impressed, and this is another reason why Musa would betray al-Darwish, al-Amriki.”
I guess. But the A-team are real Americans. Like, Christians and all that. Chet, I thought, was overanalyzing this. But that’s what the CIA does.
Chet further informed us, “Regarding the warrior thing, al-Darwish has gone out of his way to be a hands-on warlord. We’re sure he was present when the Belgian tourists were killed, and he’s led his jihadists in attacks against Saudi soldiers on the border. But for some reason he didn’t lead his men in the failed attack on the Hunt Oil installation—maybe God told him to sit it out—and I’m sure that didn’t look good to his close lieutenants or his jihadists. Plus, The Panther has just had another setback with the failed ambush on our convoy. So when Sheik Musa requests The Panther’s presence at this meeting to negotiate the sale of the Americans, Bulus ibn al-Darwish, the weirdo from Perth Amboy, has little choice but to be there—to be The Panther, and to meet with the great tribal sheik on equal terms, man to man, Yemeni to Yemeni, warlord to warlord.” Chet concluded, “That is my analysis.”
Either Chet had been here too long or I’d been here too long, because some of this made sense to me.
So we all sat there for a minute as the Otter continued toward Marib, sipping our drinks, thinking about Bulus ibn al-Darwish. Killing this guy would be good for everyone, including maybe Mr. al-Darwish himself, who didn’t seem to enjoy life. But when you kill these guys, they become martyrs, and they go on beyond death.
And yet maybe when all was said and done, that’s where he belonged. Dead. Remember the Cole.
Chet asked, “Any questions? Any comments?”
No one had either and we all returned to our seats.
Kate said to me, “Chet is overconfident. This thing could easily go the other way.”
“We all know that.”
So, did I now have my question answered? Like, how could someone born in America, in a free and open society, raised in material comfort and educated in a liberal atmosphere, become a fucking terrorist? A murderer.
Maybe. But not completely. The answer wasn’t in the externals of life. The answer was deep in Bulus ibn al-Darwish’s head. The mind excludes external reality, or processes it differently, and justifies nearly anything.
No matter what kind of society we created, the terrorists, the murderers, the bullies and the wife-beaters and the sexual predators and all the rest would always be with us and among us.
So, no, I still didn’t know how Bulus ibn al-Darwish got to where he is, and what happened on that long, strange journey from Perth Amboy to Marib. Only he knew that.
And in the end, it didn’t matter. It only mattered that he died very soon.
The big, lumbering Otter flew on through the night, toward our rendezvous with Bulus ibn al-Darwish, who I imagined was sleeping now, unaware that his fate had been discussed and sealed. Or someone—maybe the voice in his head—had tipped him off and it was our fate that had been sealed. We would know soon enough.
The pilot said, “Landing in about an hour.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The cabin was pitch dark, and I couldn’t even see Kate sitting next to me, but we were holding hands. I wondered if Chet and Buck were holding hands in the dark.
I could feel our speed and altitude decreasing, and I reached across Kate and opened the shade. There were no lights on the ground, but the moon illuminated a silvery expanse of jagged hills. I estimated we were at about three thousand feet, traveling at less than 200 MPH. It was 2:45 A.M., so we must be close.
Kate glanced out the window, but didn’t have anything to say. In fact, no one had much to say since Chet’s briefing, and the cabin was quiet except for the drone of the prop engines.
The PA crackled and the pilot said, “About ten minutes.”
It’s times like this when you wonder what the hell you were thinking that got you in situations like this. I remembered what my father used to say to me when I got in trouble with my friends: “An idiot will try anything. That’s how you know he’s an idiot.”
The pilot informed us, “Transponders are set correctly. Our designated road runs east–west, and we’ll come around and land from the east.” He added, “Light winds, good visibility.”
The Otter began a tight left turn, then leveled out and continued at the same speed and altitude. We