Nelson Demille - The Panther

I said to Brenner, “Tell me about this wounded Al Qaeda guy that we’re seeing in the slammer.”

Brenner told us, “We got this appointment because we told the PSO that we think this attack could have been planned by one of the Cole plotters. Therefore, Mr. John Corey of the FBI Evidence Response Team would like to speak to the prisoner.” He added, “We have an understanding with the Yemeni government, based on cash and other good and valuable considerations, that they will cooperate in anything having to do with the Cole.” He concluded, “I have no idea if this prisoner knows anything about the Cole or The Panther, but we’ll certainly ask.”

“Can we torture him?”

“I’m sure that’s been done.” He added, “But the PSO was probably focusing more on the oil installation attack than on The Panther.”

“Right. But when we ask this guy about The Panther, the PSO guys who are present will know what our focus is.”

Brenner replied, “That’s okay.” He explained, “Assuming someone in the prison is reporting to Al Qaeda, then this is one way of getting the message to The Panther that John Corey is in town looking for him.” He reminded me, “That’s the point.”

“Right. Why do I keep forgetting I’m bait?”

“Not bait,” Brenner corrected. “That’s such a negative word. I like to think of you as a lure.”

Funny? Maybe not.

Kate asked, “Will Colonel Hakim be at the prison?”

Brenner replied, “Probably.” He explained, “He seems to be the PSO guy who is assigned to keep an eye on the American Embassy.”

I asked, “Whose side is he on?”

Brenner replied, “The CIA thinks he’s loyal to the Yemeni government-but what does that mean? It doesn’t mean he’s pro-American, or anti-Al Qaeda. Like most people here, his first loyalty is to himself, then to his faith-or vice versa. His next loyalty is to his ancestral tribe, his clan, and his family, followed by a loose loyalty to the concept of being a Yemeni. His last loyalty, if it exists at all, is to the government.”

I could see why this country wasn’t working. I said to Brenner, “The question is, Does Colonel Hakim have ties to Al Qaeda?”

Brenner replied, “He may have contacts. Most high-ranking people do. But in this country, that doesn’t make him a traitor. It makes him smart.” He added, “People with money or power are covering all their bets until they see who looks like the winner here.” He further explained, “The Americans are putting their money on a bad government, but it’s the only play we have.”

I suggested, “Let’s whack who we have to whack to avenge the Cole, and get the hell out of here before we get in deeper.”

Brenner thought a minute and said, “It sort of reminds me of Vietnam… a corrupt, double-dealing government, backed by the U.S. out of necessity, fighting a tough, single-minded enemy who terrorized a population that didn’t care who won as long as they could live in peace… Even the hill tribes here remind me of the hill tribes in Vietnam who hated and fought both the government and the Viet Cong. And we were right in the middle of it. The quagmire. And we keep doing the same thing, expecting different results.”

No argument there.

Kate said, “It’s the same situation in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

Brenner seemed to have returned from the jungles of Southeast Asia to the sands of the Middle East, and he said to me, “I understand you’ve had some experience with interrogating Cole suspects in Aden.”

“Right. But not too successfully.” I explained, “Everyone had fun lying to the Americans-the police, the PSO guys, the prisoners, and even the translators. And after we left the prison, they probably all had a khat chew together and yucked it up.” I added, “Assholes.”

Brenner assured me, “The Yemeni government is a little more worried now, and they’ve been more cooperative.”

“You mean like Colonel Hakim at the airport?”

Brenner didn’t reply, and asked me, “When you were interrogating the Cole suspects in Aden, did the name Bulus ibn al-Darwish or al-Numair-The Panther-ever come up?”

“No. I don’t think the FBI or CIA knew about him at that time.” I thought a moment, then added, “But I remember now there was some suspicion, or a rumor, that an American-born Muslim may have been involved.”

Brenner nodded, then said, “It was apparently The Panther’s idea to attack an American warship that was on a regularly scheduled refueling stop in Aden Harbor.” He informed us, “This was different from most Al Qaeda attacks in Europe or the Mideast, which are directed against soft targets. This was a rare attack against the American military.” He added, “Very bold, with a high risk of failure. And yet they succeeded in crippling a high-tech American warship and killing seventeen American sailors.”

Right. But in a way, The Panther miscalculated. This attack got the Americans into Yemen, and now Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula was under pressure. I said, “As with 9/11, Al Qaeda got more than they bargained for.”

“Agreed. And that’s what we have to show them. There is a price to pay.”

Kate said, “They know that. But it hasn’t stopped them from escalating the attacks. In fact, they’re stronger in Yemen than they were at the time of the Cole attack.”

Brenner replied, “That’s partly due to a dysfunctional government.”

I asked, “Ours or theirs?”

Anyway, we called for the check, which was written on a scrap of paper-eight million rials or something, which came to about three bucks, drinks included, and Brenner treated. I could live like a sultan in Yemen.

I would have asked for a doggie bag, but the waiter might misunderstand and I’d wind up eating Fido later.

I asked, “Does anyone have to use the excrement shaft?”

On the way out, I said to the guy at the front desk, “Everything was terrific. We’ll be back tomorrow for lunch. One P.M. John Corey.” Tell The Panther.

“Good. Tomorrow.”

“Is one of these guns mine?”

“No, you don’t bring gun.”

“Okay. I think I left it on my donkey-”

“John.”

“Ciao.”

Kate wrapped her scarf over her face, and Brenner checked in with Zamo, then we went down to the street into the bright sunlight where it had gotten hotter.

Without any discussion, we checked out the crowded street, then crossed to the other side and watched the door to the restaurant.

You always need to go through the drill, even when things look and feel safe. In fact, that’s when you most need to keep your head out of your ass. And you needed to keep reminding yourself that the hunter is also the hunted.

Brenner knew his way around the narrow, twisting streets of the Old City, and he said we had time to stop at Hope in Their Hands before we met Zamo.

I’m usually good at spotting a tail, but half the men here looked alike, with the same white robes, headgear, and beards. And we three had the opposite problem; there weren’t many Westerners in Sana’a, and we stuck out like pigs in a mosque.

We reached Hope in Their Hands and entered. The clientele were all Western-male and female backpackers, a European tour group, and some ladies who could have been aid workers or Western embassy people.

Brenner said to Kate, “You can remove your scarf here.”

I suggested, “Wrap it around your eyes while you shop.”

“Maybe I’ll wrap it around your neck.”

I saw that coming.

Kate unwrapped, revealing herself as the best-looking woman in the shop, except maybe for a twenty-something backpacker with an Australian accent and long red hair. But I digress.

As Kate looked around the shop, and Brenner looked at the door, I got into a conversation with a young guy, an American named Matt Longo from New York. Young Mr. Longo was living in Sana’a in a tower guest house, though not the one where we had lunch. He was a Yale grad with a degree in Mideast studies, spoke passable Arabic, and he was here to learn the more pure and ancient Arabic in the Land That Time Forgot. He’d been in Yemen a month, and he had another month to go.