“War that is coming?” he asks.
“Yes. Look at what we’ve done since 9/11. We invaded Afghanistan. We get bases in Central Asia. We invaded Iraq. Turkey is our ally and we have bases there as well. We’ve surrounded Iran.”
“Iran,” he says and stops stroking his beard.
“Can’t the Sunni see that we’ve positioned ourselves around Iran? That the real war will soon be with the Iranians? This is just me talking here, but can’t the Sunni see this coming?”
He starts stroking his beard again. His studies me intently, looking for any sign, any clue that will tell him my ulterior motive. I give him nothing.
“Yes,” he says slowly, “we have discussed this.”
“In such a war, the Shia of Iraq would not be on our side.”
He agrees. “They most likely would not.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
His hand freezes in mid–beard stroke. He grows absolutely still. Everything in the room, even time, seems to stop.
He stares at me. I stare back.
His eyes no longer study me. They are fixed on mine. He doesn’t blink.
He opens his mouth slightly and says in a low voice, “I was wondering why you had come to visit with me.”
“I’m going to be straight with you because we don’t have much time.”
It is an honest admission. Outside in the hallway, I can hear more footsteps heading back to the ’gator pit. The last thing we do before the meeting is send somebody around to empty the trash cans. There’s a metal one in the hallway right outside the booth’s door. It makes a racket when it’s emptied, and it has always annoyed me. It will be my alarm clock now.
He lets me continue. I blow on the dice.
“You’ve probably guessed that you are scheduled to be transferred to Abu Ghraib tonight.”
“Mmm.” His response is completely neutral.
“I’m in a position to negotiate with you.”
He says nothing. He’s scanning my face for any tell, any clue that I am lying.
“I’m on a special mission.”
He strokes his beard more slowly now.
“So, what is this mission?”
“I have been tasked with finding Sunni leaders willing to fight with us against the Shia and Iran. We must rebuild our relationship with Sunnis if we are to win this coming war.”
He weighs my words.
“Go on.”
I’m shaking the dice.
“We need strong, capable leaders whom we can trust and work with closely as equal allies. I think you are one. But before I can offer this to you, I have got to be able to trust you.”
He stops stroking his beard again. He remains as still as a corpse. The silence is unnerving. I hear the garbage can clang in the hallway. I’m out of time. This is it. I let the dice fly across the table.
“Abu Haydar, excuse me for speaking so directly. You’re supposed to leave in just a few minutes, and I cannot negotiate with you at Abu Ghraib. That would be too dangerous for you. I need to know right now if you are willing to negotiate with me.”
The garbage can clangs once more, filling the silence. More footsteps.
His eyes are locked on mine again.
I refuse to speak first.
“You are different. But are you sure you can help me?” he asks.
“I can pick up the phone and call Washington at any time. I can make this happen. But right now, right here, I have to know I can trust you. So, here is what I need for me to trust you. I am thinking of a name. You know who I am thinking of. I know you know. But I need to hear you say his name. Then I know I can trust you.”
I have no name in mind. I made it up.
We sit in silence. Every second is agony. I force myself to keep my face a mask. I’m filled with confidence and I feel I can do no wrong. I know I’ve run a good approach. But there’s no telling if he’ll take it. The odds are he won’t.
Thirty seconds pass. The footsteps in the hallway recede. Everyone’s in the conference room. The meeting is about to start.
The silence endures. He scrutinizes me, but I don’t move. Every muscle, every nerve must sell this long shot. One twitch, and he’ll run away.
A minute has passed. I swear he hasn’t blinked.
Suddenly, he opens his mouth.
“Abu…Ayyub…al…Masri.”
I’m speechless. Al Masri is Zarqawi’s number two man. He just told me he knows Al Qaida’s operations officer for all of Iraq. He’s no mere cameraman.
I smile warmly. I’ve got to keep selling this. “Thank you my friend. That is the name. Now I know I can trust you.”
“How do you know al Masri?”
“We have met four times.”
“Where?”
“Farmhouses in Yusufiyah. Al Masri never meets at the same place twice.”
I want to continue this, but I don’t have that luxury.
“Abu Haydar, I need to leave now for a meeting. I also need to make some phone calls on your behalf and I absolutely must stop your transfer to Abu Ghraib.”
He looks thoroughly relieved, “Yes. Yes. Please do that.” This is the first indication I’ve seen in any of his interrogations that he hasn’t wanted to go there.
I get up to leave. “Wait, Dr. Matthew, one more thing. I only want to talk with you.”
That’s not going to fly. There’s no way I can function as senior interrogator and focus on Abu Haydar. Besides, there’s no way Randy will officially agree to have me in here.
“I’ll see what I can do. But you may have to talk to some of the others again. Not everyone works for me.”
He looks puzzled and disappointed with my reply. Still, I have given him hope, and hope is the most powerful weapon.
He rises and extends his hand. I am taken off guard. Iraqis don’t shake hands. I take his hand in mine. He clasps my wrist with his other hand. “Thank you Dr. Matthew. Thank you.”
It is a handshake worthy of two newfound allies.
Twenty-seven
A CHANCE FOR UNITY
MAY 1, 2006, 2300 HOURS
HEY, YOU’VE GOT to take Abu Haydar off the transfer list,” I say to the guard standing in front of a row of prisoners, all of whom are prepped and ready to depart.
The guard replies, “He’s supposed to get on the chopper now.”
“I know. But trust me, he’s not leaving.”
Stopping a prisoner transfer requires a small mountain of administrative paperwork and many procedural hoops. My request short-circuits all of that. The guard doesn’t look happy. “Fine. But it’s on you.”
I give him a big smile and a thumbs up. “Yes. It is on me.”
I race to the conference room. There is a vacant spot up front where the senior interrogator is supposed to sit. Directly behind that chair is Lenny. I slip into the chair trying to stifle my grin.
I am borderline euphoric. We’ve got a shot now. If we can properly exploit Abu Haydar, he can at the very least give us al Masri. Al Masri can give us Zarqawi. We’re one step removed from a breakthrough. We won’t have to start from scratch.
Randy storms into the meeting. He looks anxious. Apparently the meeting with the task force senior leadership didn’t go well.
He kicks off the meeting with a few administrative announcements and then gets down to business.
“Slides,” he calls.
Abu Bayda’s mug shot appears on the flat-screen. Tom stands and describes everything Abu Bayda gave up earlier today. He’s still talking about how his network operates and how they get resupplied from Iran. He has not given us anything that will lead us closer to Zarqawi.
Randy thanks Tom. He calls for the next slide. It’s Abu Haydar.
“He’s on the chopper to Abu Ghraib,” Randy says. “Next.”
Before the admin guy can click the mouse, I interrupt.
“Uh, the detainee provided valuable information today.”
Randy freezes. I hear Lenny intake a sharp breath behind me
. There’s not a sniffle from Cliff, nor a cough or a sneeze or a shuffled foot under a table.
As if in slow motion, Randy’s head turns until his eyes find mine. His head twitches to one side. That isn’t a nervous tick. That’s his I’m about to tear you a new cornhole twitch. He obviously didn’t hear my request at 1700. But it doesn’t matter now. The truth shall set me free.
“The detainee admitted that he met with Abu Ayyub al Masri four times in different safe houses around Yusufiyah. Recommend we retain and exploit.”
Randy’s jaw unwinds so far that I’m certain I see his tonsils. He’s too stunned to even talk. The room remains silent. It feels like Randy and I are alone even though forty analysts and interrogators are arrayed behind me.
“Wha…ho…who…?”
I wait. Finally he says softly, “We’ve never had anyone admit to meeting al Masri.”
I can’t help but grin. The new techniques have just scored a tremendous coup. This could be a unifying moment for our group. No more cliques. No more administrative headaches and secret meetings. We could finally work together from the same sheet of music.
Randy still looks stunned. “Why is he talking now?”
His eyes say Why is he talking to you.
“Maybe because I showed him respect. Then I told him I was the boss here and I could get him a deal.”
I hear Lenny behind me exhale explosively. He’s not a happy camper. Tough shit. He had a month to do his job.
Randy doesn’t acknowledge what I’ve just said. Instead, he realizes what’s about to happen. He flushes crimson and shouts, “Shit! He’s leaving right now!”
“No,” I say calmly. “He’s not. I already took care of that.”
Randy doesn’t even ask Cliff for a recommendation.
“He stays. We’ll talk more after the meeting.”
Randy suddenly becomes all business again.
“Next. Abu Raja.”
Steve stands to summarize his day. The meeting continues in subdued silence.
When it ends, Randy looks at me from across the table. He looks strange. Is it embarrassment? I can’t tell. “Good fucking job.” He doesn’t wait for a reply; he just gets up and walks out the door.
Behind me, an argument breaks out. Lenny yells at Cliff, “No way! I’m not interrogating him any more!”
He sees me watching and turns his fury on me. “You! You just completely undermined a month’s worth of work! You just blew every piece of control I had over him. Control is Interrogation 101!”
I wonder if he’s about to come after me. I stay calm, but I’m still blunt. “Lenny, how much control do you think you had over him if he was about to be transferred?”
“FUCK THIS!” he roars, and as he storms off he adds, “This is bullshit!”
In the back of the conference room, Nathan’s still in his chair with a deer-in-the-headlights look. “That was ugly,” he manages, as he watches Lenny leave.
I shrug. It doesn’t matter. The path to Zarqawi leads through Abu Haydar. We’re still in the game.
Twenty-eight
TREASON
AFTER THE FIRST solid night of sleep I’ve had since getting to Iraq, I roll into the ’gator pit about an hour early. I want to go over last night’s reports and see who ended up interrogating Abu Haydar. As I come in, I see Randy already at his workspace.
“Good morning.”
He grunts at me, then returns to a pile of paper he’s wading through. Nothing can dim this mood, so I press on cheerily, “Randy, given what happened yesterday, is there any chance we can put Tom in with Mary on Abu Haydar today?”
He nods, “Yeah. I’ll make it happen. I’ll want you to give them a full brief. Tell them what you did and give them some ideas.”
“I’d be happy to do that.”
I walk across the ’gator pit and sit down. The latest reports await. My mood spirals downward when I see that Lenny interrogated Abu Haydar last night.
I start reading his summary.
“Interrogator had to spend entire session explaining to detainee that previous interrogator is not the boss and had no authority to make any deals. After that, interrogator spent two hours reasserting control over detainee.”
I want to scream. I can’t believe what I’m reading. Lenny undermined everything I did yesterday. And for what? Jealousy? He’s compromised the best lead we’ve had to Zarqawi in the three years we’ve pursued him.
Fury wells in me.
The night shift’s senior interrogator sits nearby. I print the report and go over to him. I grit my teeth and try my best to be polite. “Did you see Lenny’s report?”
The night shift senior interrogator shrugs. “Take it up with Roger. I want nothing to do with this.”
I walk down the hall and knock on the door. He’s got somebody inside. I don’t care. I step inside and say, “Roger, we have to talk. This can’t wait.”
The other visitor leaves.
I’ve got to get Roger to act, but I’ve never seen him discipline anyone. One of our ’gators a few weeks back told a guard to roughen up a detainee at an outstation. The local commander called me and told me what happened. I talked to the ’gator, confirmed the story, and told him to pack his bags. Nobody who pulls a stunt like that with a detainee can ever be trusted inside the booth again, and the task force has a clear zero-tolerance policy for such things. Roger called him back to our prison and let him continue interrogating. He never disciplined him.
I’m not hopeful.
“We have a serious problem.” This gets his attention.
“What?”
“Lenny has endangered our best lead to Zarqawi.”
I explain the situation. Roger doesn’t seem to get it. When I finish, he’s not angry—he’s not even upset. He asks me to sit down, which I decline, and then says, “Look, we don’t want to do anything that could damage careers, okay?”
“Roger, this is not about careers. This is about the mission. You cannot let this go.”
“I’m sure Lenny has a perfectly good…”
“He has sabotaged an ongoing operation. This is treason. We can’t trust him to interrogate.”
He thinks about this. “Tell you what I’ll do for you, Matthew, I’ll bring Lenny in here and ask him to delete those sentences from his report. Okay? Problem solved.”
“What the hell are you talking about? We have the most important detainee in Iraq in our cell block. He is a direct link to Zarqawi, and Lenny deliberately destroyed our chance to get further information out of him!”
“Powerful words. Let’s just take care of this with a few deletions.”
I can’t win. “At the very least, you’ve got to pull him off Abu Haydar.”
“No, we can’t do that.”
I’m in a looney bin. Did my commanding officer just tell me the ’gator who failed for almost a month and then pulled this stunt is going to remain in the mix? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
I leave in disgust.
Back at my desk, my mind pours over the damage. How can I fix this? What advantages do I hold here?
One, Abu Haydar doesn’t respect Lenny. That’s important. That may limit the damage he was able to do.
Two, we have established a measure of respect. I have shown respect for his religion and culture. I will have to hope that works in my favor.
Culture. Maybe there’s something I can use there to repair the damage.
Maybe not. Abu Haydar was already paranoid and ultra-suspicious. I can’t see fixing this now.
Wait a minute. Paranoia. Suspicion.
Iraqis are total conspiracy theorists. They’ve been marinated in so many tribal plots and counterplots over the decades that these things come naturally to them. What’s more, they love being a part of a successful conspiracy. All someone needs to do is come up with a believable one. One that offers hope.
Twenty-nine
THE SECRET DEAL
A FEW WEEKS BACK I saw a car bombing on film. It was another
one recorded for Abu Raja’s network and edited by Ismail. It showed a building two stories tall with a pair of humvees out in front. The camera, which the insurgents positioned on a rooftop nearby, captured a squad of American soldiers as they rushed inside the building.
It was a clear setup. The scene shifted, thanks to a neat little edit of Ismail’s. Now the camera showed a teenage boy, eyes wide and glazed, sitting in a truck. Somebody handcuffed him to the wheel. He didn’t even seem to notice. I wondered if he was drugged up.
The cameraman walked to the back of the truck. Here, a group of insurgents finished arming a bomb. They placed it in the truck bed. The driver’s door closed. The truck engine revved, and the scene shifted back to the rooftop. There, the camera followed the truck as it roared toward the humvees, gaining speed block after block.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to turn away. I couldn’t do either. I remained rooted in place, watching Ismail’s work.
The explosion knocked the entire building down. The humvees disappeared amid the rubble, smoke, and dust.
I hope Lenny doesn’t have a conscience, because the rest of his life he will have to live with what he did in a moment of weakness and spite.
I’ve learned my lesson. Whatever I do in the booth with Abu Haydar has to remain between us. I trust my enemy more than my colleague.
At my desk, a plan develops in my mind. I take no notes. I just spin it and test it again and again in my brain. It could work. But if anyone finds out, I’ll be on the next flight home. I’m skirting some rules, operating in gray areas, but if this works, we’ll be back in the game.
Nobody has said at this point that I cannot interrogate Abu Haydar. I go and check him out from the cellblock, then wait for him in the booth. As I sit there, I rehearse my opening lines. He’s got to buy this right away. If I have to work him, he’s lost. He won’t talk.
A guard escorts Abu Haydar into the booth. He sits down, and I ask him to remove his mask.
He looks relieved to see me. Thank God.
“Abu Haydar, how are you?”
“I am well, thank you Dr. Matthew.”
How to Break a Terrorist Page 19