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.”
“And you?”
“Many times.” Chet continued, “All the transponders will be turned on when Tariq sets them on the road, but just before our arrival, Tariq will consider wind conditions and other factors, then turn off the threshold transponders at one end of the runway—the end he doesn’t want us to approach from. The pilots will now know the direction of their landing, but more importantly, if all the transponders are still on at both ends of the road—or if none of them are on—that would mean that Tariq, for some reason, is out of action.”
“Or sleeping like those schmucks who were supposed to videotape the Cole explosion.”
Chet forced a polite smile and continued, “That will be our first indication that we need to pull up and keep going.” He went on, “If the transponders are all set properly, then the pilot will ask Tariq by radio a single question—‘Any dust?’ Tariq will say ‘Yes’ if there are unfriendlies in the area, or if he has a gun pressed to his head. If Tariq says, ‘No dust tonight,’ then it’s all clear. And he will double verify that he is not under duress by also saying ‘Safe landing’ as we approach the runway.” Chet added, unnecessarily, “If he doesn’t say those words, or if the threshold transponders are not properly set, then we fly directly back to Aden.”
I saw this in a World War II movie once, but the pathfinder got captured by the Nazis, who tortured him and made him give them the sign and countersign for all clear. Everyone on the incoming aircraft was captured or killed. War is hell.
Buck told us, “I’ve made a few night landings around the country under similar circumstances, and it’s always gone well.”
Obviously, or you wouldn’t be here to say that.
Chet added, “Al Qaeda is too stupid to have identified Tariq as working for us, but even if they did, they’re too stupid to follow him, and too stupid to turn him around. They’d just kill him.” He added, “They’re not Germans.”
He must have seen that movie. But Al Qaeda was not that stupid.
Chet also assured us, “Predators will be watching our approach and landing.”
Kate said, “I’m okay with this. Let’s move on.”
Chet continued, “After we land, we will be met by a local sheik. Sheik Musa.” He explained, “No operation in the tribal lands can succeed without the cooperation and armed security of at least one local sheik. Musa’s tribesmen will take us by car to a remote safe house and his men will provide security for us.”
Really? What are you chewing, Chet? I mean, letting Tariq in on this was risky enough—but letting a whole tribe of crazy Bedouin in on it was suicidal.
No one had anything positive to say about the travel arrangements, and I sensed that Chet was losing the confidence of the team. Chet understood that, too, and continued matter-of-factly, “Sheik Musa has provided us with assistance in the past, and he is well compensated for his help.”
Silence.
So Chet further informed us, “Musa’s tribal lands encompass the ancient ruins of Marib, and he provides security and protection to tour groups, scholars, archaeologists, and others who visit the ruins. This is a very lucrative arrangement for him,” he assured us, “and on that basis alone he can be trusted to do what he’s paid to do and what’s best for him, which is to keep the peace.”
I guess. Money talks. But didn’t I just hear that nine Belgian tourists disappeared at the Marib ruins? And weren’t their guide and driver found with their throats cut? Maybe that was another Marib.
I waited for Chet to mention this, but he went on, “Sheik Musa is not happy with Al Qaeda, most of whom are not Yemenis and not royalists as he is—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “I seem to remember that nine Belgian tourists went missing at the Marib ruins last summer.”
Chet looked at me and I could see his icy blue eyes narrowing in the dim light. Finally, he said, “I was about to get to that.”
“Sorry. I thought you forgot about that.”
He informed us, “No one knows who was involved in that incident, but it certainly wasn’t Sheik Musa.”
“Right. But Sheik Musa, protector of Western tourists and scholars, fell down on the job. No?”
I could see that Chet was annoyed, Kate was concerned, and Brenner, who had to know about this incident, was quiet.
Buck, who’d forgotten to mention this to me and Kate, explained, “Sheik Musa took full responsibility for his failure to protect these tourists, and he’s provided Yemeni and Western authorities with some leads.” He added, “The sheik was embarrassed and angry, and he has vowed to avenge this insult to his honor and his reputation.” Reminding me and Kate of his classroom lecture, Buck said, “When a Yemeni extends his hospitality, and someone else violates that hospitality, that violator becomes the subject of a blood feud.”
Chet added, “And for that reason, Sheik Musa can be trusted.”
Right. Lots of reasons to trust Sheik Musa. And for all I know, he’s looking for a visa to open a deli in Brooklyn. Still, I had some doubts. Also, it seemed to me that Buck, who had denied detailed knowledge of the operational plan, knew more than he’d let on. But I already knew that.
Chet said, “Al Qaeda are the primary suspects in this incident, but it could also have been a tribal kidnapping that went badly.” He added, “Not Musa’s tribe, obviously.”
I informed Chet, “The Belgian authorities were told by a captured Al Qaeda operative in Brussels that it was Al Qaeda, and that the Belgians are probably dead.”
Chet wanted to ask me where I got my information, but he didn’t. He said, “Point is, Sheik Musa works for us. Not Al Qaeda, and not the Yemeni government.”
Buck also informed us, “The sheik owes his loyalty to the Saudi royal family, who have him on retainer.” He further advised us, “A Saudi prince has had a letter delivered to Sheik Musa, a copy of which I have, asking him to provide us with hospitality, safe passage, and any assistance we may need.” Buck let us know, “That letter to the sheik from the Saudi prince is worth more than all the gold, money, or weapons we could give him.”
I inquired, “Is there anyone you forgot to tell that we’re going to Marib?”
Buck did not reply, but Chet said, “We have no choice but to reach out to people who are… situational allies.”
I asked, “Do our Yemeni government allies know we are going to Marib?”
Chet replied, “Not from me.”
“Can they guess?”
“Maybe.”
I thought of Colonel Hakim, but I didn’t ask.
Chet inquired, “Can we move on?”
Everyone nodded and Chet continued, “Sheik Musa will have two SUVs at the safe house for us to use. We will stay in the safe house overnight, then at about one or two P.M. we’ll drive to Marib town, as though we’ve just arrived from Sana’a, and we’ll check into the Bilqis Hotel where we have reservations under our own names. Then we drive to the ruins, to see and be seen. We’re trying to pass as tourists, but virtually no one will believe that. The word will be out that we’re on an Al Qaeda hunt—a Panther hunt.” He continued, “Sheik Musa will provide protection for this trip, though it’s only about ten kilometers between the safe house, the town, and the ruins. At the ruins, there may also be National Security police for protection.”
Brenner said, “I hope we’re not there on the
day they’re working for Al Qaeda.”
Funny. Unless you were going there.
Brenner inquired, “Can we carry our M4s at the ruins?”
“No,” replied Chet. “As I said, we’re going as tourists.”
I thought tourists carried automatic rifles in Yemen. If they didn’t, they should. There’d be fewer dead tourists and more dead terrorists.
Chet assured us, however, “We will wear Kevlar and carry our handguns, concealed.”
Brenner asked, “How about Zamo?”
“He will stay with our vehicles close to the ruins with his sniper rifle. Also, our M4s will be in the vehicles.”
Brenner didn’t seem keen on this, but he said nothing.
I really wanted to ask if Dr. Clare was going with us, but Kate might misconstrue my question. Maybe I should cough, then ask.
As if reading my mind, Kate asked, “Is Dr. Nolan coming with us?”
“No,” replied Chet.
Why not?
Chet told us, “It’s too dangerous.”
That’s why we need a doctor, Chet.
Well, no one had anything to say about that, but Chet’s statement certainly put things into perspective.
I said, “I hope we’re taking Howard along to advise us if we’re doing anything illegal.”
Chet replied, “If this was an FBI operation, we’d need six lawyers.”
Touché.
Chet continued, “On our way back from the ruins to the Bilqis Hotel, about dusk, our two vehicles will be stopped by tribesmen in vehicles, and we will offer no resistance as we’re kidnapped.”
Huh?
Chet continued, “We will be taken back to the safe house to await developments.”
Developments? Like what? Having our throats cut?
But Buck assured us, “It’s all a sham, of course. The kidnappers are Sheik Musa’s men. We’ll have our weapons, and we’ll be under the watchful eye of Predator drones armed with Hellfire missiles.”
Great. And who controls the Predators? Chet. And he’s been kidnapped.
Chet clarified that and said, “At the safe house is a van, which is a mobile Predator ground monitoring station, so I won’t actually be with you when you check into the Bilqis Hotel, or at the Marib ruins, or when you’re kidnapped. I’ll be at the safe house, watching the live camera feeds from the drone that is watching you, and the other drone that is watching the safe house.” He added assuringly, “If something happened to me, or to the ground monitoring station at the safe house, then the Predators will pass under the control of the distant ground control station where the pilots maintain satellite radio control of the drones.” He added, “They will, if necessary, use the Hellfires.” He asked us, “Understand? Any questions?”
Lots of questions, but Chet was on a roll so we shook our heads.
Chet continued, “Once we’re all assembled back at the safe house, ostensibly as the kidnapped guests of Sheik Musa, the sheik will get the word to the Al Qaeda operatives in the area that the sheik has a present for them—a team of American intelligence operatives, including Mr. John Corey and Ms. Kate Mayfield, both of whom work for the Anti-Terrorist Task Force, and who are both on Al Qaeda’s kill list.” He added, “Buckminster Harris is also known to Al Qaeda, and they would like to question him. Mr. Brenner, I’m sorry to say, is not that important to them, though they’d like to question and kill him as well. And your sniper, Zamo, would make a nice trophy, and they’d like to have his sniper rifle.” He paused, smiled, then said, “As for me, Al Qaeda has never killed a CIA officer, so cutting my head off will make them look good.”
And it might make the rest of us feel good. Sorry. That was not nice. Actually, I was developing some real respect for Chet Morgan. He had balls. He was also crazy, and probably a liar. But very cool, very smart, and apparently fearless.
Chet added, however, “Since I won’t be with you when you all check into the Bilqis Hotel, or go to the ruins and get kidnapped, then I’m not known to be in Marib, and I won’t be offered to Al Qaeda.” He further explained, “Al Qaeda in Yemen equates CIA officers with Predators and Hellfire missiles, and we don’t want to put that into their heads.”
Right. That’s why they’re called spooks. They’re there, but no one can see them. But I was okay with this, and Kate and Brenner seemed to be, too. Buck, of course, already knew this plan.
Regarding the plan, I had a few problems with it, and I asked, “Why would The Panther or Al Qaeda think that Sheik Musa would kidnap Americans if he’s paid to protect Westerners and if he wants Marib to remain a must-see tourist destination?”
“Good question,” replied Chet. He explained, “The sheik has promised Al Qaeda that his tribal lands will be neutral. Tourists and scholars are welcome, but American intelligence operatives are not. They—we—are fair game.”
“Okay. Sounds plausible. But why would Sheik Musa go to Al Qaeda with the six—sorry, five—kidnapped Americans if the sheik is not on good terms with Al Qaeda?”
Chet nodded as though he expected the question and replied, “Money.” He expanded on that. “Al Qaeda believes they have established an accommodation with Sheik Musa, based on money.” He informed us, “Al Qaeda and the sheik negotiated a deal for Al Qaeda to set up their training camp in one of the sheik’s Bedouin camps, so while Al Qaeda doesn’t trust Sheik Musa, they think he can be bought.”
I pointed out, “Sounds like he was bought.”
Chet shook his head and explained to me patiently, “That was our idea, Mr. Corey. Now we know where the training camp is.”
Right. Clever. If true. I asked, “Why don’t we take out the camp?”
“It’s better to watch it.” Chet also let us know, “It appears from Predator observation and from local sources that The Panther never goes to the camp, but if he did, and if we could establish that, we’d have put a Hellfire up his ass a long time ago.”
“Got it.”
“As part of Musa’s neutrality deal with Al Qaeda,” Chet continued, “Al Qaeda is not allowed to carry out any armed operations within Sheik Musa’s tribal territory. But when Al Qaeda kidnapped—and murdered—the Belgians, and made it look like a tribal kidnapping, Musa told Al Qaeda he was pissed off. Al Qaeda denied any involvement in the disappearance of the Belgians, but they gave Musa some money and weapons and smoothed it over. But Musa didn’t believe them, so when he got word of the planned Al Qaeda attack on the Hunt Oil installation, he tipped us off—for ten thousand dollars—and we sent observation drones into the area and relayed the info to the Hunt security forces, who, as you know, were ready for the attack. But Al Qaeda can never be sure who, if anyone, ratted them out—though Sheik Musa told Al Qaeda he was looking into it.”
It was hard to follow the lies and the liars without a scorecard. In the world I lived in, a lie was a deal-breaker—or got you some jail time. In this world, getting caught in a lie meant you needed a bigger and better lie, or at least a nice gift for the guy who caught you in a lie.
Chet said to me, “So to answer your question, Al Qaeda believes that Sheik Musa will make a deal with them, when it is in the sheik’s best interest to do so.” He also added, “The sheik has not canceled the lease on the Al Qaeda training camp—at our request—and Al Qaeda sees that as a positive sign that the sheik is in business to make money.” On that subject, he informed us, “For five kidnapped American intelligence operatives, Al Qaeda will pay the sheik… maybe a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Each?” I inquired.
“No. Together.” He smiled. “Don’t overestimate your worth.”
Right. Life here is cheap.
Chet also told us, “The National Security police were paid about four hundred dollars to do a disappearing act on the Belgians.”
Very cheap.
So, to recap, Sheik Musa was a double-dealing, double-crossing rat fink who was collecting bribes, rent, and retainers all over the place. He’d make a good New York City landlord. And was I supposed to believe
that the Al Qaeda attack on the Belgian tourists was a complete surprise to him? Chet believed that. Or said he did. Buck, too. Sheik Musa’s stated goal to make his tribal lands the Switzerland of Yemen—or Arabia Felix—seemed to have some inconsistencies and problems of the sheik’s own making. But this was the Mideast, where nothing made any sense.
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.”