“Right.” The Saudis could be a problem if we did snatch The Panther and had to beat feet with him across the Saudi border. Therefore, we were probably not taking The Panther to Saudi Arabia, and certainly not handing him over to the Yemenis. It occurred to me that there was more going on here than I knew. I’m shocked.
Bottom line here: A bullet in the brain settles all extradition requests, jurisdictional disputes, and silly lawsuits.
Howard also informed us, “I’m going to stay on with you in Aden.”
Shit. But I said, “Great.” I felt obligated, however, to advise him, “We have intel that the Sheraton in Aden might be the subject of an Al Qaeda attack.”
“Really?”
“With luck, this will happen before we get there and the cocktail lounge won’t be damaged.”
Kate suggested to Howard, “You might want to return to Sana’a today.”
Howard thought about that-Death Highway back to Sana’a this afternoon, or Ground Zero in Aden tonight? Personally, I’d head inside for a muffin. But Howard said, “No, I’ll stay in Aden until a convoy heads north again.” He added, “I want to be close to this.”
“Your call.”
Zamo came over and asked us to join him at his Land Cruiser for a quick course on the M4 carbine.
He handed each of us a weapon and said, “This is the Model A1, a shorter and lighter version of the standard military M-16 assault rifle, which I’m sure you’re all familiar with.”
I hefted the carbine in my hands. It felt good. It felt bad.
Zamo, warming to his favorite subject, said, “It has a telescoping stock, and this model fires fully automatic.” He continued, “It takes the standard 5.56mm cartridge, and has a thirty-round magazine. The cyclic rate of fire is seven hundred to nine hundred and fifty rounds a minute.”
Kate asked, “Effective range?”
“You’ll get good accuracy at three hundred yards.” He further explained, “The short barrel reduces the effective range, but we have day and night scopes that I’ll give you.”
I inquired, “Do you have your sniper rifle with you?”
“Does the Pope leave home without his cross?” Zamo continued, “This gun is built for close-in defense and medium-range offensive use. So if we get into a situation where the bad guys are firing from a distance with AK-47s, then you have to compensate by laying down full automatic suppressing fire to keep their heads down.” He assured us, “What the M4 lacks in long-range capability, it more than makes up for in its high cyclic rate of fire.”
Howard asked a good question. “Any jamming problems when it gets hot?”
Zamo replied, “Theoretically yes, but no one has reported a combat jam.”
Maybe because they were dead.
Zamo continued, “The small size makes it easy to transport and conceal. Easy to carry it in and out of tight and confined spaces like vehicles or caves.”
Caves?
Zamo looked at Kate and said to her, “Its size, weight, and low recoil makes it popular with the ladies.”
I asked Zamo, “Will it chip her nails?”
Zamo laughed and Kate said, “Fuck you.” Which made Zamo laugh even more. This was fun.
So Zamo went on a bit about the M4, using more words than I’d heard him use all day yesterday.
All in all, the M4 seemed like an excellent weapon. I hoped I never had to use it, but if I did, I knew I’d have a blast.
On that subject, Zamo said, “I’m sorry we never got a chance to test fire, but we’ll go out in the Badlands tomorrow and give it a rip.” He added, “We might even find live targets.”
I reminded him, “We might find those on the road this morning.”
“Right.” Zamo asked, “Any questions?”
Howard asked, “Which thing is the trigger?”
Funny.
Okay, so deadly force course completed, Kate and I and Howard slung our M4s over our shoulders, and Zamo gave us each a black satchel stuffed with loaded magazines and telescopic sights. He said to us, “Good luck and good hunting.”
Mr. Brenner, the caravan master, had gathered the DSS drivers, and he was now speaking to them, reading from a sheet of paper that outlined the route and the order of march. I wondered if by chance Mr. Brenner and Mrs. Corey were riding in the same vehicle. Would he do something so stupidly obvious? Why not? I would.
Ed Peters had come out of the chancery building, though I didn’t think he was going to Aden with us. Maybe he was here to bless the caravan.
Kate and I were standing with Buck now, and Peters came over to us and said to Buck, “I’ve got only two fully armored vehicles left, and I have to pick up the new ambassador next week, so don’t get ambushed.”
Buck assured him, “You can get five new vehicles on a C-17.”
Peters replied, “That can take over a week.” He said to me, “I hate these trips to Aden.”
“You’re not going,” I reminded him.
“My vehicles are.”
“Sorry. Is there a bus I can take?”
Clearly Mr. Peters was worried about his vehicles. And, of course, his DSS agents. As for his passengers, they were the cause of his worries. A larger issue was the lack of American helicopters in this dangerous and inaccessible country. Without them, we had to drive through Indian Territory, and basically we were no more mobile than Al Qaeda in their Toyotas.
On the plus side, we had Predator drone surveillance-and maybe Hellfire missiles-but I didn’t know if Peters knew that, or if he knew we were taking his men and vehicles on the road to see if we could get into a fight with Al Qaeda.
Mr. Peters thought he might be causing the newbies some anxiety, so he said to me and Kate, “We’ve never gotten hit on the Sana’a-Aden road.”
Buck, too, assured us, “The most dangerous thing about the trip is the Yemeni truck drivers.”
Kate asked Buck and Peters, “Aren’t the National Security police supposed to provide road security?”
Peters replied, “Sometimes the police themselves are the problem.”
Right. In Yemen, even the good guys are bad. This place sucked. Did I already say that?
Bottom line here was three possible outcomes of this trip: a nice drive in the country, a successful encounter with the enemy, or headlines in tomorrow’s newspapers. American Convoy Wiped Out in Yemen; Thirteen Dead.
Public reaction would be total bewilderment-Where’s Yemen?
Good question.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Buck got another sat-phone call, and he moved off to speak. Maybe it was his wife in Maryland questioning him about all the Russia Club bills on his Amex.
Anyway, Buck returned and we chatted awhile, though he didn’t mention the phone call.
Brenner came over to us and said, “We’re ready to roll in five minutes.” Mr. Brenner glanced at Mrs. Corey, but asked me, “You all squared away on the M4?”
“We are.”
Brenner summoned everyone to draw near and said, “Listen up, please.”
As everyone gathered around, Brenner began, “First, let me introduce you to Dr. Nolan, who some of you may already know.”
The young doctor raised her hand and waved. She wasn’t bad-looking if you like the looks of, say, Scarlett Johansson. But I digress. What was I saying? She looked competent. Right.
Brenner informed everyone, “Dr. Nolan is fully equipped to treat carsickness, and gunshot wounds smaller than nine millimeters.”
That got a good laugh. Even Howard laughed on his way back inside the embassy. Just kidding.
Dr. Nolan said, “I make house calls.”
Brenner then introduced “our very important passengers, Mr. John Corey of the FBI Evidence Response Team, and Ms. Kate Mayfield, our new legal affairs attache.”
I held up my hand and said, “I’m John. That’s Kate.”