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.
Chet let the silence drag on, then asked, “Questions?”
Kate asked, “Don’t you think The Panther will smell a trap?”
Chet replied, “The Panther, as a devout Muslim, would not believe that the sheik, also a devout Muslim, would betray him to the Americans, who are, of course, infidels.”
I commented, “That’s a good assumption, making me wonder why Musa would set up a fellow Muslim to be whacked by the infidels.”
Chet replied, “The short answer is the five million bucks. But also Musa and al-Darwish don’t have much else in common beyond their religion. Musa is a royalist and Al Qaeda is anti-royalist. Musa is a Bedouin, and the non-Bedouin Arabs, like al-Darwish, look down on the tribesmen. Plus, most of the tribes in Yemen want Al Qaeda out of their tribal lands.” Chet added, “Also, I think Sheik Musa may not consider Mr. al-Darwish a true Yemeni. In fact, he probably thinks of him as an American intruder.”
Everyone in this room is an American intruder.
Brenner observed, “You’re making a good case for why Musa would betray The Panther, but not a good case for why The Panther would trust Musa and come to this meeting.”
Chet nodded, then said, “The Panther needs a win after the Hunt Oil fiasco, and the recent failed ambush of our convoy, so the opportunity to get five Americans—not tourists, but intelligence operatives, including Mr. and Mrs. Corey, who are on Al Qaeda’s kill list—will be so tempting that he’ll talk himself into taking the risk.” Chet added, “The Panther may not trust Musa, but he won’t want to appear fearful and not go to the meeting.” He also told us, “We have a psychological profile on al-Darwish that I’ll show you on the way to Marib. Bottom line on Bulus ibn al-Darwish is that he’s a megalomaniac.” He looked at us and said, “Delusions of grandeur. Extreme egotism and narcissism.”
Like everyone else in this room. Well… the guys. Kate was mostly normal.
Chet continued, “We can discuss this analysis on the plane. But to answer Mr. Brenner’s question and Ms. Mayfield’s concern, the worst-case scenario would be that The Panther just refuses to show up at the meeting to negotiate, buy, pay for, and take custody of the Americans.”
Actually, I could think of a few even worse scenarios, but I saw Chet’s point. If The Panther didn’t show, then we’d just fly back to Aden and try another approach.
Brenner said to Chet, “The plan sounds okay in theory, and I see it’s been well thought out and that you’ve done a lot of groundwork with Sheik Musa. But I don’t trust the Yemenis, and this plan depends entirely on the assum
ption that everyone from Tariq to Musa is on our side.” He added, “Our lives and this mission are in their hands, and not in our own hands.” Brenner continued, “The only operations that really work are those that are completely run and executed by Americans—or by trusted Western allies. Not paid allies.”
Spoken like a true soldier. And he was right.
Chet replied, “I agree, but that’s not possible in Yemen.” He added, “Ironically, this plan should work precisely because it depends on including some Yemenis in the operation. We’ve never done that before, so The Panther will not think we’re now trusting a Yemeni to help us kill him.”
Chet seemed to have an answer for everything. And they were good answers. And to give Chet some credit, he was putting his own ass out there on the front line. So I guess he believed in this plan.
Buck spoke up. “The plan is not foolproof, but it’s not as dangerous as it sounds.”
“Sure it is,” I assured him.
Buck explained, “The downside for Sheik Musa if he betrays us is so severe—Hellfires and the wrath of the Saudi royal family—that I’m very confident of his loyalty.” He added, “The sheik may switch loyalties next week or next year, but for now the deal is made and he will live up to his end of the bargain.”
Chet agreed and added, “If Musa has changed his mind, he will just tell Tariq to wave us off, and we return to Aden.”
I observed, “Musa may be trustworthy, but all it would take to get us killed is for one of his tribesmen to be working for Al Qaeda.”
Neither Chet nor Buck responded to that, and Chet seemed a bit impatient and got down to the question of our participation in this plan. He looked at me, then at Kate and asked, “Are you all right with this?”
I glanced at Kate, who nodded. I said to Chet, “If you like it, Chet, then we love it.”
“I love it,” Chet assured us. “In fact, I conceived of it.”
Wonderful. It takes an egotist to catch an egotist.
Chet looked at Brenner.
Brenner had probably been betrayed by the natives here and in Southeast Asia one time too many. Nevertheless, he was going to give it another shot and he said, “I’m in.”
“Good,” said Chet. “The A-team is ready to kill The Panther.” He added, “And about a dozen of his jihadists.”
As I said, the bait never likes the plan, but at least Kate and I weren’t the only ones with skin in the game.
Chet, to further incentivize us, said, “I believe, based on what we know of the structure of Al Qaeda in Yemen, that if we kill The Panther and his top lieutenants, and destroy their training camp, then the Al Qaeda attack on the Sheraton won’t happen.”
Buck seconded that and said, “If the Marib operation is successful, Al Qaeda in Yemen will be in disarray and they won’t risk an attack on the Sheraton, which could end in another failure.” He added, “And that is also true for the suspected attack on the embassy.”
Okay. I got it. Captain Mac would be disappointed if he couldn’t kill jihadists attacking the hotel. Same for the Marines in the embassy. But for everyone else in the embassy and the hotel, they would be happy if the attacks didn’t happen—or were at least postponed.
Chet said to us, “We’ll meet in the lobby at midnight. Two DSS vehicles will take us to the airport, where the Otter will be waiting to fly us to Marib.”
This is where the coach gives the team the pep talk, and Buck, our leader and life coach, said to us, “I believe we have assembled an excellent team for this mission, and I thank you for volunteering. There may not be any public glory in this, but somewhere your names will be recorded and known to future generations. You are risking your lives for a cause greater than yourselves, knowing that the success of this mission will make America safer and bring us closer to victory over those who wish us harm.”
Sounds good. Buck had lived long enough to see the end of the Cold War—but none of us would live long enough to see the end of this war.
Chet Morgan got down to specifics and said, “Bulus ibn al-Darwish, al-Numair, The Panther, head of Al Qaeda in Yemen, is a traitor to his country of birth, a mass murderer of innocent civilians and seventeen American seamen, and a sworn enemy of America.” He assured us, “We should have no moral qualms about ending his life and the lives of his jihadists on the field of battle.”
That’s much better than me trying to read him his rights in Arabic.
Chet concluded, “I know someone is watching over us to ensure our success and our safe return home.”
Correct. The Predator drones.
We all stood, shook hands, and left the SCIF tent. Chet went to the balcony to fuel up on whatever, and the rest of us went into the bright light of the hallway.
Buck, obviously not wanting to engage in a post-coital chat, said, “See you later in the lobby,” and walked toward his room.
Kate, Brenner, and I went to the elevator and rode down to our rooms on the third floor.
As I was taught, and as I’d learned over the years, if the goal is simple—like whacking someone—the plan should be simple. When the plan is complex, then something else is going on.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Zamo called our room at 11:30 and said he’d be around to pick up our bags and rifles, explaining, “The CIA guy doesn’t want people in the lobby to see that you’re going on a trip.”
Okay. That’s the problem with conducting anti-terrorist operations from a hotel in Sandland; there could be Al Qaeda snitches watching what you do. Chet had good tradecraft. Also, he probably watches too many spy movies.
Zamo also said, “Mr. Harris wants Ms. Mayfield to pack her balto.”
“Wonderful.” I hung up and said to Kate, “Great news. You have an occasion to wear your balto.”
A little after midnight, Kate and I, wearing cargo pants, desert boots, black T-shirts, sleeveless bush jackets, Kevlar, and concealed Colt .45 automatics, walked into the hotel lobby.
The lobby was nearly deserted, and I didn’t see any of our teammates. I said to Kate, “I’ll look outside.”
“No. Chet said to meet in the lobby.”
Kate, who is usually cool before departing on a dangerous assignment, seemed a bit subdued, maybe uneasy. And who could blame her? I mean, just getting to the airport at this hour had some risks.
Anyway, we took a seat in the lobby and waited for our teammates.
After our meeting with Chet, Brenner had called our room and asked to come by to talk. Not a bad idea.
I was ninety-nine percent sure there were no listening devices in our room, but recalling Chet’s possible eavesdropping, and because of the PSO tent on the nearby ridge, I turned on the TV. Some guy in a beard and robe was literally screaming about something, and I kept hearing the words, “Amrika,” “jihad,” and “mawt,” which means “death.”
I asked Brenner, “Is he a stand-up comic?”
“He’s a mullah,” Brenner replied.
Actually, he was an asshole.
Anyway, we moved three chairs together and leaned close. Brenner got to the point and told us, “I’m not sure about the plan.”
Kate agreed and added, “If I was The Panther, I’d see a setup and smell a trap.”
Thinking about panthers, lions, and other predators, and remembering what Buck said back in Sana’a, I reminded them, “The Panther is always going to be cautious and on his guard. But he wants to eat.” And recalling what Chet said, I added, “If he does smell a trap, he’ll just not show up.” I concluded, “He’s either in the trap or he’s a no-show. I don’t see the danger to us.”
Of course I certainly did see the danger to us. But I wanted to see if Kate or Brenner saw it.
In fact, Brenner said, “The immediate danger isn’t from The Panther. It’s from this guy Sheik Musa. Musa is holding all the cards. Not us, not the CIA, and not even The Panther.”
Kate agreed with Mr. Brenner and said, “We have no idea what the politics are here, or who owes who what, or who is ready to be
tray whom.”
I agreed with that, but to continue to play devil’s advocate, I said, “Chet and Buck made a good case for why Sheik Musa could be trusted, and I don’t see any holes in that logic. I mean, what’s in it for Musa to betray us to Al Qaeda? Hellfire missiles. There’s much more in it for him to take our five million bucks to get rid of Al Qaeda and The Panther.” I explained, “That would not only make the Americans happy, but also make the Saudi royal family happy as well as the idiots in Sana’a. It’s a win-win-win for Sheik Musa.”
Kate and Brenner thought about that, and they both nodded, though reluctantly.
Of course there were other parts and pieces to this plan and to the bigger picture. For one thing, Brenner might or might not know that his new friend Kate had whacked a CIA officer. But was that relevant to what was going to happen in Marib? Possibly.
And then there was the Political Security Organization. Yemen’s CIA. Birds of a feather, as Buck said in an unguarded moment. Why did Chet not address the question of his Yemeni counterparts?
Kate, thinking along the same lines, said, “Chet never mentioned the PSO, the National Security Bureau, or the Yemeni Army. That’s like totally discounting the fact that even this place has a security apparatus.” She added, “Colonel Hakim knows from the prisoner where The Panther was last seen, and he can guess that we’re going there.”
Brenner agreed. “This is true. We could wind up in a confrontation with the army, the NSB, or the PSO.”