Nelson Demille - The Panther

The lady was Betsy Collins, Supervisory Special Agent and Team Leader of the five-person FBI Evidence Response Team. She seemed pleasant and welcoming, and assuming my reputation had preceded me, she was probably thrilled to have learned from Buck that she didn’t actually have to work with me.

Brenner’s Aden counterpart in the Diplomatic Security Service was Doug Reynolds, whose title was Regional Security Officer, and who looked like ex-military.

I took the opportunity to tell him, “The DSS did a hell of a job getting us here.”

He nodded and said, of course, “That’s what they get paid for.”

The second guy was Lyle Manning, Supervisory Special Agent of the ten-man FBI SWAT Team. He was a young guy, obviously in great physical shape, and like most FBI Special Agents, he wasn’t sure if an ex-cop was his peer. He was okay with Kate and Howard, though, who were in the club. FBI, by the way, means Fabulously Boring Individual. Just kidding.

The third guy was easy to identify-he wore desert cammies, a Marine cap with globe-and-anchor insignia, captain bars on his collar, and a nametag that said “McAndrews,” though he said, “Call me Mac.”

We all pulled up wicker chairs, and we stacked our rifles neatly against the cocktail table. A hovering waiter put menus on the table and said, “Welcome, new sirs and new ladies, and already honored guests to the Sheraton Aden. I am Masud. Please to inform me of your wishes.”

“Water for me and a scotch for my rifle.”

Anyway, we all ordered soft drinks, and Masud floated off to the lobby lounge.

Captain McAndrews said to the Sana’a contingent, “So you had a little excitement on the road.”

Brenner replied, “Five hours of boredom, two minutes of pure terror.” He added, “Predators did a great job.” He further added, “Road security is going downhill fast.”

Doug Reynolds, the DSS guy, said to Brenner, “I spoke to Ed Peters and he’s okay with your men staying here overnight-not happy, but okay. Meanwhile, I’ve put in a request through channels for a Yemeni Army escort back to Sana’a.”

Brenner replied, “Normally I wouldn’t want that, but I’ll take it if we can get it.” He added, “If we get offered a National Security police escort-for hire or for free-the answer is no.”

I interjected, “Especially if it’s Captain Dammaj.”

Buck and Brenner both laughed. See? They weren’t pissed at me.

Doug asked, “Who’s Captain Dammaj?”

Buck replied, “An NSB officer we met on the road. I sat-phoned that in.” He further explained, “John told him to go fuck himself.” Buck apologized to the three ladies for my language and added, “Unfortunately, we didn’t know that Captain Dammaj spoke English.”

Everyone got a good laugh at that.

Buck told our colleagues, in case they didn’t know, “This country is close to dysfunctional.”

Betsy Collins said, “Dysfunctional would be an improvement.”

As I said, and as I saw the last time I was here, our relations with our Yemeni allies were not good. The Americans saw the Yemenis as corrupt, devious, and inept, and the Yemenis knew what we thought of them. I had no idea what they thought of us, but it was easy to guess.

And to make matters worse, we were stretched so thin here that we were barely able to accomplish our mission, and barely able to protect ourselves from our enemies, not to mention our Yemeni allies.

The soft drinks came, and Doug proposed a toast. “Welcome to our guests, and here’s to much success on your mission.” He added, “Whatever it is.”

That got a few conspiratorial chuckles. Plausible deniability is important with Black Ops jobs.

I didn’t think we’d have much to do with these Aden people once we left here to find The Panther, and as with most Black Ops missions, we’d be mostly on our own. Also, though we might never see them again, they might see us if they were assigned to a body identification and recovery detail. But think happy thoughts.

Doug asked Clare, “How’s your patient?”

Clare replied, “He’ll be fine. But I’ll have to see if he needs sutures, and he needs to keep it clean.”

Captain Mac offered, “Infections are rampant here.” He added, “This whole place is a petri dish.”

Shithole.

Lyle Manning, the FBI SWAT Team Leader, changed the subject and said, “We’re a little concerned about this reported threat of an Al Qaeda attack on this installation.”

Actually, it wasn’t an installation; it was a hotel with plate glass windows. I reported, “Paul and I heard this firsthand from an Al Qaeda prisoner at Ghumdan, and the prisoner seemed credible.”

My buddy Paul agreed and added, “Al Qaeda has lost the element of surprise, so I’m sure we can deal with anything Al Qaeda tries here.”

Captain Mac added, “If, as reported, it’s only forty or so enemy combatants, it won’t be a problem. In fact, it’s an opportunity.”

Why was I not seeing these Al Qaeda attacks as opportunities? What is wrong with me?

I glanced at Clare, who looked like she wasn’t hearing this correctly. This hotel is an Al Qaeda target? Did I miss that memo?

More importantly, Howard, as an attorney and an employee of the Department of Justice and an honest man, did not need to be hearing things he didn’t need to hear. We hadn’t gone there yet, but we would, so I suggested, “If it’s all the same to Mr. Fensterman and Dr. Nolan, and the rest of us, I think Howard and Clare might want to recon the hotel and the beach.” I said that nice. Right?

Howard and Clare got it, stood, and excused themselves.

Brenner inquired of one and all, “What are the Yemenis providing or promising in the way of extra security?”

Lyle Manning replied, “To be honest, we haven’t requested anything.”

Say again?

Lyle looked at Buck, who informed us, “It was I who suggested that we not ask the Yemeni government for a large show of force.”

What were you thinking, Buck? I reminded him, “You said back at the embassy that you were going to notify the Yemeni government at the highest levels that we needed extra security here.”

“Yes, I did say that.” He explained, however, “If I asked the Yemenis for extra security, that would alert Al Qaeda that we knew this hotel is a target.” Buck continued his reasoning. “If Al Qaeda thought we had information about an attack on the Sheraton, they would also think that we had information from the same source-the prisoner in Ghumdan-about the last known location of The Panther.”

No one had anything to say about that, and I had the feeling that the Aden contingent agreed with the old Cold Warrior’s crafty thinking-though they were sitting in the bull’s-eye.

More interesting, Buck seemed to have the power of life-and-death decisions. Buck was a big man.

Captain Mac also reminded us, “The fewer Yemeni Army people we have around here, the better I like it.” He smiled and confided to us, “The first targets we take out are the Yemeni Army’s.50 caliber along with the Yemeni commo tent.”

Don’t forget the guys under the sun umbrellas.

On the subject of tipping off Al Qaeda, no one was suggesting that we evacuate the European or Arab guests. I guess the attitude was “Fuck them.” There’s a reason for cheap high-season rates. If you don’t know the reason, that’s your problem. Indeed, we had become a bit callous. Except when it came to American lives. Everyone else was expendable. Well, maybe our European and Arab allies needed a deeper appreciation of what the Americans were up against. They could stand on the sidelines if they wanted, but they could get killed there, too.

Lyle Manning let us know, “The entire SWAT Team will be pulling all-nighters until further notice.”