by Fred Burton
The phone rings. I pick it up.
“Burton,” I answer.
“Yeah, this is Wyatt at FOGHORN,” comes the response. I reach for my code card. Turns out I don’t need it.
“We’ve had an attack in Berlin.”
“I’m on my way.”
I grab my car keys and rush out to my Jetta. Ten minutes later, I’m hurrying through the hallways at Foggy Bottom, my stomach in knots. Something bad has happened again. What did we miss?
We missed a big one. At 0149 this morning, a bomb blew up a German disco in West Berlin. Casualties are catastrophic. The situation is chaotic. The Bundeskriminalamt—the German federal police, otherwise known as the BKA—is already sifting through the rubble. Gleason tells me to get over to the German Embassy and find out what they know. Before I leave, I open a counterterror case, CT03–0486–235–0011. CT, of course, means Counterterror, 03 denotes a bombing. The second series of numbers gives us the month and year. The next set is the country code where the incident took place. And the last set of numbers is the total number of bombing investigations opened so far this year. It has been a busy four months.
The West Germans are all over this, and the decision’s been made to let them take the lead in the investigation. The BKA is the German equivalent of the FBI. These federal cops have an outstanding reputation and rank as one of the world’s best law-enforcement agencies. The investigation is in good hands. When I reach the embassy, I’m ushered into the office of the staff ’s BKA liaison agent. He proves to be exceptionally helpful.
The attack hit a popular nightclub called La Belle Discotheque in the Schoenburg district of West Berlin. It is a well-known hangout for American GIs assigned to the Berlin Brigade who, in their off-duty hours, want to enjoy a little of Berlin’s celebrated nightlife. The BKA agent tells me there were at least five hundred people inside when the bomb exploded.
The blast buckled walls and caused part of the ceiling to collapse. Chaos and panic ensued; wounded by the dozen staggered out. A Turkish woman and her GI date were killed. Another American soldier is in critical condition.
“Right now, we are being told that there are two hundred injured,” the BKA agent tells me.
Two hundred? I wonder how many of them are American soldiers. My mind flashes back to the barracks bombing in Beirut. Two hundred and forty-one marines dead. Could this be as bad?
“The American wounded are being transported to military hospitals at Landstuhl and Wiesbaden.”
As the agent talks, I scribble notes in my pocket-sized spiral-ringed notebook. The German tells me they already suspect the Libyans. Their agents had detected an uptick of Libyan activity in West Berlin the previous week, which included the sightings of several Libyan diplomatic-types who have been suspected of being involved in past terror operations. Shortly before the bomb detonated a Libyan agent left East Germany, bound for Tripoli on an airliner.
That was our needle in this pile of needles we’ve been searching through.
We wrap things up, and I drive down to Langley to coordinate with the Agency. By the time I get there, more developments have taken place. First, it turns out we had received a warning last night of an impending attack. The Libyan People’s Bureau in East Berlin had sent a message to Tripoli announcing an operation was now under way against U.S. soldiers in Berlin. That piece of intel was routed immediately to the U.S. Army, and they were in the process of getting the word out on the street when the bomb exploded. We were fifteen minutes too late to head off the attack.
In those fifteen minutes at least two lives hung in the balance. We have got to do better next time.
By late afternoon, the picture comes into focus. Two hundred and twenty-nine people suffered injuries from the bomb blast or falling debris inside the club. The bomb itself had been planted near the DJ’s booth. It was a simple device, composed of only a small amount of plastic explosives with a timing device to detonate it. More than fifty American soldiers are among the victims. Many have ruptured eardrums and shrapnel wounds. Sergeant Ken Ford, a twenty-one-year-old noncommissioned officer, was killed in the blast. His girlfriend, twenty-nine-year-old Nermin Hannay, was the second victim. Another American GI, Staff Sergeant James Goins, a North Carolinian, is in critical condition. The docs aren’t sure if he will make it.
Back at Foggy Bottom, I report back to Gleason and tell him what I’ve learned. He says there’s been a lot of traffic between the Libyan Embassy in East Berlin and Tripoli. One message, shortly after the attack, bragged that the operation was a success. Tripoli responded with a “job well done” communiqué.
We still aren’t certain who was behind Flight 840. This one, on the other hand, looks cut and dried. The Libyans did it.
“Okay, Fred, we know enough of what happened to get the word out. Push out the MO to our agents in the field so they can help review off-post security.”
“I’m on it.” I hit the old IBM typewriter and start hunting and pecking away. Maybe we can prevent a rerun of this disaster.
The day and evening pass quickly. A quick run home Saturday night, and I’m back in the office Sunday morning. President Reagan just got back into town after spending the week in Santa Barbara for Easter. He’s furious, and the administration wants confirmation that the Libyans were behind La Belle. A response must be in the works.
We spend the next week chasing down leads and getting further details on the bombing. Gleason has me monitor the status of the wounded at Landstuhl and Wiesbaden. Our intel agencies work overtime, putting together a case against Colonel Qaddafi. It is as airtight as a Dark World case can get. We’re all convinced the Libyans pulled this one off. There is some evidence to show there were Palestinian and Syrian agents involved, but the genesis behind the attack clearly originated in Tripoli.
In the meantime, more threats pour in. Mullen and I deal with a report that a sedan with Libyan tags tailed a busload of American schoolkids in South America. Our embassy in Beirut comes under attack again. This time, rockets are fired at it. Two more bombings, one in Bangkok, the other in Stockholm, take place against American targets. We get word that the Libyans are planning to hit our consulate in Munich, kidnap an American ambassador somewhere in Africa, and bomb more embassies. Another report comes in warning that Tripoli has ordered attacks on American airliners.
No wonder President Reagan recently denounced Qaddafi as “the Mad Dog of the Middle East.”
Washington starts leaking like a sieve. Press reports hint that we’ve been able to break Libya’s diplomatic code. The Libyans read that and change their ciphers. Such reporting is flagrantly irresponsible, but our news agencies seem to care less about their national responsibilities than about getting a scoop.
Other reports show up in The Wall Street Journal and Washington Times claiming we’re about to attack Libya. One media outlet even names a potential target, Bab Al Azizyah, a sprawling compound near Tripoli that’s part terrorist training base, part headquarters for Qaddafi’s regime. He even uses it from time to time as his personal residence. The story doesn’t escape Qaddafi, who mentions it in an interview with reporter Marie Colvin.
The international press, including American TV reporters, flock to Tripoli. Flights into the potential war zone are suddenly booked solid. More hints and innuendo flow from “highly placed sources within the administration.” The American ambassador to West Germany, Richard Burt, is interviewed on the Today show and says, “There are clear indications that there was Libyan involvement” in the La Belle attack.
Later in the week, an Italian bishop and four Franciscans are kidnapped in Tripoli. Qaddafi, knowing something is afoot, starts rounding up foreign workers and placing them under guard at high-value military targets. He’s using them as human shields.
On Monday morning, we all know something is about to happen. Senator Richard Luger tipped off the media yesterday that President Reagan has called for a meeting with congressional leaders at four o’clock today. The press took that as a sign that
military retaliation is imminent.
Behind the big blue door, Gleason is quieter than usual. He chain-smokes and takes a few phone calls, but otherwise he’s focused on other things. Later in the day, he gets called away to a meeting of liaison agents from multiple agencies. He returns in the afternoon and huddles with Mullen and me.
“Okay, we’re about to hit the Libyans. The attack will take place tonight. We need to be prepared for any sort of retaliation. When the attack begins, I want you two to warn our troops. Send out word to every RSO. We’re in for a long night.”
In an effort to move into the modern age, we’ve now got a small TV in the office, tuned to CNN. The congressional leadership gets briefed as scheduled at 4:00 P.M. This is 11:00 P.M. Libyan time. Our air force planes are airborne, heading for their targets. The clock ticks by. The minutes drag. The wait slows time to a crawl.
Then Senator Robert Byrd and Senator Claiborne Pell show up on TV, telling the world that the president plans to address the nation at 9:00 P.M. eastern standard time. We shake our heads in frustration. This is another tip to the enemy. Will our planes be flying into a hornet’s nest?
Somewhere over the Mediterranean, brave flight crews are getting ready to make their final runs into their target areas. This is our opportunity to hammer a foe who has caused the deaths of countless innocents. This is our chance to avenge not just La Belle, but every attack the Libyan diplomatic service has initiated against us these past years. La Belle just gave us the smoking gun that Reagan needed to pull the trigger.
At 12:30 A.M. local time, our carriers in the Med launch their strike packages. The pilots and crews are worried. The press has been reporting their every move. The element of surprise seems to be lost. Simultaneously, a wing of F-111 Aardvark fighter-bombers has flown from England, down the Bay of Biscay, around Spain and Portugal, and has entered the Med over the Strait of Gibraltar. The attack will be a one-two punch. The navy planes will suppress the Libyan air defenses, while the F-111s hit their targets.
At Foggy Bottom, we of the Counterterror office head over to FOGHORN to rally our troops. The moment the last bomb falls, our job begins in earnest. It’ll be up to us to help deflect the counterattack Qaddafi’s intel service is sure to launch.
eight
TWO HITS FOR EL DORADO CANYON
April 16, 1986
Thanks to modern media and communications, we have a real-time report of the attacks around Tripoli. NBC Nightly News has a man on the scene with Steve Delaney, who phones in a live report and even sticks his receiver out his hotel window so those of us at home can hear the roar of antiaircraft fire.
By dawn, Operation El Dorado Canyon is over. The eleven-minute attack transforms much of Qaddafi’s compound at Al Azizyah into smoking rubble. So is the French Embassy in Tripoli, which we accidentally hit with a bomb.
One F-111 is missing. Everyone else is down safely, which is amazing given our press leaks and a subsequent report that shows the Italians and Maltese tipped off the Libyans after our carrier planes showed up on their radar systems. Nothing like having allies in this war against terror.
Now, we have to await a response. Much of the world is furious at our attack. The French, Italians, and most of the British see the operation as reckless military adventurism. In the Middle East and North Africa, there are protests in the streets of most major Arab cities. Our embassy in Khartoum just reported in, painting a picture of large-scale mobs chanting anti-American slogans. Several hundred tried to storm the embassy, and they would have succeeded had it not been for teargas-firing local Sudanese police. They drove off the attackers, but now everyone is worried about a repeat of the ’79 embassy takeover in Tehran, or the attack on our embassy in Pakistan, where one of our marines was shot and killed.
A little after 3 P.M., a flash cable arrives from Khartoum. One of our embassy staff members has been shot. Gleason gives me the case.
There’s not much to tell at first. William J. Calkins, a thirty-three-year-old former navy communications specialist, was on his way home for the night. He left the embassy just before 10 P.M. local time. Not far from his house, some locals found him unconscious and bleeding profusely, still strapped into his government vehicle. They rushed him to a nearby hospital, where he underwent emergency surgery. Someone, or some group of someones, had shot him in the head.
This is going to be a tough case. The Sudanese hate us, and Khartoum is a playground for terrorists. It is a city on the edge of anarchy, sort of a Beirut lite. All the chaos with a third fewer murders. The local police hardly function, and trying to get physical evidence from the scene to our FBI lab will be futile.
I begin working with the RSO at the embassy in Khartoum. Together, we manage to build a basic sketch of the attack. Bill Calkins worked erratic hours. He’s the communication, or commo, guy there on the ground in Sudan, and this requires him to handle all the flash traffic, NIACT cables, and other messages that must be sent out. As a result, he tended to work until odd hours of the night.
He worked late on April 16. On his way home, somebody shot him. Now, he’s clinging to life in a Sudanese hospital. If he survives, he’ll be flown to Germany for further treatment.
Was this just a random act of violence in a Third World pit of mayhem? Or was this a deliberate hit? We’re not sure.
A day later, our RSO in Khartoum reports back to us. He’s found some witnesses. According to them, a small sedan with three males inside picked up Bill Calkins’s vehicle and began to tail him. Somewhere along the road, the sedan swerved to the left and accelerated until it was even with Bill’s car. Two men opened fire with pistols while the third drove. As Bill slumped over, bleeding from a bullet wound to the left side of his head, the hit team vanished into the night.
We have only one piece of forensic evidence to go on. The Sudanese police turned over a few shell casings. Our RSO in Khartoum promises to send those to us via overnight DHL right away.
This may just be the opening blow in Sudan. Another cable comes in from Khartoum with potentially dire news. The Sudanese prime minister declared he’d provide “material and human assistance” to combat “barbaric American aggression.” Given this development, the earlier mob at the embassy gates, and the hit on Calkins, the decision is made to evacuate all nonessential embassy personnel from Khartoum. Altogether, with relief agency workers and regular staff, there are about five hundred Americans at the embassy. Plans are made to fly most of them out on a charter flight to Kenya.
As I work the Calkins case, more bad news flows in to FOGHORN. In Beirut, the bodies of three hostages, including our two academics, are found on April 17. This is clear retaliation for the bombing of Tripoli. A note with the bodies claimed as much. Later that afternoon, the British discover a plot to blow up an El Al jetliner departing from London.
The next day, a letter bomb arrives in the British House of Commons addressed to a member of Margaret Thatcher’s cabinet. At the end of the week, a bomb squad in Istanbul defuses a device placed at the entrance of an American bank. The Turks also thwart another potential disaster when they catch two Libyans carrying a bag full of grenades, which they confessed they were going to throw into an American military wedding party.
Khartoum reports in at week’s end. Most of the nonessential personnel are now in Kenya. Meanwhile, a few more details have emerged on the Calkins hit. First, he was shot in a residential neighborhood, not far from the Libyan People’s Bureau. The two gunmen fired five times. Calkins will live, but right now he’s blind, unable to speak, and partially paralyzed on his right side.
Were the Libyans involved? There’s just not enough evidence to point one way or the other yet, although we did receive a report that Sa’id Rashid was seen in the city and left just after the attack. Rashid is a well-known Libyan intelligence operative and a member of the Revolutionary Committees Bureau, which is Qaddafi’s elite terror and subversion organization. Rashid has been linked to numerous assassination attempts and an attempted bombing of a
Pan Am airliner in December 1983, and he was last seen in Berlin around the time of the La Belle Discotheque operation. Is he orchestrating these attacks? It certainly couldn’t be proven in a court of law, but right now it looks pretty suspicious. We must keep a closer eye on him. I send a message to our RSO in Khartoum, asking him to get the Sudanese to send us the passenger manifests for outbound flights to Tripoli in the days following the attack. The RSO is not optimistic he can get those, but he gives it a shot. The Sudanese turn him down cold. They aren’t going to help us much beyond what they’ve already done.
Ten days after the Tripoli attack, we get hit again. This time, we receive a flash cable from our embassy in Sanaa, Yemen. It is another attempted hit on one of our diplomats. Gleason tells me to find out what happened.
I contact the RSO, who sends word that the victim is another communications officer, just like the hit in Khartoum. Arthur Pollick was on his way to the embassy when a car overtook his and shot him up. According to our agent on the scene, Art was shot in the leg, shoulder, and head. Somehow, he managed to stop his car and limp back to his house, where he called for help. He’s going to live, but he’s suffered serious wounds.
Fortunately, he’ll be able to talk to me. Ten days after the Khartoum hit Bill Calkins is still unable to communicate. He’s out of the woods, but he’ll have permanent injuries, according to the doctors in Germany.
The two hits are extraordinarily similar. We need to get to the bottom of this quickly so we can prevent further attacks. In a few days, I’ll be able to sit down with Art and debrief him. Hopefully, he’ll give us something to go on. In the meantime, I send a cable to Sanaa, asking the RSO there to get to the crime scene and take some photographs.