The Complicity Doctrine

by Matthew Frick

  “But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” Susan said. “We just don’t have all the pieces to tie everything together. We’re not wrong about the Houthi, either. The truth is there, Casey. The fact that those names were on the list is evidence there’s more going on than we think.”

  “But every assumption we’re making, whether about the proxy war, the bombing, or Mari’s death...everything keeps getting shot down,” Casey said.

  “Not shot down, just challenged,” Susan said. “Jim told you not to look for a smoking gun, but to go after the small stuff you could prove.”

  “I thought that’s what I was doing,” Casey said.

  “Look. When has any theory you’ve come up with been one-hundred percent correct the first time it popped into your head?”

  “You’re saying I’m always wrong?” Casey asked.

  “Not after you put solid research behind it,” Susan answered. “That’s what we do, Casey. We’re analysts. We analyze. And that means research.”

  Once again, Susan was right, and Casey knew it. He was just frustrated that in less than eight hours he went from confidence to confusion, and he didn’t know the next step. “So what do we start researching?”

  “The same things we’ve been looking into so far,” Susan said. “The contents of the thumb drive, for one. If we knew where Mari got the list of names from in the first place, that could point us in the direction of who was trying to kill her. And now that we know the people on that list actually exist, we can start looking closer at the other people that weren’t named on the news tonight. Only, we need to look outside the terrorist watch lists, since your friend already checked them with access we don’t even have. ”

  Casey thought about his friend and was reminded that he owed Detective Giordano some information. “If you start with the names tomorrow, I’ll look into the guy I saw outside the deli. If we can’t come up with anything solid, maybe we can at least eliminate some distractions.”

  “Alright,” Susan said. “But I’ll probably start looking tonight.”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t think I’m gonna wait ‘til tomorrow, either,” Casey said. “And remind me tomorrow to call Joel Simpson. Even if Senator Cogburn didn’t have anything to do with the CRS report, I’m pretty damn sure he read it. Maybe he can give us something we weren’t even thinking about.”

  * * * * *

  When the call ended, a computer on the other side of the city stopped recording. The file was automatically given a number and attached to an e-mail with a pre-determined address. The computer’s owner had set the whole thing up to run without human intervention, hacking into the cable company’s switching network when he determined the phone service Susan Williams used. He wasn’t even present when the call was intercepted.

  The e-mail was sent, followed by another, identical message to a different address, and the computer waited for the next call.

  Chapter 22

  After Susan’s phone call, Casey couldn’t think of anything else but the bombing. He closed his eyes and tried to recall everything he could about that morning. Scenes from inside the deli mixed with the images he’d seen on television, playing faster and faster the more he concentrated. The overload was too much. When he tried to find a picture of the stranger in the window, the taped footage of panicked worshippers trampling each other to escape from St. Patrick’s Cathedral or a close-up of Mariam Fahda’s body, unconscious and bleeding, blanked out the man with the satchel.

  Casey opened his eyes and went to his computer. He needed to try something else—anything else. The first place he went to was Middle-Truths. The blog had helped him in the past to sort through his own thoughts by writing them out, and he hoped that exercise would work for him now.

  After he logged in, a draft post he’d started the night before came up. “Iran Proxy War?” was only half-complete, but he read the late-night musing out of habit, with no intention of completing it. Especially not now, after significant elements he thought supported his theory evaporated with the naming of two Houthi suspects in the bombings. But he wasn’t ready to give up on the idea of the United States waging a clandestine war of surrogates against the Islamic Republic of Iran. He just wasn’t comfortable broadcasting that idea anymore until he had more evidence, or until he could make sense of the evidence he already had—or thought he had.

  Despite the news that accompanied Susan’s call, he was glad she thought to call him. He relied on her more than he let on, and hearing her voice reminded him of Susan’s comments about an article he showed her on Thursday. She said Iran was “complicit in the deaths of its own soldiers,” summarizing her interpretation of Casey’s own argument. He smiled, remembering the dismissal she gave him on her way out. He loved that about her. She was confident in her own abilities as an analyst and comfortable enough with her and Casey’s friendship, even after the brief period of romance between them ended, that she could give him shit while absorbing every barb Casey threw her way.

  Casey stared at the blinking cursor on his computer screen and his vision began to blur. He only saw the cursor. It took just two minutes for the visual cadence to take an almost hypnotic control of his thoughts. Without typing a word, the images from a few moments ago slowed down, and he was able to take in more detail. But more than that, the mental pictures fell in line, organizing themselves into a repeating slide show. Other scenes began to intrude—not replacing, but augmenting the story that was taking shape.

  Another five minutes passed, and Casey put his hands on the keyboard.

  The Complicity Doctrine

  26 July

  How do you fight a war without fighting?

  Someone asked me that the other day when I said the United States is at war with Iran, but that we’re not actually fighting them.

  It’s a valid question—provided you’ve already moved past the part where I said the United States is at war with Iran. Let me tackle both parts of my assertion with the same explanation.

  Y’all heard about the attack that took place in Sistan va Balochistan recently, didn’t you? The bus-load of IRGC soldiers that were slaughtered in an ambush?....No? Well, trust me, it happened. But the fact that members of Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps were killed in their own country is not what’s important here. Neither is the fact that Jondallah was blamed for it. What is interesting is that the United States Senate recently introduced a resolution that will be voted on in two weeks calling for the State Department to delist the People’s Mujahideen Organization of Iran—most people know this group as the Mujahideen e-Khalq, or MeK.

  You see, it’s the timing of these two events that caught my attention. Jondallah is still very adept at carrying out violent attacks on elements of the Iranian regime, even after their leadership was figuratively (some say literally, as well) decapitated last year. What they don’t have, however, is a robust intelligence capability. Not anymore, anyways. But you know which opposition group in the Islamic Republic does have the network to gather information vital to attack planning? Three letters...M-E-K.

  The Senate resolution to take MeK off of the list of Foreign Terrorist Organizations, if the State Department accepts the plea, would, in effect, free the hands of donors (governmental or otherwise) to give money to the organization and provide other assistance where needed. This move is a key component to the U.S. war-effort against Iran.

  Jondallah and MeK both despise the current regime in Iran, though for different reasons. One has both the motive and the balls to kill Iranian soldiers and officials whenever and wherever they can. The other has the ability to move freely about the populace as they have had decades to establish and exploit a clandestine web of informants and sympathizers throughout the country. To meet their stated end goal of changing the establishment, one complements the other, and operationally it makes sense that Jondallah is conducting open raids based on MeK-provided intelligence.

  The Senate is trying to make it easier for America to support this partner
ship without showing its hand.

  How is a resolution that’s widely known in the public masking American intent, you ask? Simple. The Mujahideen e-Khalq has been forgiven for its past transgressions by much of the West already, so taking them off the FTO list in the U.S. is no different than what everybody else has done. Besides, MeK denounced violence years ago, so what harm could it do? Jondallah, on the other hand, is still on the FTO list, showing Iran that we vilify their most violent internal opposition group—solidarity (false?) in the war on terror. So, publicly we support MeK, who in turn helps Jondallah, therefore receiving our private support, and the Iranian regime is attacked without so much as a single U.S. soldier setting foot on Iranian soil. Like I said, simple.

  But let’s not stop there. The Jondallah-MeK connection is just one piece. Perhaps you also heard about the cruise missile strike into Yemen a couple of days ago—again, aimed at hurting Iran. The targets in this case were the Houthi of northwest Yemen. The Houthi are Zaydi Shia, and Iran’s funneling of weapons and money to the group is widely acknowledged. The reason these guys get support from Iran is partially due to the group’s spill-over conflict with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia’s security forces. Every armed Saudi al Houthi kills tips the scales of future conflict between Iran and Saudi Arabia a little more in the mullahs’ favor.

  Iran’s support of the Houthi is not enough to justify lobbing millions of dollars worth of Tomahawk missiles at them, though. Not to mention if the U.S. Government came out and said point blank that the missiles were meant to take out an Iran proxy to chip away a little of Iran’s regional influence, that would certainly defeat the purpose of keeping the war on the down-low.

  Instead, the Houthi were blamed for three near-simultaneous bombs that rocked the heart of New York City on Friday, and they paid the price. But the two men identified as responsible for the killings weren’t accused of collusion with Iran, they were tied to al Qa’ida. (No one questions your motives when you’re acting “in the interest of national security.”) It is also completely in line with the Complicity Doctrine, America’s new foreign policy rooted in plausible deniability. By supporting groups actively engaging the Islamic Republic in open conflict and removing obstacles to allow others to deal with their own Iran problems, the U.S. can keep Iran in check without committing to the same kind of bloody ground war that’s sapped the country for a decade.

  Unfortunately, the types of games that fit conveniently under the mantle of the Complicity Doctrine don’t always pass the morality test. This is where I need you to hang with me.

  One of the people killed in Friday’s bombings was a researcher and analyst for the Congressional Research Service in Washington, D.C., named Mariam Fahda. Her last assignment was to put together a report on how the Houthi rebellion was affecting U.S.-Yemen relations. Her report correctly pointed to the Iranian support for al Houthi, but there was no mention of a connection to al Qa’ida in the Arabian Peninsula. But then, her report was never published—not the one she wrote, anyway.

  Ms. Fahda’s work was changed without her knowledge or consent, and the United States Senate was handed a report that paints a drastically different picture of the Yemeni tribe. In the altered version, al Houthi are in bed with al Qa’ida, and throngs of young Houthi men are lining up to martyr themselves for the AQAP cause, which has nothing to do with the separatist rebellion that’s really being fought there. What the new improved analysis does do, however, is provide the justification we were looking for to shoot some missiles in their direction. Call it...“active complicity.”

  Hold on, it gets better.

  Remember that connection I asked y’all to find in the last post that might make some sense of why a deli was bombed along with a church and a synagogue? Well, the answer is Mari Fahda.

  Mari was at Soren’s deli on Friday morning. The idea that the bombings were set up to mask the young woman’s murder was brought to my attention this morning. Apparently, for some people, silencing Mari was motive enough to accept the deaths of so many innocents as collateral damage. Plus, there had already been an attempt on her life a few weeks ago when she raised a stink about the changes to her report. The person who came up with the idea that this may have all been an elaborate murder plot knows what he is talking about, and I was almost ready to believe him.

  I said almost ready to believe him.

  How long does it take to set up a coordinated bombing in New York City? A month? Two months?

  Beats the shit outta me, but I’d bet it takes longer than two days. That’s how long it was between Mariam Fahda deciding to come to New York to visit a friend and dying in an explosion at a deli on East 40th. That tells me there’s no way these bombings were set up just to kill one woman. Although, she may have been a target of opportunity.

  I say that because I don’t believe Soren’s deli was the original target. But when Mariam Fahda showed up....

  So what does that mean?

  It means whoever wanted to cover up the changes made to Ms. Fahda’s report had already planned to bomb Manhattan and pin the blame on the Houthi. Even the deceased bombers’ names were known beforehand. Well, they were on a list of names Mari had in her possession when she was killed, anyway.

  Or do you think that was a coincidence, too?

  Chapter 23

  The deafening boom of thunder rattled the apartment, and a torrent of rain poured past the windows, a product of the building’s gutterless roof. Casey was reminded of the summertime afternoon storms in Savannah and the lightning that seemed to target the low-lying marshes along the Wilmington River. He smiled, thinking of times on his front porch on Bannon Drive, drinking beer with Mike Tunney. The sound of rain on the rusted tin roof was so loud the two friends had to practically yell at each other to have a conversation. A sense of melancholy came over Casey at the thought of simpler times, and his smile slowly faded.

  It was raining the night Mike was killed.

  A flash of light and another thunder clap brought Casey back. Where is that damn thing? He looked around the room again, trying to remember the last time he actually used his umbrella. It began raining sometime during the night and there was no sign of letting up as far as Casey could tell. He would have watched the news any other morning and had a better idea of the upcoming weather conditions, but the storm knocked out his electricity sometime during the night.

  Casey give up hope of finding the umbrella anywhere in plain sight, and he opened the junk closet near the apartment’s entrance, dreading the search. The only things that were organized in the small space were his underused fishing poles. He reached up to the built-in shelf at the top of the closet and blindly felt underneath a pile of sweatshirts of varying cleanliness for anything resembling an umbrella handle. Casey’s hand brushed an old plastic milk crate he used for items that had no other logical place, and he pulled it down on the off-chance an umbrella might be buried in it somewhere.

  “Fuck!” Casey exclaimed, falling back as the heavier-than-expected crate crashed to the floor, bringing most of the sweatshirts with it. He knelt down and sorted through the mess of clothing and trinkets. A soiled baseball, an unopened deck of cards, one...two...three Atlanta Braves collector’s pins. No umbrella. Casey sighed in defeat and began putting the sundry junk back in their plastic holding cell.

  Holy shit. Casey stopped his clean-up work and stared at the knife in his hand, still partially wrapped in an oily cloth to keep it from rusting. The dagger was a war trophy his grandfather brought back from Europe after World War II, and Casey removed the cloth, running his thumb over the emblem etched in the blade. He only remembered portions of the story behind it, mostly secondhand from his grandmother—Howard Shenk passed away when Casey was only six—but the old woman’s recounting painted the elder Shenk as a god on the battlefield.

  Whether or not any or all of what his grandmother told him was historically accurate, Casey became obsessed with all things associated with the war because of those stories. By the time his gr
andmother died, Casey’s interests had taken a different turn, though she left him the dagger in her will, anyway. He never thought it would be more than a sentimental keepsake...until now.

  * * * * *

  “I just scanned it in. What’s your e-mail?” Casey wrote down Paul Giordano’s address. “I’ll send it right now,” he said. “Call me back when you get it.” Casey hung up the phone, still dripping from the downpour he was forced to run through between the subway and the IWG offices. He turned his computer on to send the file he’d just promised to the detective.

  Casey knew carrying a knife on the subway the size of his grandfather’s dagger was asking for trouble, so he quickly sketched the symbol from the blade onto a piece of notebook paper and left his apartment in a hurry. He was already running late when he made the accidental discovery, and as soon as he got to the office he went straight to the business room to make a digital copy of his partially smeared drawing. He clicked the send button right as his boss filled the cubicle entrance.

  “We need to talk,” Jim Shelton said. Nothing else.

  The brevity of Jim’s words, coupled with the man’s naturally authoritative demeanor, told Casey he was about to get lectured. “Sorry I was late, sir,” Casey said.

  “It’s not about that,” Jim said, taking a seat in an empty chair. “It’s about your new theory.”

  Casey swiveled his own chair. “You read that?” Casey was surprised that anyone had even seen his post already, much less his boss. Most everyone at the Intelligence Watch Group knew about Casey’s Middle-Truths blog since it was ultimately the reason he came to New York in the first place, but Casey didn’t know any of them followed it.

  “Yes, I read it,” Jim answered, “and if I were you, I’d delete it before anyone else reads it.” Jim, more than anyone apart from Casey and Susan Williams, knew how much trouble Casey’s writings on Middle-Truths could cause.