He asked me, “What are you thinking about, Mr. Corey?”
“You.” I inquired, “Do you also speak Russian?”
He replied in Russian.
I didn’t know what he said, but I told him, “I’m impressed.”
“And well you should be.” He informed me, “When the Russians were the foreign power in South Yemen, I spent many years there keeping an eye on them.”
“Then you must have spent a lot of time drinking vodka in that Russian brothel.”
“Nightclub,” he corrected. He smiled at me and said, “You’re not as simpleminded or unsophisticated as you pretend to be. In fact, you’re very bright and perceptive.”
“That’s very perceptive of you.”
“But stupid people think you’re like them, and they lower their guard and say things they shouldn’t say.”
I replied, “There are probably a hundred people still in jail who made that mistake.” I added for Mr. Brenner’s benefit, “And a few dead people.”
“I’m sure.” Buck let me know, “When the idea of asking you to go to Yemen came up, there was some thought that you might not be right for the job. My job, then, was to make an evaluation of your fitness for this assignment, and thus our time together in New York had a dual purpose.”
I admitted, “I didn’t know I was on a job interview.”
Buck smiled again and continued, “I assured the people in Washington who are running this mission that you were not only qualified for this assignment, but that I was certain you would be an invaluable addition to the team, and that I looked forward to working with you.”
“Thank you, sir. I will be forever grateful for this opportunity.”
I think Buck was tired of smiling at my wit, and he said, “Prove me right.” He added, “Our lives now depend on each other.”
“Indeed they do.” And by the way, when are you going to tell me why I’m really here? That my strongest qualification for this job is that The Panther would like to eat my ass?
He turned to Kate and said to her, “You are career FBI and you would be here if ordered, but it’s my understanding that you wanted this assignment, and there’s no substitute for enthusiasm and spirit.”
That’s true if you’re a cheerleader, but this was a little more complex and dangerous than yelling, “Go, team!”
Buck, understanding that, continued, “Your record speaks for itself, including your excellent work on the embassy bombing in Dar es Salaam, and I also know that you’ve exhibited a high degree of courage and composure under fire and against great odds.”
Kate, to her credit, said nothing, not even mentioning the guy she whacked with the Colt .45. But I was certain Buck already knew about that.
Buck turned his attention back to me and said, “You’re a very lucky man.”
Then why am I here?
He got his smile on again and said to me, “By the way, you had me thinking about some possible medicinal uses for khat.” He added conspiratorially, “Perhaps when we’re done with this business, we can explore that further.”
Brenner laughed, so I guessed that Buck had shared some of my classroom wit with him.
Buck said to me, “You enlivened my class, Mr. Corey.”
I replied, “Your class, Buck, was like waterboarding without the water.”
Everyone got a good laugh out of that.
Buck looked at Kate and said, “You’ve chosen your clothing well, but you need a head scarf.” And he had one for her. He presented Kate with a paper-wrapped package that she opened, revealing a long black scarf.
Kate said, “Oh, this is beautiful. Thank you.”
Buck said, “It’s called a hijab. It’s made from a very fine mohair, and it comes from a shop here in Sana’a called Hope in Their Hands.” He explained, “It’s a non-profit co-op that sells handcrafts made by women throughout the country, and all the proceeds go directly to these women to help them improve their lives and the lives of their children.”
“That’s very nice,” Kate said.
Buck further informed us, “Most of the embassies, expats, and tourists shop there as often as possible.” He added, “Good quality, good prices, and a good deed.”
Indeed. I asked him, “What did you get for me?”
“Nothing. But I’ll give you the name of the best jambiyah shop in Sana’a.”
“Thanks. I left mine home.”
Kate draped the scarf over her head, and Buck leaned toward her and showed her how to wrap it with a long tail, saying, “Use your left hand to hold it over your face.”
“Is that custom?” she asked.
“No, it frees your right hand to draw your gun.”
Joke? No.
He assured us, “Sana’a is actually quite safe compared to most of the country. There is very little crime in the city and very few political or religious attacks directed against Westerners. However, it does happen, and there have been a number of plots against the American and British embassies, so you need to be vigilant while you’re here.”
I asked, “How long will we be in Sana’a?”
“I’m not sure.”
Brenner said, “I know you’re exhausted, but we’d like to finish this conversation inside.”
It was still my turn to carry the gun bag, and we went back into the lobby and up the elevator to where I knew that the SCIF—the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—was located.
It was in that room, I was sure, where Buck would mention the small and apparently forgotten fact that Kate and I were here not to find The Panther, but for The Panther to find us.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The SCIF was on the third and top floor, a windowless and soundproof room, lined with lead and kryptonite or something, impervious to directional listening devices and other types of electronic buggery.
Half of the big, dimly lit room was filled with commo and crypto, and the other half, partitioned with thick glass, was taken up with work stations and a round conference table.
A young woman was attending to the electronics, and when we entered she stood and greeted Brenner and Buck, said hello to Kate and me, then closed the glass door between us.
We’d had a similarly purposed room in the Sheraton Hotel in Aden, but that had been an emptied bedroom in which a lead-lined tent was pitched. The world of spying has come a long way since the days when gentlemen did not read each other’s mail, or when it was bad manners to listen at the keyhole or stand outside a building and literally eavesdrop. Today, even pissant countries like Yemen had access to off-the-shelf electronic listening devices and decoding equipment, and the world of secure communication had become a game. The Americans had the best equipment, but you never knew who just developed something better.
Buck Harris broke into my thoughts and assured us, “We can speak freely here.”
Right. Except, of course, every word was being recorded.
Brenner got on the intercom and made contact with the Yemenis in the kitchen, and ordered in Arabic.
Buck got down to business and said to me and Kate, “There is something else about this mission that you may not have been told.”
I didn’t reply.
“Or maybe you were told.”
Again I didn’t reply. He was fishing to see what we knew, and I was waiting to see if he’d actually tell us why we were in Yemen.
Buck glanced at Brenner, then said to Kate and me, “Well, then, I’ll fill you in.” He hesitated a second, then said, “One of the reasons you were both picked for this assignment is because the CIA has knowledge or belief that Bulus ibn al-Darwish, The Panther, would likely make you a target if he knew you were in Yemen.”
“Actually,” I replied, “it is the only reason we were picked.” I said to Kate, “The Panther is looking for payback for The Lion.” To be sure she understood, I added, “We are Panther bait.”
Kate looked at me, then Buck, then Brenner, and said, “I see.”
“Good,” I said, “and that m
akes us the best-qualified people for this job. Just as Tom told us.”
She thought about that, then instead of saying, “That bastard,” she asked, “Do you think Tom knew that?”
Jeez. Sweetheart, your buddy is a deceitful prick. I said, “Uh… let me think—”
Buck interrupted my sarcasm and said, “None of us knows if he did or not, and it’s really a moot point.”
Not for me, so I said to Buck and to Brenner, “It would have been nice if Tom Walsh or anybody had given us that information in New York so we could have made an informed decision about whether or not we’d like to be bait for a homicidal terrorist.” I asked, “Agreed?”
“Agreed,” agreed Buck. “But you’re here, you’ve heard why you’re here, and now all you have to decide is if you want to stay here or get on that Air Force plane and go home.”
Brenner, to help us decide, pointed out, “Does it really matter who is the hunter and who is the hunted? It doesn’t change the tactical approach that much.”
Actually, it does if you happen to be the hunted. But I understood his point and said, “Right. But we’re talking about truth in job advertising here. We’re off on the wrong foot.”
Brenner replied, “I never lied to you. And I never will.”
We looked at each other and my instincts said to believe him.
I looked at Kate, who I knew was annoyed that she was the last to know. As for me, I’ve gotten used to being lied to by the Feds, but Kate was still capable of being upset by all the bullshit and need-to-know crap.
She said to me, “Apparently you knew about all this, and yet you didn’t tell me.”
I knew that was coming and I replied, “I wanted you to hear it here. And not from me.”
She nodded, but said nothing.
Buck suggested, “We can leave you alone to discuss this.”
I reminded him, “Every word is being recorded. You may as well hear it live and not have to play the tape.”
Brenner said impatiently, “Just give us your decision, please. You already know in your guts what you want to do. So let us know.”
Well, this shouldn’t be that tough of a decision. Do we stay in this dangerous shithole and dangle ourselves from a meathook to attract The Panther? Or do we go home and have dinner in a nice restaurant?
There were career considerations, but that wasn’t too important to me, though it was for Kate.
The bottom line was really about the Cole victims, the war on terrorism, this asshole called The Panther, and maybe a little payback for 9/11. When it’s only about you, you do what’s best for you. But when it’s about something bigger than you, you do what’s right, not what’s best.
I knew why I was here, so I said, “I’m in.”
Kate said, without hesitation, “Me, too.”
“Good,” said Buck. “You won’t regret… Well, you might, but with luck and good teamwork, it will be The Panther who regrets your decision, as well as his own bad decisions.”
Brenner added, “As I said, now that you’re here, we have a good chance of wrapping this up quickly and successfully.” He smiled. “And I can get the hell out of here.”
Buck seconded that, then looked at us and said, “I was Yale, Class of ’65, and in those days, before Vietnam got ugly, and before we lost confidence in ourselves and lost our innocence, we believed in the school motto—‘For God, for Country, for Yale.’ ” He smiled and said, “Well, Yale doesn’t give a damn, and I’m not sure about God, but we do this for our country. Not for the government, but for the people, and for the innocent victims of terrorism. There’s no other reason to be here.”
Can’t argue with that. I mean, the pay is okay, but not good enough to put your life on the line. The ego needs feeding once in a while, but my ego was already stuffed. Adventure and danger are interesting, but I did that every day. So what was left to motivate people like me? Maybe Buck had the simple but rarely spoken answer: patriotism. But also something else that is usually not said in polite American society, and I said to Buck, “Don’t forget revenge.”
He nodded and said, “With the Soviets, I never thought of revenge. But now I think about it often.”
Brenner agreed, “Revenge is good.”
Kate said, “I’ll stick to God and country.”
There was a buzz on the intercom, and Brenner said, “Breakfast. Then we can go over the plan.”
It was good to hear that there was a plan. I was sure I wasn’t going to like the plan, but the bait never does.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The SCIF was off-limits to Yemenis, so Brenner left to meet the kitchen guy in the hallway.
I took the opportunity to ask Buck, “What are his qualifications for this job?”
Buck replied, “Paul is a Vietnam vet—two tours, one as a combat infantryman, one as a military policeman. He’s been decorated for bravery, and he has a B.S. in criminal justice. He’s also been to post-war Vietnam on a clandestine mission.” He added, “Forget that.”
“And how does all that qualify him for this mission?”
Buck seemed a little impatient with me and replied, “He understands police work, as you do, and what we’re doing here is basically looking for a fugitive from justice.” He added, “Also, Paul has been shot at, so if that happens here, he knows how to shoot back.”
“All right.” Basically, Paul Brenner was no more qualified for a Black Ops job than I was—but they weren’t bad qualifications. And I had one up on him—I had a target on my back. Who the hell put this together?
Kate said, “I think we have a good team so far.”
Buck replied to her, “I know we do. And when we apprehend this suspect, then you, as an FBI agent with arrest powers, and as a legal attaché, will make the formal arrest in the name of the people and the government of the United States.”
Kate said, “I’m looking forward to that.”
Me, too. Then I’ll put a bullet in his head and save everyone a lot of trouble.
Brenner returned pushing a cart on which was tea, coffee, and fresh-baked muffins.
We helped ourselves, and Buck informed us, “Yemen is where mocha coffee originated.” He asked me, “How is that?”
“It was probably good last week.”
We were sitting again and Buck said, “I’ll outline some of what we’re thinking, but our fifth team member has a more detailed plan.”
Well, if this was a CIA plan—which it was—then it was probably over-planned, over-thought, and over-complicated. But I’d keep an open mind. My concern was that this plan might rely too much on Mr. and Mrs. Corey’s roles as red meat.
Buck began, “First, we’re positive that Bulus ibn al-Darwish is somewhere in Yemen. That’s why we’re here. What we don’t know is if he knows that John Corey and Kate Mayfield of Lion fame are also here. And third, we can’t be certain that The Panther would make an attempt on your lives if he knew that.” He added, “But we’ll make those assumptions, based on CIA information.”
Brenner said, “As for The Panther knowing you’re in Yemen, the names of all Americans coming through a port of entry are considered a saleable commodity—especially Americans traveling on a diplomatic passport. Those names go to the government, of course, and to the local police and the PSO. And as I told you, the PSO is infiltrated with Al Qaeda members and sympathizers, so Al Qaeda knowing you’re here is not a problem.”
Sounded like a problem to me. But I guess that was the whole idea.
Buck picked up the ball and continued, “We’re hoping and assuming that AQAP—Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula—is competent enough to identify the arriving John Corey and Katherine Mayfield Corey as people whom they’d like to kill.”
“God, I hope so.”
Even Kate laughed. I mean, as I said, you have to laugh.
Kate had a good question and asked, “Don’t you think Al Qaeda will suspect that this is a setup to lure The Panther into a trap?”
Buck reminded us, “You both have good c
over and plausible reasons to be here. John has returned to continue with the Cole investigation. Kate has been assigned to our new Legal Affairs Office.” He added, “It’s not unusual to assign a husband and wife together when possible. Hopefully, Al Qaeda will not think much beyond that.”
Kate wasn’t sure and said, “It seems too pat.”
Buck got philosophical, or maybe metaphorical, and asked, “Does the panther or the lion know that the meat is a trap?” He answered his own rhetorical question and said, “I think he does on some instinctive level. Have you seen those wildlife documentaries where the big cat approaches the live bait—the tethered goat or lamb? He doesn’t charge at the animal. He stalks it and approaches with caution. But the important thing is that he goes for it. Every time. Why? Because he’s hungry and because he’s at the top of the food chain and he’s strong and confident.” Buck paused then said, “And then he’s trapped. Or dead.”
I asked, “What happened to the goat?”
Buck replied, “Who cares? Goats are expendable. But people are not.” He assured us, “You’ll always be covered. More importantly, you can both think for yourselves and defend yourselves. Goats and lambs can’t.”
I looked at my watch and asked, “Can we still make that flight?”
Buck took this as a joke, smiled, and didn’t reply.
Brenner said to Kate and me, “You’re both free to modify any final plan if you think it’s too risky.”
Goes without saying. Also, I had the thought that the CIA would in fact be okay with The Panther eating the goat if it meant getting The Panther. Paranoid? Maybe. But we’d already been lied to, and lies are like cockroaches—if you see one, there are more.
The Panther Page 14