Buck stopped in front of the lobby doors and we pulled up behind him.
We all got out and a bellboy appeared who put our overnight bags on a cart, then took the duffel, which was, of course, heavy. Buck, pretending he had only a few words of Arabic, said something to the bellboy, then to us he said, “I told him to be careful. We have expensive cameras and photographic equipment in there.”
Right. I guess telescopic sights could be photographic equipment.
Anyway, we moved into the large, oval-shaped lobby, which was nearly empty.
Buck informed us, “This hotel was constructed in the late seventies for tourism and archaeologists, and this entrance lobby is supposed to be built in the oval shape of the Mahram Bilqis Temple.”
Who gives a shit?
He further informed us, “There was a lot of hope for Yemen after the civil wars and revolutions of the sixties and seventies.” He let us know, in case we didn’t, “It hasn’t worked out.”
The desk clerk was all smiley, like we were the first guests he’d seen this year. We produced our new but worn passports, which he handed to another guy to photostat for the PSO, the National Security Bureau, and the hotel, with a fourth copy for Al Qaeda. Another guy looked up our reservations on the computer. On the check-in card, we gave our Yemen address as the Sana’a Sheraton, where I assumed we were all registered. The CIA has good tradecraft and lots of money to make it work.
Because no one had been shot or kidnapped in Marib since last August, the rooms were fifty bucks a night. I noticed we were booked for four nights.
The desk clerk, Mr. Karim, asked in English, “How was your drive from Sana’a?”
Well, we first drove to Aden and got ambushed by Al Qaeda, then we flew in on a spy plane and landed on a dirt road at night, and some Bedouin gave us a lift to Dracula’s Castle, and here we are. I replied, “We took the scenic route.”
He nodded, but advised us, “It is good if you stay on the main roads.”
“Are there main roads here?”
Buck, in the role of tourist, asked Mr. Karim, “Are any of the ruins closed to visitors?”
The clerk replied sadly, “Unfortunately the Mahram Bilqis remains closed.” But he brightened and said, “I think, however, I can arrange a private visit for you.”
Of course you can.
Buck asked a few more tourist questions while Brenner and Zamo kept an eye on our bags, and Kate stayed modestly quiet, admiring the floor.
So did we look like American tourists, or did we look like Americans who were trying to look like tourists? One of the guys behind the desk was definitely checking us out, especially Zamo. I mean, innocent faces aside, we were all wearing Kevlar and sidearms, which though covered by our bush vests could still be spotted by someone who knew what they were looking for. I had the impression that one of these guys behind the desk would be on his cell phone in two minutes talking to someone about us. PSO? Al Qaeda? Probably both. The good news was that the PSO was giving us a free hand-or said they were. The other good news was that Al Qaeda would soon know we were in town. Does it get much better than that?
Mr. Karim returned our passports and gave us four key cards.
He then asked if we’d like a dinner reservation, as though there could be a problem getting seated. Buck asked the clerk to book us for 8 P.M. Buck told us quietly, “This is where the Belgians had lunch before they went on to the ruins.”
Thanks for that.
We followed the bellboy to the south wing, third floor, where our adjoining rooms awaited us. The bellboy showed Kate and me to our room, which was sparsely furnished, but not bad. Nice green lizard on the wall.
I went out to the big balcony and Kate followed. Below was a swimming pool in the shape of two attached ovals, so I guess ovals were the theme here. There was absolutely no one out on the terrace or in the pool.
Kate said, “This place is empty.”
Maybe it had something to do with tourists getting kidnapped and murdered. I mean, even Europeans on a budget might find that unacceptable.
Kate said, “This all seems unreal.”
“It’s real.”
“Do you hate me for getting you into this?”
“Ask me later.”
She stayed quiet as we stared out at the empty pool, then asked me, “Is this going to be okay?”
“Why shouldn’t it?”
She didn’t reply.
So with Buck’s time clock ticking, we went back in the room, undressed, and showered and shaved together to save time and water.
We got dressed and left our overnight bags and toilet articles in the room. What happens to the luggage of kidnapped tourists? We took the stairs down to the lobby. Never trust the elevator in a third-world country.
Buck and Brenner were looking at some tourist brochures, and Zamo had the duffel with our photographic equipment.
The desk clerk, Mr. Karim, came over to us and said, “It is not advisable for you to visit the ruins without an escort.” He assured us, “I can obtain the services of three or four Bedouin within fifteen minutes.”
Buck replied, “We’re meeting some Bedouin at the ruins.”
Who are going to kidnap us.
The clerk shrugged and further advised us, “Be careful.”
Better yet, we’re armed.
Our Hiluxes arrived and I said to Mr. Karim, “If we’re late, hold our table.”
We walked outside, and Buck said, “We’ll go first to Old Marib, then to the Bar’an Temple-the throne of the Queen of Sheba.”
“Will she be home?”
Buck smiled. “She was kidnapped.” He said to Brenner, “I know the way. Stay close.”
Goes without saying, Buck.
We got into the Hiluxes and off we went.
I said to Kate and to Brenner, “Just to remind everyone, the difference between a staged kidnapping and a real kidnapping is not always so clear.”
Brenner replied, “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
I hear you.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
We headed south on a paved but disintegrating road, and within ten minutes we turned off on a worse road, where up ahead, on a hill, I could see the dark tower houses of Old Marib.
We stopped near a crumbling wall at the edge of the city, and we all got out and looked around. We had clear views down the hill, and there was no one in sight.
Buck said to us, “Paul will stay here with Zamo. John, Kate, and I will go into the city for about half an hour of sightseeing.”
I told Buck, “I’ve seen the South Bronx. I’ll stay.”
Kate said to me, “I want to see this and I want you with me.”
I asked Buck, “If we’re not getting kidnapped here, why are we here?”
“We need to be seen.”
“There’s no one around, Buck.”
He informed me, “There are people around, and they notice everything and everyone in a place like this. Especially Westerners. And they all have cell phones and phone numbers to call.”
Sounds like Kate’s hick town in Minnesota.
Buck further explained, “We need to give any potential kidnappers enough time to discover we are here and call men together to kidnap us.” He added, “Our kidnapping needs to appear to be real.”
I see a CIA brainstorming session at work; clever people thinking of stupid things. Or Buck just wants to see Old Marib.
Regarding our kidnapping having the appearance of being real, I asked Buck, “Isn’t it unusual for us not to have hired some Bedouin to be with us? Or National Security police?”
Buck replied, “There was a time when you could come here on your own. But it’s not advisable now, though adventurous travelers-or unknowing travelers-still come here without armed escorts.”
“Okay.” I asked, “Are the Predators watching?”
“Of course.”
I pictured Chet in his van watching us right now. Should I flip him?