Nelson Demille - The Panther

Well, I guess that’s a dead end.

Brenner asked, “What was Sayid’s nationality?”

The answer was Iraqi.

The guard returned with a bottle of water that he threw on the mattress, and Rahim opened it and finished it in one long gulp.

Brenner asked a few more questions about Rahim’s comrades in arms. Bottom line, this platoon-sized unit of fighters really didn’t know each other’s full names, which was good security in the event one of them, such as Rahim, was captured. They did, however, know nationalities and some hometowns, and Brenner established that about half of them were Saudis-our good allies-and some were from Kuwait, the country that we liberated from Iraq in the first Gulf War. There were also a few recruits from neighboring Oman, a few from Egypt, and only five Yemenis-probably recovering khat chewers. Interestingly, most of the spiritual guides were from Saudi Arabia, and most of the military trainers and commanders were Iraqis, former members of the now-defunct Iraqi Army, who were currently employed by the group called Al Qaeda in Mesopotamia. Hey, you got a kill skill, you gotta sell it somewhere.

Anyway, Brenner, ex-soldier, then asked Military Intelligence-type questions about command structure, equipment, morale, and so forth, and he got some interesting information to pass on to the embassy military attache. But we weren’t any closer to The Panther.

In fact, this interrogation, as we both knew, had some problems. Not only was time short, but Colonel Hakim of the Political Security Organization was listening to every word, so he’d know what we were looking for, and he could figure out what we already knew or didn’t know.

If these people were real allies, it wouldn’t matter much. But they weren’t. In fact, for all I knew, Colonel Hakim, and maybe the interpreter and the doctor, had a brother-in-law in Al Qaeda. I remember having the same problems with interrogations in Aden.

Considering all that, Brenner and I had to do a balancing act. This was probably our only shot at the prisoner, and we had to maximize the opportunity without giving away too much to our allies. Or our enemies. On the other hand, we did want Al Qaeda to know one thing-John Corey was looking for The Panther from Perth Amboy.

Brenner now put on his cop hat and said to Sammy, “Tell Rahim that if he continues to answer truthfully, the Americans will assist in returning him to his home.”

Sammy glanced at Hakim, who nodded, and Sammy passed on Brenner’s kind bullshit. I mean, Rahim was an Al Qaeda jihadist who just attacked an American-owned oil facility, so he had a better chance of being repatriated by the Yemenis than by Americans-and if Rahim ever wound up on American soil, the place would be called Guantanamo. But the offer must have sounded sincere to the desperate Rahim, and he nodded vigorously.

Brenner then asked, “Did any of your companions or commanders ever live in America?”

Sammy asked the question, and Rahim seemed to hesitate, then replied. Sammy said to us, “He says one of his companions, Anwar, the Egyptian, lived for a time in America. He also says he had heard that a high commander once lived in America.”

Brenner was smart enough not to ask a quick follow-up question and changed the subject. He asked, “Did you receive any assistance or information from any of the tribes in the Marib area?”

Rahim listened to the translation, then said something that Sammy translated as, “He says a sheik of the Yafi tribe-a local chieftain of that tribe-took money from Al Qaeda for safe passage and for the use of this Bedouin camp.”

It was interesting that Al Qaeda was able to make a deal with the local chief. All differences aside, money talks. Or, as Buck said in New York, favors were exchanged.

Brenner followed up with, “What else did this sheik provide?”

Sammy asked Rahim, then said to us, “He says the sheik provided food, guides, and information concerning the security of the American oil installation. He also says he and his comrades were told by their commanders that with this information, their attack would be successful.”

Rahim volunteered something else, which is always a good sign, and Sammy told us, “He says the American oil company security forces appeared to be expecting them, and he now believes that someone betrayed them to the Americans or to the Yemeni security forces.”

Hey, welcome to Yemen, Rahim. Only here we don’t call it betrayal, we call it business as usual. And it was probably the local sheik who was playing both ends of that business.

Brenner asked, “What is the name of this sheik?”

Sammy asked, but Rahim said he didn’t know.

Brenner said to me, “The Yafi are a large tribe around Marib, but like all tribes, they’re broken into many clans that sometimes take their name from their ancestral sheiks. So if we had this sheik’s name, we could identify the local tribe and maybe get a fix on this Al Qaeda camp.” Brenner then said to Colonel Hakim, “You should look into this.”

Hakim replied curtly, “Do not tell me what I should do.”

Ally or asshole?

Brenner thought asshole and explained to me, “The PSO doesn’t like to leave the safety of the cities.”

I thought Hakim was going to blow a gasket, but he controlled himself and said to us, “Five minutes.” He added, for the record, “The prisoner is sick and must rest.”

I pointed out, “The doctor said he was doing great.”

“Five minutes.”

Brenner said to me, “Your turn.”

Okay. As I said, I like to soften up the prisoner with personal questions and sports talk, but we had a big cultural divide here, and I had about four minutes, so I went right for the big enchilada and asked a typical leading question. “When was the last time you saw Bulus ibn al-Darwish-al-Numair?”

Rahim’s puffy eyes opened wide even before the translation.

Sammy translated, and I could see that Rahim was struggling with his response. Finally, he replied.

Colonel Hakim sat stone-faced as he listened to Rahim, and Brenner was nodding as though he understood every word-or at least every third word.

Finally Sammy translated, “He says… al-Numair-The Panther-was present on the evening of the attack. Last night. Al-Numair spoke to the fighters and assured them they would be victorious. They prayed together… then al-Numair entered a vehicle and drove away.”

I exchanged glances with Brenner, then I asked a standard police question. “What kind of vehicle? What color?”

Sammy asked, then told us, “He says it appeared to be a Toyota Hilux. White.”

Brenner informed me, “A very common SUV in Yemen. And ninety percent of the vehicles in this country are white.”

“I noticed.” So The Panther was tooling around in a commonly used vehicle, which was no surprise. But what was surprising was that he seemed to have safe passage in this tribal area.

I asked, “How many vehicles were with him?”

The answer was five, and Sammy said they were all white SUVs, though Rahim couldn’t be certain of their makes or models.

I asked another standard police question. “What was al-Numair wearing?”

The answer was traditional North Yemen clothing-a white fouteh, and a shiwal on his head. No Jersey Shore T-shirt. The Panther, it seemed, was returning to his roots.

I tapped my dagger and asked, “Jambiyah?”

Sammy didn’t have to translate, and Rahim nodded and said, “Jambiyah.”

“Facial hair?”

Yes. A long black beard.

“What was his general appearance? Sick? Healthy? Heavy, thin?”

Sammy asked and said to me, “Rahim believes this man looked healthy. But very thin.”

I asked, “Does Rahim know that Bulus ibn al-Darwish is an American citizen?”