by Eric Maddox
Even while I was talking, trying to convince myself and Kelly, the report from Bam Bam came in. Muhammad Khudayr’s house was a bone dry hole. There wasn’t a single adult male at the place. The fact that many of the women found there were the wives and widows of insurgency leaders, including the spouses of Sulwan, Sabah, and Abu Sofian, did us absolutely no good. We weren’t about to spark an international incident by bringing women in for interrogation. The night’s prospects were quickly turning to shit. I had to think of something. “Kelly,” I said, inspired by my desperation. “Let’s get Bam Bam to do the hit on the fish farm right now.”
He shook his head. “They’re running out of night,” he told me, looking at his watch. It was coming up on 0300. “We’ll have to wait until Bam Bam gets back and talk it over with him then.”
“By then they’ll be gone,” I told him, looking at the glowing images of the fishermen. But even as I said it, I realized it was hopeless. There was nothing Kelly could do. Bam Bam had made it clear that all operations in a place as dangerous as Samarra had to be done under cover of night. The last thing anyone wanted was another Mogadishu.
Once more it looked like Muhammad Ibrahim had slipped away. All I had to even prove he existed was a faint heat trace on a computer screen. Exhausted I sat alone at the dining room table. I thought I could never feel as discouraged I as did right then. But that was before I checked the score of the OU–Kansas State game. The Sooners had been taken apart. Their chances for the championship were all but over.
Chapter 15
OUT OF TIME
0445 07DEC2003
Bam Bam was crystal clear: we wouldn’t be going back to the fish farm that night. I knew that he had as much at stake as any of us in seeing the mission succeed. But he was too good of a leader to let his emotions get in the way.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t do my best to talk him into it. “The two Muhammads are at the fish farm,” I pleaded with him. “I’m one hundred percent certain.” Kelly shot me a dirty look. We all remembered what happened the last time I made a confident prediction based on percentages. But this time Kelly actually agreed. “We’ve still got a couple of hours before daylight,” he said. “If we went now we could be in and out before morning. We could just grab whoever’s there and head back.”
“We can go tomorrow,” Bam Bam answered calmly. “We have no assets or support from Baghdad. They agreed to go on this raid and we can’t afford to piss them off.”
Kelly and I should have known enough to back off. But I could feel everything we worked for so long and hard slipping away. We couldn’t let that happen. “As soon as we started going after Muhammad Ibrahim in Tikrit, he went to Samarra,” I said. “Now, since we did the hit on Muhammad Khudayr’s, he knows we’ve followed him there. He’s sure to make a run for somewhere else and this time we may not be able to figure out where he went. This may be the last time he’s even in this area.”
Bam Bam didn’t budge. “First of all, we don’t know for sure it’s him out at that pond. Second, if it was him, he obviously feels safe there. If it’s him, he’ll probably come back. We’ll do the hit tomorrow.” He picked up his gear and just before he went upstairs he turned to me and asked, “How did the Sooners do tonight?” He either didn’t know they’d got beaten or it was his way of sending me a message. Earlier that day I had guaranteed an OU victory over Kansas State. That didn’t happen. Maybe I didn’t always know what I was talking about. Maybe I was wrong about the raid, too.
All I could think about were those two infrared silhouettes on the computer screen. Even if we got lucky and managed to find Muhammad Ibrahim at the fish farm again, I would still be facing the challenge of getting him to talk. Over these past few weeks, we had staked everything on the capture of this one man. And there was only one thing worth getting from him: the location of Saddam.
Having dealt with so many of Muhammad Ibrahim’s inner circle, I knew the intense loyalty they had for him. Abu Drees, Thamir Al-Asi, Farris Yasin: these men had been difficult, if not impossible, to break. What would I be letting myself in for when I came up against their leader? Could I even get him to acknowledge that he was a terrorist, much less that he was taking his orders from Saddam? I had wished more than anything else to be able to find Muhammad Ibrahim. In those early morning hours, tossing and turning in my cot, I reminded myself to be careful what I wished for.
The second raid on the fish farm got under way at 0200 the next day. From the start, it looked like we might get a break. Just like the night before, the two fishermen appeared in the surveillance monitor and launched from the shore in their dinghy. This time Baghdad saw it on their system, too. Kelly and I resisted the temptation to get on the radio and tell them I told you so.
After a half hour, the two men rowed back to shore and headed for the fishing shack with their catch. This was almost too easy. There was no place for them to go, no place left to run. We had them cornered. As Kelly and I watched on the screen, the shooters rushed in and secured the location. The radio crackled to life. Two PAKs had been detained. Kelly and I looked at each other. Congratulations were in order—almost.
Then, after a tense twenty-minute wait, another message came through: a dry hole. They were bringing in some detainees, but not the ones we were after.
No way! I thought to myself as I sank back into my chair. Kelly just stared at the computer, a stunned look on his face. Was this the punch line to some kind of sick joke? I had been given every resource available to complete this mission. The men I was honored to work with were the best soldiers in the world, and they were led by an aggressive and courageous commander under whom it had been my distinct privilege to serve. We had a top-notch analyst, a team of dedicated interpreters, and even three prisoners who had worked tirelessly for us. And yet we still couldn’t get this son-of-a-bitch. Was he ever even at the fish farm? Was he ever anywhere? Did he even exist?
I felt like I was losing my mind, but I had to pull myself together. I turned to Kelly. “What do you want me to do now?” I asked.
He continued staring at the screen. “I wanted to wait to tell you this,” he said at last in a voice barely above a whisper. “Baghdad called earlier. You need to catch the next flight back. I could have kept you here if we’d found Muhammad Ibrahim, but it doesn’t look like that happened. You’re going home. There’s a helicopter due in at 2100 Monday night. You’re supposed to be on it.” He looked at his watch. “They’re picking you up in seventeen hours, Eric.”
So that was it. My time in Tikrit had officially come to an end. I felt numb. My worst expectations had come to pass. I was leaving without completing my mission. I had interrogated hundreds of prisoners; interviewed scores of informants; wracked my brain to break open the insurgent network that was wreaking havoc on the country; worked endless hours and talked myself hoarse. And it was all for nothing. In seventeen hours I’d be gone and none of it would have made any real difference.
It was time to go back to the guesthouse and start packing my gear. I stood up. “Is there anyone else we need to be looking for?” Kelly asked me as I walked to the door.
“I don’t have anything right now,” I replied in a hollow voice. “I’m sorry.”
Kelly did his best to raise my spirits. “I’ll have photos of the two PAKs from the fish farm sent up here,” he told me. “It’s probably a good idea to have Basim and the boys take a look at them. Who knows, we may have one of the two Muhammads without knowing it.”
I doubted it. The shooters knew our targets. My misgivings were confirmed a couple of hours later when Kelly brought the digital mug shots in. I showed them to the Basim, Amir, and Luay but none of them recognized the men captured at the fish pond.
I couldn’t help it. I vented my frustration on the three prisoners, focusing my anger on Basim. “Look at the fucking pictures again, you asshole,” I shouted. “You think these guys just decided to show up and fish two nights in a row? Who the hell are they?”
They looked at t
he photos, then back to me, each with the same helpless expression on their face. I think they were just as confused and discouraged as I was. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. What was my next move?
Obviously I needed to talk to the two detainees who had been rolled up at the fish farm. The only problem was, I didn’t have access to them. Since we had found the money, Baghdad’s interest and involvement had disrupted the smooth-running interrogation system we had established. The prisoners had been taken back to BIAP. They’d be questioned there.
I put in a call to Lee, my old friend who was still stationed at the Baghdad airport. I had had occasional conversations with him over the last five months. But I hadn’t seen him since that day in late July when I hopped a chopper ride to Tikrit. On a secure Army line I asked him now to check on the status of the two detainees and to let me know as soon as he found out who they were and what they had been doing at the pond.
A few hours later he called me back. “Hey, brother,” he said. “Those two fishermen you were asking about? They’re just fishermen.”
“Did you question them yourself, Lee?”
“No,” he replied. “I’m not in charge around here anymore. All the interrogators get randomly assigned. But I talked to the guy who questioned them. He seems pretty sure they’re just a couple of civilians. It’s pretty crowded down here, Eric. We don’t have a lot of time or space to waste. They want to let these guys go as soon as possible.”
“Lee,” I begged, “I’m coming up there tonight. Can you hold on to them for that long? I really need to talk to those guys.”
“I’ll do my best,” he replied. I think he could hear the strain in my voice. “But if you have anything on them, tell me what it is. That will make it easy to keep them around for a while.”
“I’ve got nothing,” I admitted. “They were supposed to be two different targets. Muhammad Ibrahim and Muhammad Khudayr.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. “Never heard of them,” Lee said at last. “And my guess is, nobody else up here has either. Who are they?”
“It’s a long story,” I sighed. “Just please make sure you hang on to those fishermen as long as you can. I’ll take responsibility for them as soon as I get there.”
“Consider it done, brother.”
I hung up. Talking with Lee had given me an idea. If Baghdad wasn’t going to let me stay in Tikrit, maybe I could take Tikrit with me to Baghdad. I went to find Kelly.
“Look,” I told him as we sat together at the dining room table. “I have to leave tonight. You’ll be left here with all these prisoners we’ve rounded up over the last few weeks. Why don’t I take them to Baghdad with me? I’ll be there for a couple of days. Maybe I can get something out of those fishermen.” What I left unsaid was that I also wanted to have Basim and a few others on hand when I talked to the fishermen. Now that I understood the value of using one prisoner against another, I didn’t want to give it up.
“Which ones do you need?” Kelly asked me.
“Basim,” I said immediately.
“What about Thamir Al-Asi’s son, Amir?”
“No,” I replied. “I think we should cut the kid loose. He’s just trying to survive. Let’s give him a break.”
“And Luay?”
I thought for a moment. “He sat in on all those meetings with Muhammad Ibrahim. We found him in the house with all that money. He may still have something more to tell us. Besides, he’s highly motivated. He’s supposed to get his cherry popped in two days.”
“As long as you’re at it,” Kelly said, “why don’t you take Abu Drees and Thamir Al-Asi? We could use a little more room in the prison.”
I shrugged. “I’ll take them all, Kelly.”
“Then I’ll get the approval,” he said. There was a long pause. We both knew that this was the end of the line for our working relationship. We had been thrown together in an uncertain and unpromising situation and, through it, become a team. I’d asked him to take some real risks and he’d backed me up when it counted. We had accomplished a lot. But we hadn’t finished the job. It was a realization we both shared as we sat one last time at the table where we had spent so many hours together.
I reached over and slapped him on the back. “It was great to work with you, Kelly,” I said.
He looked over and smiled. “Dude, you’re gay,” was all he said.
It was getting dark by the time I stood at the helicopter pad with a motley crew of prisoners waiting for the flight back to Baghdad. We must have made an odd sight: one guy in a faded blue shirt with a duffel bag escorting a gang of handcuffed prisoners ranging from a teenager to an old man. It was like I was bringing back souvenirs from my stay in Tikrit.
I’d already said my good-byes to the shooters. If they were sorry to see me go, they didn’t exactly show it. I expected as much. They were consummate professionals trained to not show emotion. I’m sure they liked me well enough and had even come to respect the work that I did. But for them, Tikrit was just another mission in a war that brought people together and pulled them apart with no regard to friendship. They didn’t get too close to anybody except each other. They were an elite fraternity I would never be a part of. I accepted that. I was just grateful that they had let me be a part of their world for a little while.
As I waited for my ride, a figure came out of the dusk to see me off. It was Bam Bam. “We gave them a run for their money,” he said, as the lights of the chopper appeared in the distance. “We were really close to getting this thing done and we know that. You worked hard. Don’t think that wasn’t appreciated.”
“Thanks, Bam Bam,” I said as we shook hands. Whatever else might have been said between us was lost in the roar of the descending chopper. I climbed on board with the rest of my human cargo and watched as the ground shrank below me. I could see the guesthouse where I had spent so much time and effort and the lights from the kitchen where someone was preparing dinner. It had been my home for the last five months, the place where I learned a lot, about human nature and about myself. It had marked an important passage in my life, and the most significant mission of my career.
Sure, I thought as we peeled off to the east. We gave them a run for their money. But in the end, did any of it really matter?
Chapter 16
BACK TO BAGHDAD
2212 08DEC2003
We arrived at BIAP just after 2200 on Monday night, December 8. Lee was waiting at the runway with a truck. From the minute we saw each other, we just picked up where we had left off five months ago. He was my best friend and although we were glad to see each other, there was no need to express it in words.
With a raised eyebrow, Lee looked over the gang of prisoners. “Too attached to your new buddies to leave them behind?” he joked.
I laughed, but my mind was on something else. “You still have the fishermen?” I asked.
He nodded. “They’re waiting for you. The interrogators who talked to them have got new guys to deal with. They’re all yours.”
“Can I get a terp?”
“Use mine,” he offered. “He’s the best one here.”
After I handed off the detainees for in-processing, Lee introduced me to the other interrogators. The whole operation was completely different from Tikrit. There were six interrogators working on a tight schedule in a building specially modified for the purpose. They were about to have what is called a shift change meeting and invited me to sit in. After five months of working on my own, it was hard to see the point of going around a table where every interrogator reported on what they had been doing for the last twelve hours. It felt like a waste of time, but I kept my opinion to myself.
One of the interrogators explained how he had spent the last three days trying to get a prisoner to sign a written confession. He was convinced that a confession meant that his subject had been broken. I thought back to my own experience. If I had depended on signed confessions, I would have been sitting with a pile of paper and no actionabl
e information. You know a prisoner is broken when he tells you something you can use.
It was only then that I really began to fully appreciate how valuable my experience in Tikrit had been. I didn’t have to waste a lot of time on paperwork, whether it was the signed confessions of detainees or regular reports on my interrogations. I didn’t need to get approval on whom to question or how to do it. That being said, I never used violent or unethical means. I didn’t need to. I had developed my own methods that produced real results.
It wasn’t until 0100 that night that I finally got a chance to question the two captured fishermen. As anxious as I was to talk to the fishermen, I didn’t have a lot of confidence that they would provide me with any new leads. And even if they did, I wasn’t going to have time to follow them up before I had to head back to the States.
But by now I was used to grasping at straws. I questioned the fishermen separately and almost immediately picked up some interesting information.
The first prisoner we had rolled up at the pond claimed that he owned the fish farm. I knew that wasn’t true, since I had already established that Muhammad Ibrahim and Muhammad Khudayr held the title. Why was this guy lying? It would have made more sense to say that he and his buddy were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, out at night fishing for their supper. To insist that he actually owned the place was to put him directly in the loop.
My next move was to take the fisherman out of the room. While he was gone I had Basim brought in and sat him down in a back corner. When the prisoner was returned I made sure he faced me directly. Basim’s face remained in the shadows. I wanted him to hear the fisherman’s story and give me his take.
I had the prisoner repeat everything he had told me and then outline his family connections and other background information. After about an hour he was escorted out again.
