Nelson Demille - The Panther

Anyway, we made small talk, and Kate asked Brenner, “Where are you from?”

“South Boston.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I don’t get there much. I live in Virginia now. Falls Church.” He added, “That’s where CID Headquarters is, and it was my last duty station before I left the Army.”

Kate seemed to want to know more about Paul Brenner, and with some prodding, he gave her his history-drafted into the Army at eighteen, infantryman in Vietnam, decided to make the Army a career, went to military police school, second tour in Vietnam as an MP, then transferred to the U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division, and served in various Army posts around the world. He had apparently been in a special CID unit that handled high-profile and/or sensitive cases, and his last case involved the murder of a female U.S. Army captain who was also the daughter of an Army general who had been highly decorated in the first Gulf War.

I thought I remembered this case, because it had made the news at the time, a year or so after the Gulf War, and I had the impression that this case had somehow led to the early retirement of Chief Warrant Officer Paul Brenner.

Brenner didn’t mention his clandestine mission to post-war Vietnam, either out of modesty or because he still wasn’t allowed to talk about it. This mission, though, must have redeemed his reputation or something, and maybe the Army’s equivalent of Tom Walsh asked him to name a job, and Brenner picked the Diplomatic Security Service. Fun and travel. In fact, Brenner told us that he’d served with the DSS in London, then Athens. I wonder what he did wrong to get sent here.

Brenner concluded his edited history, and I noticed it was all professional, lacking any personal details, with no mention of marriage or divorce, kids, or the current lady back in the States.

Kate didn’t prod him on that subject, and I certainly didn’t. All I wanted to know about Mr. Paul Brenner was if I could trust him, and whether or not he had a set of balls. He seemed okay in both categories. He also seemed bright, which was good, but I couldn’t determine if he had good or bad professional judgment, which was crucial. I myself display impressively bad judgment on occasion, but I always temper that with acts of irrational risk taking. Ask my wife. Brenner, I suspected, was a little like me in those respects, which is the sign of the alpha male. Most of us are dead by now, of course, or incarcerated, or permanently disabled, but some of us are lucky. I’m lucky. And smart.

Anyway, I thought I could work with this guy, and I didn’t think he was going to get me killed-I could do that on my own, thank you.

Kate, too, seemed impressed with Paul Brenner, though I doubt she’d analyzed why. Women’s intuition.

Our cocktails arrived, and the waiter asked if we had made a choice for lunch. We hadn’t, but a quick scan of the menu showed me that my choices were limited to animals that I could see from the window.

Kate said to Brenner, “Why don’t you order for us?”

Brenner had to order for Kate anyway, so I agreed but warned him, “No organs.”

Brenner ordered in Arabic, then asked us, “Do you want utensils? Or do you want to use your fingers?”

We didn’t know one another that well, so we agreed on utensils, and when the waiter left I took the opportunity to speak to Brenner without Buck present. I asked, “Why do we need a CIA guy on the team?”

“It’s their show. Also, they have all the information we need.”

“Let’s get the information and leave the CIA guy in Aden.”

Brenner asked me, “Why wouldn’t you want a CIA officer on the team?”

Because the CIA wants to kill me and my wife. But that would sound silly if I said it out loud, so I replied, “They tend to complicate things. And they’re not team players.”

“Neither are you from what I hear.”

“If I’m on the team, I play with the team.”

Kate said, “That’s true.” She remembered to add, “But John sometimes makes up his own rules.”

You see why I love my wife.

Brenner stayed quiet a moment, then said, “To further answer your question, it’s my understanding that Predator drones with video surveillance cameras are an important part of this operation. And as you may know, in Yemen only the CIA has operational control of the Predators. So that’s why we need a CIA officer with us when we go into the Badlands-to control the Predator drones on aerial reconnaissance missions.” He explained, “We can have real-time video surveillance transmitted directly to a video monitor on the ground.”

“And then the Predator launches a Hellfire missile against the target.”

He didn’t reply for a second, then said, “I suppose that’s an option.” He added, “That has been very effective here and in Afghanistan. We’ve killed dozens of important Al Qaeda leaders that way.”

“Right.” They leave their cave or mud hut to go take a leak, and next thing they know, they’re holding their dick in Paradise.

I asked Brenner, “What about taking this suspect alive?”

Brenner shrugged and replied, “I don’t know. I’m not sure what the actual goal is.”

“That makes three of us.”

He continued, “The way I see it, Washington would like to take this guy alive, but it’s easier to kill him. So maybe if the opportunity to capture him presents itself, then that’s what we’ll try to do. But if that seems impossible-or too dangerous-then we fix his location and call in the drones and Hellfires.”

I nodded, and added, “Then we Ziploc some pieces for ID.”

“Right. We have the suspect’s prints on file-and also DNA from his family.”

Kate commented, “Maybe I don’t need my arrest warrant.”

Brenner assured her, “We need you and your arrest warrant in case we have the opportunity to apprehend the suspect.”

Kate nodded tentatively. Actually, Kate and her arrest warrant were cover for what was most likely the assassination of an American citizen. I had no problem with that, and I was happy to have the cover in case this thing came back to bite us in the ass vis-a-vis Mr. and Mrs. al-Darwish’s lawsuit, or some other silly legality. Fucked-up war.

Kate also asked, “If we do apprehend the suspect, do we turn him over to the Yemeni authorities, then ask for extradition, or do we attempt to get the suspect out of the country?” She added, “In other words, extradition or rendition?”

Brenner shrugged again and replied, “This is all beyond my pay grade.”

“Why,” I asked, “is State Department Intelligence involved?”

Brenner replied, “First, keep in mind that Buck Harris is officially a diplomat, attached to the economic assistance mission, which is why he travels around the country. Forget SDI. Second, we want a diplomatic component to our operation.” He stressed, “We want to involve the State Department.”

“Right.” Meaning that if things went wrong-or even if things went right-the State Department could do what they do best: apologize to the host government for violating their sovereignty and offer them a few million bucks to forget it. That’s what diplomats are for.

Brenner reminded me, “Buck is an invaluable asset. He knows the country, the people, and the language.”

“Right. We love Buck. But he knows more than he’s sharing.”

Brenner said, “Let’s take it a step at a time and see how it plays out.” He also suggested, “We’ll get some clarification from our Agency guy.”

Paul Brenner had apparently not worked with the CIA before.

Our food came and it was served family style in big bowls, and everyone around us was eating directly out of the bowls with their fingers. We, however, had plates, serving spoons, and utensils. The food actually tasted good, whatever it was. Did I take my Cipro this morning?