Nelson Demille - The Panther

Doug Reynolds added, “We also now have the DSS men from Sana’a.”

Brenner reminded him, “Only for tonight, Doug.” He let us know, “There’s a new and credible threat to the embassy, and they need to get back.”

The safest place in Yemen might be swimming in the gulf with the sharks.

My other thought was that any attack on Americans would trigger the Cole response. Within two weeks of the Cole attack, there were close to two hundred American military, intelligence, and anti-terrorist people in this hotel and on ships out in the harbor. The Yemenis had made us scale down since then, but there were people in Washington who wanted to ratchet it up. All we needed was an excuse. And a few more dead Americans.

Kate, who hadn’t said anything so far, now said, “I understand the decision not to increase security here. But I also don’t want to risk any of our team being… becoming casualties here.” She added, “We need to depart this location as soon as possible and go to where we think we will make contact with the suspect.”

Buck replied to Kate, “We understand that.” He let our colleagues know, “We hope to be out of here-and out of your hair-as soon as we get the intel we need.”

This brought us to the subject of our missing team member, but I wasn’t sure any of the Aden people had any info on that, so I didn’t bring it up. That was up to Buck, and he wasn’t saying anything about the CIA.

But I did want to know about the evacuation plan, though I think I already knew the answer to that. Nevertheless, I said to Doug Reynolds, “Ed Peters said you’d brief us on an evacuation plan.”

Doug smiled, which was not what I wanted to see. He said, “Ed tells everyone coming here to ask me about that.” He confided to us, “It’s called the Alamo plan.” He asked me, “Any questions?”

I guess not.

Betsy Collins did say, however, “If we have advance warning from our sources, and if we could get to the airport, we have air resources in the area that could evacuate us.” She added, “Or, if we could get to the harbor, we can rendezvous with or commandeer a ship.”

I pointed out, “I think we actually have advance warning of an impending attack.” Remember?

Captain Mac ignored my sarcasm and cautioned, “The worst thing we could do would be to destroy all our equipment here, then evacuate and find out there was no imminent attack.” He added, “That would make us look bad.”

Looking bad is not as bad as looking dead, but to be a team player, I responded, “Sounds good.”

Betsy Collins asked me, “What was the evacuation plan when you were here, John?”

“The backstroke.”

Good laughs. I was being accepted by the inmates.

I did ask, however, “What about the civilian guests here? And the hotel staff?”

After a long silence, Captain Mac replied, “You should ask Al Qaeda that question.”

Right.

Buck did have some good news and informed us, “We now have two Predators on station twenty-four-seven, reconning the area.”

I asked, “With Hellfires?”

Buck nodded.

Good. I had recently become a big fan of Hellfire missiles.

We also spoke about the ongoing Cole investigation-slow progress-then we discussed recent developments in Aden and the surrounding area. The big concern was that Al Qaeda was becoming politically stronger around Aden, though not yet a military threat-notwithstanding the forty jihadists on their way from Marib. The CIA and Defense Intelligence were closely monitoring the situation and keeping everyone here informed. Glad to hear that.

We seemed to have covered all topics and Buck said, “We’ll let you all get back to your jobs, and we can meet again tonight in the cocktail lounge if you don’t have other plans.”

Betsy Collins said, “We do have a full social calendar here, but if we’re not in a firefight with Al Qaeda, we’ll be in the bar.”

Funny.

We all stood, shook hands, and set the time for cocktails at 7 P.M. At least something important had been decided here.

Buck, Brenner, Kate, and I walked back to our luggage, which was still under the watchful eyes of Mike and Zamo.

Brenner informed Mike, “You’re all staying here tonight on full alert. Secure the vehicles, then get some sleep.” To Zamo he said, “You can return to Sana’a with the convoy tomorrow. We’ll ask for a SWAT sniper for the team.”

Zamo, of course, replied, “I’m staying.”

“Okay. But see Dr. Nolan ASAP.”

Bellhops were not permitted on the American floors, so we gathered our bags and walked toward the elevators.

Buck said to us, “Everyone is free until seven. I’m going to the pool in an hour.”

I’m going to get laid in ten minutes. Getting shot at makes me horny.

But Kate said to Buck, “We’ll see you there.”

Sitting at a desk near the elevators was a Marine with an M-16 rifle and a hand-held radio. He stood and we made the acquaintance of Lance Corporal Brad Schiller, who asked to see our passports and creds. Schiller checked our names against his list, then handed each of us a red-and-white plastic ID card on a chain that said, “American Embassy-Sana’a Yemen.” On the other side of the card was a bull’s-eye. Just kidding.

Corporal Schiller said, “I’ll call upstairs.” He added, “Welcome to Paradise.”

Everyone’s a comedian.

We rode up to the third floor, which I recalled was reserved for the FBI Evidence Response Team, the FBI SWAT Team, the Diplomatic Security Service, the FBI doctor, and transient guests, mostly from the embassy, and rarely from Washington. There was also a common room on the floor where we used to sit, drink, play cards, and complain.

On the fourth floor were the twenty Marines, two to a room, plus our offices and our equipment and supply rooms. At the end of the fourth-floor corridor were rooms for our CIA colleagues and Defense Intelligence Agency officers, who mostly kept to themselves, which made everyone happy. Also on the fourth floor was the CIA’s lead-lined SCIF in a cleared bedroom.

These two floors constituted the American outpost in Aden. The camel’s nose under the tent. But if people like Colonel Kent had their way, we’d soon be building an Arabian Guantanamo down the coast. Call bin Laden Construction.

We stopped at the third floor, and Buck said, “I’m on four. See you at the pool.”

Kate, Brenner, and I got off, and there was a Marine in the hallway standing behind his desk, on which was his M-16 rifle and radio.

We introduced ourselves to Lance Corporal Wayne Peeples. He directed us to the right, and as we walked I checked my room number again to be sure Kate and Paul weren’t sharing a room.

Actually, Brenner’s room was next to ours, and we all said, “See you later,” and entered our rooms.

We had a room overlooking the Gulf of Aden, as I’d had last time. Same room? Are those my socks on the floor?

Kate said, “This is nice.”

“Nothing is too good for Christian Crusaders.”

We threw our luggage and weapons on one of the two king-size beds, and I suggested we throw ourselves on the other.

Kate thought that was a swell idea.

Afterwards, we stood on the balcony and looked out at the turquoise water. This was the view I’d had for forty days of living in this hotel, and it brought back some memories.

The bay, called Gold Mohur Bay, was formed by two ridges of bare volcanic rock that ran down into the water.

Kate spotted the lonely white tent on the south ridge and asked, “What’s that?”

“That’s the tent that Captain Mac was referring to.” I explained, “It’s either a Yemeni Army observation post, or a PSO eavesdropping facility. In either case, the men inside the tent are not there to help us.”