Countdown bin Laden

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Countdown bin Laden Page 23

by Chris Wallace


  The helicopter was packed. Some of the guys sat on folding camp chairs. O’Neill looked around the chopper.

  Chesney sat on the floor with his dog Cairo on his lap. Cairo looked relaxed. He could have been headed for a family picnic instead of a dangerous mission. Chesney had his headphones on and was rocking. Some of the guys were asleep. O’Neill didn’t know how they could do that. O’Neill was too wired, too anxious to close his eyes.

  COUNTDOWN:

  1 HOUR, 25 MINUTES

  White House

  President Obama didn’t want to be in the way. He knew if he was in the Situation Room, he might distract everyone. He told Donilon to notify him when the helicopters were in the air.

  The president sat in the Oval Office, trying to read through some papers. He couldn’t focus. He kept reading the same lines over again. He was wearing a navy-blue windbreaker, khakis, and a white polo shirt—the same outfit he had worn golfing. He called in Nicholson, his personal aide Reggie Love, and Pete Rouse, who was the deputy White House chief of staff. They had all been told about the raid. So, to kill time, the four of them played spades in the dining room just off the Oval Office.

  Word came: The Black Hawks were in the air. Obama headed down to the Situation Room. The atmosphere was tense. All the key players were sitting around the conference table: Biden, Clinton, Donilon, Gates, Mullen. Adjoining rooms were full of assistants and technicians.

  Obama was updated on plans for notifying Pakistan and other nations after the raid. If The Pacer was indeed bin Laden, and he was killed during the operation, preparations had been made for a traditional Islamic burial at sea. They were concerned that if bin Laden was buried on land, his grave could become a shrine for his followers.

  Obama noticed that, evidently for his benefit, his national security team was going over things they had discussed many times before. Worried that he was distracting them, Obama went back upstairs. McRaven was overseeing the mission from Jalalabad. Panetta was officially commanding the operation from CIA headquarters. Obama was an onlooker. His team promised to let him know when the helicopters neared the compound.

  COUNTDOWN:

  1 HOUR, 20 MINUTES

  Somewhere over Pakistan

  With headphones covering his ears and an iPod on his shoulder, Chesney closed his eyes and felt the Black Hawk cut through the evening darkness. He was listening to AC/DC’s “Moneytalks.”

  On missions, everyone has his own routine. Some guys talk. Others go over the operation in their head. And some, like Chesney, listen to music to relax or to pump them up.

  Chesney liked all kinds of music, but tonight, on this mission, it was hard rock all the way, AC/DC style. With his headphones blasting, Chesney leaned over and patted Cairo on the head.

  It was pretty tight inside the Black Hawk. A dozen SEALs were crammed into the back of the chopper. Cairo arched his head and looked up at Chesney. He was ready, too.

  It was a moonless evening, and the pilots flew without lights over mountains that straddled the border with Pakistan. Radio communication was kept to a minimum. Chesney had faith in the pilots, a couple of badass Night Stalkers. A voice crackled over the helicopter’s speaker: They had just slipped undetected into Pakistani airspace.

  For more than sixty years, Pakistan’s military had maintained a state of high alert against its neighbor, India. Because of this obsession, Pakistan’s principal air defenses pointed east. Maybe they should have paid more attention to the western border, Chesney thought.

  He smiled. They’d be there soon. Until then, he was going to keep singing.

  Now that they were over Pakistan, O’Neill’s mind began to wander. They could get shot down any minute. How does it feel when a helicopter blows up? he wondered. Do we die instantly? How long does it take to die?

  To engage his mind, he would count: one to one thousand and back. So, under his breath, O’Neill began: “One, two, three…” And when he hit one thousand, he counted backward: “Nine-hundred ninety-nine, nine-hundred ninety-eight, nine-hundred ninety-seven…”

  COUNTDOWN:

  50 MINUTES

  Jalalabad, Afghanistan

  McRaven went through his checklist. He tracked the helos’ movements from point to point. Everything was going as planned. They were monitoring Pakistani radar systems. The Black Hawks hadn’t been detected. He hoped that would continue.

  But McRaven knew the serious part hadn’t even started yet. A few minutes earlier, the SEAL squadron commander had radioed the Joint Operations Center (JOC) and said that a large spotlight was “emanating from a nearby city, sweeping the mountainside.” They were apparently looking for something.

  So far, intel hadn’t detected any Pakistani chatter. They had no idea why the Pakistanis were using the spotlight. McRaven ordered the assault force to press on. But it was something they’d have to keep monitoring.

  COUNTDOWN:

  35 MINUTES

  Langley, Virginia

  Gary was in the conference room, along with all the brass, following the helicopters’ progress. Binders full of contingencies and timelines were spread across the table. They all knew exactly when the helicopters would get there. But everyone was on edge. The choppers had only been in the air a short time, but it already felt like an eternity.

  Panetta was in his usual spot at the center of the conference room table. Morell was beside him. Morell looked around the room. All the communications equipment made it seem like they were playing an important role. But the reality was they were “spectators, not participants.”

  That only added to the tension. They knew anything could happen at any moment. And if it did, there was nothing they could do. If this was a movie, everyone would be tempted to fast-forward to the end to see how it turned out.

  COUNTDOWN:

  20 MINUTES

  Jalalabad, Afghanistan

  McRaven’s eyes were darting from the screens to his checklist, when he was interrupted by an aide.

  “General Petraeus is on the MIRChat,” said the aide, referring to the military’s online chat.

  “What does he want?” McRaven said.

  “He wants to know if we’re still doing the mission tonight.”

  Petraeus didn’t know the status. When he’d asked McRaven’s liaison officer in Kabul, he didn’t know what Petraeus was talking about. No one had briefed him about the mission.

  McRaven laughed. “Tell Petraeus we’re about ten minutes out from the target.”

  “Good luck,” Petraeus responded.

  COUNTDOWN:

  19 MINUTES

  Somewhere over Pakistan

  The helicopter banked south. O’Neill took a deep breath. They were about to begin their attack run. For some unknown reason, he segued from counting numbers to repeating words that President George W. Bush had uttered just hours after the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

  “Freedom itself was attacked this morning by a faceless coward. And freedom will be defended.”

  O’Neill had no idea why he started hearing that line. All he knew was that at that moment, in this helicopter somewhere over Pakistan, he felt an incredible rush of patriotism. He was proud of the men sitting to his right and left, and even the noble dog on the floor. He would fight and die for them. And no matter what happened today, they were heroes.

  As O’Neill repeated the words in his head, he could hear President Bush’s voice. He could see his face, telling Americans that the United States would never rest until they brought the people responsible for the attacks to justice. In a few minutes, this team might be face-to-face with the man behind the terrorist attacks. O’Neill was ready.

  COUNTDOWN:

  12 MINUTES

  White House

  The president’s national security team didn’t want to give anyone the impression that Obama was micromanaging the operation. That could pose a political problem if the mission failed.

  They tried to keep Obama out of the Situation Room as much as possible. They thought it was be
tter if he “indirectly” followed the developments. The president was of the same mind, but he couldn’t think about anything else. As the choppers approached the compound, Obama headed back downstairs. Just before he got to the Situation Room, he heard McRaven’s voice coming from a small room across the hall.

  When he peeked inside, Obama saw a live aerial view of the compound on a desktop video monitor. He stepped inside and watched, over the shoulder of Air Force Brigadier General Brad Webb, who was monitoring the events on his laptop. When Webb looked up, he saw the president. The general offered Obama his seat, but the president put his hand on Webb’s shoulder, “Sit down,” he said.

  Webb immediately let McRaven and Panetta know the president was watching the live feed with him. When the others in the Situation Room found out Obama was next door, they slowly, one by one, joined him there. Biden, Clinton, Mullen, Donilon.

  Leiter was eating pizza in the Situation Room when he discovered that just about everyone was gone. When he finally looked across the hall, he saw “so many people jammed in there, it looked like a clown car.” Pete Souza, the White House photographer, slipped in and began snapping pictures.

  COUNTDOWN:

  11 MINUTES

  Abbottabad, Pakistan

  The helicopter made a slight turn to the right and the doors opened. O’Neill looked outside and there was Abbottabad, looking exactly like all its photos. They started descending as they approached the target. He noticed they were flying over a golf course!

  A golf course. There weren’t any golf courses in Afghanistan. And lights! The city had lights. Electricity. This is a resort town, O’Neill thought.

  For a moment, he smiled. They don’t know we’re coming. Soon, all hell would break loose. This is serious Navy SEAL shit we’re about to do, he said to himself.

  COUNTDOWN:

  10 MINUTES

  Abbottabad, Pakistan

  Chesney turned off his music. He checked his radio, weapon, night-vision goggles. He glanced at a laminated card each SEAL carried, with a layout of the compound on it. The two helicopters had flown in tandem up until this point. Now the other chopper, Chalk 1, veered off to the right. Chesney lost track of it.

  COUNTDOWN:

  9 MINUTES

  Jalalabad, Afghanistan

  McRaven’s eyes were glued to the screen. He didn’t like what he was seeing. Chalk 1 was in trouble. The helicopter was supposed to hover over a designated spot while the men fast-roped into the compound near the main house. But the pilot was having trouble holding the chopper in place.

  The Black Hawk buckled and swayed back and forth about twenty feet above the courtyard. The rotors screamed as the pilot tried to lift, but no matter what he did, the chopper wobbled. Then, without warning, its nose tilted toward the ground. The tail spun and struck the compound wall. The helicopter fell.

  White House

  The images on the video feed were grainy. Even with the less-than-perfect picture, Obama could tell something had happened to the helicopter.

  Obama felt “an electric kind of fear.” A disaster reel played in his head—a Black Hawk crashing, SEALs scrambling to get out before the chopper exploded. Neighbors running to the scene before the Pakistani military arrived, guns blazing.

  Mullen shot a glance over at Gates. It looked like the older man was having a heart attack. This was Operation Eagle Claw redux.

  Anxiety swept over the room. Were there injuries? Is the mission compromised?

  “Oh, Lord, Murphy turned up,” Biden said.

  “What are you talking about?” McDonough asked.

  “Come on, Denis. Murphy’s Law.” Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

  President Barack Obama and members of the National Security team watch the raid, May 1, 2011.

  Clinton knew the dangers. She had studied the plan. She knew there were a lot of homes nearby. She thought about what the SEALs might face in those streets, with the residents, police, and military. She held her breath and stared at the grainy figures on the screen.

  Abbottabad, Pakistan

  As planned, Chalk 2 landed just outside the compound. The interpreter, snipers, Chesney, and Cairo bounded out of the Black Hawk and began moving clockwise around the perimeter. They had to clear the area of possible mines and traps, as well as any insurgents who might be there to protect The Pacer.

  When Chesney checked behind him, he noticed his helicopter was still there. The pilot was supposed to lift and hover over the main house, where O’Neill and others would fast-rope either to the roof or into the courtyard.

  But then Chesney saw O’Neill and the others jump out of the chopper. They were outside the compound—not inside. What happened? Chesney shook his head. He understood that sometimes things change fast on missions. Still, what the hell? But he had his orders. Unless he heard otherwise, he and Cairo would continue with their assigned role.

  Langley, Virginia

  Bash watched in stunned silence as the rotors of the lead helicopter slowed, then stopped. His heart was in his throat. This was the lead chopper, carrying the SEALs who were supposed to drop into the courtyard. Everything was going wrong. He had no idea what would happen next.

  Morell was stunned. When he heard McRaven’s voice, he didn’t feel much better. “It’s down. Can’t use it,” McRaven said.

  Fuck, Morell thought. Gates was right. Something always goes wrong. Is this the end of the mission?

  Panetta was anxious. It looked like the whole damn raid was in jeopardy. “Bill, what the hell is going on?” Panetta asked.

  “We have a helo that has gone down,” the admiral said.

  Panetta’s heart sank.

  COUNTDOWN:

  8 MINUTES

  Jalalabad, Afghanistan

  McRaven had lost a few helicopters in his day. He knew the difference between a crash and a “hard landing.” This was a hard landing, survivable. But it came at the worst possible time.

  He’d known the most dangerous part of the mission would be when the helicopter was hovering over bin Laden’s room, on the third floor of the main house. If there were Al Qaeda fighters there, they could fire an RPG at the helo. That’s why McRaven had positioned snipers and door gunners on the Black Hawk to face the house.

  But even with all the planning, something still went wrong. The chopper went down in the animal pen west of the main house—not in the inner courtyard of the three-story home. The radio noise suggested that the SEALs were banged up, but OK. None of the plan was unfolding the way they had rehearsed it. But McRaven stayed calm. He had his decision matrix. They had practiced for these worst-case scenarios. Thank God they’d added the Chinook.

  As soon as the helicopter hit the ground, the assault team jumped out of the Black Hawk and headed toward the main house. McRaven called Van Hooser. “How long will it take for the Chinook to get to Abbottabad?”

  “About thirty minutes,” Van Hooser said.

  “OK…. She’s going to have to be the extract bird.”

  Colonel Thompson contacted the commander of the Chinook about the change in plans. It would have to come in and, when they were five minutes from the compound, hide in place until it was time to pick up the SEALs.

  With the contingency plan set, McRaven reached Panetta. “The SEALs are continuing with the mission. I’ll keep you posted,” McRaven said.

  Panetta took a deep breath. “God bless you. We’re all praying for the best.”

  Abbottabad, Pakistan

  O’Neill wondered why they were on the ground on the wrong side of the compound wall. By now, his chopper should have been hovering above the main house so the SEALs could fast-rope to the roof. But something had happened.

  The pilot said there’d been a change of plans. They had to start from here instead of the other side of the wall. O’Neill and his team bounded from the helicopter. It was time for Plan B.

  They had to quickly find a way to breach the wall. O’Neill had studied the compound’s layout and knew every piece o
f the real estate—every gate, every entrance.

  There was a gate near the northeast corner. If the intel was correct, he was only a few feet away.

  COUNTDOWN:

  7 MINUTES

  Abbottabad, Pakistan

  Cairo kept his nose to the ground, sniffing for explosives or insurgents. The dog stayed calm even as the sound of gunfire and explosions cut through the darkness. When Chesney turned a corner of the compound wall, he glimpsed something strange in the distance. “What?” he said aloud.

  Sticking up, almost resting on top of the other side of a twelve-foot-high section of the compound wall, was the tail of a helicopter. “Hey, that helicopter looks like one of ours,” he said.

  A moment later, it hit him: That was Chalk 1. He didn’t know what had happened, but he didn’t have time to worry about it now. He had to stick to the plan. They still had their jobs to do.

  Meanwhile, at another section of the wall, O’Neill spotted a metal gate, just where it was supposed to be. He knew this was the place where they’d have to try to get inside. Another SEAL pulled out a seven-foot charge of C-6 and placed it in the middle of the door. Seconds later, the gate blew open. Behind the gate was a solid brick wall. Another SEAL shook his head, “This is bad,” he said.

  No, O’Neill said. It was a good sign. Having a fake door meant somebody important lived there. O’Neill sent a message to the field commander: They were going to blow the carport gate to get inside. But a voice crackled over the radio: Stand down. A team was already inside. They would open it. A moment later, “Open Sesame,” the main gate swung open. There he was, one of the SEALs from the Chalk 1 crew, giving O’Neill a thumbs-up.

 

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