In a normal interrogation, I’d now mention the big reward and ask, “Where is he hiding?” But I was sure that Rahim didn’t know. Not even for five million bucks. And if he did know, and if he told us, it wouldn’t be the Americans who got there first. In fact, it would probably be someone telling The Panther to beat feet. Or if the Yemeni Army gave it a try, they wouldn’t necessarily ask us to help, and left to their own proven incompetence, The Panther would get away.
So instead of “Where is he hiding?” I asked, “Where and when is the next attack?”
Sammy translated and Rahim replied. Sammy said to me, “There was talk in the camp of attacks on the oil pipeline between Marib and As-Salif, attacks on oil engineers, aid workers, and Western tourists.” He added, “And talk of an attack on the American Embassy.”
This was hardly hot news, and I doubted if a low-level jihadist had any specific times or places for these attacks. I thought of young Mr. Longo and his planned excursion to see the temples of Marib. Maybe he should just visit the website of the Yemeni Tourist Board, click onto Marib, and call it a day.
Remembering that The Panther got his big start in Yemen with the Cole attack in Aden Harbor, and knowing that criminals sometimes return to the scene of their crimes, I asked another leading question. “What is al-Numair’s target in Aden?”
Rahim seemed to understand the question before it was translated and replied in Arabic to Sammy.
I heard the word “Sheraton,” which was not the word I wanted to hear.
Sammy said to me, “The Sheraton Hotel. He says he was told there are many American soldiers and police in the hotel… infidels on sacred Islamic soil… He says his companions who did not participate in the attack on the American oil installation are now traveling to Aden. But he has no further knowledge of this.”
I said to Brenner, “That might be interesting information to anyone planning to stay at the Sheraton in Aden.”
Brenner did not respond.
Colonel Hakim said, “Your time is finished.”
I ignored him and said directly to Rahim, “Thank you for your cooperation. If you continue to cooperate with the Americans, we will do everything possible to help you return to your home.”
Sammy didn’t translate, and Hakim stood and said, “It is finished.”
As I suspected, Rahim, like most educated Saudis, actually understood a little English, and he probably enjoyed contraband American DVDs—maybe The Sopranos or Sex and the City, and he said to me, “Please, sir. Help me. I help you.”
I looked at Rahim sitting against the wall, his eyes on me. If he got sprung, I wondered if he’d go home and get his life together, or if he’d rejoin the fight. About twenty-five percent of the jihadists released from Guantanamo had turned up again on the battlefields of Afghanistan. And others had been rearrested for terrorist activities in Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Europe. I wasn’t sure about Rahim, but from experience I know that all prisoners are sorry for what they’ve done. Once freed, however, they’re only sorry they got caught.
Maybe Rahim was different. But even if he was, he didn’t join Al Qaeda to promote world peace. And he didn’t go to the American oil installation looking for a job; he went there knowing he was going to kill people. And if his jihadists had overrun the facility, they’d have killed everyone in it—American and European civilians, security people, Yemeni workers, and anyone else who lived or worked there. It didn’t turn out that way, but it could have. And now Rahim was sorry.
“Please to help me. I help you.”
I turned and left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
In the better air outside the prison, Brenner said to Colonel Hakim, “Thank you for your time and assistance.”
Hakim didn’t reply to Brenner, but he did say to me, “Your visa, and that of your wife, remains a problem.”
“Sorry. Hey, maybe I need a tourist visa like all the Al Qaeda guys have who come through Sana’a Airport.”
Colonel Hakim didn’t have much to say about that, but he did advise both of us, “Be very careful here.”
If Ghumdan had a soundtrack, this is when I’d hear an ominous organ chord.
Brenner said to Hakim, “We can find our way back to our vehicle.” Then Brenner did a nice thing and saluted, and Colonel Hakim returned the salute. Military guys do that, even when they hate each other. Good bonding.