The Panther

by Nelson DeMille

  Mike said, “These clowns want Brenner to walk to them. Not going to happen.”

  Clare asked, “Should I be frightened?”

  Mike replied, “I think pissed off is better.”

  This seemed to be a standoff, and it could go on for a while. I wasn’t sure of the protocol here, but male egos I understood.

  The tailgates of the trucks started dropping and the police began jumping out, carrying their AK-47s. Their blue cammies were covered with dust, and I saw that most of them had dust bandanas covering their mouths and noses, making them look, indeed, like banditos. They didn’t make any moves toward the Land Cruisers; they just milled around, and some of them used the opportunity to take a leak.

  I saw Brenner raise his radio, and he said, “Everyone just sit tight.”

  I saw that Buck was now conversing with a few of the National Security police guys, probably telling them to go get the boss, but it didn’t seem to be working.

  Patience is not one of my many virtues, and it was about time I made Buck and Brenner understand I wasn’t just along for the ride, so I opened my door and got out with my M4 slung over my shoulder.

  Mike said, “Brenner is going to be pissed.”

  Clare said, “Be careful.”

  I walked past the two Land Cruisers in front of us, and Brenner saw me and said, “Get back in your vehicle.”

  I didn’t respond. I took Buck’s arm and said, “Let’s go find the boss.”

  Buck resisted for a moment, then came along with me, and we walked up the road through the mob of police. Brenner stayed behind so he could be in sight of us and keep point-to-point radio contact with the convoy.

  I said to Buck, “Find out what these idiots want, and let’s get moving.”

  Buck replied, “All they want is to show us who’s the boss here, and a few hundred dollars.”

  “They’re not going to get either.”

  Before we got to the lead vehicle, a tall guy with important-looking insignia on his uniform walked up to us and said something in Arabic.

  Buck replied in Arabic, and the guy didn’t seem surprised that Buck spoke the language—I guess he’d been briefed by radio—and he and Buck started jabbering.

  I interrupted, “What is this clown saying?”

  Buck said to me, “This is Captain Dammaj of the National Security Bureau, and he wants to know who we are and where we’re going.”

  “He knows damn well who we are and where we’re going. Tell him to go fuck himself.”

  Buck said something to the guy, but probably not what I suggested.

  The guy replied, and Buck said to me, “He says this road is closed for security reasons, and we must go back to Yarim and take the new road.”

  “Yeah, well, here’s your chance to say, ‘Get out my way, you stupid son of a diseased camel.’ ”

  Buck said something to the guy, but I didn’t hear the Arabic word “gamal,” which I knew.

  Buck listened to the guy, then said to me, “He says he will provide security for us through these mountains to Ta’iz.” Buck added, “Five hundred dollars.”

  “Tell him we’ll provide security for him. Six hundred dollars.”

  “John—”

  The guy said something, and Buck said to me, “He senses you are angry, and he believes you are insulting him.”

  “Me?” I smiled at Captain Dammaj and said in a pleasant tone, “I’ll give you two minutes to get the hell out of our way.”

  Buck, ever the diplomat, also smiled and said something to Captain Dammaj.

  They chatted, maybe negotiating the deal.

  Anyway, I’d really gotten myself worked up, maybe for no reason, and maybe I was being overly aggressive and making an annoying situation into a bad situation. But thinking back to what Buck had said in New York, the Yemenis didn’t like pussies. No girly men here. So I was just following Buck’s advice, though Buck didn’t seem happy with me.

  Anyway, I could hear someone on my hand-held and I put it to my ear, and Buck did the same.

  It was Brenner, who said, “What is going on there? John, I want you back here.”

  Buck replied, “The officer in charge says this road is closed for security reasons. We’re trying to work out a deal. Over.”

  Brenner said to me, “John, let Buck handle this.”

  I replied, “Negative. Out.”

  I could see that Kate had gotten out of her SUV and she was in a serious discussion with her friend Paul about something, maybe saying, “I told you John wasn’t a team player.” Or maybe she thought I was just trying to show her I was much cooler than Paul Brenner. That was totally not true. Well… maybe a little true.

  Buck and Captain Dickhead exchanged a few more words, then Buck said to me, “He’ll take four hundred dollars—”

  “Highway robbery. I know they get two bucks a man.”

  Buck was looking a bit unsettled now, and he said to me sharply, “John, please calm down.” He told me, “The money is in the budget. It’s not your money, and you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

  “It’s not about the money, Buck. It’s about balls.” I reminded him, “You told me to be aggressive with these people.”

  “No. I told you that if you look fearful, it invites aggression on their part.”

  “Oh… did I get that wrong? Sorry about that.” I let Buck know, “We’re playing good cop, bad cop. I’m the bad cop. So you talk nice to this asshole and tell him I’m the boss and I’m being a prick, but I’ll agree to a hundred bucks.”

  Buck seemed a bit frustrated with me, but he forced a smile and said something to Captain What’s-his-name.

  As he spoke, I prompted him by saying, “Tell this clown the Yemeni government should be kissing our asses for being here.”

  Buck interrupted his conversation with the captain and said to me, “John, shut up.”

  “Okay.” I don’t think I’d make a good diplomat.

  Finally, Buck turned to me and said, “Two hundred. That’s as low as he’ll go.” He reminded me, “In Yemen, it’s all about the deal. This man needs to save face now. And we’re not exactly bargaining from strength, and we don’t want to go back to Yarim, so I’m giving him two hundred dollars and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Until the next shakedown.”

  Buck said something to Captain Dammaj, who replied, and Buck said to me, “He’ll give us… let’s call it a laissez-passer, in diplomatic language. A written pass to Aden.”

  Sounded like bullshit to me, but Buck was getting stressed, and the police were finished urinating in public, and they were getting restless, plus Brenner was totally pissed off, and Kate looked worried. Or pissed at me. Also, she was unveiled, and these clowns were giving her the eye. So… I said to Buck, “All right.”

  Buck said something to Captain Dammaj, who nodded and smiled at me.

  I asked Buck, “Do I hug him?”

  “Just shake hands.”

  So I extended my hand to Captain Dammaj, we shook, and I smiled and said to him, “You’re a thief.”

  He smiled in return and said something that Buck translated as, “You are a brave man and a hard negotiator.”

  I don’t know if Dammaj really said that—maybe he said, “You’re a total asshole and you eat goat shit”—but Buck was intent on smoothing things over.

  Buck got on his radio and said, “We’ll be on our way in a few minutes.”

  Captain Dammaj walked to one of the trucks, I guess to write a pass or something.

  Buck said to me, “I could have handled this without your help.”

  “I made it fun.”

  Captain Dammaj returned with a piece of paper, and he and Buck exchanged the pass and the money. As Buck was reading the pass, I asked him, “Did he sign it Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves?”

  Captain Dammaj smiled and said to me, in English, “You are not so funny.”

  Whoops.

  Buck almost dropped his laissez-passer.

 
; Captain Dammaj said to both of us, “Be very careful on the road. And have a pleasant stay at the Sheraton.”

  “And you have a nice day,” I said.

  Before he turned to walk off, he said to me, “Go fuck yourself.”

  Buck looked at me, but he seemed at a loss for words.

  On the walk back to the Land Cruisers, I asked Buck, “Do you think there really is a security problem ahead?”

  Buck replied, “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  We got to the lead Land Cruiser where Brenner and Kate were standing. Brenner, showing a lot of restraint, said to me, “I appreciate your initiative, but it’s Buck’s job to handle these situations.”

  I didn’t respond to that and kept walking.

  Kate caught up to me and asked, “What is wrong with you?”

  Sounded like a rhetorical question, so I didn’t answer, but I said, “You were told to stay in the vehicle. Follow orders.”

  “Me? How about you?”

  “I don’t take orders from Paul Brenner.”

  She didn’t reply to that, but said, “I’ll see you later,” and kept walking.

  I got in my Land Cruiser, and Mike asked, “How much?”

  “Two hundred.”

  “That’s about right.”

  Clare asked, “Is everything okay?”

  “We’re good to go.”

  The police truck that was blocking the left lane moved over, and Brenner’s lead vehicle pulled out and led the way for the Land Cruisers to pass the stopped trucks.

  I looked in my sideview mirror and saw that the police trucks were doing a U-turn. We were on our own.

  Within a few minutes we were clipping along and the police convoy was out of sight.

  About twenty minutes later, we were on a steep upgrade, and the road narrowed and turned through a mountain pass.

  Brenner got on the radio and said, “Niner-niner”—meaning all personnel—“it gets interesting here. Spread out, but keep the vehicle in front of you in sight.” He added, “Stay alert.”

  Goes without saying, Paul. But I wasn’t worried. We had a pass from Captain Dammaj.

  There was no oncoming traffic on the mountain road, and Mike informed me, “That’s not a good sign.”

  “Right.”

  Mike asked me, “Did the police say anything about the security situation?”

  “I think the chief did say something about the road being closed for security reasons.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “Just a sales pitch. He wanted five hundred bucks to escort us.”

  Mike didn’t say anything for a while, then suggested, “He may have been telling the truth.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Yeah… anyway, you can’t trust the police to provide protection—even if you pay for it.”

  “Right.” I thought about those Belgian tourists at Marib. They didn’t get much for their money.

  Clare said, “Maybe we should turn around.”

  Mike replied, “That’s for the boss to decide, and he’s already decided.”

  Right. Paul Brenner wasn’t turning around. In fact, we’d gotten ourselves into a dicey situation. But I think that was the goal.

  Mike said, “Well, we got the road all to ourselves.”

  “I hope so.”

  The road skirted a town high up on a hill, and Mike said, “That’s Ibb. Last town we’ll see in these hills.” He added, “Almost no government presence here.”

  “Good. We’re almost out of shakedown money, so that works.”

  He continued, “The tribes rule here, but they won’t take on this convoy.” He reminded me, however, “Al Qaeda is the new boy on the block here.”

  Right. And they don’t want your money. They want your head.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The mountains were parched, and there were herds of goats nibbling at the brown vegetation. I could see mud huts on the slopes and in the alpine meadows. People lived here, but I hadn’t seen anyone for a while. Khat time?

  White clouds had developed around the peaks, but the Predator infrared cameras should be able to see through them.

  The narrow road was paved, but clouds of dust partly obscured the two Land Cruisers ahead of us. We were driving mostly on the left to lessen the damage from a roadside bomb planted on the right. But a bomb could also be planted on the left.

  We were maintaining a speed of about a hundred KPH—about sixty miles an hour—which was pushing the limit here.

  The radios were quiet, and so were my companions.

  Finally, Mike said, “In about thirty minutes we’ll be coming down onto the plateau.”

  I could tell by Mike’s tone of voice that he seemed to have a mountain phobia, and probably with good reason.

  Every now and then I scanned the terrain with the binoculars, but I didn’t see anything suspicious. Not that I’d know what suspicious looked like around here. But I’m sure if I saw it, I’d know it.

  I asked Clare, “How you doing?”

  No reply.

  I turned and saw she was sleeping. I guess that’s the best way to get through a terrifying ride through enemy territory. I said to Mike, “You should try to catch some sleep, too.”

  I thought that was funny, but he didn’t laugh. I hoped he wasn’t flashing back to Afghanistan.

  The radio crackled, and Brenner’s voice, cool and calm, said, “Predator reports ambush ahead.”

  That got my attention.

  Mike said, “Shit!”

  Clare, awake now, asked, “What did he say?”

  I said to her, “Get down below the windows. Now. Quick.”

  She unfastened her seat belt and got flat on the seat.

  Brenner said, “Maintain max speed.”

  I focused my binoculars on the road ahead, and about three hundred yards in front of Brenner’s lead vehicle I saw three things: a mud hut close to the right side of the road, then fifty yards farther a white Toyota SUV on the narrow shoulder with its hood up, and finally at a bend in the road a donkey cart and driver coming toward us.

  Mike said, “There’s the ambush—maybe IEDs…” He said to me, “Get below the windows.”

  I kept looking through the binoculars.

  Brenner’s lead vehicle was literally seconds from the mud hut, and I saw his brake lights come on, and he swerved to the far left on a collision course with the donkey cart. Then all of a sudden I saw a streak of smoke coming out of the sky, and a second later the mud hut exploded, then erupted again in a secondary explosion whose shockwave rocked the SUV.

  Clare screamed.

  Holy shit.

  Two more streaks of smoke came out of the sky, and in quick succession the Toyota and the donkey cart erupted in deafening explosions.

  Debris was falling out of the sky, the brown grass was burning, and black smoke billowed from what remained of the Toyota.

  Brenner’s vehicle hit a chunk of donkey as it shot through the devastated area, followed by Buck’s vehicle, then ours. Something hit the windshield and left a thick red smear on the glass.

  Mamma mia.

  I looked in the sideview mirror and saw Kate’s vehicle coming through the smoke and the debris field, followed by the Bondmobile.

  Then something else hit our SUV, and it took me a second to realize we were taking rounds.

  Mike hit the gas and we two-wheeled it around the S-curve as we got hit again. A loud noise filled the SUV and I turned to see a big dimple in the back windshield where it had taken a bullet. I could also see green tracer rounds coming from the hills around us, streaking toward the speeding convoy.

  I really wanted to lower my window and return fire, but Brenner had said not to do that, and maybe it wasn’t a good idea with bullets coming at us. But when I looked again through the back windshield, I saw that someone in the Bondmobile, wearing a flak jacket and Kevlar helmet—maybe Zamo—was leaning out of the rear driver’s side window gangster-style, firing back at the streaks of tracer rounds. The othe
r DSS guy riding shotgun was doing the same, and the Bondmobile was drawing most of the fire now.

  The Land Cruiser took another hit, and Clare shouted, “Stop!”

  Mike yelled, “Look!”

  I turned, and on the road coming toward us was another Toyota SUV traveling at top speed, quickly closing the distance between him and Brenner’s lead vehicle. Bad guy? I’d never know, because a white smoke trail angled down out of the blue and the Toyota erupted in a ball of flames, followed by a loud explosion.

  Brenner’s and Buck’s SUVs swerved and shot past the burning wreckage, and by the time we reached it, pieces of burning junk started falling on us, and something bounced off the hood. Mike was temporarily blinded by the black, billowing smoke, and we were going off the pavement, but he jerked the wheel back in time to avoid an off-road trip into a ravine.

  I unfastened my seat belt and looked out the back windshield. Kate’s SUV was right behind us, and the Bondmobile was coming up fast. We seemed to be out of the killing zone and I didn’t see any red tracers following us. I took a deep breath and looked down at Clare, who was now on the floor, her face and chest covered by the big medical bag. I said to her, “It’s okay. It’s over.”

  She didn’t respond and I reached down and lifted the medical bag. She stared up at me, but said nothing. I asked, “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  I turned back toward the front and Mike said, “Three fucking weeks.”

  “Right.” In fact, time is relative. The ambush seemed to last forever, but it was probably less than two minutes since the first Hellfire hit.

  Mike had the windshield washers on now, and the wiper blades were smearing a red goo across the glass.

  The hand-helds crackled and Brenner’s voice, still calm and cool, came over the radios. “Sit-rep. Vehicle One okay.”

  Buck said, “Two is… fine.” He sounded surprised.

  Mike had a death grip on the steering wheel, so I transmitted, “Three okay.”

  I waited for V-4 to transmit, and I was getting concerned, but then Kate’s voice, almost upbeat, said, “Four okay.”

  The Bondmobile reported, “Trail okay… but Z has a graze wound.”

  I said to Clare, “One customer for you.”