Night Fall

“Okay. That’s the carrot. Right?”

“That’s the carrot. Yemen is the stick-up-your-ass. Figure it out, John.”

“I figured it out.”

“Stay on the team, play ball, and you’ll hit another home run. Leave the team, and you’ll never get up to bat again.”

“Good analogy. And you’re right. The Khalil case is more important to me than chasing down phantom evidence on the TWA case.” I added, because it was true, “I see why you’re in charge here. You’re very good.”

“I am. But it’s nice to hear it.”

I waited for him to tell me how great I was, but he didn’t. I asked him, “Doesn’t it bother you to ignore the possibility of that videotape?”

He stared at me a long time and said, “I’m not ignoring it. I’m telling you it doesn’t exist, but if it did, it’s none of your business. I hope that’s clear.”

“Very.”

He stood and walked me toward the door. He said, “You’ll enjoy working with the agents in Yemen. They’re a top-notch team.”

“I’m looking forward to contributing to the success of the mission. I’d like to be back by Labor Day.”

“The needs of the mission come first. But that’s possible.”

“Good. I teach classes at John Jay.”

“I know that. We don’t want to create any u

“Just necessary hardships.”

“We’re all soldiers in the struggle against global terrorism.”

“And also the war against Islamic Jihad.”

He ignored my plain English and Arabic, and said, “Yemen is considered a hostile country. You need to be very careful. You have a great future ahead of you here, and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Neither would Kate, I’m sure. You need to see the legal department about your will before you leave. And have a power of attorney executed in case of your disappearance or abduction.”

Jack Koenig and I stared at each other for a few long seconds. Finally, I said, “I wasn’t pla

He informed me, “Make no mistake-this is a dangerous place. For instance, in December 1998, four kidnapped Western tourists were murdered by religious extremists.”

“Buddhists?”

“No, Muslims.”

“Ah. So, this is, like, a Muslim country.”

Mr. Koenig was clearly losing his patience with my affected stupidity, but he continued, “In the last ten years or so, over a hundred Westerners have been kidnapped in Yemen.”

“No kidding? What the hell were they doing there?”

“I don’t know… businesspeople, academics, tourists.”

“Right. But after the first forty or fifty went missing, didn’t the rest say, ‘Duh? Maybe I should go to Italy or something.’ You know?”

He looked at me for a few seconds, then said with forced patience, “Why they were in Yemen is not relevant. But FYI, there were no Americans among the abducted and missing. Mostly Europeans. They tend to be adventurous travelers.”

“Clueless is more like it.”

“Whatever. Part of your mission will be to gather information on these missing Westerners-and to take care that you don’t become one of them.”

Jack and I looked at each other, and it might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw another smile pass across his lips. I said, “I understand.”

“I know you do.”

We shook hands and I left.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Kate and I spent the rest of the day at 26 Federal Plaza, filling out paperwork, tidying up a few loose ends, and saying good-byes.

We went to the nurses’ office, where we got inoculations for diseases I’ve never heard of, and we each got a starter vial of malaria pills. The nurses wished us a safe and healthy trip, without a touch of irony.

As I was tidying up my desk, Harry Muller said to me, “I didn’t know you were volunteering for Yemen.”

“Neither did I.”

“You piss somebody off?”

“Koenig thinks I’m having an affair with his wife.”

“No shit?”

“She gets around, but keep that to yourself.”

“Yeah… and Kate’s going to Africa?”

“Tanzania. Embassy bombing.”

“Who didshe piss off?”

“Koenig. He was coming on to her, and she threatened to file a harassment complaint.”

“This is all bullshit. Right?”

“Don’t start any rumors. Jack doesn’t like rumors.”

We shook hands, and Harry said, “Find those bastards who blew up the Cole.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

My last stop, without Kate, was the legal office upstairs where a young lady lawyer-about sixteen years old-gave me some papers to fill out and sign, including a power of attorney in the event I was abducted or missing. She explained, “If you’re dead, the executors named in your will have the power to settle your estate. But if you’re just missing, it’s like, a real pain in the ass. You know? I mean, Are you dead or alive? Who’s going to pay your rent and stuff?”

“Jack Koenig.”

“Who do you want to have the power of attorney? It doesn’t have to be an actual attorney. Just someone you trust to sign your checks and act on your behalf until you’re found, or presumed dead, or declared legally dead.”

“Who did Elvis Presley use?”

“How about your wife?”

“She’ll probably be in Africa.”

“I’m sure they’ll let her come home. Your wife. Okay?”

“You mean if I’m missing or kidnapped, my wife will have access to my checkbook, savings account, credit cards, and my salary?”

“That’s right.”

“What if I show up a year later and find out I’m broke?”

She laughed.

I’m notthat used to being married, and this was a moment of truth. I asked the kid lawyer, “Who did my wife use?”

“She hasn’t been here yet.”

“I see… all right, my wife.”

She wrote Kate’s name on the document, I signed it, and it was notarized right there.

We slogged through some more crap, and she finally said, “That’s about it. Have a good trip. See me when you get back.”

“I’ll send you a postcard if I get kidnapped.”

Kate and I had decided not to walk out together, so we set a rendezvous for 6P.M. at Ecco. I got there first, and as always, the place was full of lawyers, mostly criminal defense attorneys who can only stand each other’s company when they’re drunk.

I ordered a double Dewar’s straight up and got off to a good start. There was a pretty woman at the end of the bar, and it took me a while to realize it was my ex with a new hairdo and color. Robin and I made eye contact, she smiled, raised her glass, and we toasted across the room. Fact is, we still get along on the rare occasions we speak or meet. She motioned me to join her, but I shook my head and ordered another double.

A few men and women from the NYPD side of the twenty-sixth floor came in, including Harry Muller, and I joined them. Then some FBI buddies of Kate’s arrived, so I guessed this was a little send-off thing.

Kate arrived with a few co-workers, and by 6:30, there were about fifteen ATTF people in the place, including Jack Koenig, who never passes up the opportunity to show what a regular guy he’d like to be.

Koenig made a little speech that could barely be heard above the barroom noise, but I caught the words “duty,” “devotion,” and “sacrifice.” Maybe he was practicing for my eulogy.

Robin, who has more balls than most men, came over and introduced herself to some of my co-workers, then she caught up to me, and we exchanged an air kiss. She said, “Someone said you’re going to Yemen.”

“Are you sure? They told me Paris.”

She laughed. “You haven’t changed.”

“Why mess with perfection?”

Kate made her way over to me, and I said, “Robin, this is my wife, Kate.”

They shook hands, and Kate said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Robin replied, sincerely, “I’m pleased to meet you. I hear you’re going to Tanzania. What an interesting job you have.”