On that subject, I was still waiting for our CIA guy to show himself, and my instincts said it would be soon.
We were all baking in the heat, so we unrobed and dove into the pool, which was warm as bathwater.
Everyone, I assumed, had a gun and extra magazines in their bathrobes, and the staff knew that and stayed away from our table. Also, as per my last visit here, there was a Marine sniper on the roof keeping an eye on the pool and beach. Every resort hotel should have a sniper on the roof. Helps you relax.
Anyway, after about a half hour of pool frolics, I suggested a beach volleyball game, admitting, “I got very good at this when I was here.”
We carried our bathrobes down to the beach and hung them on the net pole, then chose up sides: Buck, Clare, and me against Brenner, Kate, and Howard.
We played best out of five, and I seemed to be the only one who knew how to play the game. My team swept the first three, with me as the high scorer, of course. Hey, I played this stupid game for forty days. That’s why I suggested it.
Brenner, I noticed, was a competitive player, and not a very good loser. Neither am I, which is why I play games I can win.
Buck suggested a walk on the beach, so we asked one of the Marines to watch our backs and watch our robes and guns, and we all went down to the water. As I said, naked on the beach in Yemen means you don’t have your gun.
Howard announced, “I want to take a swim. Who’s coming in with me?”
How could I resist saying, “Do you know why sharks don’t eat lawyers? Professional courtesy.”
Okay, old joke, but it got a laugh because of the immediate proximity of the lawyer and the sharks.
Brenner, of course, took the challenge, and I did, too, but Kate said, “John, I don’t want you-any of you-to go in.”
Buck informed us, “It’s very dangerous.”
Well, that settled it. Howard, Brenner, and I ran into the surf and dove in. The gulf was calm, the salt water was buoyant, and the tide was running out, so it was an easy swim, even with the weight of our heavy shorts and T-shirts.
We got about a hundred yards out when I spotted two gray dorsal fins about twenty feet away. Holy shit.
Howard said hopefully, “Could be dolphins.”
I suggested, “Tell them the lawyer joke and when they laugh we can see if they have sharp teeth.”
Anyway, we headed for shore and made it back to the shallow water, where Buck, Kate, and Clare stood waist-deep in the surf watching us set a swim speed record.
Buck asked, “Sharks?”
I replied, “I didn’t ask.”
We all waded ashore, and Kate said to me sharply, “We didn’t come all the way here and survive an ambush so you could get eaten by a shark.”
“Yes, dear.”
Brenner was probably rethinking his infatuation with Kate Mayfield. My rule is, if you’re thinking of having an affair with a married woman, first see how she treats her husband.
Anyway, we all decided that the pool was safer, but before we began our walk up the beach, I saw Buck looking at a guy who was standing about thirty feet away at the water’s edge, smoking a cigarette and staring out at the sea.
I had the impression that Buck knew this guy and knew he would be there.
Buck said to Clare and Howard, “You go ahead. We’ll join you later.”
So we were about to meet our last teammate.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The guy flicked his cigarette into the surf, then began walking toward us.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, medium height and very lean, though I had the impression he’d once carried more weight. He was barefoot, wearing white cotton pants and a green flowered tropical shirt, which was unbuttoned.
His hair was long and straight, and it was bleached almost white by the same Saudi sun that had burned his skin almost black. His eyebrows, too, were sun-bleached, and as he got closer I saw that his eyes were a weird, almost unnatural blue.
At first glance, you’d say beach bum or surfer dude. But if you looked closer, you’d see a man who’d been here too long; a Westerner who had not gone native, but had gone somewhere else.
Buck met him halfway and they shook hands. I heard the guy say, “Good to see you again.” His voice was flat as was his whole affect, but he did force a smile.
Brenner, Kate, and I joined Buck, who introduced us to Chet Morgan. He knew who we were, of course, and now we knew our CIA guy, though Buck hadn’t mentioned Mr. Morgan’s affiliation.
He shook hands with Kate first, saying, “Glad you could come,” then with Brenner, saying, “Good job on the road.”
Brenner responded, “Thanks for the Hellfires.”
He didn’t acknowledge that, and as I shook his hand, he said, “Thank you for coming here.”
Weird. And for the record, his handshake was more of a jerk than a shake, and his skin was cold. Maybe he was dead.
Chet, as he wanted to be called, suggested a walk on the beach, so we walked toward Elephant Rock.
Chet hadn’t said walk and talk, so we walked in silence, like we were old buds just enjoying the moment together.
I glanced at Buck, who seemed subdued, which is not like Buck.
Chet lit another cigarette.
I didn’t give a shit if this guy never said another word, but Brenner broke the silence and asked Chet the standard question, “How long have you been here?”
Chet replied, “Since the Cole.”
So that was about three and a half years. No wonder the guy was buggy. But Buck had been in Yemen on and off for a lot longer, and he was okay. Maybe if I stayed here another six months I’d think Chet was okay, too.
As a cop, I can spot someone who is indulging in a controlled substance, and I had the thought that Chet was on something, maybe khat. So maybe the A-team had a junkie on board. Terrific. Takes the pressure off me.
Brenner, a man of few words himself, was apparently uncomfortable with a man of no words, and he asked Chet, “Any chance our target was KIA in the ambush?”
Chet drew on his cigarette and replied, “I don’t think so.” He added, “Chatter puts him in Marib.”
Well, I guess we were going to Marib to end the chatter.
Buck asked Chet, “Do you or your people think that this attack on our convoy in any way compromises our mission?”
Chet replied, “I’m not hearing anything. But it’s a good question.” He added, “I think we need to move fast before somebody in Washington starts asking the same question.”
Right. As always, it came down to the age-old clash between the hawks and the doves-the ballsy and the ball-less-just like during the Cold War. The Pentagon, the State Department, the intelligence establishment, and the White House all had different agendas. The only people who had a clear agenda were the terrorists.
Kate asked, “Why would anyone in Washington not want to go ahead with apprehending The Panther?”
“There are legal issues,” Chet replied, “and diplomatic issues.”
Right. The Yemenis had this silly idea that their soil was sovereign. Plus there was Mommy and Daddy’s lawsuit. Also, there was a chance we’d be kicked out of Yemen for using the Hellfires today. I asked Chet, “How fast do we need to move?”
“Maybe tonight.” He added, “It may not be safe here.”
When was it safe here?
We continued our walk along the beach, past a Marine patrol, and reached Elephant Rock, which jutted into the gulf.
There were about a dozen fishing boats moored or anchored in the shallows, and Chet waded into the water toward one of them, so I guess we were supposed to follow.
He pulled himself into an open twenty-foot wooden boat with an outboard engine, and Buck followed. Kate and I and Brenner glanced at one another, then climbed aboard.