Nelson Demille - The Panther

I suggested, “Nuke ’em.”

Chet assured me, “I have no problem with that.”

Maybe he really wasn’t crazy after all. I mean, he agreed with me. And I’m not crazy. Right?

Anyway, Chet dropped his cigarette into a pail of water that had been put there for that purpose-and maybe as a khat spittoon-and he turned toward us.

The light was bad, so it was hard for me to tell if he had been chewing, or where he was in the rising and falling arc of a khat trip. But if I had to guess, I’d say he was on the upgrade of the roller coaster, about twenty feet from the top. Coming down is a bitch.

Chet said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t join you tonight, but I heard you had an interesting conversation at dinner.” He looked at me.

Well, first off, you weren’t invited, and second, I guess someone told him I’d commented on his mental health. But I didn’t think that Betsy, Doug, Lyle, or Captain Mac would give Chet Morgan a call about that. And Buck didn’t have the opportunity to speak to Chet. Probably Chet just assumed, from past experience, that someone called him a nut job, and he further assumed it was me. Good deduction, Chet. Or… he had a directional listening device and he heard us down on the patio. That’s really not nice. But I guess that’s why they’re called spies.

Anyway, Chet led the way into the tent.

There was a small map table in the corner, and Chet invited us to sit.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw taped to a wall the official photo of President Ali Abdullah Saleh, but this one was captioned Asshole of Arabia. Funny.

I also noticed a few steel-cut axes, burn boxes, and paper shredders, all necessary office equipment in a sensitive facility that was located in hostile territory. I pictured Chet high on khat, swinging an ax at the computers, and someone shouting to him, “I said there were tourists in the hallway-not terrorists.” Whoops.

Anyway, the young man at the radio couldn’t hear us with his headphones on, and Chet said, “There are no recording devices activated for this discussion.” He added, “Operation Clean Sweep is top secret, of course, and you will never divulge or reveal what was said here, or what happens here.”

Right. Just like a bachelor party in Vegas. What annoys me is that the CIA thinks they have to re-pledge you to secrecy. Like no one but them gets the concept of keeping your mouth shut.

Bottom line, the CIA doesn’t like joint operations, and they see them as babysitting jobs. On the plus side, if something went wrong, they had someone else to blame.

To get something straight, I asked Chet, “Who is running this operation?”

Chet replied, “Buck is the team leader.”

“I mean, who in Washington is running this? Who do you report to?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Then why did I ask? But obviously this was a CIA operation, directed from the highest level. If it was FBI, they’d make everyone wear blue windbreakers with big white letters that said “FBI.” They like to advertise. The CIA does not.

I asked Chet, “What is your job on this team?”

He reminded us, “I have operational control of the Predators.”

“Right. So we’re going to vaporize this guy?”

He also reminded us, “Predators are used primarily for aerial observation.”

Then why are they called Predators? Why not Doves with good eyesight?

Chet added, “I’ll get to the goal of this mission later.”

You usually start with the goal, then outline the plan. But Black Ops jobs were a little different, mostly because the goal-like whacking someone-was not always legal and therefore not spelled out; it was understood.

Chet began, “First, our intelligence sources-human and electronic-put The Panther in the vicinity of Marib.”

Brenner informed him, “This is what John and I heard from the prisoner in Ghumdan.”

“Right.”

I added, “And your colleagues in Sana’a also questioned the prisoner-or you did.”

No reply.

I asked, “Do you have a transcript of that interrogation?”

“Not yet.” He added, “Translation problems.” He inquired, “May I move on?”

“Sure.”

He continued, “Second, I have to tell you that we’ll be leaving here about midnight and flying to Marib, and we may not be coming back.”

Brenner asked, “Can you phrase that a bit differently?”

Chet actually smiled, then clarified, “If the mission is a success, we will not return here.” He advised us, “Pack only what you absolutely need, and leave everything else in your rooms, to be forwarded on.”

To where ? Next of kin?

Brenner inquired, “And if the mission is not a success?”

“Then we may return here to continue the operation.” He added, “Unless we’re dead.”

Got it.

I informed Chet, “Just to let you know, Kate and I need to hear and approve of the operational plan before we go anywhere. That was the deal.”

Chet didn’t seem to know there was a deal and said, “I think you’ve passed the point of no return on that, Mr. Corey.”

Buck interjected, “John and Kate have volunteered to be bait, so they can suggest some changes to the plan as it relates to their roles.” He then said to Kate and me, “But I must tell you, this may be our only chance to apprehend The Panther before he disappears again.”

Kate replied, “We understand that.”

Chet continued, “We are flying out of Aden Airport on a DHC-6 Twin Otter.” He explained, “This is a two-engine short takeoff and landing plane, with reinforced fixed landing gear, capable of putting down on a road, which we will do.”

Say again?

He also informed us, “The Otter is registered in Kuwait as a regional charter craft, but it will be flown by two American pilots.”

Thank God. The Otter, of course, was actually owned by a CIA front company, and the pilots were CIA employees, though both those facts would be difficult for anyone to prove. The Company has excellent air resources all over the world, known in the trade as Spook Air. If anyone was ever able to count all the aircraft owned by the CIA, Spook Air would probably be bigger than American Airlines.

“Flight time,” said Chet, “will be under three hours.”

On that subject, Spook Air could have gotten us safely from Sana’a to Aden in under three hours without an ambush. But some idiot had decided to see what Al Qaeda knew, and what they could do. And also to see what the Hellfire missiles could do to Al Qaeda. I don’t remember volunteering for that, but if we’d blown up The Panther, I’d be patting Chet on the back now and getting ready to fly to New York instead of Marib.

Brenner asked, “Will there be a pathfinder on the ground?” Meaning a guy with a flashlight or at least a cigarette lighter.

Chet replied, “Yes, a trusted local.”

Brenner informed him, “No such thing.” He flashed back to some jungle clearing in Southeast Asia and said, “It has to be an American.”

“That’s not possible here.” Chet assured Brenner and the rest of us, “We’ve used this man before. He is well paid.” Chet added, “And he has family in the States whom he’d like to see again.”

Me, too. Well… not my in-laws.

Chet continued, “This man, who is code-named Tariq-which means ‘night visitor’-has a hand-held radio that will work on the frequency that the Twin Otter will monitor.” He said, “To mark the runway portion of the road, Tariq has a backpack full of small, self-contained electronic transponders that he’ll place as instructed along the road, and also at the beginning and end of the runway portion of the road to mark the thresholds.” He further explained, “The pilots will be able to see the signals from these transponders on the GPS flight panel display in the cockpit.” Chet assured us, “Tariq has done this dozens of times and so have the pilots.”