Countdown bin Laden

by Chris Wallace

  Robert Gates, secretary of defense, who had serious doubts about going ahead with the raid, said, “There’s a narrative out there that government can’t do anything right, that it stumbles all over itself, that it makes mistakes, that people are venal. People are focused on burnishing their own reputations, and their own turf fights. And I think that this raid is a wonderful example of government performing as Americans would hope it would perform. I think it’s an example of the way government ought to cooperate, and the way people subordinated their own egos and pulled together, and something that really worked well. I’ve seen it in a few instances. But it’s all too rare.”

  Finally, Leon Panetta, director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and later Obama’s secretary of defense, said, “There are a lot of moments these days where you question whether or not the pillars of our democracy are going to be there—whether or not we’re going to be able to protect our democracy and our Constitution and our way of life. And then I think back on what happened here, where you had the dedication of people who have given their lives to protect this country, and that they did everything they could.

  “We’re not going to give up. We are not going to give up on our ability to find somebody who attacked our country. That spirit of not giving up, of persisting, of continuing to fight until we got this guy, that spirit is what I think will ultimately save our country, not only today, but in the future.”

  POSTSCRIPT

  The celebrations faded, the flags were folded and tucked away. Life went on. The United States pulled its troops out of Iraq and reduced its numbers in Afghanistan. Al Qaeda’s influence diminished after bin Laden’s death.

  At home, Obama was reelected to a second term in 2012. His campaign coined the perfect bumper sticker: “GM is Alive and Osama bin Laden is dead.” (Obama had bailed out General Motors during his first months in office.) Obama’s successor was Donald J. Trump, the real estate developer and reality-television star whom Obama had roasted at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner the night before the raid. Trump beat Hillary Clinton, the secretary of state who was in the Situation Room that day in May 2011 when the SEALs killed bin Laden.

  And another person in the room, Joe Biden, would in turn defeat Trump in November 2020, in a bitter and contentious election that took place in the middle of a deadly global pandemic. Trump refused to concede, falsely claiming election fraud. Two months after Election Day, a group of Trump supporters stormed the Capitol to try to stop Congress from certifying the election results. They failed. Biden was sworn in as the 46th President of the United States on January 20, 2021.

  Almost twenty years after 9/11, the Middle East is still unstable. America is torn by political divisions and racial unrest. For some, the days after the bin Laden raid were the last time the nation felt unified. For those who took part in the hunt for Osama bin Laden, that day is forever seared into their memory.

  THE CIA

  Leon Panetta

  Minutes before the president addressed the nation about the bin Laden operation, Ted Balestreri’s dinner was interrupted by a call from Panetta’s wife. Sylvia said, “Ted, get the wine opener ready.” When he asked why, she said, “Go turn on CNN. The president is going to make an announcement.” When he saw the news bulletin, Balestreri smiled and said, “The son of a bitch set me up.”

  A few months after the raid, Panetta was finally able to enjoy that rare $10,000 bottle of Bordeaux. Balestreri kept the promise he’d made on New Year’s Eve—that if Panetta caught or killed bin Laden, he’d open the Château Lafite Rothschild 1870.

  In typical Panetta style, he shared the bottle with more than a dozen friends, poured out into CIA souvenir shot glasses. The wine was good, Panetta said, but “it wasn’t worth that kind of money.”

  Panetta made a seamless transition from the CIA to the Defense Department. He served as secretary of defense until 2013, when he retired. He was in his midseventies. It was time to go home to his wife and spend some quality time at the Panetta Institute for Public Policy, encouraging young people to get involved in government.

  After the raid, Panetta was given a brick from bin Laden’s compound, which he donated to the institute. In a way, it symbolizes what can happen when government agencies work together for the public good.

  And that’s one of the institute’s goals: building strong leaders on both sides of the aisle who can tackle problems facing the nation. It does that by expanding the students’ knowledge of public policy—how to get things done on the local, state, and federal levels.

  Panetta chafes at the notion that the nation is too divided to do anything meaningful, adding that it’s fashionable to say the United States has never been more split. That thinking is “historically ludicrous,” he says, noting that the nation fought a civil war to end slavery. He says it’s insulting to “our history to pretend that today’s divisions are comparable to those.”

  The country is more united on what’s needed to “secure their families and give their children a better life.” It’s the responsibility of leaders to push America in that direction—“not to score points or win reelection.” So, on any given day, Panetta is there, at the institute, fighting the good fight, promoting those principles that can make America a better place.

  Michael Morell

  When the excitement died down, Morell went back to his old job as deputy director, the second in command at the spy agency. Morell had a new boss, General David Petraeus. But then scandal struck, and Petraeus resigned for engaging in an extramarital affair with his biographer and sharing classified information with the woman. Obama accepted his resignation. Morell was named acting director.

  This was the opportunity Morell had been waiting for. Although he was the deputy director at the time of an attack on the U.S. consulate in Benghazi, Libya, in September 2012, it would come back to haunt him. The attack led to the death of Ambassador Chris Stevens and three other Americans. As acting director, Morell and the agency, as well as the Obama administration, faced criticism from the right regarding their handling of the attack and how the news was shared with the world.

  Morell denied any cover-up or political influence in messaging. But he was the face of the CIA and had to take the heat. Morell told Obama that he wanted “acting” taken off his title, that he wanted to be named director. But in the end, Obama appointed John Brennan, a member of the president’s national security team.

  Obama called Morell to his office in January 2013 to tell him the news.

  Morell had recommended Brennan for the post. And to Morell’s surprise, Brennan had recommended him.

  “Have you ever heard of something like that?” Morell asked Obama.

  “Not in this town, pal,” Obama said.

  The president asked Morell what other job he’d be interested in, and Morell responded quickly: “I want to be chairman of the Federal Reserve Board.”

  They both laughed.

  Morell was disappointed. He retired a few months later, after thirty-three years with the CIA. He became senior counselor at Beacon Global Strategies, a national security consulting firm in D.C.

  Gary

  Gary didn’t lose his job that day in May. Quite the contrary. The War on Terror wasn’t over, but he knew every terrorist under bin Laden was probably scared. The agency needed to stay diligent, so they didn’t “wake up to another 9/11.” He promised himself that he wasn’t going to “ease off the gas pedal.” It wasn’t until a month after bin Laden’s death that he began to breathe a little easier.

  That’s when he really began thinking about the significance of the operation. It showed Al Qaeda leaders that “we’re going to get you. We’re going to bring you to justice, no matter how long it takes.”

  After the raid, Gary took a step back to reflect on his life and career. Some of his fellow analysts had decided to leave the agency, believing they’d never again work on a case as big as bin Laden’s.

  But Gary stayed on. He was a lifer, and now he wanted to pay it f
orward. Several good agents had mentored him at the beginning of his career, and it made him a better operations officer. Now he set out to do the same.

  The raid gave him a new perspective. He would still be relentless, but he was going to “hit the pause button” to spend more time with his family. He would help the people around him at the CIA “increase their capabilities.”

  Gary knew his success was built on the shoulders of brilliant men and women who took a “young eager guy and said, ‘Hey, try this way,’ or ‘No, don’t do that. This is the methodology, and this is the theory behind it.’ ” In the end, Gary would find peace as a mentor, and as a husband and father.

  THE VICTIM

  Jessica Ferenczy

  In the years following the terrorist attacks, Officer Jessica Ferenczy tried to move on with her life. It helped that bin Laden was dead. By 2013, she knew she could no longer work for the police department. After twenty years in uniform, it was time to retire.

  She now lives in that house in the Adirondacks and spends her days outdoors. She helps care for her aging father, who lives nearby.

  She still writes messages on Jerome’s Legacy Page every year on those three special dates.

  Ferenczy never married. She never will, she says.

  Osama bin Laden was responsible for much sadness in her life, but she finds some solace working outdoors on her land. There she’s able to find some peace and some hope. She believes she will meet Jerome again someday, that they will find each other, no matter how long it takes.

  THE SPY

  Shakil Afridi

  Hours after news broke in Pakistan about the raid, Dr. Shakil Afridi packed up his family and fled from Abbottabad. He was on the run for weeks, but was arrested on May 23, 2011, near the Afghan border.

  Afridi was never charged in connection with the bin Laden operation. Instead, he was accused of aiding—both medically and financially—Lashkar-e-Islam militants in the nearby Khyber tribal region.

  His family denied the charges. They said the government was making him a scapegoat for helping the United States in an operation that embarrassed Pakistani officials.

  Afridi was sentenced to thirty-three years in prison by a tribal court, later reduced to twenty-three years on appeal. His older brother, Jamil Afridi, said the doctor was being held in “deplorable” conditions and had become extremely weak and frail.

  Meanwhile, Afridi has been hailed as a hero in the United States. A year after the raid, Leon Panetta expressed anger that the doctor had been jailed and expressed concern for his safety. “For them to take this kind of action against somebody who was helping to go after terrorism, I just think is a real mistake on their part,” he said.

  But ten years later, Afridi was still in a Pakistani prison. His family continues to fight an uphill battle for his release.

  THE SEALS

  Robert O’Neill, the man who killed Osama bin Laden, returned home a hero, but the public didn’t know that. They only knew the SEALs took out the terrorist leader.

  The military kept the secret, and concealed the SEALs’ identities for their protection. The anonymity added to the mystique of SEAL Team 6—the most badass soldiers in the world. Hollywood made movies about them. A television series called SEAL Team followed the fictional romances and exploits of a squadron of trigger-happy grunts.

  For O’Neill, that drama hit too close to home.

  He didn’t brag about the mission. He adhered to the SEAL code of silence. But he noticed that some of his buddies—guys he had been friends with for years—were treating him differently. They were jealous. Rumors circulated that he’d signed a book deal.

  By 2011, he had been a SEAL for fifteen years. He’d wanted to stay in for at least twenty, and take a full retirement, but now he reconsidered.

  O’Neill contemplated life outside the military cocoon. Aside from a paycheck, the military provided him with structure, friendships, and respect. What would he do with himself, once all that was gone? What kind of work could he do? He’d never graduated college and he didn’t have a lot of skills that translated to civilian life.

  All the deployments had taken a toll on his marriage. He was living with his wife, Amber, but they slept in separate rooms. Finally, he decided to take another deployment. Maybe in Afghanistan, he could get away from the bullshit.

  Tragedy struck just before he left. On August 6, 2011, insurgents shot down a Chinook transport helicopter in Afghanistan, killing all thirty-eight people on board. Fifteen Navy SEALs from Team 6’s gold squadron and a military dog died in the crash. It was the worst loss in SEAL history.

  It was devastating to Team 6, and to O’Neill. In an instant he lost friends of many years, brothers in arms, guys he’d fought alongside.

  O’Neill’s deployment didn’t go as planned. The Afghan winter was fiercely cold. His forward operating base was hit by mortars every day. In the old days, they’d go after the bad guys, but it didn’t seem like they were doing that so much now.

  And there was one more thing: Being a SEAL was physically difficult. At age thirty-four, O’Neill had started feeling the pain.

  Then, on a dangerous mission, he found himself explaining basic tactics to a newly arrived officer. He was frustrated. At that point, O’Neill was “so used to war, none of it was a big deal.” He knew that “when you got complacent, you got sloppy. And sloppy kills.” That turned out to be his last deployment.

  O’Neill had completed four hundred combat missions over sixteen and a half years. He was awarded two Silver Stars and all sorts of other medals. As he prepared to leave the navy, he realized he also “had a mortgage, no pension, no college degree, and no job.”

  And all that talk about O’Neill writing a book? That faded away when another SEAL on the bin Laden mission wrote No Easy Day: The Firsthand Account of the Mission That Killed Osama Bin Laden, which was published in the summer of 2012. It was the autobiography of a SEAL who took part in the mission.

  O’Neill thought about setting up a consulting company with some other former SEALs, but that didn’t get off the ground. He ended up getting a job as a motivational speaker, where he shared stories of his missions. Over the years, he became a highly sought-after speaker, billed as “the quiet professional,” the “man on the ground we have never heard of, but we know exists.”

  He finally divorced, but is still on good terms with his former wife. He’s there for his daughters, trying to make up for all the birthdays and holidays that he missed. And in 2017, O’Neill got remarried.

  He met his second wife, Jessica, at one of his speaking engagements. The wedding ceremony in Cape Cod, Massachusetts, was flanked by high security. He knows that for the rest of his life he could be a target for terrorists trying to avenge bin Laden’s death.

  Meanwhile, O’Neill has created a charity, Your Grateful Nation, which helps veterans transition from the military to everyday life. And O’Neill says he’s gone to counseling to help him deal with all the years of combat stress. And he finally wrote a book, The Operator, about his life and missions.

  At one point he wondered whether being the guy who killed bin Laden was the best or worst thing in his life. Now he’s not wrestling with that so much. He just takes one day at a time.

  Will Chesney

  After the bin Laden mission, Chesney continued his career as a SEAL—but without Cairo. He stopped by the kennel when he could to see the dog. Cairo always recognized him. Chesney knew he’d try like hell to adopt him when Cairo was finally retired, but he wasn’t optimistic that would happen anytime soon. Chesney deployed to Afghanistan in 2012, but with a different dog.

  One day in the middle of a firefight in an Afghan compound, an insurgent tossed a grenade through a window. Shrapnel riddled Chesney’s body.

  He was treated at the base, then at an American hospital in Germany, and later at Walter Reed National Medical Center in Maryland. His father flew in to help him recover. Months after Chesney got home, the migraines started. It felt like his head
was in a vise. He couldn’t think straight.

  He tried to return to work, but he couldn’t go into the field. He became a SEAL training instructor.

  But the debilitating headaches took over his life, triggering a cycle of pain and depression.

  Chesney, a happy-go-lucky guy who never let things bother him, slowly changed. He lost his temper easily. He had no patience. He was losing his memory. When he found out his best friend was killed in Afghanistan, it was another blow. He had already lost several friends when the Chinook was shot out of the sky.

  By the spring of 2013, he was in rough shape. Only one thing seemed to help him: Cairo was in that kennel in Virginia Beach. Chesney spent more and more time there, playing with the dog. Cairo was eight years old by then. While he had clearly lost a step or two, he was still being used for training.

  No one at the kennel said anything about Chesney’s frequent visits, which were clearly therapeutic. Back at home, Chesney drank to excess. He sat on his couch, clutching his temples, and looked at photos of his buddies. He wept for all he had lost.

  Then, in the fall of 2013, he met a girl named Natalie Kelly in the local coffee shop. They hit it off. Life improved.

  Chesney heard that Cairo was set to retire, but that others also wanted to adopt the dog. Chesney fought with the military for months to get him. It was Chesney who had carried a wounded Cairo in his arms as he was bleeding on the battlefield, right? For the first time in a long while, Chesney devoted himself to achieving something, just like he had when he got through BUD/S, or selection for SEAL Team 6.

  And in April 2014, almost three years after the bin Laden raid, he took Cairo home. Chesney quickly discovered that Cairo suffered from PTSD, just like he did. The dog didn’t like to be alone. He’d follow Chesney everywhere. He hated thunderstorms and sudden loud noises.