He nodded.
Someone got out of the second Humvee and began walking toward us. Even from this distance I could see that it was Colonel Hakim of the dreaded secret police. He was wearing cammies and carrying an AK-47, all ready for action. I love armed confrontations. They don’t usually last too long.
We got within a few feet of Colonel Hakim and stopped. Brenner gave Colonel Hakim a half-assed salute, and Colonel Hakim returned the salute in a similar half-assed manner. He also eyeballed the sat-phones clipped to our vests, probably thinking about the American Embassy, or better yet about Predator pilots watching their monitors with itchy trigger fingers.
Brenner and Hakim exchanged peace greetings in Arabic, without much sincerity, and I said, “Buenos dias,” using my only second language.
Hakim ignored me and asked Brenner, “What are you doing here?”
Brenner replied, “You know what we’re doing here, Colonel.”
“Yes? Why would I know?”
I said to Brenner, “Just cut to the chase.” I mean, these fucking people could beat around the bush until the bush died of annoyance.
Brenner asked Hakim, “What are you doing here?”
Colonel Hakim took offense at the question and snapped, “It is my country, Mr. Brenner. Not yours. And I will ask the questions of you.”
Brenner, following my suggestion, got to the point and replied, “We are on a Yemeni-government-sanctioned mission to find and apprehend the Al Qaeda leader Bulus ibn al-Darwish, known as The Panther.” He asked Hakim, “Don’t you know that?”
Hakim replied, of course, “It is my business what I know.”
Total asshole. But he’d come to meet us alone, and he was talking and not shooting, so that meant he thought he might be on shaky ground. Also, it might mean he wanted something from the Americans. Hey, everybody does. And it’s not advice or love that they want; it’s money.
So I got right to that subject and said, “I assume you were at the scene of the attack”-I nodded toward the black smoke rising behind him and continued-“and if you escort us there, and assist us in identifying the Al Qaeda bodies, we will see to it that you share in the five-million-dollar reward for the death of The Panther.”
That seemed to be what he wanted to hear, and his shitty demeanor softened ever so slightly.
He asked me, not Brenner, “And are you in that position to make such an offer?”
No, but you’ve got a hundred guns with you so I’ll lie all day.
Brenner said, “We will do everything in our power to see that you are compensated for your assistance.”
What kind of lie is that? Come on, Paul. Tell him the check’s in the fucking mail. I mean, this is not the time for truth, justice, and the American way.
Colonel Hakim seemed to like me more than Brenner now, and he asked me, “How much?”
How about a mango up your ass? No? Then how about… “Two and a half million.”
He’d have to work until he was about two thousand years old to make that kind of money, but he was a greedy shit and countered, “Three million.”
“No,” I replied, “we have to pay the Bedouin. Half for them, half to you.”
He asked me, “And you?”
“Not a penny.” I explained to him, “We get a paycheck every two weeks.”
He didn’t seem to believe that, but it was the sad truth.
Colonel Hakim thought about my offer, then said, “I will take you where you wish to go.”
I want to go to New York, and maybe Hakim could help me get there. I informed him, “We are under surveillance by Predator drones. Capisce?”
He did, and he said, “Let us now go.”
Colonel Hakim told us to follow his Humvee, and Brenner and I got back in the Land Cruiser.
Kate asked, “What’s happening?”
I replied, “Colonel Hakim is taking us to the scene of the attack.”
I explained to Kate and Zamo about the great deal we made and Kate reminded me, “You’re not authorized to promise money, amnesty, immunity from prosecution-”
“I just don’t feel like getting arrested and shot today.”
Brenner said, “Hakim is our ticket out of here, or he’s our worst nightmare. Either way, let’s keep him happy and interested in our well-being.”
Kate pointed out, “He’s not going to let us out of here now until he gets his money.”
I asked her, “Do you have a blank check on you? Or do you have a better idea?”
Zamo thought that was funny. Just like old times.
Brenner assured Kate, “We’ll work something out with the embassy.”
I also informed Kate, “Hakim thinks we’re all on Predator TV.”
“Good,” said Ms. Mayfield. “And maybe we are.”
Maybe. But hopefully Chet was no longer directing the show.
Anyway, Hakim’s Humvee turned around, followed by another Humvee, and we all squeezed past the troop carriers and headed east on the straight dirt road, toward the smoke in the distance.
The third Humvee and the four troop carriers were moving now, and they continued on, west toward the plateau. I asked Brenner, “Why do you think they’re headed toward the Crow Fortress?”
“They must be acting on information.”
“What information?”
Brenner replied, “We’ll ask Colonel Hakim.”
Who was as honest and forthcoming as Chet and Buck. Everyone here carried a large sack of bullshit.
Bottom line, this was not the plan that Chet had laid out for us in Aden, but as I said then, and as we discovered, there was more to Chet’s plan than he was sharing with us. And as Chet discovered, I had a few plans of my own. And as we all discovered, man plans, God laughs.
But part of Chet’s plan had worked out. The Panther was dead, and Chet and Buck were heroes-and better yet, I was going to see what was left of Bulus ibn al-Darwish. I came a long way for this.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
On the way to the goat herder’s hut, I said to Brenner, “We can take some evidence at the scene.” We’ll stop at a 7-Eleven for Ziploc bags.
Brenner replied, “We’ll let the PSO and NSB do that and also take photos for us, and that will make Colonel Hakim think he’s earning his two and a half million.”
“Right.” Just like Sheik Musa thought he was earning his five million. I mean, even I wasn’t trusting the Americans anymore.
It took us less than twenty minutes to get to the scene of the attack, but I could see it and smell it before we got there.
Hakim’s two Humvees pulled onto the path to the goat herder’s hut and stopped.
We all got out of our vehicles and walked up the path to what remained of the stone hut. As we got closer, the smell of burnt tires and gasoline got stronger, and so did the smell of charred bodies. Kate wrapped her hijab over her face.
Despite my enthusiasm for seeing this, it was a bit jarring. Most of the bodies were intact, though they’d been ripped up by shrapnel-Bedouin bodies in their blood-drenched robes, and Al Qaeda bodies in their foutehs. The ground was strewn with AK-47s, sandals, shiwals, and even cell phones.
Where the direct hits from the Hellfires had landed, the ground was blasted away, and the human remains were scattered in all directions, making me remember what an old Vietnam vet had told me about getting an accurate body count after an air or artillery strike. “Count the arms and legs and divide by four.”
Brenner, who’d seen things like this, didn’t seem fazed, and neither did Zamo. Kate, however, was a bit shaken, and the NSB guys were eyeing her, so Zamo walked her back to the Land Cruiser.
Colonel Hakim spoke first and said, “You see what has happened here. I have secured the area and I will cooperate with the American authorities in any way they wish.”
Brenner said to Hakim, “We would like photographs of everything, and we will need your men to collect tissue samples of all the dead Al Qaeda who are identifiable by their clothing.”