Brenner, who’d seen war firsthand, and who may have taken a head or an ear himself, said nothing. War is hell, ladies and gentlemen, and all the euphemisms are not going to change the nature of the act. Kill them before they kill you, then celebrate.
Brenner said to Buck, “I’ll leave Zamo in the mafraj for cover and we’ll join Chet in the van.”
But Buck informed us, “Chet needs an hour or so by himself.” He explained, “What’s happening now is top secret. He’s actually speaking to people in Washington by radio, getting the necessary clearances and go-aheads.”
Kate asked the obvious question. “What is he saying that we can’t hear?”
Buck replied, “Just about everything.” He explained, “This is all verbal so there is no written record of anything, and there can be no witnesses to what Chet says and what is said to him.” He further explained, “Chet is speaking through the secure telephone unit, so names of personnel in Washington are en clair, and we don’t need to hear those names-or hear anything.”
I could almost hear Chet now. “Hey Dick, hi Ralph, Chet here. So, we’re ready to vaporize some asshole jihadists and burn The Panther’s traitorous ass with a few top-secret Hellfire missiles. You guys still okay with that? Any problems at that end? Just nod… Oh, sorry, I mean just say yea or nay.”
Sounded reasonable. But who knew why Chet wanted to be alone or what he was saying and hearing? Not us.
So we had some time to kill before we were allowed to go into the van and watch the drama taking shape-the arrival of Sheik Musa and his merry Bedouin at the goat herder’s hut, the arrival of The Panther and his retinue, the kiss of death, the tea party on the carpet, and finally the sheik ducking inside the hut on some pretext. And where, I wondered, would the sheik’s men be? Hopefully not too close to The Panther and his men who were going to be hit by four laser-guided Hellfire missiles, each warhead packing twenty pounds of high explosives. Maybe all of the Bedouin would need to go off to take a piss at the same time.
There is an old saying among detectives: Never overlook the obvious.
And what was obvious to me was that Sheik Musa and his men, along with The Panther and his men, were actually going to share the same fate at that meeting. So obviously the A-team was not driving to the scene of the carnage, where some of these men-Bedouin and Al Qaeda-might still be alive and very pissed off.
If the obvious were true, then how do we, the Americans, get out of the Crow Fortress with thirteen Bedouin around us who would know soon enough from the survivors what happened to their sheik and their buddies? Right?
Well, we will see how it actually plays out. I could be wrong. Or I could be half right.
Buck said he was going down to speak to the Bedouin again and see if he could get a better sense of what they knew about the sheik-Panther meeting, and also what their instructions were.
It’s good to have an Arabic speaker on the team. We couldn’t have even attempted this mission without Buck. Next time I volunteer to go into Al Qaeda territory, I want Buck with me. Or maybe another Arabic speaker who wasn’t so full of bullshit. Or better yet, maybe I’d take a pass on the next offer.
Buck left, and I brought up my concern of Hellfire missiles causing collateral damage to friendlies, meaning Sheik Musa and his men, and thereby putting us in a dangerous situation here at the Crow Fortress.
Brenner, who has seen a lot of high-explosive warheads ripping people apart, said, “I was thinking about that myself.” He added, “As accurate as these missiles are, they throw out a lot of shrapnel. You don’t want to be anywhere near a hit.”
Kate said, “Why didn’t you-we-bring this up at the meeting in Aden?”
Brenner replied, “I was thinking that Chet knew what he was talking about.”
Well, he does, but sometimes he forgets the details.
Brenner continued, “I’m thinking that when Sheik Musa excuses himself to go into the stone hut, that’s obviously the signal for Chet to order the Predators to fire the four Hellfires-but it’s also the signal for the Bedouin to haul ass and dive for cover.” He added, “They have about four, maybe five seconds to do that before eighty pounds of high explosives and shrapnel turn the area into a slaughterhouse.”
One, two, three, four… I could be in the next province if I knew a Hellfire was on its way.
Brenner also surmised, “It would take The Panther and his men a few seconds to realize what’s happening, but before they could react, they’ll be in Paradise.”
Probably true. Nevertheless, I did say, “There could still be friendly casualties.”
Kate and Brenner thought about that, and Kate said, “God, I hope not.” She asked, “How would we get out of here?”
“Very quickly.”
On that note, we climbed up the stairs to the mafraj to talk to Zamo and give him a heads-up on some of this. Brenner also said he wanted to show us something up there. Maybe a new species of bird shit, and that wouldn’t smell half as bad as the bullshit we were getting down here from Buck and Chet.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
We told Zamo the good news about the Panther-sheik powwow, and Brenner also told him, “We’re going home today.”
Zamo, man of few words, just nodded.
Brenner then drew our attention to the excrement shaft and pointed out a square hole in the ceiling directly above the shaft, whose wooden walls rose about eight feet, only half the way to the high ceiling of the mafraj. Brenner said, “That’s a vent hole.”
Right. Shit flows downhill, but the smell rises.
Brenner said to me, “Give me a boost.”
So we walked over to the half wall of the shaft and I boosted him up so that he was standing precariously on the top of the wall with his fingers barely touching the edge of the vent hole for balance.
The squatter hole on each floor below was large enough for a person to squeeze through and drop to the next floor, which I’d noted as a means of escape. But you wouldn’t drop straight through each hole into the pile of excrement without some squeezing and twisting. Nevertheless, I warned Mr. Brenner, “Careful. It’s about sixty feet down. But the pile of shit will soften your fall.”
“Thank you.” He stood on his toes and grabbed the edge of the vent hole with both hands, then pulled himself up through the opening onto the roof.
Good upper-body strength. Now what?
He knelt at the hole and said, “We can do this.”
I saw his legs and body drop through the hole, and he dangled by his fingers at the edge of the rough-hewn roof plank, then he swung himself clear of the wall of the excrement shaft and landed on the floor, announcing, “The roof has a four-foot-high parapet around it, which is good cover if we’re in a firefight.” Brenner, whose last war, Vietnam, was all about helicopters, also informed us, “The rooftop will easily hold a helicopter.”
That was really good news if we were trapped on the roof and taking fire, but I reminded him, “We have no helicopters in Yemen.”
“Correct. But we’re about one hundred seventy-five miles from Najran airfield, right across the Saudi border-about an hour flight time.” He further informed us, “That’s where the Predators come from, and probably also where the Otter is now.”
“Okay. And?”
“And, if we have to, we can get a U.S. Army or Air Force chopper here to take us off this roof.”
“Why,” Kate asked, “would we have to do that?”
“Because,” he replied, “if the Al Qaeda delegation figured out where they were taken, they may try to save a hundred thousand dollars and also show Sheik Musa who’s the boss, not to mention avoiding that meeting.”
“I hear you,” I said.
Brenner continued, “I’m also not sure about our Bedouin allies, so we need to have a plan of escape.”
And I thought I was paranoid. But this wasn’t paranoia; this was Plan B from Point A.
Kate said, “It seems to me that a helicopter from Najran would be a better way of getting out of here and across the Saudi border than an Otter landing on a road.”