The Main Enemy

by Milton Bearden

  Gromyko picked up where he left off. “On our part there was an underestimation of the difficulties when we agreed to give the Afghan government military support. The social conditions in Afghanistan made quick resolution of the problem impossible. There was no support among the population—in the Afghan Army the number of conscripts equals the number of deserters. Just now a more concrete discussion with [Afghan President Muhammad] Najibullah is needed. A certain plan of action is necessary. Here, it seems, our participation is needed, in particular, in contacts with Pakistan. Concerning the Americans, they are not interested in a settlement in Afghanistan. On the contrary, it is to their benefit for the war to drag out.”

  Gorbachev nodded in agreement and said, “That’s right,” but this time he did not intervene.

  “Right now the situation is worse than half a year ago,” Gromyko continued. “In a word, it is necessary for us to pursue more actively a political settlement. Our people will breathe a deep sigh if we undertake steps in that direction. Our strategic goal is to make Afghanistan neutral, not to allow it to go over to the enemy camp. But most important, our goal is ending the war. I would agree that it is necessary to limit this to a period of one to two years.”

  There was no clear indication in the minutes of how this was received. KGB Chairman Viktor Chebrikov spoke next, in keeping with his rank. “On this question many decisions have been made,” he said. “Much energy has been expended. But unfortunately, the situation both in Afghanistan and the region remains difficult. I support the proposal of Mikhail Sergeyevich that it is necessary to push the problem to a logical conclusion. Indeed, we posed the question of sealing the border. Andrei Andreyevich [Gromyko] is partly right, speaking about the difficulties of such an operation, due to geographic and other conditions. But partly the failure in sealing the border was also tied to the fact that not everything was done that could have been. Right now the enemy is changing his tactics. He is going underground. It is necessary to look for the means to a political solution of the problem. The military path for the past six years has not given us a solution. We need to invite Najib to Moscow for frank talks. He has never been here, and it is time for frank talks.”

  At this point, Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze, the white-haired Georgian who had rapidly gained influence within Gorbachev’s foreign policy team, weighed in. “Right now we are reaping the fruit of the hasty decisions of the past. Recently, much has been done to settle the situation in Afghanistan and the region. Najib has assumed the mantle of leadership. He needs practical support, otherwise we will bear the political costs. We must state precisely the period of withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan. You, Mikhail Sergeyevich, said it correctly—two years. But neither we nor our Afghan comrades have solved the problem of creating an Afghan government that can function without the support of our troops. There is dispute as to who must accomplish the sealing of the borders—the Army or state security organs. I support the proposition of Viktor Mikhailovich [Chebrikov] on the importance of meeting with Najib.”

  “We can give these instructions to Comrade Kryuchkov, who is now in Kabul,” Gorbachev interjected.

  “Both Comrade Kryuchkov and Comrade [Yuli] Vorontsov [a senior Foreign Ministry official] are good people,” Shevardnadze said, “but their discussions with Najib cannot replace a meeting between Najib and the General Secretary.”

  “The concept of settlement exists,” Gorbachev interjected. “We have established that—but the practicalities remain unresolved.” Turning to Deputy Defense Minister Sergei Akhromeyev, he then said, “Sergei Fedorovich, perhaps you will solve it?”

  Akhromeyev seemed to sense this was too big a burden for him to take on. “No,” he said flatly, “it will not be possible to solve it.”

  Anatoly Dobrynin, head of the International Department of the Communist Party’s Secretariat, and before that the USSR’s ambassador to Washington through every U.S. administration from Kennedy to Reagan, stepped into the discussion. “I come out in favor of receiving Najib in Moscow. Right now a message could be sent to Comrade Kryuchkov about the meeting with Najib.”

  “Military actions in Afghanistan will soon be seven years old,” Akhromeyev interjected. “There is no single piece of land in this country that has not been occupied by a Soviet soldier. Nevertheless, the majority of the territory remains in the hands of rebels. The government of Afghanistan has at its disposal a significant military force: 160,000 men in the Army, 115,000 in Sarandoy militia, and 20,000 in state security organs. There is no single military problem that has arisen and that has not been solved, and yet there are still no results. The whole problem lies in the fact that military results are not followed up by political actions. At the center there is authority; in the provinces there is not. We control Kabul and the provincial centers, but on occupied territory we cannot establish authority. We have lost the battle for the Afghan people—the government is supported by a minority of the population. Our Army has fought for five years and is in a position to maintain the situation at its present level. But under such conditions the war will continue for a long time. Fifty thousand Soviet soldiers are stationed to seal off the border, but they are not in a position to close off all passages where cargo is transferred across the border. We have the capacity to maintain the situation at its current level, as I said, but we need to look for a way out and to resolve this question, as Andrei Andreyevich [Gromyko] has said, once and for all. We must go to Pakistan.”

  “Why do you hinder Najib?” Gorbachev asked his deputy defense minister.

  Akhromeyev seemed defensive. “He should not be building headquarters, but a state committee on defense. We allow him to make cadre changes.”

  Veteran diplomat Yuli Vorontsov, the man tasked with translating the musings of the Politburo into negotiating positions with the Americans and Pakistanis, politely interjected at this point. “A few words, if I may, to continue the thought just expressed by Comrade Deputy Defense Minister. Afghanistan is a peasant country. But it is the peasants who have least benefited from the revolution. There are only five million out of a population of eighteen million under the control of the government. To the question of how this can be explained, I have been told that the regions under the control of the counterrevolution are better supplied with essential goods shipped there as contraband from Pakistan. Urgent measures are needed to improve the situation of peasants in the government zone. Many members of PDPA leadership are without initiative and have gotten used to waiting for recommendations from our advisers. Such is not the case with Comrade Najib. He creates the impression of a talented and decisive person. He must be given the opportunity to make decisions himself, without allowing himself to become distracted by secondary details. And he must have the opportunity to create his own team himself.”

  Gorbachev waited for Vorontsov to conclude his remarks, and then he spoke again. “In October of last year in a Politburo meeting we set a course of resolving the Afghan question,” he said. “The goal we raised was to expedite the withdrawal of our forces from Afghanistan and simultaneously to ensure the emergence of a friendly Afghanistan for us. It was projected that this should be realized through a combination of military and political measures. But there is no movement in either of these directions. The strengthening of the military position of the Afghan government has not taken place. National consolidation has not been ensured, mainly because Comrade Karmal hoped to continue in power in Kabul with our assistance. It was also said that we fettered the actions of the Afghan government. All in all, up until now the projected concept has been poorly realized. The problem is not in the concept itself, but in its realization. We must operate more actively, and with this guide ourselves with two questions. First of all, in the course of two years, we must effect the withdrawal of our troops from Afghanistan. Fifty percent by 1987, and in the following year another fifty percent. Second of all, we must pursue a widening of the social base of the regime, taking into account the arrangement of political
forces. In connection with this, we should meet with Comrade Najib and possibly even with other members of the Central Committee of PDPA Politburo. We must start talks with Pakistan. Most important, we must make sure that the Americans don’t get into Afghanistan. But I think that Americans will not go into Afghanistan militarily.”

  Akhromeyev agreed. “They are not going to go into Afghanistan with the armed forces,” he said.

  Dobrynin added his assent. “One can reach an agreement with the Americans on this question.”

  “We must give instructions to Comrade Kryuchkov to meet with Najib and invite him to visit the Soviet Union in December,” Gorbachev said in conclusion. “It will also be necessary to tell Comrade Najib that he should make key decisions himself. Entrust the comrades, taking into account the discussion that took place in Politburo meetings, to coordinate, make operative decisions, and make necessary proposals on solving the Afghan question and settling the problem of Afghanistan.”

  The men who ran the USSR announced in a single voice, “We agree.”

  And the resolution was passed.

  6

  Washington, December 1986

  Casey’s luck had begun to run out. It all started in November, when the Republicans lost the Senate and the Iran-contra scandal burst onto the front pages of the world press. By early December, the DCI was beginning to show the effects of what would later be diagnosed as a brain tumor. His security detail had reluctantly shared their concerns with Bob Gates, and a number of Casey’s close associates had seen him lose his train of thought, bump into things, and even fall. Nevertheless, Casey continued to keep his schedule of ever rougher congressional hearings on Iran-contra through early December. Congress had begun circling in earnest.

  Even eleven time zones away in Islamabad we were beginning to feel the effects of the Iran-contra investigations. Our covert action program in Afghanistan had offered many involved in congressional oversight of CIA programs, staffers and members alike, a balance in an otherwise prickly relationship with the agency. Some hard-core opponents of CIA activities in Central America enthusiastically supported the covert action in Afghanistan. It was clean and neat, while Central America, to them, was cloaked in ambiguities. Supporting our efforts in Afghanistan beefed up their anti-Communist credentials, giving them the leeway to stand firm in their opposition to the contras.

  Smelling blood in Iran-contra, some members and their staffs were now looking for a link between the Afghan covert action program and the efforts of Bill Casey and Oliver North to end-run congressional mandates on activities in Central America. No evidence was ever found because there was no link. But that didn’t deter those who were digging from thinking that we were stopping ships loaded with ordnance at Karachi and sending them off to Nicaragua and Honduras.

  This fresh interest prompted me to open up new areas of inspection for our congressional overseers, to bring them more directly into the nuts and bolts of the program than was required by law or previously allowed by agency management. I quietly began taking the occasional delegations out to the training camps, off to ammunition dumps, to let them see the things they were paying for. The effort had returns—perhaps even to the point of backfiring. It wouldn’t be long before everyone on Capitol Hill seemed to want a testosterone-pumping tour of a mujahideen training camp. It was a difficult balancing act, but in the end, the Afghan program succeeded largely because Congress was united behind it. The U.S. funding for the program was congressionally mandated—and Congress came to see it as their program as much as it was the CIA’s. It seemed to me that it was better to have Congress inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in. It worked, especially when there were occasional setbacks and I could turn to the oversight committees as partners rather than adversaries.

  But back in Washington, things were going from bad to worse for Bill Casey. He was deteriorating visibly day by day. Concerns over his condition had finally reached the point that the senior agency physician, Arvel Tharpe, insisted on looking in on him in his office on the morning of December 15. During his examination, the DCI had a seizure with violent muscle spasms. Dr. Tharpe gave Casey an injection of Valium to control the muscle spasms and set in motion the emergency procedures that had long been in effect for a DCI falling ill in his office. Within minutes Casey was on his way to Georgetown University Hospital.

  Lahore, Pakistan, 2130 Hours, December 17, 1986

  General Akhtar’s aide asked me to hold the line, he would put the general on in just a second. I was sitting in my room at the Pearl Continental Hotel in Lahore, having a nightcap with Marie-Catherine, when the call came through, and instinctively I knew it would not be good news. Akhtar’s voice confirmed my hunch.

  “Milton, you’ve got to get word to Mr. Casey that the Indians are becoming dangerously provocative with their buildup on the border.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, thinking it wouldn’t be much till I got back to Islamabad.

  “Mr. Casey should know right away that the situation is dangerous,” Akhtar repeated, as he often did when the subject was Indian machinations.

  There was little I could say. Not only was I out of pocket in Lahore and away from my secure communications, and not only did I have absolutely no new details on the level of alert on the Indo-Pak border, but I had learned the previous day that Casey had “come down with something” at Langley two days earlier and was in a Washington hospital undergoing tests. No further information was available. Apparently, news of Casey’s health hadn’t yet reached Pakistan. I decided not to say anything at the time for fear of exciting an already excited General Akhtar. Bill Casey seemed to be the general’s personal talisman.

  “I’ll be back in Islamabad first thing tomorrow, General, and I’ll get in touch as soon as I arrive.”

  “I’ll send a car,” he offered.

  “I’ll call as soon as I get back,” I repeated.

  “It’s tomorrow, then,” Ahktar said, and rang off.

  Islamabad, December 18, 1986

  The next morning, Akhtar was all business. He had maps out on his table and ran through positions and troop deployments as he gave me the Pakistani assessment of General Sundarji’s training exercise on the border.

  “They’re using this as an excuse to crack down on Sikh separatists,” Akhtar said. “The Indians, particularly General Sundarji, are always accusing us of creating problems with the Sikhs. But everybody knows it was Sundarji himself who caused all the problems—he was behind the incident at the Sikh temple, you know.”

  I did indeed know that two years earlier General Sundarji had stormed the Sikhs’ holiest shrine in Amritsar, the Golden Temple, setting off one of the bloodiest Sikh uprisings in a decade of uprisings. And I knew that the Indians, like the Pakistanis, always saw their neighbor’s hand in their internal problems.

  As if on cue, Akhtar added, “The Indians are mucking around in the Sindh, stirring up trouble for us there. I’m certain they’re going to do something dangerous—you have to pass that along to Casey. We need his help. We need to know if the Indians are planning to move up to the border.”

  “I’ll pass your concerns along,” I said noncommittally. I was seeing firsthand the depth of distrust between the Indians and Pakistanis. There was no limit to what one side was willing to believe of the other. The intensity verged on the psychotic, and it would not be the last time that I would be drawn into escalating tensions between the two countries. The split between India and Pakistan was like a bad divorce, all the more acrimonious because of their long bond and cohabitation.

  As I prepared to leave, I decided to tell Akhtar that Casey wasn’t well. There was still no official word on his condition, but I wanted Akhtar to hear it from me rather than from the press or from his attaché in Washington.

  “General,” I said, turning back to him at the door, “I’ve just heard that Mr. Casey was taken ill three days ago. They’re running some tests in the hospital. Bob Gates is acting DCI now, and I�
�ll pass your concerns directly on to him. It’s a good thing that he was just out here for a visit. He’ll have a leg up on the situation.”

  Akhtar was suspicious. “You’re sure it’s just some tests?”

  “So far as I know,” I answered.

  I could see Akhtar had his doubts about Casey’s tests being routine. The pessimist in him was taking hold—he seemed to sense that he was losing his good-luck charm.

  “Please call if there’s any news at all.”

  “I will,” I said, leaving a troubled General Akhtar behind to deal with the Indians on the border and the possible loss of his man in Washington.

  Later that morning, I notified Langley of the level of tension building in Pakistan as the new Indian exercise got under way. I didn’t know at the time that the tension would almost spin out of control in a matter of weeks. Nor did I have a feel for just how serious Bill Casey’s situation was at that time, physically and politically.

  First Chief Directorate Headquarters, Yasenevo, January 1986

  Leonid Shebarshin had been following the drama unfolding on India’s border with Pakistan with special attention. He knew that the Pakistanis would see a massive conspiracy behind the Indian exercises, that they would become convinced the exercise had been mounted to draw their attention, and that of their American friends, from the ongoing war on their western border to a possible flare-up on the eastern front. He knew the Pakistanis would also conclude that the plot to destabilize Pakistan had been hatched in Moscow and that everything would evolve according to some grand plan.

  But the KGB general also knew that South Asia had a way of getting mired all by itself, without the master hand of the Kremlin behind every plot, real or imagined. The truth of the matter was that the Indians were carrying out their Brasstacks exercise on their own and that Moscow had no hand in pushing them to create a diversion to ease the pressures in Afghanistan. Never mind that it might be working out that way; it just wasn’t part of a grand plan.