The second floor of the six-story walk-up was the diwan level, the prime space in the tower, and the Bedouin stopped there and said something to Buck, who said to us, “This is where we stay.”
Our hosts began lighting kerosene lamps, illuminating the large open space that was the entire floor of the tower, supported by stone pillars. A few window openings let in some moonlight, air, and birds. The floor was rough-hewn planks covered with bird shit, and the walls were unplastered stone. This whole place was basically a pile of rock, like a medieval castle, hardly fit for a sultan, let alone six finicky Americans. Well… maybe not all of us were finicky. In any case, this was where we’d be returned to after our staged kidnapping to await the Al Qaeda guys who’d be taken here by Musa’s men to see us. Hopefully that wouldn’t be a long wait.
As my eyes adjusted to the light of about ten lanterns, I spotted our bedroom-six ratty blankets spread over a bed of straw. I also noticed a small wooden shed in the far corner, and if I had to guess I’d say that was the master bathroom, a.k.a. the excrement shaft. Other than a washbasin on a stand, there wasn’t a single stick of furniture in the place, leaving lots of room for a La-Z-Boy recliner. Also, it goes without saying that the only items in the room from the twenty-first century were us.
Buck said, “All the comforts of home.”
Right. If home was Dracula’s castle.
Buck also said, “Someday, when this country is at peace and tourism returns, this will be a quaint country inn.” And he named it for us: “The Sultan’s Crow Fortress. Fifty dollars a night.”
“Great view,” I agreed. But don’t put the reception desk under the excrement shaft.
A few of the other Bedouin began arriving, carrying our bags, which they deposited near the straw and blankets. Nice chaps. I would have tipped them, but if things went right, they’d be sharing in Musa’s five million bucks. Warlords and tribesmen can do okay if they get tight with the Americans and the Saudi princes. I need to look into a career change.
Buck exchanged a few more words with our Bedouin bellboys, who, said Buck, wished us good sleep. But why were they grinning and fingering their jambiyahs? Or was it just the light?
With all the Bedouin gone, Kate pulled off her scarf and balto and threw them on a blanket.
Brenner quipped, “Hussy.”
That got a laugh-the first laugh in a long time. I think we were all relieved to have gotten this far.
We were one step closer to The Panther, and soon he’d know we were here, if he didn’t already know. Let the hunt begin.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
We spent a few minutes exploring our accommodations, discovering a crate of bottled water and a sack of flatbread.
Chet excused himself to go up to the mafraj to make a sat-phone call, probably to his station chief in Sana’a, or maybe mission control in Washington. Also, he’d want to speak to the Predator ground control station, which could be anywhere in the world. And while he was doing all that, he might as well have a little chew.
Zamo was in his sniper mode, going from window to window, sighting his rifle and nightscope at the surrounding terrain. He let us know, “Great perch. But too many rocks down there for cover and concealment. But no concealment between the rocks.”
Zamo saw life through a telescopic sight. Someone else would see a nice view. Position determines perspective.
Kate and I looked out a window into the courtyard below. The six Bedouin who’d driven us here were apparently staying with the two Bedouin who’d been here watching the van, and I could see them all in the fading moonlight sitting in a circle on a carpet that they’d rolled out. They seemed to be brewing tea on a camp stove and chatting away.
Chet returned and informed us, “Predators report no unusual or suspicious activity in the area.”
I guess Chet told them that the eight Bedouin they saw in the courtyard were on our side. The problem with aerial reconnaissance, no matter how sophisticated, was that it couldn’t read minds or hearts and couldn’t predict intentions. That’s where human intelligence-HUMINT-came in. The problem with human intelligence, however, was that not all Homo sapiens were sapient.
Brenner, who was our security guy, said, “It’s only a few hours to first light. So I suggest we stay awake, and at first light we’ll post two lookouts, and sleep in shifts.”
Everyone, I was sure, was sleep-deprived, but you gotta do what you gotta do to avoid the Big Sleep.
There was a carpet laid out near our sleeping area, which I guess was the living room, and Buck suggested we sit.
Kate and Brenner brought over some bottled water and the sack of bread.
So we sat cross-legged, drank water, and passed around the flatbread, which Buck said was called tawwa, which must mean “fresh last week.”
Chet didn’t seem particularly hungry or tired and I guessed he had a chew in the mafraj. Maybe there was something to this stuff. Chet asked if we minded if he smoked, reminding us half-jokingly, “We could all be dead tomorrow anyway.” Well, if you put it like that, Chet…
Zamo chose to pull guard duty and he extinguished all the lanterns except one near the carpet, then he began walking from window to window with his nightscope, while also keeping an eye on the stairwell.
When Zamo was on the far side of the room, I said to Brenner, “I think his arm is hurting.”
Brenner replied, “He’s taking Cipro.”
It’s times like this when you realize you need a good-looking female doctor.
We chatted a minute about Sheik Musa and the Bedouin tribesmen, and Buck, the old Arabist, told us, “The Yemeni Bedouin are the most romanticized of any people in the Mideast, and they are also the most feared and the least understood.”
Now you tell us.
Buck continued, “In semi-desert regions like Marib province, the distinction between the traditional nomadic Bedouin, who herd goats and ride camels, and the Bedouin who are settled farmers is becoming blurred.” He explained, “Decades of drought and centuries of war and climate change have caused the settled Bedouin to return to a nomadic way of life.” He further informed us, “Marib is the cradle of Yemeni civilization, and in ancient times it was more green and more populated. Now that the desert has arrived, the population is regressing to a pre-agricultural nomadic survival mode.”
Chet, not a big fan of Arabs in general, said, “On all levels of society, these people are clinging more to their Korans, their guns, and to Sharia law.”
Buck agreed, and said, “South Yemen in the seventies was becoming an open and enlightened society. The British and the Russians had left their mark on the educated Yemenis, but that’s all gone.”
Along with the brewery.
“There is oil here,” Buck also informed us, “but the Bedouin see virtually no money from this oil, and they resent that. Tourism could bring in revenue, but some tribes are hostile to foreigners, and the security situation has been made worse by Al Qaeda.” He added, “Marib is economically depressed, politically unstable, socially unraveling, and it’s becoming an ecological disaster as the desert encroaches.”
I suggested, “This would be a good time for you to buy this fort cheap.”
Buck smiled, then admitted, “Those of us who dream of a better Yemen-and a better Mideast-are fooling ourselves.”
Chet said, “The only thing keeping the Mideast alive is oil. When that runs out, it’s back to the Middle Ages here. Forever.”
Buck advised, “Be careful what you wish for. When the oil runs out here, it runs out at your local gas station. But in any case, you see what the situation is here in Marib, and we are trying to… let’s say manage this instability to further American interests.” He confessed, “It’s about the oil-and Al Qaeda is not good for oil exploration, oil recovery, and oil pipelines. The tribes would be more helpful with eliminating Al Qaeda if the Sana’a government was fair to them, but this idiot Ali Abdullah Saleh is stealing the oil from the tribal lands and keeping the money. Al Qaeda promises to share the wealth, which is why they’re tolerated by the tribes. So we need to do a delicate balancing act between the government, the tribes, and the Saudis, who are in conflict with the Yemeni government over the oil and most other matters.”