Nelson Demille - The Panther

Chet, who could guess what I and everyone was thinking, said, “In the end, Sheik Musa knows that he’s staying alive only as long as we don’t let the Hellfires loose on him. He can play a lucrative double game now and then, but we control the endgame.” He looked at us and said, “Hellfire missiles. The deus ex machina of this war. God shooting thunderbolts out of the sky. If you fuck with God, you’re dead.”

Okay. A little Latin is very convincing. But Chet wouldn’t be the first Westerner who was hustled by the East.

I spent twenty years as a cop dealing with snitches, rat finks, stoolpigeons, and scam artists. And I always made sure they understood that if they double-crossed me, they’d be dead. Or wish they were. When you’re dealing with people who have no moral center, no loyalty to anyone but themselves, you don’t always get the logical results you expect, or the truth that you paid for.

And on that subject, I wondered about Chet’s moral center and his devotion to the truth. Yemen was indeed the land of lies, a place where bullshit was a commodity and deception was the norm. In that respect, Yemeni culture and the CIA culture were not too far apart, despite the CIA’s motto that the truth will set you free. And Chet, I suspected, had himself been corrupted by this culture of lying, and he thought he was better at it than the Yemenis, who he thought were stupid. I don’t know if they’re stupid, but I know they’re cunning. That’s how they’ve survived for three thousand years. And they’ll be here long after we’re gone, which could be soon.

“Mr. Corey?”

I looked at Chet.

“Don’t overthink this.”

I didn’t reply.

Chet continued, “Musa will invite three or four Al Qaeda representatives to come to the safe house, under guard and, of course, blindfolded, to view the kidnapped Americans and to verify who they are.” He reminded us, “Bring your passports. Then Musa will insist, as a matter of honor, respect, and trust, that The Panther himself negotiate the deal to buy the five Americans. Both sides will be allowed a fixed number of armed men, which the sheik will suggest should be ten or twelve, and that meeting will take place outside a goat herder’s hut a few kilometers from the safe house. The sheik assures us that he knows what The Panther looks like, and to be doubly sure, we’ve shown him photos of Bulus ibn al-Darwish, with and without a beard.”

Buck, who as I said knew a thing or two about this plan and this place, informed us, “This type of meeting between equal warlords is traditional in this culture, and a certain amount of good faith is expected on both sides. Nevertheless, both sides are armed, to ensure good behavior, but also to ensure that a third party does not take advantage of the meeting of the important leaders.” He added, “It’s a very medieval protocol, but in this case, the third party, the Americans, are not waiting in ambush behind rocks. We’re watching from five thousand feet, and we can put a missile into The Panther’s teacup.”

Chet said, “If this meeting is to take place, I will call in two more Predators to be on station.” Chet also assured us, “You will not actually be inside the goat herder’s hut, of course. That’s too close to what’s going to happen. You’ll still be in the safe house where I’ll be in the Predator control van, talking to the four Predator pilots and watching what’s going on at the hut, and what’s going on around the safe house.” Chet continued, “Back at the goat herder’s hut, when Sheik Musa recognizes The Panther, he will greet him cordially and give him the traditional embrace and hand kiss.”

Also known as the Kiss of Death.

But to be doubly sure I understood this, I said, “So we’re not going to make an attempt to apprehend the suspect.”

Chet replied, “No, we’re going to kill the terrorist with a Hellfire missile.”

“So I don’t have to read him his rights?”

“He has no rights.”

That’s what I’ve been saying. But it sounded a little harsh coming from Chet. On the other hand… it was a breath of fresh air.

Also, I was a little disappointed that I wasn’t going to whack The Panther myself-or at least be there when a Hellfire turned him into protoplasm. I love the smell of high explosives and burning flesh. But modern war is impersonal. At least I could watch the action on the video monitor from the Predator van at the safe house. Would it be in color?

Chet went on, “After everyone greets everyone, Sheik Musa, as host, will invite The Panther and a few of his lieutenants to sit on a carpet for tea. But before the negotiations begin for the Americans, Musa and his close lieutenants will excuse themselves for a moment and go into the stone goat herder’s hut-maybe on the pretense of retrieving the Americans. When I see this on the monitor at the safe house, I will direct the Predator pilots to fire their Hellfires-two at al-Darwish and his nearby retinue on the carpet, and two at the other Al Qaeda men and their vehicles.” He assured us, “The surviving Al Qaeda guys will be totally stunned, and Musa’s tribesmen will finish them off.” He also let us know, “About the time this is happening, American Air Force fighter-bombers, operating out of a base in Saudi Arabia, will level the Al Qaeda training camp.”

There was a silence in the tent while we all formed a mental picture of what Chet had just outlined. It sounded good… but there were some potential problems with the scenario. Like, people don’t always do what you want them to do, or sit or stand where you want them to sit or stand. Right?

I asked, “What if it’s raining on the outdoor tea party?”

Chet assured me, “It hasn’t rained in Marib in two hundred years.”

That might be an exaggeration, but it sounded like zero percent chance of precipitation.

Chet also informed us, “The second pair of Predators is our security at the safe house, and they will cover us as we drive to the scene to collect some bits and pieces of Mr. al-Darwish and the men around him for DNA and fingerprint ID.” He added, “Some photos, too, though I don’t think there will be any recognizable faces.”

Chet was enjoying this. Hey, you earned it, Chet. Now you can go home and get your head tuned up.

Brenner had a thought and asked, “Won’t this assassination and massacre put a little strain on Sheik Musa’s relationship with Al Qaeda?”

Chet replied, “Sheik Musa, of course, will say he had no clue that the Americans were watching him, and he’ll claim casualties of his own.” He added, “There won’t be any Al Qaeda witnesses alive to contradict his version of the attack. Also, after this, Al Qaeda won’t be much of a problem in Marib province.”

I asked Chet, “Does Musa get the five-million-dollar reward?”

“I think he earned it.”

Right. Better than a hundred thousand from Al Qaeda. I inquired, “How much do we get?”

“The satisfaction of a job well done and the thanks of a grateful government.”

“Same as last time.”

Kate had a good question: “How do we get out of there?”

Chet replied, “As I said, we’ll be covered by two Predators on our way to the scene. The Twin Otter will land on a nearby road and take us across the border into Saudi Arabia to a secret forward base in the Arabian Desert. We turn over the goo bags, the cameras, and our weapons, then the Otter will fly us to Riyadh Airport, where we will hop commercial airliners and fly home, wherever that is.”

No one spoke as we all sat there in the dim, quiet tent, thinking about the plan, or about flying home first class or flying home in a box.

Well, I thought, this plan was based on a lot of past history, some of it true, some of it made up, and some of it not fully evaluated. The plan also depended on a lot of assumptions. The CIA, as usual, had come up with an operational plan that seemed clever, but was actually too clever by half. Keep it simple, stupid. But it might work.