by Duane Evans
This usually happened immediately after he finished a phone conversation with a political figure who had pledged his support to Karzai or had somehow otherwise encouraged him in his anti-Taliban campaign. When making these calls, Karzai by necessity, and despite international press reports to the contrary, had to maintain the fiction that he was still in Afghanistan fighting the Taliban. To do otherwise, would jeopardize the basis of his appeal for support.
It was through watching him and listening to his telephone solicitations, many of which were in English, that I began to realize the depth of his devotion to ending the Taliban’s rule in Afghanistan, as well as its protection of al-Qa’ida. The man was tireless. Every waking moment of the day, every action that Karzai took, every word he spoke centered on one thing—ridding Afghanistan of the Taliban government. His single-mindedness was far beyond anything I had ever witnessed, and at some moment it hit me that I was in the presence of a man who was destined to become a historical figure.
At a personal level, I came to like him a great deal. It was hard not to. His cultured, genteel, and modest manner, reinforced by the crisp “Queen’s English” that he spoke, combined to create an appealing personality. Despite the increasingly obvious fact that his importance and international stature were growing, never during the time I spent with him did he display any behavior that suggested a sense of self-importance—quite the opposite, in fact.
One evening, over a dinner of MRE’s, the military’s version of a “happy meal,” the topic of the dangers ahead came up, prompting me to remind Karzai of the rather obvious point that given the support that was behind him, it was important that he didn’t get himself killed.
“My life is unimportant. It doesn’t matter if I live or die,” was his response. “The only thing that matters is that Afghanistan becomes free of the Taliban.”
One only had to hear the steel in his voice to know the statement was not bravado, but core conviction. I believed him, and why not? Karzai had already risked his life once by going into Afghanistan on a one-man mission to start a rebellion against the Taliban, and he was preparing to do it again. Only this time, he would not be going alone.
17
Off Again, On Again
After CLOSE TO TWO weeks since we had arrived in Jacobabad, we had a completed plan for the insertion. A date was set and pre-mission tensions began to mount. Then that date was cancelled and another launch date was set, and then that date was cancelled as well. The emotional roller coaster of the on again, off again launch date took a toll, at least on me, and I suspected it did on the others as well.
When another date was proposed, Greg was called up to Islamabad for a meeting to discuss the plan. This hadn’t happened before and we took it as a sign that this time might be it.
When Greg returned he called us together.
“It’s a go. We leave in three days when the nighttime illumination will be at its lowest.”
I was elated by the news, but because I was not a paramilitary officer, I still had suspicions that, if push came to shove I might be cut from the team when it deployed. I was constantly trying to read the tea leaves about my status. Things seemed to be good, however, and I viewed my appointment as Karzai’s go-to guy as a positive sign that Greg had confidence in me. There was nothing I could think of that suggested otherwise, with one possible exception.
There had been a couple of interesting things I had noticed about Greg during the time we had spent together in Jacobabad. One was that he rarely seemed to eat, and when he did, he usually was on his feet and in motion while doing so. That eating habit certainly helped explain why he didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body. The other thing I had observed was that he did not have any socks; at least I never saw him with any on. I thought maybe when he had packed he had forgotten them so I offered him a couple extra pairs of mine, but he said “No,” staunchly refusing to take them. I thought that was odd. The socks were clean; in fact, they were brand new and I had to wonder, why wouldn’t he take my socks? But Greg was a hard guy to read. He never gave much away about what he was thinking, so I told the “sock story” to Jimmy to get his opinion.
“Don’t take it personal. Greg doesn’t like to take nothing from nobody. He would rather freeze his toes off. I’m sure he’ll get some socks for himself soon enough—or maybe he won’t. Either way, don’t worry about him. He can take care of himself.”
Since Jimmy knew him well, I accepted his explanation. But I still wanted to confirm I was good to go for the mission and decided to cut to the chase. I asked Greg if I was going in with the rest of the team.
“You bet you’re going. Better start packing your shit,” he said.
That was music to my ears. I had been working to get to Afghanistan since September 11th. I had missed my chance with Gary Schroen’s team, and a couple of other opportunities as well, but finally it looked like I was almost there.
The next morning I walked over to the Air Force mess tent for a hot breakfast. The guys who worked there didn’t know we were CIA and assumed we were aircraft maintenance contractors. I got a cup of coffee and helped myself to some bacon and eggs. I saw there was a news program playing on the big screen TV located in the middle of the cavernous tent, and I sat down at a nearby table to watch while I ate. A press interview with Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was on. Not surprisingly, Rumsfeld was taking questions about Afghanistan. In one of his comments he said that the U.S. had pulled Hamid Karzai out of Afghanistan and taken him to Pakistan. Rumsfeld went on to say that the U.S. was preparing to take him back in.
I was floored. The fact that we had taken Karzai out of Afghanistan was highly sensitive information, as was the fact that we were going to take him back. No one was supposed to know about it. Karzai himself had always denied he was outside of Afghanistan in his telephone calls to his supporters and international contacts, including the press. Now, a senior representative of the U.S. government had revealed the truth of the matter.
Not happy about what I had heard, I walked back to our building and relayed the story to Greg and the team. The first question on everyone’s mind was whether we would still go forward with the plan as scheduled. Certainly from an operational security standpoint, Rumsfeld’s statement was damaging, as Taliban and al-Qa’ida would know our intention was to bring Karzai back. With the element of surprise lost, their forces would be ready and watching. But they did not know exactly when or where his return would take place. It was kind of like the situation with Jesus or the 12th Imam: You’ve been told they are coming back, but the when or where of it was still unclear.
After due consideration by all involved parties, including CIA Headquarters and the military, the decision was that the mission would go forward as planned. Despite the increased risk, I think everyone was happy because we were more than anxious to get going.
18
New Team, New Mission
On THE DAY OF Echo team’s departure, the nagging feeling that I would not be leaving with the team became a reality. The reason had nothing to do with my rejected socks, but with insufficient helicopter lift capability. So like extra baggage, I was scratched from the flight manifest and once again left behind.
After the team departed I, along with two SF soldiers who were also left behind, assumed a pessimistic attitude, believing there probably would not be a resupply flight anytime soon, leaving us stuck in Jacobabad. The next day, however, I received a secure-line call that changed everything: Headquarters wanted me to lead another team, designated “Foxtrot,” into southern Afghanistan.
I was surprised by the call, and after I hung up it dawned on me that I would definitely not be joining back up with Echo team and Karzai. I was not sure how I felt about that. For the previous two weeks my every waking moment had been spent in preparation to go into Afghanistan as an Echo team member. I particularly didn’t like the idea of parting ways with Jimmy, who had been with me from the start and whose extensive military experience and council I valued. Now
it seemed Echo team was no longer in the cards. It was an abrupt change of course that I had to get my mind around.
The plan called for Foxtrot to infiltrate directly into Kandahar province and to link up with Gul Agha Shirzai, the former Kandahar provincial governor who had been driven from office when the Taliban had seized power. Like Karzai, he had recently begun building a force of mostly Pashtun anti-Taliban fighters inside Afghanistan. While I was intrigued by the operational concept, I had to admit that the idea of infiltrating directly into Kandahar province was a bit intimidating.
The next day, the U.S. Air Attaché in Islamabad and another Air Force officer flew down in a small plane to pick me up and take me back for discussions in Islamabad. Not knowing what the future would hold, I decided to bring all my gear with me, including my Glock and AK-47, which I just managed to fit into my duffle bag.
We waited until dusk to take off, and as soon as the wheels were off the ground, the Air Attaché immediately pulled the nose up putting the plane into a steep climb and then sharply banked to the left. The evasive maneuvers were not without justification. In the previous couple of weeks, some of the Air Force’s planes had taken fire from locals who did not like the U.S. presence on the base, and one crewmember had been wounded.
I was impressed by the Attaché’s flying skills, but began to have doubts about his navigation ability. Our route took us near the heavily militarized Pakistan-India border, and it was important that we did not stray into Indian airspace lest the Indians mistake us for a Pakistani plane and blow us out of the sky. Not long into our flight, the Air Attaché became uncertain as to our location in relation to the sensitive border. He was navigating by looking at landmarks, mostly lights on the ground delineating roads and towns, but decided that maybe it was time to consult a map. By this time it was dark and we were flying in black-out conditions so no interior lights were on. After digging through his bag, he found a red filtered flashlight to read the map, but the batteries were dead. Eventually, after dumping out the assorted contents of a briefcase, the pilots located new batteries, consulted the map, and got us back on course. All this sorting out seemed to take forever. Throughout the entire episode, however, neither of the Air Force officers was particularly ruffled, and we made it to Islamabad without any encounters with Indian surface-to-air missiles.
19
A Question of Leadership
The NEXT DAY I went into the station with my gun-concealing North Face duffle bag in tow to discuss the Shirzai initiative. Shirzai was not an unknown quantity. Even before I left Headquarters he was under consideration as a possible partner for the Agency to team up with inside Afghanistan. His deceased father had proven to be a fearless Mujahidin fighter in the war against the Soviets, earning the moniker “Shirzai” which translates into “the lion” of Kandahar. Gul Agha had also fought against the Russians and adopted his father’s moniker, but he did not have the same reputation. His detractors believed any steel in his spine had disappeared during his years living comfortably in exile in Pakistan. As a result they had given him and his followers a less flattering moniker—“the Gucci Muj.”
Because of these doubts, the burden of proof was put on Shirzai’s back. He was told that if he could raise a sizable force of fighters inside Afghanistan, and if he demonstrated the capability to undertake offensive operations against the Taliban and al-Qa’ida, he would receive full Agency assistance, to include possibly having an American team co-located with his force. The fact that I was in Islamabad to discuss the plan to send a CIA team in to join him indicated that Headquarters, specifically CTC/SO, believed Shirzai had met the challenge and was ready for a team. It also meant that 20 years after participating in the Special Forces Robin Sage exercise I was about to actually do what the training had prepared me to do.
At the station, I had the opportunity to read the Headquarters cable that outlined the plan for Foxtrot team. I learned that CTC/SO wanted Foxtrot inside Afghanistan in four days, an ambitious timeline to be sure. I met with the Deputy Chief of Station to discuss how best to accomplish the plan. To my surprise, the DCOS, in a kindly, almost fatherly way, told me that despite what the Headquarters cable said, I would not lead Foxtrot team. Instead, Mark, an experienced Station officer who knew Shirzai, would.
I didn’t really know Mark at the time other than to have talked with him for a few minutes when I was in Islamabad the first time through. He struck me as a good officer and someone with whom I’d enjoy working. But that wasn’t the point. Headquarters had left no doubt in its cable that I was to lead the team, and while Station could challenge that decision, it had no authority to overrule it.
Of equal importance, putting Mark in charge didn’t make sense. I outranked him and I had more years of operational experience than he did, including having served as a Chief of Station. I also had six years of military experience, including in Special Forces, with whom we would be closely working. Mark had zero military experience. While his knowing Shirzai was important and valuable, it simply did not trump all the other considerations regarding who was best qualified to fill the position of team leader.
I was in an awkward position. It was blatantly obvious that Station wanted its own officer to head the team, and I knew Foxtrot would have to rely heavily on the station for support, particularly in the preparation phase of the mission. I did not want to risk that support for the team by insisting that I be in charge. My goal was to get into Afghanistan, after all, not to be a team leader.
But there were principles involved here. I knew by any objective standard of measure I was better qualified to be the team leader, and Headquarters had designated me as such based on those qualifications. Short of Headquarters changing its mind, I decided I could not in good conscience accede to Station’s wishes. Doing so would be tantamount to disobeying orders, and I so advised the DCOS.
The DCOS was not expecting pushback from me on the subject, and I could see tension and defiance come over his face as I tried my best to diplomatically enumerate the factors why it did not make sense for Mark to supersede me as team leader. My final point about the station having no authority to change the team leader since CTC/SO was in charge of the operation seemed to be particularly painful for him to hear. I did, however, tell him that if Station could persuade CTC/SO to designate Mark as the team leader then I would of course abide by Headquarters’ decision and assume whatever role I was given.
While the DCOS excused himself to meet with the Chief of Station, I decided to go find Mark, as one way or another we would likely be working with each other, and we did not have much time left in Islamabad. In fact, a plane would be taking us to the airbase in Jacobabad later that afternoon. I asked someone where I could find him, and was told he was out of the office but was expected back at any minute.
“He knows he is joining Foxtrot and we are going down to Jacobabad later today, right?” I asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” an officer in the front office told me. “If you see him you might want to let him know.”
That was a hell of a note. In just a few hours we were supposed to be catching a C-130 back to Jacobabad, and Mark hadn’t even been told that he was going. When I found him I had to tell him the score.
If it was the first he had heard of the plan, Mark took the news well. He didn’t throw rocks at me anyway. I also told him for the moment it was not clear which of us would be the team leader.
“I don’t want to be the team leader,” he said.
“Well, your station wants you to be.”
Mark just shook his head and calmly headed off to pack up some clothes. I could not imagine what must have been going through his mind. I had weeks to psych myself for going into a war zone, team leader-designate or not. Mark had only four days.
By the time Mark returned and joined me at the front office, the strained atmosphere that I had felt earlier in the DCOS’ office was gone. Quite oddly, as if there had never been any issue to begin with, I was told that Station concurred i
n my leading team Foxtrot. I never knew if it was my arguments that changed Station’s position or some other factor, but I was thankful the leadership question was quickly resolved.
20
By the Seat of Our Pants
Mark AND I HAD little time to prepare and faced some serious, possibly show-stopping challenges, the first being that Foxtrot had no communications gear. Without communications, the team could bring little to the table in terms of helping Shirzai or reporting intelligence to Headquarters. Fortunately, steps were already being taken to address this issue, as well as that of Foxtrot only having two members. A CIA paramilitary team similar in composition to Echo’s was being assembled in Washington and would be sent out to join Mark and myself. The incoming team would have the commo gear and the technical skills to operate it, not to mention that they all were expert warriors, trained to carry out intelligence operations in a combat environment. The catch was, the paramilitary team would not be ready until sometime after the planned infiltration date, and it would have to join us in Afghanistan at a later time. From my standpoint, not having the team from the get-go was less than optimal, to put it mildly.
There was some good news, however. The Department of Defense had approved sending another “A” team—ODA 583 from 5th Special Forces— to join with Foxtrot, and it would be in Pakistan in time to accompany us on the initial insertion.
While I was very happy to hear this, it did not solve the communications problem. The ODA had its own gear for military commo, but it would not have the gear Foxtrot would need for CIA operational and intelligence reporting. Communications remained a problem needing to be addressed.
Then I learned there might be a solution to our commo problem. A two-man advance element from a U.S. military Special Operations task force was in Islamabad and had commo gear that was compatible with Agency crypto. This was great news. I decided to walk over and meet them to discuss the situation with the goal of getting my hands on their gear.