Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
CHAPTER 1 - The Delivery Man
CHAPTER 2 - Planes, Guns, and Money
CHAPTER 3 - A Dangerous Business
CHAPTER 4 - Continental Collapse
CHAPTER 5 - At a Crossroads
CHAPTER 6 - The Chase Begins
CHAPTER 7 - The Taliban Connection
CHAPTER 8 - Black Charters
CHAPTER 9 - Gunships and Titanium
CHAPTER 10 - “Get Me a Warrant”
CHAPTER 11 - Now or Never
CHAPTER 12 - “We Are Very Limited in What We Can Do”
CHAPTER 13 - Welcome to Baghdad
CHAPTER 14 - Blacklisted and Still Flying
EPILOGUE
NOTES
INDEX
Copyright © 2007 by Douglas Farah and Stephen Braun. All rights reserved
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Published simultaneously in Canada
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Farah, Douglas.
Merchant of death : money, guns, planes, and the man who makes war possible / Douglas Farah and Stephen Braun. p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-470-04866-5 (cloth)
1. Bout, Viktor. 2. Transnational crime. 3. Illegal arms transfers. 4. Smuggling. 5. Security, International. I. Braun, Stephen. II. Title.
HV6252.F37 2007
364.1’33—dc22
[B]
2006037897
To Leslie, with love and a deep appreciation for her support, insights, and love of a good story
—D.F.
To my wife and son, my loves and inspirations
—S.B.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
From the authors:
This book is the product of the generosity and help of countless people, some named and many who cannot be. We would especially like to thank those who shared so much of their time and resources for the book and through the years, and whose help was indispensable: Lee Wolosky was a wellspring of perspective, always making himself available at a moment’s notice. Johan Peleman was unstinting in forwarding history and insights. Witney Schneidman shared his memories and expertise. Kathi Austin opened her files and shared her stories. Lieutenant Colonel Chris Walker opened up the hectic world of Baghdad International Airport. Early in our project, Andreas Morgner gave us insights into the sometimes lonely efforts to keep the Bout investigation alive. Andre Verloy was extremely generous with his time and documents.
We were aided by a long list of trailblazers and guides, chief among them Phillip van Niekerk, Dirk Draulans, Robin Bhatty, Cindor Reeves, Gayle Smith, Jonathan Winer, Michael Chandler, David Biggs, Julie Sirrs, Ambassador Juan Larrain, Mohammed Eshaq, Callum Weeks, Barbara Elias, Paolo Fusi, and Paul Salopek.
A special thanks to Jeff Leen, who is one of the best editors in the business, for helping shape the manuscript. We owe a debt of gratitude to Eric Nelson at John Wiley & Sons for his insightful editing and love of the book, and Gail Ross and Howard Yoon for helping direct our efforts. Also, our thanks to Carol Guzy for her time and sharp photographer’s eye.
To the many nameless who, at considerable risk, provided information, documents, and insights, our lasting appreciation. To the countless victims and survivors of a decade of war and terror caused by the flood of contraband arms, our deep and insufficient sorrow for a world that has done so little to stop the carnage.
From Douglas Farah:
My family has been extremely patient and generous with me. A heartfelt thanks for all they put up with in letting me chase stories.
A special thanks to the NEFA Foundation for its generosity in allowing me the time to write this and for vital research support. I deeply appreciate the unflagging enthusiasm of Michelle Hayes and David Draper for the project and help in times of crisis. Ron Sandee’s invaluable insights and deep knowledge enriched the book and saved me from many errors.
Thor Ronay and Duncan Sellars at the International Assessment and Strategy Center have offered unstinting support, especially when things looked bleakest. Thank you.
Thanks, too, to Peter Bergen, who, over a bowl of pasta, urged me to write the book and helped set me off on this adventure.
From Stephen Braun:
My family cheered me on from the moment this project was conceived, coaxing me forward, humoring me during my mood swings, and patiently tucking into the manuscript at a moment’s notice. They were my first and most careful readers and remained as supportive at the finish as they were at the start.
Much of this book could not have been written without the enterprising and dogged work of a stellar crew of Los Angeles Times reporters and editors who teamed up for a run of stories that grew from the terror attacks of September 11, 2001. From the beginning, Judy Pasternak, my supremely talented collaborator, was as much guide as partner, ferreting out critical leads that always moved the work forward, drawing in important sources, and writing like a dream. John Daniszewski, then a Moscow correspondent and now foreign editor of the Associated Press, was as heroic and indefatigable in chasing leads to Kabul and Sharjah as he was later in enduring the bombing of Baghdad. Without him we would never have cracked the story of the Taliban connection. The fearless and resourceful Sergei Loiko was with John for much of the journey, and came up with defining interviews every time he picke
d up the phone. Maura Reynolds, a gifted colleague in Washington who then worked in Moscow with John and Sergei, also provided important Russian interviews. When the story moved to Iraq, T. Christian Miller, whose sources are legion in Baghdad and Washington, provided indispensable reporting. Sebastian Rotella pitched in from Paris at a crucial juncture. The late Mark Fineman helped nudge our work forward early on, when we needed it the most. We would all have been lost without the artful spadework of John Beckham, a researcher’s researcher. A long parade of Times editors brought their sharp eyes to our stories, but three were instrumental in urging us on: former investigative editor Deborah Nelson shepherded all of our major efforts and encouraged us to think big; national editor Scott Kraft provided his commanding writer’s eye to early drafts; and former Times editor Dean Baquet unleashed us and kept us on the trail.
A special thanks to three writers and friends who provided wise counsel and encouragement over the years and the course of this project: Mark Bowden, Peter H. King, and Mark Arax.
Prologue
Africa was burning. Witney Schneidman read the tide of grim news every morning when he arrived at his office on the sixth floor of the Department of State’s headquarters in the Foggy Bottom section of Washington, D.C. Overnight intelligence summaries bearing the latest dismaying developments were usually waiting at his desk. Color-coded by agency, the eyes-only collations were filed from around the world in the predawn hours with terse reports from State’s own analysts, cables from embassies abroad, glossy-covered briefings from the Central Intelligence Agency, and electronic intercepts gathered by the National Security Agency (NSA). All through the summer and fall of 1999, the thin summaries piling up on Schneidman’s desk detailed the gathering African inferno as it took its toll not on forests, but in thousands of lives.
The fire consuming the continent in 1999 was anarchic slaughter, stoked by tribal enmity, greed, and ambition, raging out of control in too many countries at once. For a decade since the end of the Cold War, Africa had been plagued by internecine conflicts that killed millions by violence and millions more by war-induced starvation. As the rest of the world fixated euphorically on the rapprochement between the United States and the Eastern bloc, Africa’s regional wars simmered, capable of erupting into sudden catastrophe at any moment. In 1994, the fast-paced crisis in Rwanda showed what could happen when governments failed to take heed. Rwanda’s Hutu-led government launched a campaign to exterminate the Tutsi tribe, and the resulting warfare and spreading famine killed up to a million people. Rwanda’s torment had receded by the summer of 1999, but there were new portents of trouble sweeping across the continent.
Sierra Leone, bled by nine years of civil war, was plunged in a lethal free fall. Militias from the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) launched a brutal January offensive against the government’s capital in Freetown, lashing out in a spree of murder, mutilation, and arson. The RUF executed two thousand civilians and systematically maimed thousands more, amputating the limbs of their victims and gang-raping women and teenagers by the scores. Exhausted by the carnage, the RUF and the government signed a peace accord in June, but the pact was soon marred by cease-fire violations and more deaths. In Angola, a tranquil lull was shattered by air raids and bombardments, while rebel and government offensives killed thousands and displaced 1.7 million refugees. Two United Nations- chartered planes were shot out of the sky, towns were shelled, and village populations were massacred, leading to war crimes accusations on both sides. Sudan’s seventeen-year-old civil war was accelerating as the fundamentalist Muslim government bombed tribal towns and refugee camps, leaving tens of thousands homeless. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), rebels tightened control over the eastern half of the country and sparred sporadically with the government forces. Skirmishes in Liberia threatened a tenuous peace while the autocratic government of Charles Taylor consolidated power and intimated opponents amid a wave of torture, killings, and disappearances. And throughout the year, American missions in Africa were on high alert, still jittery in the wake of the August 1998 al Qaeda bombings that had killed 220 people in Nairboi and Dar es Salaam and raised the specter of terrorist penetration across Africa.1
Schneidman, the Clinton administration’s deputy assistant secretary of state for African affairs, pored worriedly through the reports every morning. A rumpled, cheerfully profane diplomat driven by his fascination with African policy, Schneidman normally dealt with social and economic issues such as the AIDS crisis and the continent’s soaring national debts. But the brutal ethnic conflicts and power struggles that flickered alive again in 1999 jeopardized that progress.
Enamored of African history and culture since his college days, Schneidman kept up a grueling pace traveling to South Africa and other emerging democracies. He had studied at the University of Dar es Salaam in Tanzania and written on the decolonization of Angola and Portuguese East Africa before joining the State Department for several years in the late 1980s. Through the 1990s he had worked in South Africa for the World Bank and in other financial roles before rejoining State as a deputy assistant secretary in late 1997.
In his earlier stint at State, Schneidman had served two years as an analyst with State’s Intelligence and Research Bureau, so he was familiar with the dry, codified shorthand of the summaries piling up on his desk. Working late hours in a small office decorated with a few tribal masks and totems from his African visits, Schneidman began searching for revelatory nuggets. Over months, he noticed a recurring reference in the SIGINT material—the satellite and electronic intercepts of telephone and Internet communications provided by the NSA. The African summaries kept citing a “Russian national” who appeared to be delivering tons of weapons by plane through Central and West Africa, where much of the latest violence raged. The Russian’s last name was unclear—he used too many aliases. The intelligence briefs simply described him as “Viktor B.”
“After two or three months of reading this stuff a light went on in my head,” Schneidman recalled seven years later. “We needed to go after this guy.”
Schneidman quickly learned that a few others inside the government already shared his curiosity. One was a studious, bearded young CIA analyst at the agency’s Langley headquarters who had responsibility for “thugs and guns” operating across international borders. For several years he had been quietly building files on the Russian and other arms merchants in Africa, waiting for someone on the policy side to take note. The analyst had already compiled an impressive array of evidence showing that the mystery man’s weapons pipelines were fueling the intractable violence in Sierra Leone, Liberia, Angola, the DRC, and other African countries at risk. As the analyst had focused on the movements of massive shipments of relatively new, sophisticated weapons flowing into the warring countries, he caught repeated references to old Russian cargo planes that kept turning up in flights across the region, spotted by overhead U.S. plane-mounted radar in the vicinity of drop zones and airfields where the shipments of Russian and East European-issue weapons and ammunition were off-loaded. The CIA man kept track of the tail numbers of the Antonov and Ilyushin freighters as they reappeared, noting that sometimes the busy planes even armed both sides in the same war.
The sprawling enterprise moved a spectacular tonnage of weaponry thousands of miles by air from Eastern Europe deep into Africa. The range of ordnance was staggering: disassembled attack helicopters, heavy antiaircraft guns, a multitude of crated AK-47s and shoulder-fired rocket launchers, land mines, mortars, artillery rounds, and millions upon millions of ammunition rounds. Month after month, the arms shipments turned up in Kisangani and Monrovia and Goma and in dozens of remote bush and hilltop landing strips, dropped off by battered, ancient Russian planes to be wielded by marauding armies of child soldiers and mercenaries. Week after week, the daily summaries provided new references to the man who orchestrated the pipelines. “Russian national transferring arms to subject in Liberia,” the dispatches read. “Airplane sponsored by Russian natio
nal sighted in Angola.”
As the reports mounted, Schneidman and the small circle of intelligence analysts he consulted were fixated on two troubling questions. “Who is this guy?” Schneidman kept asking. “And what can we do about him?”
The enigmatic Russian, the Americans learned, was Viktor Bout, a stout, flint-eyed world traveler most likely born in Tajikistan and barely out of his twenties. He was a gifted linguist with dark hints of a Soviet military intelligence background, a tough, canny businessman whose brief stints as air force officer and Russian government interpreter in Africa had opened up vast possibilities in the arms trade. As both Bout and his business came into sharper focus, the Americans found themselves confronting a global network with corporate entities and operatives on five continents, including their own. At first they had only a few grainy images of the elusive Bout, passport portraits showing a cipher with a brush mustache. Secure in his anonymity, the phantom Russian had amassed the largest private fleet of vintage Soviet cargo planes in the world. His freighters plied ceaseless circuits across Africa and Asia, flying out of an airport in the obscure dune-swept Persian Gulf emirate of Sharjah and in smaller hubs from Belgium to South Africa. Bout himself turned up regularly in the world’s most perilous killing zones, hobnobbing with dictators and warlords before returning to the safety of sumptuous homes in Russia, Belgium, South Africa, and the United Arab Emirates.
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