Thirty minutes, if I was driving. Wow. This sounded too good to be true.
Chet asked, “Any questions? Any problems?”
It was Kate who said, “We intend to stay here until it’s over. We are going to the scene of the attack with you and we are flying out of there together on the Otter.”
Chet informed her, “That’s not going to happen, Kate.” He reminded us, “These are orders from the top.” He added, nicely, “But I appreciate your dedication.”
Brenner asked, “What’s the purpose of us leaving now? I’m not understanding why we’re splitting up.”
Chet explained, “Something could go wrong as we drive between here and the scene of the attack, or at the scene, or something could go wrong with our rendezvous with the Otter.” He further explained in a paternalistic tone of voice, “There is no reason for all of us to take that risk, and there is every reason to split up so as to ensure that… well, some of us get out of here.”
Right. But who?
Chet added, “We don’t want a situation where the mission is successful but the whole team is lost.”
Like, the operation was a success, but the patient died. Got it.
Kate asked Chet, “Do you think it’s safe for a single vehicle to drive from here to the Marib airstrip?”
Chet assured her and us, “The roads are safe enough in the daylight, and you don’t have to worry about a Bedouin guest kidnapping in Sheik Musa’s territory, and you don’t even have to worry about Al Qaeda, who rarely leave these highlands in the daylight.” He reminded us, “If you move fast, you’ll be at the airstrip before anyone even knows you’re on the road, or even knows who you are. These Land Cruisers are generally recognized as Bedouin vehicles, and as you know, the windows are tinted, but Kate should wear her balto and sit in the rear.” He again assured us, “You’ll have a Predator covering you just in case, and we have sat-phone contact with each other. The drive to the airstrip should be a piece of cake.” He inquired, “Any worries?”
I, like Buck, had remained uncharacteristically silent, but I now asked, “Any reason we won’t have a Bedouin escort?”
Chet replied, “You don’t need that, and quite frankly, if something goes wrong at the scene of the attack, the last thing you want is a carload of Bedouin near you talking to other Bedouin on their cell phones.”
Chet, it seemed, was concerned about our safety and our survival. And he and Buck would do the dangerous job of driving to the scene of the carnage, then they’d do the dirty work of collecting, bagging, and labeling the mortal remains of The Panther and his men, and maybe they’d also take some photos of the dead—as The Panther had done at the ruins. As for Sheik Musa, I was sure he and his Bedouin would be long gone from the scene, either in their Land Cruisers—or on their way to Paradise. So either way, Chet and Buck didn’t have to deal with them. Check’s in the mail, sheik.
And did Brenner, Kate, or I need to be here for any of that? Not really, but I was going to miss the blood and guts, and the smoking bones and flesh. That’s not fair.
Chet asked us, “Any other worries?”
“Worries” was a word designed to make us look and feel like nervous troops who needed to man up and follow orders. Chet, like most crazy people, thought he was the smartest man in the room—or in the fish van. Well, he wasn’t. That would be me.
Anyway, I looked at Kate, then at Brenner, and we exchanged glances of, I guess, acceptance of the situation.
I said to Chet, “Okay. No worries.”
Kate said, “I’m not okay with this, but I understand.”
Brenner said, “I also understand the reasoning. But Zamo will make his own decision about coming with us or staying here.”
Chet said, “His orders are to stay here and provide security.”
Brenner replied, “I don’t care what his orders are. He’s not under your control. He’s under the control of the DSS and me.”
Chet didn’t reply, and Buck didn’t explain to Chet about embassy procedures and protocols.
Finally, Chet conceded, “All right. It’s his decision.”
But we—Kate, Brenner, and me—had no decision to make. We had been ordered to get out. Not by Chet, but by someone at the top. To be honest, I was more than a little ambivalent about this. Getting a head start on the trip home was good, and the road trip to Marib airstrip was a much smaller danger than sticking around here for the fireworks. Still, this was a big disappointment, and I’m sure Kate and Brenner felt the same. But Chet and the mission planners were right—if we split up, there was a better chance of someone getting back to make a full report, and Washington needed a few people alive to congratulate.
Chet said to us, “Take only what you need and be on the road in ten minutes. When you land in Saudi Arabia, you’ll turn in your weapons, Kevlar, and commo, and you’ll be flying up to Riyadh Airport within fifteen minutes.” He further instructed us, “Burn the passports that Buck gave you and take your dip passports for the international flight to the U.S.”
Chet kept mentioning that flight home as though us hearing it would make us believe it was going to happen. And maybe it was. And maybe it wasn’t.
Chet also reminded us, “Stick your head in here before you leave.”
I promised him, “We wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye, Chet.”
He smiled.
I said to Buck, “See you later.”
He nodded, sort of smiled, and said to us, “See you later.”
The now-unemployed members of the A-team left the fish van, mission completed.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
We returned to the tower, and Brenner called Zamo down from the mafraj and told him what was happening.
Brenner said, “It’s your decision if you want to stay here and cover Buck and Chet or come with us to Marib.”
Zamo didn’t agonize much over his decision and replied, “I work for you.” He also reminded Brenner, “I don’t get paid to make decisions.”
Brenner did get paid to make decisions, and he said to Zamo, “You’ll come with us.”
I suggested, “Let’s get moving.”
We gathered up what we needed, which all fit into our overnight bags, and we left everything else for the Bedouin, including my socks and underwear.
Kate slipped her balto over her clothes, and we went down to the livestock and excrement level and built a small bonfire of passports and crumpled magazine pages, which Zamo lit with a match from his field survival kit. We made sure everything burned, then we went out into the fading sunlight of the courtyard.
The Bedouin were still sitting and squatting along the wall, probably thinking about their approaching sundown prayers, and a new recipe for goat.
Kate covered her face with her hijab, and Brenner, in his limited Arabic, seemed to be thanking our hosts for their hospitality. The Bedouin remained sitting as they all said, “As-salaam alaikum.”
Brenner responded with, “Wa alaikum as-salaam.”
And arrivederci.
Brenner said something to Yasir, who stood and waved his arm toward the parked SUVs, and Brenner told us, “He says take any one we want.”
“Which one has the bag of khat?”
Brenner didn’t ask, but Yasir did give us three shiwals, one off his own head and two from his buddies, and Brenner said to us, “This is a gift to remember them by.”
And they have my underwear to remember me.
Brenner told them that everything we’d left behind, which was mostly luggage, clothing, and one can of mixed vegetables, was theirs to keep. And, no, they couldn’t have Zamo’s sniper rifle.
I said to Yasir, “See you in New York. Ben’s Deli.” I also said, “Shuqran,” which means “thanks.”
We threw our overnight bags into the rear of one of the Land Cruisers, and carrying our weapons, we all walked to the fish van.
Chet and Buck were still watching the screens, and Chet was on the radio speaking to someone. As we entered, he said into the mi
c, “I’ll call you back. Out.”
He and Buck stood, and Chet said, “So, you’re taking Zamo.”
Brenner replied, without explanation, “We are.”
It was Buck who said, “The Bedouin in the courtyard are all the security we need, and some of them will accompany us to the scene.”
So we said our good-byes without getting too teary-eyed, and we all agreed that the A-team had performed admirably.
Chet said to us, “Thank you for your very professional performance.” He admitted, “It hasn’t always been easy to work together, but we’ve put our differences aside in the service of our country.” He looked at me and said, smiling, “You have been a challenge, Mr. Corey, but I’d rather work with a man like you than someone who never questions authority.”
“Thank you.” I think. Why do I always get singled out? This started in grade school.
Anyway, Buck added, “You can all be proud of your work here. Thank you for volunteering and for putting your lives at risk.” He reminded us, “The homeland will be a little safer after Bulus ibn al-Darwish is dead.”
I reminded Buck, “We have a rendezvous under the clock at Grand Central Station.”
“I’ll be there,” Buck promised. “We’ll stay in touch.”
Chet said, “I’ll try to be there, too.”
You weren’t invited, Chet. But, hey, anyone who’s alive at the end of today is invited.
Buck, and even Chet, hugged Kate, we all shook hands, and we wished each other good luck and Godspeed.
Buck said, “As-salaam alaikum.”
To relive our first meeting a million years ago, I smiled and said, “That’s easy for you to say.”
He smiled.
We left the van and piled into the Land Cruiser. Brenner was behind the wheel, Zamo was riding shotgun, and Kate and I were in the rear. The gentlemen had their shiwals with them, but no one saw any need to wear them at this time.
Yasir got off his butt and ran across the courtyard to open the gate as we approached it. We all waved to Yasir, who seemed delighted to see us go. But not as delighted as we were.
Brenner drove around the courtyard walls of the Crow Fortress, our home away from home, and we headed across the rocky plateau, toward the rock pile where the Bedouin guarded the northern approach to the fortress.
Brenner was following the dusty tracks of the other vehicles that had been to the Crow Fortress, and I asked him, “Do you know where you’re going?”
He hesitated, then replied, “Down the north slope… to pick up the Marib road.” He assured us, “I’ve been to the airstrip and I can find it.”
“Good.” We continued on toward the north edge of the plateau.
Kate said, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Brenner assured her, “It is, and within an hour we’ll be on board a Company aircraft lifting off and heading for Saudi Arabia.” He added, “Probably Najran airfield.”
Kate asked, “Does anyone feel… sorry or disappointed that we didn’t stay until the end?”
Brenner and I, who are really in touch with our feelings, agreed that we would have liked to be there for the grand finale. Zamo, probably not into his feelings, said, “Tactically, this makes sense.” He added, “But it sucks.”
We continued on, and up ahead I could see the big rock formations and the SUV at the edge of the plateau where Musa’s men sat in the shadows of the rocks.
I said to Brenner, “Slow down.”
He reduced his speed and asked me, “What’s up?”
I replied, “Here’s what’s up, Paul. Not too long ago, Kate killed a CIA officer—in self-defense.” I asked him, “Did you know that?”
He hesitated, then replied, “I heard.”
“Good.” And you still have the hots for her? Brave man. I sleep with one eye open. Just kidding. I continued, “I think the Company is looking for some rough justice on that.”
Kate said, “John, we are not supposed to discuss this—”
“This is really important, Kate. Do not interrupt.” I continued, “As if Kate killing this guy wasn’t bad enough, we had also inadvertently messed up a CIA plan to turn most of the Mideast into a nuclear wasteland.”
It was quiet in the Land Cruiser, and I continued, “So, Kate and I know this big secret, and we’re sworn to silence forever—in exchange for the Company giving Kate a pass on the firearm incident. But the CIA doesn’t really work that way.”
Brenner, happily, agreed with me and said, “No, they don’t.”
“Right. They might let the gun incident go, but they are not comfortable with two witnesses walking around with that knowledge about the nuclear Armageddon that they’d planned for Sandland.”
Brenner was driving even slower now, and he seemed to be thinking. Finally, he realized I’d said my piece, and asked, “So what… what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Kate and I, and anyone who happens to be with us, are not getting out of Yemen alive.”
No one had a response to that, and I explained, “That’s why Kate and I are here—this is the perfect killing zone. No one answers to anyone for anything here. It’s a black hole.” I added, “And this is Operation Clean Sweep.”
Brenner stopped the Land Cruiser. He glanced in his rearview mirror and said, “Kate? Do you believe this?”
My soul mate replied, “No, I do not.”
Zamo, who usually has no opinion, said, “I do.”
There you go. It’s settled.
Brenner asked the obvious question. “How do you think this… this is going to happen?”
“I’ll get to that later, but I can say it will happen between right here and the Marib airstrip.”
No one had any response to that.
I asked, “Why do you think we’re in this SUV, out of the Crow Fortress and away from Chet and Buck?”
Brenner replied, “What Chet said makes perfect tactical and operational sense.”
“Indeed, it does, which is why my paranoia wasn’t supposed to kick in. And you know what? I’m only, let’s say, seventy-three percent sure I’m right about Chet wanting to get me and Kate whacked.”
Kate said, “If we sit here all day, we could get killed. We need to get to the airstrip.”
Brenner asked me the next logical question. “What does this—if it’s true—have to do with me, or with Zamo?”
I replied, “You are just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s logical that you would be ordered to leave with Kate and me, and if you weren’t, that would look suspicious. As for Zamo, he was never going to stay behind. That was all bullshit to make this look like a tactically sound plan.” I informed Mr. Brenner, “Buck knew exactly what you were going to say about Zamo staying here, and one way or the other, Zamo was not going to stay with Buck and Chet.” I added, “And if he did, Chet would kill him with an AK-47, take his sniper rifle, and make it look like the Bedouin did it.”
Both men remained silent, then Brenner said, “I’m just not buying that Zamo and I are going to get wasted by our own people just because we happen to be with you.”
“You should believe it, but here’s another reason you’re not in a good place—for all Chet knows, I or Kate have confided in you about my suspicions, and you are therefore a person like us who knows too much.” I reminded him and everyone, “And in this business, when you know what you’re not supposed to know, you become a worry to the Company.” I added, “The Company chose well when they chose Chet Morgan for this job.” I explained, in case no one noticed, “He’s crazy.”
Brenner, Kate, and Zamo thought about all that, and I could imagine them concluding that John didn’t need a Kevlar vest as much as he needed a strait-jacket.
But Brenner, either avoiding the topic of my paranoia, or maybe testing it, asked, “So do you think Buck is in on this?”
That was a tough call. The answer was that Buckminster Harris had been in the deception business so long, he really didn’t know what was real and what he was m
aking up. Right and wrong was a little blurry, too. Plus, he just enjoyed the game. I was sure he liked me, Kate, and all of us, but if Chet presented him with a national security problem and a solution, then Buck would work with Chet on both. Nothing personal.
Finally, I replied, “Buck has to be in on it.”
Well, by now, Paul Brenner was waiting for me to announce that I’d been abducted by space aliens. But he was smart enough to be concerned, and he was still enough of a cop to want all the info. He said to me, “Even if you’re right… I mean, you’re giving Chet a lot of credit for being some kind of genius…”
“He’s out of his fucking mind,” I assured everyone. “But he’s smart. I, however, am smarter.” I asked my seatmate, “Right?”
She didn’t reply. Clearly Kate was upset, and she was obviously worried that I’d slipped over the edge.
Brenner, in fact, said, “Look, we’ve all been under a lot of stress—”
“All right,” I said, “drive on.” I promised everyone, “We’ll see what happens.”
But Brenner didn’t drive. He asked me, “What do you think is going to happen?”
I replied, “I think that a Predator drone, under the command of the Central Intelligence Agency, and under the operational control of Chet Morgan in his fish van, is going to launch a Hellfire missile at this vehicle and kill everyone inside it.” I added, “The Predator pilot, wherever he is, will be clueless, or at least unsure, but he’ll do what the operational control guy on the scene—Chet—tells him to do.”
It was Zamo who spoke first. “Yeah. That could happen.”
It sure could. I also said, “The Company has picked this method of a friendly fire accident to send a clear message that it wasn’t friendly and it wasn’t an accident.”
Brenner stayed quiet awhile, then said to me, “Okay… what are we supposed to do?”
The Panther Page 52