N
ASH entered the interrogation room and set a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a lighter on the table. The cigarettes had started out as a device; something for him to do during the long pauses that inevitably punctuated the interrogation sessions. Many of the prisoners eventually partook, and it helped build a sense of fellowship that Nash was more than happy to exploit. Unfortunately, it was now much more than a device. After six years, he was using them on a daily basis, sneaking one or two, here and there. His wife had caught on and wasn’t happy – both for his health and for the message it might send their teenage daughter should she find out. He tried his best to limit his smoking to these overseas jaunts, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to separate his job from his personal life. The stress, he had to admit, was getting to him.
Nash picked up the pack and offered a cigarette to al-Haq. The Afghani took one eagerly. Nash held the flame a foot in front of the terrorist. Al-Haq hesitated and then leaned forward. Little things mattered in these sessions. Getting a man to take a cigarette was good but getting him to lean across the table and meet you halfway was even better. Nash lit his own cigarette, sat back, crossed his legs, and exhaled a big cloud of smoke.
“I would like to make a deal,” al-Haq said in a businesslike tone.
Nash hid his surprise – studied him for a few seconds. Thought to himself,
This one is different. In all the time I’ve been doing this, not one of them has started the conversation, much less announced that they were ready to deal.
“Let’s hear it.”
“I have information… very valuable information that I think your government would be willing to pay for.”
“Pay for?” Nash said in a voice that lacked any emotion even though he was fighting to suppress his excitement.
“Yes.”
“What makes you think they would be willing to pay for it?”
“I think considering the political climate in your country it would be much easier to make a business deal with me.”
They study us more than we think,
Nash thought. Al-Haq was right about the leaders in Washington, but Nash wasn’t willing to admit it. At least not yet. Instead he said, “Why would I give you cash when I can have General Dostum squeeze the information out of you?”
Al-Haq took a pull off his cigarette and answered, “For many reasons, but most importantly, the information I have for you is very time-sensitive. If I am forced to endure the humiliation and pain that will no doubt be employed by the general, I am likely to be less than forthright. Eventually, you will get most of what you want, but it might be too late.”
“And why should I believe you?” Nash watched as al-Haq considered the question. He got the sense that the man was contemplating how much he should divulge.
“You picked up a cell in Mauretania seven weeks ago.”
Nash’s face gave away nothing. They had in fact intercepted an al-Qaeda cell in Mauretania with the help of the French. It had been kept very quiet. Not a single mention of it had been reported in the press. Most of the men had been thoroughly debriefed, but there were a few holdouts, including the cell’s leader. Nash looked al-Haq calmly in the eye and said, “Go on.”
“There was a second cell.”
Nash nodded.
“Intercepted in Hong Kong. We think by the British.”
Nash was intimately familiar with the incident. It was in fact the British who had picked up the group. He’d spent the week before last in London being briefed by his counterpart at MI6. The cell was composed mostly of Pakistanis who spoke very good English. “I am familiar with the situation.”
“Well, there is a third group.”
“I’m listening,” Nash said calmly, even though he wasn’t calm. His worst fears were being confirmed.
“I need assurances.”
“We can work that out.”
Al-Haq exhaled a cloud of smoke and laughed. “I am going to need more than the word of a professional spy.”
“What would satisfy you?”
“I have a lawyer in Bern. I will need a letter from your president guaranteeing me the following…”
Before he could list his demands, Nash cut him off. “That’s not going to happen. There is no way the president is going to get anywhere near something that even remotely makes him look like he is negotiating with a terrorist.”
“The letter will only be used if you fail to follow through on your part of the bargain.”
“It’s a nonstarter, Mohammad.”
Al-Haq ignored him. “There is a two-million-dollar reward for my arrest. I want that money for turning myself in, and I want a new identity. If we can agree on that, and a few more things, I will cooperate fully with you. I will tell you everything I know, but you must report…” His voice faded.
“Report what?”
“That I am dead.”
Nash understood immediately. He wanted to protect his family. Nash stuffed his cigarette in his mouth to hide his deep satisfaction. He was staring at what amounted to their first high-level defection.
This could be huge,
he thought to himself. Nash leaned forward and pointed his cigarette at al-Haq. “Mohammad, I think I can make this work, but the agreement will have to be between the director of the CIA and you. If I get any politicians involved, they’ll screw it up.”
Al-Haq thought about it for a long moment and in a voice filled with doubt and anxiety said, “I need assurances.”
“I will get you assurances. I know I can get you the money, but this is the type of thing that has to be handled in the dark. There is no other way.”
Al-Haq didn’t like what he was hearing. He had no faith in this man or the organization he represented. He shook his head, his face showing his discomfort.
“Mohammad, if you want to go public, there’s a way I can sell this,” Nash said in a reasonable tone. “The president would love nothing more than to announce that you’ve defected. Have you stand up in front of the cameras and repudiate al-Qaeda and the Taliban, but if you do that your family is going to be slaughtered.”
The words hit al-Haq like a knife in the side. After a moment he said, “I do not want that.”
“Then the only option is to do this in the dark. In fact we might even want to announce that you’ve been killed.”
“That would be very convenient for you.”
“I think it is a mutually beneficial solution.”
“But can I trust you?”
“You’d better.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to be forced to turn you over to General Dostum. I might not get the information out of you as quickly as I’d like, but ultimately, you’ll give me what I want.”
Al-Haq fidgeted in his chair. His eyes darted from one wall to the next and then back to Nash. “There is not much time.”
“What do you mean?”
“The third cell…” Al-Haq’s voice trailed off.
“What about the third cell?” Nash asked while trying to stay calm.
“No.” Al-Haq stabbed his cigarette in the ashtray and put it out. “I need assurances.”
Nash scrambled to think of something. “If I got the director of the CIA on the phone would it help?”
Al-Haq nodded. “What about the money?”
“We could wire the money to your attorney first thing in the morning.” Nash watched him closely, could tell he was on the fence. Nash put out his own cigarette. “You’re going to have to trust me, though. I’ll get the director on the phone, but you are going to have to give me more than just the fact that there is a third cell.”
“I know the man who is leading the cell. I know several others in the group. I know where they have been training, and what American city they will attack, and when they will strike.” Al-Haq folded his arms and looked across the table with confidence.
“What city?”
“I will tell you when I have my deal.”
“All right,” Nash said as he stood. “Give me a few minutes to get the director on the phone.” Nash could feel his heart racing. This could be big, but it would have to be handled with great care. There were too many factions in Washington. Too many people who would be more than happy to screw it up.
T
HREE Humvees rolled up to the Hilton and came to a slow stop. General Garrison stared past the thick bulletproof glass of his vehicle at the two Humvees that were already there. He muttered something to himself and then cautiously got out of his vehicle and began to circle the two Humvees. This was only the fifth time Garrison had visited the facility in the nine months he’d been running the base. He was of the mind-set that, as far as his air force was concerned, nothing good could come from this place. The capture of the two high-value targets and the subsequent visit by the three senators had proven that.
Garrison had not spent four years at one of the world’s premier military colleges to be a jailer. He was lauded by his peers as a logistical genius and had proven that he had a knack for moving pieces on the chessboard. That was why he was here, to keep the planes and supplies moving, to push the flight crews and the ground crews, to run an air base. Not to run a jail. Foreign fighters, terrorists, interrogations… in Garrison’s mind that was the stuff the army should be handling, or better yet, the CIA. Put them up in the mountains somewhere. Out of sight. Out of mind.
None of that mattered now, of course; the senators had changed the entire dynamic, had made both their public statements and private threats. Garrison had let the little kiss-ass Leland show them around. Everything was going smoothly on his base, just the way he liked it, and then this confluence of events conspired to make his job infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. There wasn’t a CO in the armed forces who liked the idea of one, let alone three, opportunistic politicians poking around their command. Ultimately, they never cared about all the things that worked. They cared only about what didn’t work, and that meant they were looking for a scandal. Now, through no choice of his own, his career rested on the proper treatment of two men who did not evoke much sympathy from the young men and women who would be guarding them.
Garrison studied the two Humvees that according to rumor had been driven here by members of the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. There weren’t many things in the air force that could make Garrison nervous, but OSI guys were one of them. Any way he tried to slice it, nothing good could come from the OSI’s showing up at his base unannounced and in the middle of the night. To make matters worse, they had come straight to this building that housed a problem waiting to happen.
Leland placed his hand on the hood of one of the vehicles and announced, “It’s still warm.”
Garrison looked at the door.
“I think they’ve been here going on an hour, sir.”
Part of Garrison thought if he simply went back to bed they would be gone in the morning, and he could play dumb about the entire thing. Maybe even make a few calls to the Pentagon and ask why the OSI guys were poking around his base. As much as he’d like to do that, though, it was too risky. He had to think about those senators. The woman, Barbara Lonsdale, was a real ballbuster. The thought occurred to him that she might be the reason why the OSI was here.
Garrison turned slowly to Leland, “You think your friend Senator Lonsdale sent these guys over here to keep an eye on us?”
Leland looked back in the direction of the flight line and then replied, “I don’t think so, sir. As chairwoman of the Judiciary Committee it is more likely that she would have sent the FBI.”
“Yeah… but she also sits on Armed Services.” Garrison studied the big warehouse off to his right. The only damn thing in the building was the two prisoners.
Maybe,
he thought,
they’re here to transfer them to a different facility
. The OSI was after all part of air force security.
In a hopeful voice, Leland said, “Maybe they’re getting ready to transfer the prisoners.”
“If that is the case,” Garrison replied, “I sure would like to think they’d notify the base commander.” The thought pissed Garrison off. He took command very seriously. This was his base, and ultimately, he was responsible for everything that happened within the fence. Garrison pointed to the door of the building and said, “Let’s go. There’s only one way to deal with this.”
Garrison, Leland, and eight air force security officers entered the outer building through a three-foot-wide steel door. Once inside they walked across the warehouse to a separate, smaller building that was the Hilton. Leland used his security card and code to get past the next door, and the group filed into the small lobby. With no one in sight, Garrison continued down the hallway past two offices and entered a larger room that contained the duty desk, some tables, and two people that Garrison didn’t notice because he couldn’t take his eyes off the two flat-screen TVs directly across from him. The prisoners were not asleep in their cells.
Garrison saw Mohammad al-Haq sitting alone in the one room. He looked relaxed and in roughly the same condition as when he’d last seen him. But in the other room a man in an air force uniform was questioning Abu Haggani, who looked horrible. Garrison stepped closer to the monitors and felt his chest tighten. He saw the blood on the prisoner’s face and his worst fears were realized. Someone under his command had beaten the prisoner. Some eighteen-year-old, no doubt. Some kid who’d made it in because the air force had lowered its recruiting standards. None of that mattered, of course. Special Investigations was on-site and sooner or later they would put the CO in their sights.
Garrison was in a bit of shock. All of his sacrifice, his years of hard work, was about to go right down the drain. His thoughts turned to that idiot woman who had been in charge of Abu Ghraib. She had failed her command in the most miserable way. Garrison felt the unfairness. He had never asked for any of this. He had made it clear to his superiors that the CIA should be running the facility, not the military.
The air force should not be in the business of guarding these animals,
he thought. His job was to keep this lifeline open and running smoothly, to supply the troops and evacuate the wounded.
He remembered the senators and his mood sank again. That ball-busting senator would drag his ass before her committee and humiliate him in front of an ungrateful nation. All of his hard work, all of his sacrifice would be destroyed because of some juvenile airman who couldn’t practice a little restraint.
Up on the screen, the air force investigator who was talking to the bloodied Haggani suddenly reached out and grabbed him by the throat. Garrison was trying to comprehend just what in the hell was going on when Leland stepped forward.
“Sir,” Leland said as he concentrated on the screen, “there’s something familiar about that man… I think I’ve seen him before… back during my first tour.”
Garrison was less concerned with who the man was and more concerned with why he was choking a restrained prisoner. Nothing he was seeing made any sense.
Leland watched the screen intently, waited for the man in the air force BDUs to give him more than a profile. Suddenly the man turned and pointed at the camera. Leland finally got the look he’d been waiting for. His eyes narrowed at first and then opened wide. He could barely contain his excitement. “Sir, that man is not OSI!”
Garrison looked at his aide like he was speaking Latin.
“Sir, he’s CIA. I know he is. A few years back when I was on my first tour here they were talking about him. He’s some interrogation specialist.”
“CIA,” Garrison repeated in a skeptical voice. He turned to the screen. Looked at the blood, thought of the choking and the man’s actions, and it all suddenly made sense. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
Garrison thought of the implications. CIA operatives dressed in air force uniforms, beating prisoners. What were they going to do, simply leave him with the mess in the morning? Have him try to explain why these guys had had the shit kicked out of them? Garrison was getting madder by the second. He personally had no ax to grind with the CIA, but this was ridiculous.
“Sir,” Leland said, “would you like me to arrest him?”
Garrison thought of the drama that could come of this if it was ever made public. Again, nothing good could come of it. Reluctantly, he nodded, and gave Leland the order to put the man in custody.