Maybe. But the problem was the long wait, and I asked Chet, “How long do we wait?”
“As long as it takes.”
Holy shit. I asked, “What happens when the tuna runs out?” I prompted him, “Come on, Chet. What’s the max time we sit here doing crossword puzzles?”
Chet thought about that, then replied, “I say we give it two weeks. After that we may have a security problem.”
Not to mention a mental health problem. I mean, two weeks in this dungeon? We could get a disease. Call Clare.
Chet also informed us, “The decision is not wholly ours to make. I need to consult with Langley on a day-to-day basis.” He added, “We’ll play it by ear.”
I suggested, “We should also stay in touch with Sheik Musa. He’s the guy who’s in touch with Al Qaeda.”
Chet replied, “We don’t call Musa. Musa calls us.”
Buck also informed us, “The Arabs in general, and the Bedouin in particular, have a different sense of time than we do in the West.” He let us know, “They can negotiate for months over even a simple matter. They’re in no rush.”
But Chet was more reassuring and said, “The Panther, having a half-American head, will probably come to a quick decision.” He added, “He’s impatient. And hungry.”
“Me, too.”
So we had a long wait. Or a short wait. In the end, the best-laid trap still depends on the guy you’re trying to trap.
Kate had a good question. “Will our disappearance-or kidnapping-be reported to the media?”
Buck replied to that. “There is a news blackout at the embassy PIO office.” He smiled and said, “Which is redundant since the PIO doesn’t put out many news releases from Yemen anyway.” He added, “As for snooping Western journalists, there are virtually no resident American news organizations in Yemen. Only the BBC has an office in Sana’a, and the lone reporter there is on extended home leave. As for Yemeni journalists, or government sources, they either know nothing or they’ve been told to know nothing.”
Right. This was truly the Land That Time Forgot, and the black hole of the Mideast, and you could be missing here for months before anyone outside of Yemen noticed.
Kate asked, “What if our friends or family don’t hear from us, or are trying to contact us?”
I said to Kate, “If you mean your parents, consider this a vacation.” No, I didn’t say that. I kept my mouth shut.
Buck replied, however, “Each of us will write a note that will be delivered by our respective offices in the States to anyone on your list.” He advised us, “Keep it general, and don’t mention that you’ve been kidnapped.” He smiled.
Buck also advised us, “Any inquiries to our offices coming from friends or families will be handled by the embassy in Sana’a.” He added, “We should have no problem staying incommunicado for a week or two.”
Chet informed us, “I stay out of touch with friends and family for weeks at a time.” He added, “Comes with the job.”
Also, no one gives a shit if they don’t hear from you. In fact, they welcome it. That’s not nice. Someone somewhere loved Chet.
On that subject, we knew virtually nothing about Chet’s personal life, and he never volunteered a word. But Kate took the opportunity to ask him, “Are you married?”
Chet hesitated a second, then replied, “I am estranged from my wife.”
Maybe that has to do with Chet being strange.
Kate said, as women do, “I’m sorry.”
The wife is probably not.
Chet volunteered, “This assignment and the separation has put a strain on the marriage.”
I’ll say. And I did feel a little sorry for him. On the bright side, he could have four wives here… or maybe only three. He’s already got one. Right?
Buck, who had seemed to make his marriage work despite decades of foreign assignments-or maybe because of that-said, “This business is difficult for family life. We sacrifice a great deal for our country and sometimes I’m not sure it’s appreciated by the country.”
How about never? And why do we care? We do what we do for other reasons. Appreciation is not part of the plan.
Buck said, regarding the long or short wait here, “Let’s be optimistic and assume that we’ll be on a plane heading home before anyone even knows we are missing.”
Okay. Let’s be optimistic.
I opened one of the crossword books and said, “An Arab who ran out of ammunition? Eight letters.”
Brenner, who knew the joke, replied, “A moderate.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
It was dinnertime and we feasted on canned tuna, cold mixed vegetables, and tawwa bread, all washed down with warm bottled water. Chet had a smoke.
The light was fading and we lit a few kerosene lanterns. Out in the courtyard it was prayer time again and the Bedouin were praying loudly, making me homesick for Brooklyn.
After the call to prayer, Chet announced that he had to do a sit-rep and he was going to use the secure radio in the van. I said I’d keep him company, and we both went down to the courtyard where he unlocked the van and we entered.
Chet checked his voice mail and text messages, then made his sit-rep-all okay-then signed off and swiveled his chair toward me. He asked, “You wanted to talk to me?”
“I do.” I remained standing and said to him, “About Ted Nash.”
He nodded.
“You knew him.”
He nodded again, then said, “But not well.”
“Whatever. Here’s the deal, Chet. My wife, before we were married, was involved with Nash.” I looked at his face in the dim light of the console. “You know that?”
“I heard.”
“So what happened was maybe more personal than business.”
He didn’t respond.
I continued, “On the other hand, Nash, a few seconds before his death, had a gun pointed at us-at me and Kate-and that was business. Did you know that?”
“I don’t know the details.”
“I’m giving you the details. Here’s another detail. Nash was involved in a rogue operation that would have caused a nuclear attack by the U.S. on the world of Islam.” I asked, “Did you know that?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you that I did.” He added, however, “I did not.”
“Now you know.” I further informed him, “That might sound like a good idea to you-nuke ’em, as I said, and you agreed. But wiping out tens of millions of innocent people and leaving the Mideast a nuclear wasteland is not really a good idea.”
He smiled and replied, “That’s your opinion.”
“Yeah. And my opinion was the one that counted.” I also informed Chet, “Kate and I were prisoners of a nut job who was going to kill us. And Nash knew this. In fact, after Kate and I whacked the nut job, Nash showed up and was going to finish the job for the psycho. Follow?”
“I guess.”
“So we’re talking about self-defense, with maybe a little personal history between the parties.”
“Okay. But what does this have to do with me? Or this mission?”
“You tell me.”
“Okay. Nothing.”
“Try again.”
Chet stayed silent a moment, then said, “I think I see how your paranoid mind is working. And to be honest, I can understand how you might reach some wild and erroneous conclusions. But-”
“No buts, Chet. Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that Kate and I were asked to come here because we’re perfect for this job?”
“You are perfect for this job, John. And so is Kate.”
“Right. Perfect in every way.”
He asked me a question that I’d asked myself. “If you really believe what you’re suggesting, why in the world did you come here?”
“Because, Chet, this is the belly of the beast. And you are the beast. And I am here to talk to the beast, and if I have to, to kill the beast.”
He had no reply to that.
I advised him, “When I walk out of here, you will cable or speak to Langley, and you will let them know that you spoke to me, and that this problem better be finished.”