“Is that so? Did you tell him?”
“No. I told him to see you.”
“I’ll speak to him.” He added, “We’re not sure how the legat fits into this.”
“Let me know when you know.”
“I will.” He asked me, “What did you speak to Colonel Kent about?”
“The Yemeni Army.”
He let that go and asked, “What did you learn at Ghumdan?”
I never liked it when an NYPD boss wanted to debrief me without my partner present. There could be a misunderstanding. So I replied, “I think Paul wanted the four of us to discuss that.”
“Of course.” He asked me, “So how did you like Ghumdan?”
“It has a way to go to become a model penal institution.”
“I thought so, too.”
I asked him, “Were you there this morning?”
“No, but I’ve been there many times in the past.”
“When will we see the CIA report on their interrogation of the prisoner?”
“After it’s been seen by the station chief.”
I had not yet been introduced to the CIA station chief in Yemen, so I asked, “And who is that?”
“You don’t need to know.” Buck added, “And he doesn’t need to know you.”
I asked, “How many games are in town?”
“Several. But ours is the main game at the moment.” He added, “You ask good questions.”
That’s not what he meant, but I said, “Thank you.”
“Paul said Colonel Hakim was his charming self.”
“He was obstructing American justice.”
“That’s his job.”
I told him, “The fact is, if we had two or three hours alone with the prisoner, with an embassy interpreter, we’d know a lot more about Al Qaeda in Yemen than we do now.”
Buck replied, “If the situation were reversed-if it was your prisoner in New York, Detective Corey-would you allow a foreign policeman or intelligence officer to question him alone?”
Spoken like a true diplomat. But not a rhetorical question, so I replied, “You’re assuming some sort of equality, and there is none. We’re here to save the ass of a weak and corrupt government. The least they can do is get out of our way.”
Buck nodded, then informed me, “Sometimes they do. But as we say in the world of diplomacy, it’s about quid pro quo. We give them something, then they give us something.” He informed me, “I think it’s our turn to give them something. Aside from money.”
“Like what?”
“Well, as I told you in New York, they want our help to… neutralize some particularly aggressive and dangerous tribal leaders.”
“And?”
“And we’re reluctant to do that.”
“Why?”
“We want to keep the goodwill of the tribes.”
“I didn’t know we had their goodwill.”
“We do, but not directly. As I also explained to you, the tribes are culturally and historically closer to the monarchy in Saudi Arabia than they are to the republican government in Sana’a. And the Saudis are our allies, and our link to the tribes.”
“So we don’t want to vaporize tribal chieftains with our Hellfire missiles and piss off the Saudis.”
“Correct. But we might… neutralize a few sheiks and chieftains in exchange for the Sana’a government giving us more help in locating and eliminating Al Qaeda leaders.”
“Right. But they should do that anyway. It’s good for them, too.”
“That’s what we’re trying to explain to them, and believe me they know it, but they’re using our fixation with Al Qaeda to force us to use our Predator drones and Hellfire missiles against these tribal chieftains as well as the South Yemen separatists.”
“Got it. And round and round it goes.”
“Indeed it does.” He further explained to me, “It’s a delicate balancing act, and it all comes back to quid pro quo.”
“Got it.”
He returned to my complaint and said, “Regarding our interrogation of their prisoners, the PSO really doesn’t want us getting free information. They want to sell it to us. So if they give us some good information on The Panther, for instance, then they want us to give them a bucket of guts that used to be an annoying tribal sheik.”
The graphic imagery sort of surprised me, but it made me remember that Buck Harris was only ten percent diplomat, and ninety percent intelligence officer. In fact, in the good old Cold War days, Buck and his pals would have a cocktail and talk about the nuclear obliteration of hundreds of millions of people. Now the potential body count could be measured in terms of a bucket of guts. That’s progress.
On a more immediate subject, I said to him, “I assume Paul told you that the prisoner told us there are about forty jihadists on their way to Aden to attack the Sheraton.”
“Yes, Paul did mention that, and we’ve alerted our people there.”
“Good. Especially since we are going to be some of those people.” I suggested, “Maybe the Yemeni Army can intercept them.”
He informed me, “The Yemeni Army seems to have little luck in intercepting Al Qaeda fighters when they come out of the mountains.” He added, “We believe that Al Qaeda travels in small groups or individually, in civilian clothing, and they may even take public transportation. Buses, planes, hired vehicles.” He reminded me, “Men in Yemen with AK-47 rifles aren’t stopped and questioned because of the rifles. That would be like stopping men with umbrellas in London.”
Buck was getting three-martini clever, and I smiled.
He glanced at his watch and said to me, “We’re actually meeting Paul at eight upstairs. It’s that time.”
“I’ll get Kate.”
“I think she’s already there.”
“All right.” So we ditched our drinks, went to the elevator, rode up to the third floor, and made our way to the secure communications room.
Interesting cocktail party.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mrs. Corey and Mr. Brenner were sitting at the table chatting, and two commo people were manning the electronics on the other side of the glass wall. I was sure there was a lot of traffic today between here and Washington.
We sat, and Brenner told us, “The recording devices are off.”
Now I’d never know what Paul and Kate were talking about. Actually, I’d never know anyway.
Buck asked us, “So did you all have a good day in Sana’a?”
I replied, “How could anyone have a bad day in Sana’a?”
Buck smiled, then urged us to tell him about our day.
So we did, and Buck listened without comment, except to ask us how the food was at Old Sana’a, and to ask Brenner if he was sure he’d gotten me the best jambiyah for the best price. He also asked Kate if she’d been successful at Hope in Their Hands.
This was Buck’s schtick, of course, putting life-and-death topics on the back burner and asking us about lunch and shopping. This is a good interrogation technique, but an annoying debriefing technique.
Buck moved on, asking us, “And you’re sure you weren’t followed?”
I’d already said we weren’t, so I got a little pissy and said, “Buck, I’m a cop. I know if I’m being followed.”
Buck pointed out, “This is not New York.”
“Assholes are the same everywhere.”
Buck smiled, then said, “Well, I’m sure that someone, somewhere today saw you and made a phone call, which is actually what we want.” He added, “It’s good, though, that no one acted on that information while you were in an exposed situation.” He said to Brenner, “Maybe you should have had DSS backup.”
Brenner replied, a bit testily, “I felt it was safe enough to go out without backup.”
Well, it wasn’t. But safety wasn’t the point. Backup is easily spotted and scares off the bad guys, and that’s not what Paul Brenner or John Corey wanted to do.
Buck said, “All right. All’s well that ends well. So… oh, by the way, Mr. Corey, that was good of you to give the lady in the shop an extra twenty dollars. We like to support them.”
Had I mentioned that? No, I had not. So probably one of those Westerners in the shop was his snitch, or more likely he’d just called the shop and chatted in Arabic with the manager. In any case, in the world of spooks and spies, it’s all illusion, and nothing is as it seems. Old Buck had been at this game a lot longer than anyone in this room, and he wanted everyone to know it.