the road where the Otter had put us down, and would now pick us up after we filled the goo bags.
I glanced out the window and saw that the five Bedouin who’d arrived were still there, and I asked, “Are they staying?”
Buck replied, “Yes. For extra security and also to escort us to the scene of the attack.”
I reminded Buck, “I thought we didn’t want more Bedouin in the courtyard.”
“It’s their property,” he reminded us. “They are on our side.”
“Right,” I agreed, “but maybe they could be on our side someplace else.”
Buck assured us, “The Bedouin won’t be here long, and neither will we. In fact, we are two hours away from a successful mission, and maybe another hour away from jumping on that Otter.”
Right, and we should take Sheik Musa with us. He has some big bucks coming to him, and I know a deli in Brooklyn he can buy, and the Yemeni government would be just as happy to see him gone as see him dead. But happy endings are not always so neat and tidy in real life.
It also occurred to me that what was driving The Panther—hate, revenge, and too many frustrating defeats—was the same thing that was driving Chet. And that’s when your judgment gets clouded.
But to be more positive—like Buck and Chet—and maybe to be less cynical than usual, it could be that what we were seeing was what we were getting: one dead Panther who put his instincts aside and went for the meat.
Buck, who doesn’t like it when he sees me thinking, asked, “What’s on your mind, John?”
“Not much.” I asked him, “What’s Chet doing in the van?”
Buck replied, “Coordinating all aspects of a stealthy assassination attack.” He let us know, “Two more Predators are coming on station over the goat herder’s hut. They’ll be ready for the meeting.” He also told us, “Two Predators remain on station here, over and around the Crow Fortress. They will cover us when we drive with Musa’s men to the scene of the attack, and they will cover the landing and takeoff of the Otter.”
“Right.” I asked, “Who has the goo bags and latex gloves?”
“Chet.”
“If The Panther’s head is in one piece, can I take that home?”
Buck didn’t reply at first, but then said, “We’re primarily interested in the fingers for the prints and DNA.”
“Right.” I like being a little nuts now and then, and I said, “I hope that little shit Nabeel is there. I want his balls in a Ziploc.”
Kate finally said, “John, that’s enough.”
“Sorry. I’m excited.”
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