Nelson Demille - The Panther

Nabeel swallowed and felt the blade press deeper into his flesh. “Ten, sir…”

“I think more.”

Altair said, “Bulus, we have been here too long.” He reminded him, “If the drones and the missiles trouble you, then we need to leave before they visit us.”

“Yes, but first I need to cut a throat.”

“Yes, but not this man’s throat. Another throat awaits you.”

The Panther did not reply to Altair, but he said to Nabeel, “Perhaps your throat can wait for another time.”

Nabeel felt a flood of relief passing through him and he closed his eyes, which filled with tears, and he nodded.

Still holding his curved dagger to Nabeel’s throat, The Panther said to his aide, “You are to travel to Sana’a with all speed, and board an aircraft to Aden. You are to take a room in the Sheraton Hotel and complete the task I have given you.”

Though he knew this was a suicide mission, Nabeel managed to say, “I will, sir.”

“And if you do not, or if you should leave Yemen out of fear, I assure you I will find you. And if I do not find you, I will find your family.” He asked, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I will kill-”

The Panther drew his blade across the left side of Nabeel’s neck and cut into his flesh.

Nabeel let out a sharp sound of surprise and pain, staggered backwards and grasped his neck with his right hand. Blood ran between his fingers as he probed the wound and satisfied himself that it was not fatal.

The Panther slipped his bloody jambiyah back into its sheath and said to Nabeel, “Come outside. I want you to see that I do know how to cut a throat.”

The Panther and Altair left the hut, and Nabeel hesitated, then, pressing his hand against his wound, he followed.

Outside, sitting on the rocks of the narrow gorge, were the survivors of the failed Hunt Oil attack. Kneeling on the ground facing the men was their commander, Captain Behaddin Zuhair. His wrists were bound behind his back and his head was bowed so he did not have to look at his men, who had passed the time in conversation while waiting for The Panther.

The men grew silent as their chief and the old man, Altair, stepped out of the hut.

The Panther walked directly to Captain Zuhair, but he did not address him. Instead, he addressed his jihadists and his council of advisors and his aides, and called out, “This man, Behaddin Zuhair, showed cowardice and stupidity as he led his brave jihadists against the American oil facility. He ignored the advice of our council and of his own lieutenant, Sayid al-Rashid, who died a hero’s death while his captain cowered behind a rock.” The Panther continued, “When Zuhair should have pressed the attack to total victory, he hid, then fled like a woman as the Americans and their mercenaries fired their weapons.”

The jihadists and the council of advisors sat silently.

The Panther continued, “I share in the blame for this defeat, because it was I who failed to see that Zuhair was not a true leader of men.”

The Panther’s council of advisors remained silent, but one of his personal aides called out, “No! No! It is Zuhair who is to blame!” Another aide shouted, “Zuhair spoke bravely, but hid his cowardice!”

The Panther motioned for silence. He noticed, as did Altair, that no man in the council of advisors had spoken for their leader as they were expected to do when the leader publicly confessed to a lapse of judgment or a wrong decision.

But he also noticed that the jihadists who were with Zuhair in the attack did not say anything in defense of Zuhair. They sat quietly, avoiding the eyes of their captain, and of The Panther.

The Panther knew he had to end this quickly, so he moved closer to Zuhair’s side and shouted at him, “Confess your cowardice and your incompetence and I promise you a quick and merciful death.”

Zuhair turned his head toward The Panther and spoke in a loud, clear voice, “I have nothing to confess. I have done my duty on the field of battle-”

“Quiet! I have asked you for a confession. Not excuses.”

“I make no excuses.” Captain Zuhair faced his men and, still kneeling with his wrists bound, he exhorted them to come to his defense. “Tell what you know! Tell what you saw! Speak truthfully of my actions-”

“Quiet!”

Zuhair suddenly stood and shouted, “Have I not led you well? Have I not done my duty…?” He looked out at the men who had trusted him with their lives-his men who themselves had faltered under the intense fire from the American compound. Did they not remember that he had rallied them and shouted words of encouragement and comfort as they lay on the ground, paralyzed with fear?

But no one spoke for him.

He called to them, “I do not fear death in battle, but I do not deserve this death. I do not deserve to have my reputation and honor-”

A shot rang out, and Zuhair fell forward on his face.

Everyone looked at the old man, at Altair, who had fired the shot from a pistol.

They then looked at Captain Zuhair, who was still alive, and those who were closest saw that Zuhair had been shot in the left buttock, where blood was spreading across his white fouteh.

The Panther looked at Altair, who was now standing close to him, and Altair said softly, “You let him speak too long, Bulus. Now finish it your way.”

The Panther nodded, then ordered two fighters to lift Zuhair into a kneeling position.

The Panther drew his jambiyah and came up behind Zuhair as the two men held him up. The Panther said to Zuhair, “You have chosen this death.”

Zuhair summoned all his energy to shout, “You will burn in hell!”

The Panther had heard too much already from this man, so instead of cutting his jugular and his arteries, he sliced deep into Zuhair’s throat where his larynx sat, and said, “Satan will be pleased not to hear you speak.”

The two men held Zuhair in the kneeling position as the man began choking and spitting up blood.

The minutes passed as Zuhair continued to drown in his own blood.

The Panther took this opportunity to mock Zuhair, saying to him, “You were too cowardly even to confess your cowardice. A man of honor, a soldier, would have said he had lost his courage and begged for a quick death. But instead, you dishonored yourself further by lying. You-”

Another shot rang out and the front of Zuhair’s head exploded with bone, brain, and blood.

Altair holstered his pistol and said to the jihadists, “Bury him quickly and deep so the animals do not find him.”

To Bulus ibn al-Darwish he said quietly, “You may show no mercy, Bulus, but you may not show such disrespect.” He reminded The Panther, “We are civilized.”

The Land Cruiser’s outside temperature gauge read 102 degrees Fahrenheit, so I wasn’t too shocked when I opened my door and got hit by a blast furnace.

Clare and I left our flak jackets in the SUV and I told Clare to go ahead inside.

I took the binoculars and looked up at the hills that rose above the hotel. Last time I was here, there was no Yemeni Army security up there, and I didn’t see any now.

The perimeter security seemed to consist of the dozen Yemeni soldiers I saw along the entrance road, sitting on their asses in their white plastic chairs under sun umbrellas, chatting on their cell phones. Ice coolers completed the picture of intense vigilance. Did anyone tell these guys that Al Qaeda was heading this way?

Also, as I recalled, there was a white tent pitched on a ridge that ran down to the beach on the south side of the hotel, which the Yemenis said was an army observation post. But our commo people said it was a PSO listening post to intercept our radio and sat-phone communications-which was one reason we had the lead-lined tent on the fourth floor. The other reason was Al Qaeda, who also had some commo intercept capabilities.