initials, including H.F., who was probably Howard Fensterman. It’s always good to have your lawyer on speed dial when you’re out and about trying to whack someone.

I pretended to call and said, “Hello, Howard? Look, these guys are firing submachine guns at us. Can we return fire? What? You’ll call Washington and get back to us? Okay. I’ll hold.”

Kate laughed, then said, “Be nice to Howard.”

Anyway, I didn’t recognize the other initials, but I guessed they were our DSS drivers and shotgun riders. None of them, according to Brenner, were our CIA guy, who wished to remain anonymous until he revealed himself. The Agency loves secrecy and drama.

I next looked at our list of radio call signs. On Frequency One were most of the same people as on our satellite phone speed dial. Buck was Clean Sweep One, Brenner Clean Sweep Two, I was Three, Kate was Four, and so forth.

The second radio frequency was to be used by and for Command and Control-the U.S. Embassy in Sana’a, and the Sheraton Hotel in Aden, i.e., the bosses. But as Brenner said, the transmitting and receiving distances were short, so as soon as we were out of Sana’a, we were out of radio contact with the embassy, and same for the Sheraton in Aden. This could be good in regards to upper-echelon meddling. But it could be bad if we needed help.

Next, Kate showed me how to field-strip the Colt.45, then gave me a few tips on aiming and firing.

I’m sure this gun brought back bad memories of when she capped Ted. In fact, as we rode down the elevator, she said to me, “We haven’t worked with the CIA since that last time.”

“Right. How did that work out?”

She didn’t reply, then said, “I just had a troubling thought.”

“Keep that thought.”

She nodded.

We met Brenner in the lobby and went out to the Land Cruiser where Zamo was still behind the wheel. I said I wanted to ride shotgun, so Kate and Brenner got in the rear, and off we went.

Brenner said to us, “We won’t be in Sana’a long, but it’s good if you have a general sense of the city in case something comes up and we’re told to stay here awhile.”

“Also,” I reminded him, “we want to see if anyone tries to kill us.”

“Right. That too.” He reminded me, “We want to advertise your presence in Sana’a.”

“How about a billboard?”

Zamo laughed.

“Also, that’s why you mentioned in front of Mohammed about us seeing the Old City today.”

“Correct.”

So, tell me how sharp I am. But he didn’t, so I moved on and said, “We’re checked into the hotel for four days.”

Brenner informed me, “That usually means one or two days.” He explained, “We don’t give out information to Yemenis.”

“Right.” And not much to me either.

As we drove downhill toward the Old City, Brenner announced, “Sana’a was founded by Shem, the son of Noah, after the Flood subsided.”

Maybe it was waterfront property then.

Brenner continued, “Sana’a claims to be the oldest inhabited city in the world.”

Kate, sitting next to our guide, said, “That’s amazing.”

I inquired, “How about lunch?”

Brenner replied, “We’ll have lunch in the Old City.”

He pointed to another walled compound on the left and informed us, “That’s the new British Embassy.” He let us know, “If you’re in a tight situation and can’t make it to the American Embassy, or if our embassy is under attack, the Brits will let you in.”

“What if they’re also under attack?”

“Go to Plan B.”

“Right.” Plan B was bend over and kiss your ass good-bye.

Brenner continued, “Coming up on the right is the Movenpick Hotel, where you also have a reservation.” He explained, “Confuses the enemy.”

Not as much as it confuses me.

Brenner also let us know, “The hills to the east of here, that you can see from your room, are good places to launch rocket and mortar attacks toward the U.S. and U.K. embassies, as well as Tourist City and the hotels.”

“That was mentioned in the hotel brochure.”

Zamo laughed again. I liked Zamo.

Brenner continued, “About six Al Qaeda plots have been foiled in the last year, including one plot to ambush the British ambassador when his convoy left the embassy, and another plot to drive a truck bomb through the U.S. Embassy gates.”

“I thought you said this was a safe neighborhood.”

“I think I said heavily guarded.”

“Got it.” I had a realtor like him once.

Mr. Brenner informed us, “The farther east you go, toward Marib, the more you’re in tribal territory and Al Qaeda territory.” He pointed to a road sign and informed us, “That road to Marib city has become very dangerous, and Marib province seems to be the center of Al Qaeda activity in Yemen.”