It’s not easy questioning someone else’s prisoners, as I discovered last time I was here, and more recently at the Ghumdan prison, and Nabeel seemed frustrated with Buck’s replies, so he ended the conversation, then said something to Yasir.
Buck said to us, “Nabeel now wants to see whatever weapons we were carrying when we were kidnapped.”
That was my cue to say, “One, two, three-pull!” and show them the weapons. But maybe I should see how Yasir handled it.
Yasir and Nabeel seemed to be getting heated again, and Buck took advantage of the shouting to say to us, “Yasir refuses to show these gentlemen anything-except us.” He added, “John’s New York acquaintance may be smelling a rat.”
Right. Al Qaeda is not stupid. I wish Chet was here to see and hear all of this. He might learn something-like how unpredictable people are.
Yasir, too, was getting the impression that Nabeel was smelling a rat, so he did a smart thing and shouted at Buck, probably telling him to shut up. Then Yasir did a smarter thing and kicked Buck in the chest, knocking him on his back. It was all an act-I think. Buck didn’t seem to be hurt by Yasir’s half-hearted sandal kick to his chest, and he sat up again. I would have kicked Buck in the balls-just to make it look real, of course.
Nabeel, taking his cue from Yasir, took a step toward Buck as though he intended to kick or hit him, but Yasir went ballistic and shoved Nabeel back and shouted at him.
The other four Al Qaeda guys looked like they were ready to get into a fight, but the three Bedouin behind them stepped back and leveled their rifles. One of them shouted, probably saying, “Make my day, suckers.”
Anyway, Yasir seemed to be tired of his visitors, and he shouted, “Imshee!” Go away.
The Bedouin began slipping the black hoods over the Al Qaeda dickheads, but before Nabeel was hooded, he looked at me and said, “In Yemen, you die.” Then to my compatriots, he also promised, “You die. But maybe not die. Maybe wish to die.”
Well, Nabeel, you’re not getting an American work visa.
Anyway, I wasn’t sure now if we were going to lure The Panther into a meeting with Sheik Musa, so why shouldn’t I yell “Pull!” and bag these bastards? Right?
I glanced at Brenner, who was looking at me, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. Zamo actually had his right hand behind his back, ready for the count.
But Buck, the voice of reason, who could sense that the A-team was on the verge of some messy business, said softly, “Let it go.”
Did he say, “Pull”?
The Al Qaeda delegation was all hooded now, and whacking them would be easy, but not fun or sporting. And maybe not a good idea. I mean, I didn’t think the Bedouin would like that, and I suppose there was still a chance that The Panther would schedule the meeting with Musa-if Chet was right about Bulus ibn al-Darwish taking chances. But for now, it was Kate who’d been right about Al Qaeda smelling a rat. As for Brenner not trusting the Bedouin, he seemed to be wrong about that so far. But this deal hadn’t played itself out yet.
The four Bedouin marched the five hooded Al Qaeda guys down the stairs, and we were alone.
Kate was the first to unlock her shackles, which she threw across the room, saying, “Damn it!”
Then, showing her feminine side, she asked Buck, “Are you all right?”
Buck assured us all that he was fine, saying, “Yasir pulled his kick.”
Yasir has more self-control than I do.
Anyway, we all freed ourselves from our shackles and stood.
Okay, this had all been a sham, but the five Al Qaeda fighters standing in front of us were real, and their AK-47s were real, and I think all of us were a little tense for a while there. I’m sure there’s a better way to earn a living.
Anyway, we all went to the window.
The Al Qaeda delegation was being walked across the courtyard, and within a minute they were inside the three Land Cruisers, which headed toward the gate. Arrivederci, assholes.
Buck said, “It could have gone better.”
You think?
Zamo said, “We shoulda fuckin’ wasted them.”
And possibly that would have been the right thing to do.
But Kate, who’d grown up hunting game with her nutty parents, said, “Sometimes you let the does go and wait for the buck.”
Agreed. Let’s shoot Buck. Sorry.
Kate said, “I assume that was the informant you were looking for in New York.”
“Yeah. Sorry I bought him a bagel.”
Buck said, “Al Qaeda’s organization in America is sometimes more extensive than we realize.”
Right. But with a few million Muslims in America, we shouldn’t be too surprised. Still, it was creepy that Nabeel had set me up for a look-see. Next time I see him, I’ll kill him.
Anyway, Chet was not getting out of his van, so he was probably watching his video monitors.
Brenner asked Buck the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “Do you think they suspected a setup?”
“I don’t know,” replied the wise man. “But we will know soon enough.”
Brenner suggested, “If they did suspect a setup, and if The Panther still wants to meet with Sheik Musa, then it’s possible that The Panther is going to kill Musa-and us.”
That was not a happy thought, but it was a possible outcome of what just happened. Another possibility was that The Panther and Sheik Musa would work out another deal between themselves. In Yemen, any deal is possible.
Anyway, if Chet Morgan was not coming to us, then we had to go to Chet Morgan. I suggested, “Let’s get some air.”
So we put on our shoes and Kevlar vests, and we took our M4s, which we always carried when we went down to the courtyard. But this time we took extra magazines. The situation had changed, and I don’t think we fully understood how it had changed, or what the Bedouin were thinking now. Zamo stayed in the tower and covered the courtyard with his rifle.
So Buck would speak to Yasir, and we’d all speak to Chet, the mastermind of Operation Clean Sweep, and we’d decide on our next move. But I already knew what Chet was going to say: We wait. The next move belongs to The Panther.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Buck, Kate, Brenner, and I stepped into the van.
Chet was sitting at his console, watching the three Land Cruisers on his monitors, and he glanced over his shoulder and asked, “How did it go?”
Buck replied, “Not very well.”
Chet pulled himself away from his screens, swiveled his chair, and asked, “Why not?”
Buck explained, “I think they’re suspicious.”
Chet replied, “Of course they are. They’re not stupid.”
I reminded him, “You said they were stupid.”
“Yes. But they’re also cunning and paranoid.” Chet reassured us, “If The Panther wasn’t interested in getting his hands on you, he wouldn’t have even sent that delegation.” He explained, “You don’t make an appointment to see a car you’re not interested in buying.”
True, but sometimes you go look at the car because you want to steal it.
Anyway, Buck gave Chet a quick briefing of what happened and Chet listened carefully, then again assured us, “Al Qaeda is just doing due diligence. They need to protect The Panther, and they always proceed on the assumption that a double cross is possible.” He reminded us, “This is the Middle East.”
Right. Not the Midwest. Definitely not Kansas.
Chet said to me, “So you knew this guy, Nabeel?”
I replied, “He knew me before I knew him.” I explained about the leak in the Yemeni consulate in New York, and I suggested, “The State Department should declare the whole consulate staff persona non grata.”