Crow Fortress. So it was possible that other Bedouin and maybe Al Qaeda guys survived. But probably not The Panther, who was in the crosshairs of the first Hellfire missile.
Hakim said, “The Panther is dead.”
Brenner and I exchanged glances. Something was not right here.
I asked Hakim, “Were you able to identify al-Darwish?”
Colonel Hakim waved his arm around at the bits and pieces of men, as though saying, “Are you kidding?” He did say, however, “I have found the shiwal of Sheik Musa. That is all the proof I need of his death.”
Musa’s nose would clinch it for me, but, okay, the sheik was dead—score a hit for President Saleh. But we’re talking about The Panther, Colonel. The bad guy.
I moved slowly through the blast area, and there were lots of heads intact, on and off their bodies, but about half of them were bearded, and most of the faces were disfigured by shrapnel or burns. The Panther’s own mother wouldn’t recognize him. Also, I was looking for Nabeel, who had a scruffy beard the last time I saw him, but people look different when they’re dead.
One head was lying facedown on a shred of carpet, and I gave it a kick to turn it over. Most of the face was missing.
Brenner came over to me, away from Hakim, and said softly, “Either he doesn’t get what I’m saying, or we have a problem with positive ID.”
I nodded, then I remembered the video replay—Sheik Musa had hesitated for a second before taking The Panther’s hand and kissing it. Was Musa unsure of his guest’s identity? I mean, to me, most fully bearded men looked alike, and forget bearded Arabs. They may as well be wearing veils. Musa, too, apparently had a moment of doubt.
Colonel Hakim came over to us and said, “You can congratulate yourselves on a successful attack.”
Okay. Congratulations to us.
Brenner said to him, “I suggest you collect what we need and get it to the airport in Sana’a as quickly as possible. You will be met there.”
I also suggested, “Get some ice from Marib. Maybe the Bilqis Hotel.” They don’t need the ice for cocktails.
Colonel Hakim informed us, “It is a sacrilege to do what you are asking.” He told us, “All these remains must be buried as quickly as possible, according to our religion.”
I figured that was coming, and I didn’t want to argue religion with this guy, so I said, “Tell you what, Colonel, let’s make this clean and easy for everyone. You get a hunk of hair from each head or beard here, number it, and deliver it to the embassy. We’ll do a DNA match, and you get your money. How’s that sound?”
Colonel Hakim couldn’t think of any objection to that, so he said, “I think you are trying to change our arrangement.”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “We pay top dollar for dead Al Qaeda chiefs. But you can’t tell me which of these heads belongs to al-Darwish. Right?”
“You know he was here. And you know that everyone here is dead.”
Ergo, and so forth. I pointed out, “We don’t know he was here. And neither do you.” And I was starting to think he wasn’t. Holy shit.
So we stood there, trying to figure out how to get this resolved. The stench of open body cavities and burnt flesh was overwhelming, and that smell, mixed with the acrid smell of smoldering vehicles and fuel, made my stomach heave. Anyone who thinks war is exciting should see and smell something like this.
I reminded Colonel Hakim, “We just need some hair. Like, no disrespect to the dead. Okay?”
“That is not possible.”
Hokum, Hakim. I said to Brenner, “We have a problem.”
Brenner nodded, then asked Colonel Hakim the question that had come up in the Land Cruiser. “Where were you going with your convoy?”
“That is my business, Mr. Brenner.”
He reminded Hakim, “We are in business together.”
Colonel Hakim did not reply, and he was probably thinking that his two and a half million bucks was slipping away. He might also be thinking that if he was going to lose the money, he might as well get rid of us. Or maybe kidnap us for ransom and make it look like a tribal kidnapping. In Yemen, anything was possible.
Finally Colonel Hakim said, “I was going to the Crow Fortress.”
Brenner nodded and asked, “Why?”
He confessed, “There was a survivor of the attack. An Al Qaeda man. He has told me that a Bedouin in the Crow Fortress, a man called Yasir, who