The other thing on Yasir’s mind would be Al Qaeda. They were on my mind, too. It was possible that Al Qaeda had been tipped off by now about the Americans at the Bilqis Hotel and at the ruins, and maybe they had put together a snatch job of their own.
Bottom line, though, if Al Qaeda was around, they’d have to defer to the Bedouin, who’d been here for two thousand years. Right?
Anyway, I saw that we were going southwest, and I could see the hills ahead, meaning we were on our way back to the Crow Fortress, which was the plan. If, however, we were going someplace else-like the Al Qaeda training camp-I was ready to cut this trip short.
I said to Buck, “No detours, no bullshit from Yasir.”
Buck replied, “Relax, please.”
“I’ll relax when I’m on that Otter.”
Kate said, “I’m going to call Chet.”
“Good idea.”
She opened her window and leaned out to get clear sky and dialed Chet on her sat-phone, but he didn’t answer.
Yasir didn’t seem to care if we used our hand-held radios or sat-phones or that our automatic rifles were on our laps, so maybe I shouldn’t be paranoid. We were on our way to the safe house, the Crow Fortress. However, if we found Chet there with his throat cut, that would not be a good sign. Or was I ambivalent about that?
I reminded Kate, “The Predators are watching us.”
Kate reminded me, “You have a Bedouin sitting next to you with an AK-47.”
“Right. I’m on top of that.”
Buck said, “This is all going as planned.”
And it was. So I said to Yasir, “Where did you go to college?”
Buck translated, and Yasir replied, and Buck said to me, “He thanks you for your compliment.”
“What compliment?”
“I told him you said you admired his shiwal.” Buck added, “He might give it to you. Then you have to wear it.”
“Thanks, Buck.”
“And if you keep making me translate silly remarks, you’ll be wearing his underwear.”
Kate thought that was funny, and I was happy she was starting to relax.
Anyway, I gave up on trying to make conversation with Yasir, and I paid attention to where we were going.
Within ten minutes we intersected the wide dirt road that I recognized as our landing strip, and we turned right toward the plateau where the Crow Fortress stood.
Kate said to me, “Try Chet.”
So I opened my window, leaned out, and dialed Chet.
He answered and I said, “We’ve been kidnapped.”
He replied, “I saw that.”
I reminded him, “In case you forgot, we’re in the two small Hiluxes. Tell the Predator pilots.”
“Thank you. Anything further?”
“Any dust?”
There was a short pause, then he replied, “No dust tonight.” Chet let me know, “You should be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Keep the beer cold.”
“Further?”
“Negative.”
So I sat back and relaxed.
Chet thought I was funny, but annoying. Maybe even a bit silly. And it was good that he should think that. There are a lot of felons in jail who thought that.
Brenner, however, ex-cop, recognized the act. Zamo, too, may have seen beyond the jokes, and Buck had also been perceptive enough to figure out my M.O.
Kate, of course, had seen me play dumb and funny with suspects, as well as supervisors. Playing dumb is smart. People let their guard down. And make mistakes.
Buck and Chet were my colleagues, my compatriots, and my teammates. But they were not my trusted friends. In fact, they were up to something.
We got to the ravine at the base of the plateau, and up we went. This was actually scarier in the daylight.
We made it to the top and headed toward the Crow Fortress.
I had no idea how long we were going to be here waiting for the Al Qaeda delegation to come check us out and confirm who we were. But if I had to spend more than a week with Chet and Buck, I’d surrender to the first jihadist who came through the door.
Meanwhile, I had to keep an eye on Chet and Buck. Especially Chet. I could wait to see if Chet was here to settle an old CIA score with Kate and me, or I could confront him with it. If I waited, it might be too late to tell him, “I knew you were up to something.” So maybe I needed to make a pre-emptive strike. Before he did the same.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The five-vehicle kidnap convoy drove through the open gates into the walled courtyard of the Crow Fortress and we all got out of the SUVs.
The two Bedouin hadn’t cut Chet’s throat, and he greeted us and said, “It looked picture perfect on the video monitor.” He added, “I hope enough locals saw it happening, and that by now the word has gotten back to Al Qaeda.”
I asked Chet, “What if the locals or Al Qaeda know or suspect that we’re in the Crow Fortress?”
Chet replied, “That’s possible. But Al Qaeda is not going to interfere with a Bedouin kidnapping or mount an operation against a fortress occupied by Sheik Musa.”
Probably not. But I wouldn’t want to leave here again until The Panther and his jihadists were ready for the goo bags.
We thanked our Bedouin hosts for a pleasant kidnapping experience and climbed up to the second floor of the tower, where we would await further developments, as per Chet’s briefing in Aden.
Chet had retrieved a sat-phone antenna from the van that he’d rigged up in one of the windows, and he plugged his phone into one of the antenna cable jacks, saying, “Now we don’t need clear sky to be in direct sat-phone contact with the Predator ground control station.”
That’s good.
“Or with the embassy, Langley, 26 Fed, or Washington, or anyone who needs to call us.”
That sucks.
He advised us, however, “Sat-phone reception is sometimes spotty and also the PSO could be listening. Maybe even Al Qaeda if they have the capability. So we’ll keep our sat-phone calls to a bare minimum.” He assured us, however, “The satellite radio signal from the van is very strong, and it’s scrambled and encrypted, so that’s secure.”
Bottom line, this was a well-thought-out mission, but the ability to operate in this environment was severely limited. Chet, though, wanted this to work, to show that the CIA could mount surgical strikes in hostile territory as they did so well at the beginning of the Afghan war. The U.S. military and others, however, would like to see boots on the ground. Lots of them. I found myself rooting for the CIA on this one.
So now that we saw the new sat-phone antenna, what else do we do for fun? Maybe we could play Chutes and Ladders with the excrement shaft.
Before I could suggest that, Buck said, “I brought along some magazines, paperback novels, and crossword puzzles to kill the time.”
I asked Chet, “Any more cognac?”
“One bottle for a celebration.”
Let’s celebrate.
Anyway, we all sat cross-legged on the carpet, except for Zamo, who went from window to window with his rifle and binoculars.
Kate asked Buck and Chet, “How long do you think it will take for Sheik Musa to contact Al Qaeda?”
Chet replied, “Could be a day or two.” He explained, “Musa will make it appear that he’s biding his time, maybe exploring his options, or maybe waiting to see if Al Qaeda contacts him to inquire if he knows anything about some kidnapped Amriki.” He added, “It has to play itself out and we don’t want to micromanage Musa.”
No, but we want Musa to get his ass in gear.
Chet also reminded us, “The Panther could have felt the heat here after the Hunt Oil attack, and maybe he left the area. If so, when Musa offers him five kidnapped Americans, The Panther will have to make the decision about coming back here or not, because Musa is not going to leave his tribal lands and go to The Panther with the five Americans.” Chet concluded, “So it could be a long wait. But I’m confident that one way or the other, Bulus ibn al-Darwish will show up in the crosshairs of a Predator drone video camera.”