Again he stayed silent, then said, “I’ll pass on our conversation.” He added, “But as far as I know, you and your wife being asked to come here has nothing to do with what happened to Ted Nash. It has to do with you and Kate being good Panther bait-because you killed The Lion. Nothing more, nothing less.” He further informed me, “I don’t like being threatened.”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you that if I smell a rat, or if something happens to Kate, you’re dead.”
He was getting a little pissed off and snapped, “If something happened to Kate, you can be sure the same thing would happen to you.”
“Not if I blow your fucking head off first.”
He backed off a bit and said in a controlled voice, “I understand how you might come to the conclusion you came to… And you know what? You could be right. But I don’t think you are. But if you are, it has nothing to do with me. I’m not here to settle a score with your wife, or with you. I’m here to kill Bulus ibn al-Darwish.” He assured me, “I don’t assassinate American citizens… well, except for al-Darwish.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Chet. And if you leave here alive, it’s because I didn’t kill you. So that evens the score. Tell the boys back in Langley.”
He nodded, then said to me, “I need to send some cables. Are we finished?”
I turned and left the van.
Well, that was out of the way. Now Chet knew that I knew, and he could think about it and report it to whoever had the bright idea of sending me and Kate here to become unfortunate casualties of war.
I mean, I always thought that there was a CIA contract out on us since Kate whacked Ted, and this seemed like a good time and place for the Agency to act on that. And nothing that Chet said made me believe I was wrong. So, to further answer Chet’s question of why I was here if I thought that, the answer was, “You can’t run from the beast forever.” You have to meet the beast. And you meet him on his turf. And you kill him. Or, because we’re civilized, and because the beast has friends, you might make a deal with him.
I hope Chet understood the deal. If not, the Otter wouldn’t be carrying as many passengers on the return trip.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Without electricity-except in the van-there wasn’t too much to do after the sun went down. Also, I’ll never again take hot running water for granted. Or a chair to sit in, or a cold beer.
I mean, I’m not a softie or a sissy; I’m an urban fighter. Urban is good. Comes from the Latin for city. As in electri-city. Right?
Well, maybe this rustic experience will do me some good. I’ll get in touch with my inner Bedouin. But maybe I should rethink the warlord thing.
Also, it could be worse; this could be a real kidnapping. I could be waiting to have my head sawed off.
Anyway, we were all sleep-deprived, so it was no problem hitting the hay early. We posted a two-person guard for three-hour shifts-Brenner and Zamo first, me and Kate second, Buck and Chet last. That should take us to dawn. And Paul Brenner, I should point out, was fulfilling his desire to sleep with Kate-though probably not the way he envisioned it.
Chet and I had not revisited our conversation at any point during the evening, which in any case was not really possible in a communal setting. But Chet did say to me, in a rare moment of privacy, at the door of the excrement shed, “I sent a cable relating your concerns.” He added, “No reply.”
Bullshit.
During my and Kate’s guard shift, as we looked out a window at the black night, I said to her, “I spoke to Chet about Ted Nash.”
She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then reminded me, “I was going to do that.”
“I handled it differently than you might have handled it.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I shared with him my suspicion that you and I were asked to come to Yemen so that the CIA could even the score. Meaning you whacking Ted Nash.”
She stayed silent for a while, then said, “I don’t necessarily agree with your suspicion.” She added, “It’s too… crazy.”
“You think? Look, it’s not only about you terminating Ted, and you being cleared of any wrongdoing. It’s also about you and me screwing up the CIA’s plan to nuke Islam. That was a biggie. And we know about it.”
“We’ve stayed silent-as per the deal.”
“Right. But that’s not good enough for worried people in Langley. Dead is better.”
She didn’t reply.
“So that’s why we’re here.”
Again, she didn’t respond, but asked me, “What else did you say to Chet?”
“Well, I told him if anything happened to you, or if I even thought you or I were being set up, I was going to blow his head off.”
“You shouldn’t have said that.”
“All right. I’ll tell him it’s okay for him to kill us.”
“What I mean, John, is that you may be wrong about this.”
“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, and there’s no harm done.”
“You don’t threaten someone’s life without some harm done. Especially if that person has done nothing wrong-or knows nothing.”
“Okay. But Chet took it well. He was even pleasant to me after he returned from the van. Did you notice?”
“You may be as crazy as he is.”
“Crazier, I assure you.” I reminded her, “You said to look for the triple cross.”
She didn’t reply.
I continued, “What’s in a name? Why is this called Operation Clean Sweep? Why are you and I here?”
“All right. I get it. But… what did he say?”
“He neither confirmed nor denied my suspicions. Actually, he said he could understand how I might come to such an erroneous and paranoid conclusion, and that I might actually be right, but he has nothing to do with whatever it was that I was wrongly suggesting.” I asked, “Follow?”
“No.”
“I guess you had to be there. Bottom line here, I let the cat out of the bag, and Chet cabled his people in Langley. Or maybe he actually spoke to them. So I think we now have less than a fifty-fifty chance of becoming victims of friendly fire-or winding up whacked by Musa or Al Qaeda.”
Kate nodded, then said, “In this business, the past comes back to haunt you.”
I’m not haunted by anything. My problem is when the past comes back to kill you. Like The Lion. Like Ted Nash. This business is a cycle of vendetta, an ever-widening circle without end. Someday, maybe when I’m old, sitting in a rocker, someone from the past will get me. But not today. Not this week.
To make Kate feel better, I said, “It was self-defense. You saved our lives. Don’t replay it.”
She nodded.
So we finished our three hours of guard duty and woke Chet and Buck. Chet was actually already awake. Maybe he had a bad dream about someone cutting his throat while he slept.
The five gentlemen of the A-team had breakfast with the eight gentlemen of the desert down in the courtyard, while Kate used the opportunity of privacy to wash up with bottled water.
Breakfast was the same glop, except the Bedouin had added tuna.
After breakfast, Chet, Buck, Brenner, and I went into the van and watched TV. Both screens had reruns of yesterday’s show-beautiful Yemen from the air. I felt like I was soaring.
Chet did a commo check and a sit-rep, and ground control reported no unusual activity in the area. Just another routine day in the tribal lands, and a quiet day in Al Qaeda territory. But that could change quickly.
We walked around the courtyard for exercise, the way convicts walk around the prison yard. I counted fourteen lizards.
Later I suggested to Buck, “Ask our Bedouin hosts if they can get us a soccer ball. Also some real food from Marib. I’ll buy.”
Buck informed me, “They’ve told me they’re not allowed to leave here. And no one can come here unless the food and water runs out.” He explained, “We’re all in lockdown until further notice.”