500 Days

by Kurt Eichenwald

  As he happily dreamed of his wedding that day, El-Maati couldn’t have guessed that he would never see his fiancée again.

  • • •

  Rumsfeld pulled no punches.

  “The Northern Alliance is not going to overcome the Taliban,” he said. “The CIA’s plan is failing.”

  The militias would not seize strategically important cities, Rumsfeld argued, particularly Mazar-e Sharif. The Afghani capital, Kabul, would not be captured before the brutal winter arrived, and the alliance—even working with the CIA and the A-teams—would be incapable of encircling the city.

  To prove his point, Rumsfeld produced an analysis from the Defense Intelligence Agency, handing it out at a meeting of the National Security Council. The report’s conclusions were equally stark.

  “The Northern Alliance will not secure any major gains before winter,” it read.

  There was no real option, Rumsfeld argued. The CIA needed to surrender its independent authority and start reporting to General Tommy Franks. The armed forces should take over.

  Tenet argued that Rumsfeld was wrong. “We are closing in on our objectives,” he said. All they needed was a little more time.

  Other members of the National Security Council were skeptical; less than three weeks after the bombings began, there were news articles that proclaimed that the United States was sinking into a quagmire, another Vietnam.

  Tenet was steadfast. The plan was going to work.

  • • •

  The battle for Mazar-e Sharif began at dawn on November 5. In the opening salvo, a group of MC-130 aircraft dropped two BLU-82 “Daisy Cutters” on Taliban locations at the city of Aq Kupruk.

  American A-Team 595 moved toward enemy positions, but the Taliban counterattacked in an effort to trap the soldiers. Using satellite radios, the Americans called for air support. F-14 jets flew in, strafing the Taliban.

  The bombing, followed by Northern Alliance attacks, was relentless. Taliban commanders were killed. An attack on the Taliban forces by an F-18 Hornet aircraft pushed most of the enemy back; on horseback, the Northern Alliance launched a cavalry charge immediately after the explosion. The remaining Taliban retreated to the north.

  • • •

  A Middle Eastern country passed on the intelligence—another al-Qaeda hijacking was in the works, with at least one terrorist planning to divert a Canadian flight to strike a new, high-profile American target.

  The information reached CSIS on November 8, and this was something the intelligence services could act on. The country that had developed the intelligence knew the name of a hijacker: Amer El-Maati, the brother of Ahmad, the man with the map.

  Amer had long been suspected of being an al-Qaeda member, and the new intelligence said that he had already arrived in Canada to prepare for the hijacking. CSIS provided multiple agencies with the information, but there was no record of Amer having traveled there.

  The next morning, Canadian law enforcement dug up another frightening scrap of evidence. Ahmad El-Maati was planning to fly from Canada to Syria, supposedly for an impending wedding. Investigators considered that to be nothing more than a ruse—El-Maati, they feared, might instead be planning to fulfill his brother’s hijacking plan.

  An official with a division of the Mounties took steps to make sure El-Maati was not allowed to fly. But, unknown to the official, another unit was planning to let him board the plane and place him under surveillance.

  The Canadians decided to tell the Syrians nothing about El-Maati’s itinerary; there was no threat to their country, and letting them know that a suspected terrorist was arriving in Damascus might put him at personal risk. The CIA, on the other hand, needed to know, since the threat involved the United States.

  El-Maati’s travel plans were passed to the Americans. They, in turn, notified Syrian intelligence.

  • • •

  A group of lawyers arrived in Ashcroft’s office. Bush had instructed Gonzales to inform the Justice Department about the plans for military commissions, and the attorney general was not pleased with what he heard.

  He was particularly angered to find out that two of his subordinates—John Yoo and Pat Philbin in the Office of Legal Counsel—had not only known about the proposed order but had even helped the White House write it. And neither of them had said a thing about it to Ashcroft.

  Yoo and Philbin were told to come to the meeting, and they were the last to arrive. They already knew this was about the White House plan.

  “Tell me why you two are involved in this and why didn’t I know about it?” Ashcroft asked.

  Philbin answered, explaining that Yoo had been called over to the White House counsel’s office and given the draft order without any warning. Yoo had brought it back to the office and discussed it with Philbin. Then the two of them came up with the preliminary thinking about the legality and took that to the White House. Philbin mentioned their research on the Quirin case and another Supreme Court decision.

  Ashcroft broke in. “Why does Rumsfeld get to decide who’s going to be designated for the commissions? Why isn’t it me?”

  This was weird. They had been in Ashcroft’s office for five minutes, and every question had been about turf. Nothing about constitutionality, nothing about how the commissions would work, nothing about their history. Many department lawyers whispered that Ashcroft had no interest in law, only politics, and Yoo had seen that for himself. But on a matter of such import, he thought the attorney general would ask something about the law. No such luck.

  “We look on that as a legal issue,” Philbin said. “This is all going to be reviewed by the courts someday, and it’s more likely to be upheld if it’s the military deciding who goes to the military courts, because that’s a function of fighting war.”

  On the other hand, Philbin continued, if the attorney general made that decision, it would seem more of a law enforcement effort than a function of a military campaign. That had far less probability of winning court approval.

  Ashcroft fumed. The answer wasn’t good enough. He wouldn’t stand for being cut out. He was going to have to take on Rumsfeld, and win back his turf.

  • • •

  At a National Security Council meeting that day, Rumsfeld picked up his now-familiar refrain: The CIA plan was a failure. The Northern Alliance would not capture Mazar-e Sharif. The military needed to take over.

  On the other side of the table, Tenet was sitting with Hank Crumpton, a legendary CIA operative who led the new Special Operations branch at the Counterterrorist Center. It was Crumpton who crafted the CIA strategy for Afghanistan, and he remained unwavering in his certainty that it would succeed.

  The Pentagon was wrong, he argued. “Mazar will fall in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” he said.

  Not many in the room believed him.

  • • •

  Mazar-e Sharif fell the next day.

  The final battle was being waged even as the meeting of the National Security Council was taking place. Taliban fighters, driven back to the north, had dug in on a ridge outside the city, giving them cover as they launched a rocket assault. A-Team 595 called in strikes by B-52 bombers, hitting the Taliban. By late afternoon, the Northern Alliance fought off the Taliban counterattacks and, led by the Special Forces team on horseback, seized the ridge.

  The fight came to an end when General Dostum and his Northern Alliance forces seized the city’s airport and rode into Mazar-e Sharif. Afghanis poured out of their homes, celebrating and kissing the fighters who had routed the Taliban.

  Afterward, General Dostum spoke to Captain Nutsch and his fighters in A-Team 595, expressing his gratitude.

  “I asked for a few Americans,” he said. “They brought with them the courage of a whole army.”

  • • •

  While the fight for Mazar-e Sharif raged, a less deadly war for turf unfolded in the Roosevelt Room at the White House.

  The previous day, Ashcroft had demanded a meeting with Gonzales to hash
over the military commissions order. It was wrong for the Justice Department to be cut out of this new process, he had groused. This was a dispute that had to be resolved immediately, before the president signed.

  Even though it was a Saturday, there was no casual dress; everyone arrived in dark suits. Gonzales came into the room with Addington, Flanigan, and a few others. Ashcroft was accompanied by two of his top aides.

  The discussion began abruptly. “You’ve been going behind our back,” Ashcroft snapped, looking at Gonzales. “We wouldn’t be in this situation, at this level of disagreement, if you had done the right thing and just involved us in the first place.”

  While he made no accusation, Ashcroft glanced at Addington as he continued fuming about his sense of betrayal.

  Addington leaned in. “This is not something I did on my own. The vice president of the United States asked me to do this.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” Ashcroft said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “There really isn’t an issue here for DOJ, except as to form and legality of the presidential order,” Addington continued. “This is an issue with respect to the president exercising his commander-in-chief power, which, Mr. Attorney General, is not your area.”

  Ashcroft looked at Gonzales. “I don’t think this is appropriate unless the attorney general of the United States decides who’s in and who’s out of this military system,” he said. “Otherwise, you’re creating a system that stands outside the justice system.”

  “That’s the point,” Addington said.

  “You created this mischief!” Ashcroft barked at Addington, pointing a finger at him. “You created this havoc by not bringing DOJ in!”

  “I’ll bring in who I’m asked to bring in by the vice president of the United States.”

  Ashcroft turned away from Addington. He would no longer acknowledge that the vice president’s lawyer was in the room.

  He stared at Gonzales. “The person who did this is the spawn of the devil!” Ashcroft boomed.

  The room went silent. Addington was Satan’s son? No one knew how to respond. Gonzales let the comment pass.

  “We’ll have to tee this up for further discussion,” he said. There would have to be another meeting, this time with Cheney.

  • • •

  Bin Laden closed his grip around an AK-74 Kalakov assault rifle as he crossed a basement banquet hall at the Jalalabad Islamic studies center. A crowd of about one thousand tribal leaders had just feasted on lamb kabobs, rice, and hummus, and now awaited the al-Qaeda leader’s words.

  It was the afternoon of that same day. The Saudi-funded Islamic institute where the crowd gathered had been converted to an al-Qaeda intelligence outpost in the days after 9/11, but with the Americans and the Northern Alliance moving relentlessly toward Jalalabad, bin Laden had decided that it was time to fall back.

  As bin Laden approached a podium, the people in the room grew silent; the only sounds were of American bombs exploding nearby. The al-Qaeda leader, dressed in a long shirt and camouflage jacket, praised God before launching into a fiery speech.

  “The Americans had a plan to invade,” he said, “But if we are united and believe in Allah, we will teach them a lesson, the same one we taught the Russians!”

  As he spoke, there were shouts from the crowd. God is great! Down with America! Down with Israel!

  “God is with us, and we will win the war,” bin Laden said. “Your Arab brothers will lead the way. We have the weapons and the technology. What we need most is your moral support. And may God grant me the opportunity to see you and meet you again on the front lines.”

  Bin Laden stepped away from the podium. The crowd rose to their feet and began to chant. Long live Osama! Long live Osama!

  The al-Qaeda leader placed his right hand over his heart as envelopes of cash were dispensed to the tribal leaders. Then fifteen guards surrounded bin Laden and whisked him out the door.

  • • •

  The lines were drawn for the meeting the next day: the attorney general versus the vice president. And Andy Card, the White House chief of staff, would referee.

  A large group of officials, including both Ashcroft and Rumsfeld, arrived early in the Roosevelt Room. Ashcroft was jovial, and everyone engaged in lighthearted banter. Cheney walked in and took a seat at the center of the table. He said a few pleasant words to Ashcroft.

  “All right,” Cheney began. “There are some issues we need to resolve. What are they?”

  Addington spoke up. “Well, Mr. Vice President, the issues are—”

  Ashcroft interrupted. “What we need to discuss is what’s the role of DOJ going to be in making designations for military commissions.”

  “Well,” Cheney began, “from what I understand from the lawyers, we need to be concerned about how the courts—”

  “No, we don’t need to be concerned about that,” Ashcroft said, interrupting again.

  Cheney stopped speaking and lowered his head. Some of the people watching thought he was counting to ten, trying to avoid getting angry.

  The door opened and Card stepped into the room, looking cheerful. “All right,” he said as he took a chair beside Cheney. “What do we need to resolve here?”

  Ashcroft spoke. “We’ve got to make sure that this order preserves the DOJ’s role in these prosecutions. I am the president’s top law enforcement official. We need to have some role in deciding whether or not we take these cases before a grand jury.”

  “Well,” Cheney began, “I understand if we had that role for the DOJ, it will open it up for attack—”

  “No, I don’t think that’s true,” Ashcroft said, speaking over Cheney.

  The two kept talking simultaneously with Cheney expecting the attorney general to stop. When Ashcroft kept going, Cheney went silent.

  On another side of the table, Rumsfeld watched without speaking a word. He wasn’t eager to be the one choosing which suspects would be tried by the commissions, but he was perfectly happy to allow Ashcroft to undermine his own argument by making a fool of himself.

  The debate continued for another few minutes, getting nowhere. Card wrapped it up. “I’m going to talk to the president about this,” he said. With passions running this high, Bush was going to have to play peacemaker.

  • • •

  Ashcroft returned to his office, certain he had lost out to Rumsfeld. “Chalk up another win for the rock star,” he said to an aide.

  • • •

  The dispute was presented to Bush. No matter which department he chose to make the designations, Bush was told, somebody was going to walk away furious.

  He gave it a moment’s thought. Maybe he just needed to take both the Pentagon and the Justice Department out of the mix. Hell, he was the commander in chief.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  • • •

  Ahmad El-Maati and his mother had just obtained boarding passes for their flight out of Toronto Pearson International Airport. They joined the security line; it was moving slowly, but El-Maati was comfortable that they had enough time to make their flight.

  Two officers approached.

  “Sir, could you please step out of line?”

  El-Maati blinked. “Is there a problem?”

  “Sir, I just need you to step out of line, please.”

  His mother was escorted away, and El-Maati was taken downstairs by two detective sergeants. They asked him a series of questions—why was he traveling, when had he planned his trip? They removed the gifts he was carrying in a bag and asked him why he had them. Meanwhile, in another part of the airport, other police officers were interviewing his mother about the itinerary.

  The questioning dragged on, and the two missed their flight. Finally, El-Maati and his mother were escorted through security to the boarding gate for the next plane. Two undercover officers monitored them on the first leg of their trip, from Toronto to Vienna, but stopped there. The plane to Damascus, they decided, was Syr
ia’s problem.

  El-Maati was shaken, but by the time the plane landed the following day, he had put the experience behind him. He was excited about seeing his fiancée and her family, who were waiting inside the terminal. At immigration, he presented his documents to an agent, who punched his name into the computer.

  The agent looked up from the screen and asked El-Maati to come to a nearby office. There, Syrian officials checked his papers, then escorted him to his luggage, leaving his mother behind.

  “Follow us outside,” one of the officials said.

  El-Maati stepped through the airport doors. Without a word, someone grabbed his arms and handcuffed him. A car drove up, a door flung open, and El-Maati was shoved inside.

  As the car pulled away, someone slipped a black hood over his head.

  • • •

  The four-page military commissions order was finished the following day. Cheney brought it in a folder to his weekly lunch with Bush and passed it over the table.

  The president put on his glasses and silently read. “That’s it,” he said. “Ready to go.”

  Lunch ended and Cheney took the order with him. Even though Bush had given his oral approval, the document still had to go through a final processing before it was ready to sign. Cheney handed it over to Addington, who in turn brought it to the White House counsel’s office. Once Flanigan took charge of the paperwork, he called Brad Berenson over from the Eisenhower Executive Office Building.

  “This is the order,” Flanigan told him. “It’s ready for the president’s signature.”

  Bush had already reviewed the document, Flanigan said, and it should be taken to him right away. Since the president was about to leave for his ranch in Crawford, he said, forget about the usual, detailed process that preceded the signing of an order. Berenson took the document and headed to the White House basement. Before the order could be presented to Bush, it had to be logged with the office of the staff secretary, Harriet Miers.

  When Berenson arrived, he found Miers’s second in command, Stuart Bowen. Berenson told him that he had an order for Bush’s signature. Bowen was dumbstruck—there was a procedure for reviewing and coordinating the presentation of documents to the president. It wasn’t some rapid-fire undertaking.