were preparing the soldiers for their movement, and The Panther motioned them to him.
He said to his two commanders, “Well, you have heard Nabeel. The Americans are sending more agents here, and soon they will be sending soldiers unless we kill the small numbers who are already here.” He added, “More reason to attack the embassy and the Sheraton Hotel in Aden.”
Captain Zuhair thought that the opposite might be true; every attack on the Americans in Yemen increased the number of Americans in Yemen. The jihadists, he thought, should be attacking the Yemeni Army and security forces, but Bulus ibn al-Darwish, the Amriki, had a hard hate in his heart for his former countrymen. Nevertheless, Captain Zuhair said, “Yes, sir.”
The Panther said to his two officers, “Let us go now and begin the march.”
The three men moved closer to the soldiers, and Captain Zuhair called out to them, “It is time!”
The men cheered.
The Panther, too, called out a last time to his jihadists, “We will meet again, amid the inferno of the oil camp, and among the corpses of the Americans—or we will meet in Paradise!”
The men let out a long, loud shout: “Victory!”
Captain Zuhair and Lieutenant al-Rashid paid their final respects to their leader, who blessed them and blessed the jihadists. Then the officers took charge of their men and began the march toward the American oil compound.
The Panther watched them disappear into the dark, then he turned and walked toward five waiting vehicles, filled with his personal bodyguard. He would remove himself from this place and await the outcome of the attack in a nearby Bedouin camp. It was necessary, he knew, to keep moving, to not stay in one place too long, and to take shelter under a roof or in a cave away from the probing eyes of the American Predator drones. And it was for this reason that he wore the robes and long beard of a Bedouin.
He glanced up at the desert sky. It looked the same as it did since the beginning of time—but there was something new up there, something that had already killed too many of his fellow jihadists. And they were looking for him. And now, perhaps, the Americans had sent a man—and maybe a woman—to look for him also. Well, he thought, the Predators would not find him, and the man Corey would not find him. He could not kill the Predators, but he could kill the man. And kill the man’s wife. And kill any American who came to the sacred soil of Yemen to find him.
The Americans may rule the air, but he, Bulus ibn al-Darwish, The Panther, ruled the land.
PART IV
Sana’a,
Yemen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was 2:35 in the morning and the Egyptair flight from Cairo was approaching Sana’a International Airport. The airport had a name—El Rahaba—which according to my Arabic dictionary means, “I’d like the fruit salad.” No. That can’t be right.
Anyway, it had been almost three hours since we’d left Cairo, and this leg of the flight was unexpectedly full; mostly young men, probably all Yemeni guest workers bringing home a few bucks so their families could eat. It was a sad country.
Kate and I were sitting in first class and the other gentlemen in first class were dressed Western, but looked Mideastern; maybe Yemeni and Egyptian businessmen or government officials. A few of them had their wives with them, and the women were dressed in traditional clothing. Most of the ladies had been unveiled in flight, but now that the aircraft was landing, they all had scarves and veils in the full upright position.
Kate, FYI, was wearing loose blue pants and a matching high-collared blouse with long sleeves. Buck would have approved, except that Kate had no head covering and her medium-length blonde hair was completely exposed for every man to see, as was her pretty face. Also, FYI, she’d gone light on the makeup.
As for me, I had on my usual tan slacks, navy sports jacket, and a blue shirt, which was a Christian Dior. Christian—get it?
The big Airbus continued its descent, and I leaned over and peered through the window. It was a clear night and I could see hills in the distance, and below was an expanse of arid landscape washed in blue moonlight. In the near distance I saw a few scattered lights that must be Sana’a.
As we crossed over the airport boundary, I could see the military end of the airport: two jet fighters with Yemeni markings, a few helicopters whose