by Eric Maddox
“Well, something happened. I heard him in there while you were at the TOC. He’s beating the shit out of that cell door.”
Lee wasn’t even done talking by the time I threw open the truck door. “I’ve got to get back to the prison!” I shouted. “He wants to give it up. Can you hold the plane?”
Lee didn’t even blink. “Go!” he said. “Hurry!”
I jumped out. I don’t think I realized we were still moving. My boots hit the ground and I tumbled head over heels and in the dirt. I did a combat roll, trying to recover, and leapt to my feet. I looked around, hoping nobody had witnessed my dumb move, and then started sprinting for all I was worth. I raced the quarter mile back to the prison. At the main entrance a guard stopped me. “Hold up,” he said. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m an interrogator,” I told him, trying to catch my breath. “I need to get in there and talk to someone right now.”
“Are you cleared to work here?” he asked, looking at me suspiciously.
“Yes,” I replied. “I’ve been with the task force since July.” I gave him my name and he started methodically checking through a stack of papers.
“Sorry,” he said at last. “I don’t see your name here.”
“Look,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I really don’t have time for this…”
“I’m not supposed to—”
“I need to get in there, now!” I barked. Startled, he waved me through.
I hunted down John in the break room. “Muhammad Ibrahim is banging on the cell door, John,” I told him. “You know what that means.”
He leapt up and together we ran down the hallway to where a group of guards had gathered outside the prisoner’s cell. As we approached, we heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hammering on the door. The noise was deafening.
“I don’t know what the hell got into that crazy bastard,” one of the guards said as we rushed up. “All of sudden he just started screaming and pounding. We can’t get him to shut up. He’s been going at it for ten minutes.”
“It’s okay,” I replied. “Let’s get him out of here and back into the interrogation room.”
A few minutes later Muhammad Ibrahim was sitting in front of me again. I pulled off his hood and saw his angry red eyes.
“Why am I being treated like this?” he demanded. “I have only done what you told me to do.”
I nodded, trying to calm him down. “Right,” I said. “You banged on the cell door, just like I told you. So where is he? Where is Saddam?”
“I want to talk to Paul Bremer,” he said. His whole demeanor had changed. A half hour ago, he was facing the prospect of a lifetime in prison for him and his family. Now suddenly, with the prospect of freedom, he was back in charge. But there was no way I’d be able to get him to the civilian head of the provisional government.
“Listen to me, asshole,” I said. “There is no Paul Bremer on this deal. It’s just you and me. Who do you think had your family arrested? Who do you think found out about your friends Basim and Abu Drees and Thamir Al-Asi? It was me, the interrogator in the blue shirt. I’m the one you cut the deal with. Paul Bremer doesn’t know who you are and doesn’t care. I’m the only one who can help you. So let’s cut the shit.”
“I need this to be official before I say anything,” the prisoner said, trying to stare me down. “I need it written out and signed by the commanding general of this post. He is the man I want to talk to. Right now.”
“What is your deal?” I asked. “What do you want?”
“I want me and everyone in my family released and protected.”
“That’s forty people,” I replied. “We’d have to know where they are at all times.” The negotiation had begun. He was bargaining from a position of strength now. Both of us understood that he had something I wanted. By banging on the cell door he had acknowledged that he knew where Saddam was. We also both understood that he was starting the bartering by making a lot of unreasonable demands to see exactly what he could gain.
“We can all live in the same neighborhood,” he said. “Your soldiers can guard us there.”
I pretended to think it over. There wasn’t a chance any of this was actually going to happen, but I had to keep the process moving forward. “Done,” I said finally. “But that’s after we get Saddam.”
“Then bring me to the general,” he countered.
This was getting me nowhere. “Look, Muhammad,” I said. “I’m the only one who knows who you really are. No one is going to believe you unless I convince them that you’re telling the truth. I’m the one you have to deal with.”
“I want to talk to the commanding officer.”
We were quickly reaching a dead end. I had to regain the momentum. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll try to get a senior officer in here.”
“He must have authority to sign the agreement,” Muhammad Ibrahim insisted. “We must develop a plan.” Suddenly he wanted to be in charge of the mission to capture Saddam. He had been an important man for so long he couldn’t get used to the idea that he’d be turning over his most valuable piece of information to a guy twenty years his junior. But the bottom line was that he was ready to give it up, and I had to keep him focused on that.
Leaving the prisoner with John and a guard, I rushed down the hallway to the entrance. Lee had come back and was waiting at the guard desk.
“Muhammad Ibrahim is ready to talk,” I told him. “But I’ve got to find someone who’s got the authority to sign off on a deal.”
“Admiral McCraven is waiting at the flight line,” Lee reminded me. “But the J-3 is still around.” That would do: the J-3 was the second in command at the base, a colonel.
“Where can I find him?” I asked. “I need a full bird for this.”
“He is usually asleep right now,” Lee replied. “The guy works twenty-hour days.”
“Will he mind if we wake him up?”
“We can try,” Lee said with a laugh. “Once he’s down, it’s hard to get him up. I know. I’ve tried.”
He was right. After shouting in his ear, we were finally able to get the colonel to open his bloodshot eyes. He stared at us confused and still half asleep. “What’s going on?” he mumbled.
I explained the situation as clearly and quickly as I could. I could only hope I was reaching him through his haze of fatigue.
“So what do you want me to do?” he asked when I was finished.
“I need you to put on your uniform and sign a document.”
The colonel yawned. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be over there in a minute.” He laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. I looked at Lee in frustration. He shrugged and tapped his wristwatch again. We left the tent and stood outside for a short, intense conversation.
“Lee,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to prison and get Muhammad Ibrahim ready for the J-3.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think the colonel is going anywhere,” he told me. “I’m not even sure he heard you. Besides, it’s 0740. We’ve got to get out to that plane now.”
“But what if we explained all this to the admiral?” I asked urgently. “Do you think he’d stay?”
“I don’t think it would do any good. He’s on his way to brief General Abizaid’s J-2.” He saw the desperate look on my face. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do the best I can.” He looked at his watch. “That flight is going to take off at 0800. Be there.”
I took off as fast as I could back to the prison, where Muhammad Ibrahim was waiting with John. I must have sprinted three miles in the last hour.
“There is an officer coming,” I told the prisoner. “He’ll have the agreement ready to sign. After that, you’ll have thirty seconds to tell us what you know. I’m not fucking around with you anymore, Muhammad.”
“I will tell him,” he assured me.
“What are you going to tell him?”
“That I will help you find Saddam.”
“No motherfucker,” I sh
outed. “You’re not going to help anything. You are going to do it. You are going to take us there or you are never going anywhere again.” It was time to remind him who was really in charge now.
“You want to go?” he shot back. “Let’s go. You and me. We will go right now.”
“Don’t fuck with me. I want the location. The exact location.” I had no time to try and arrange another hit. I had to find out where Saddam was hiding and get the information passed along before I left.
“Then I will take you there.” He was actually going to give us Saddam. I could see that he was both terrified and excited by the prospect.
“You will take us,” I told him, “but not now. You’ll go tonight, with the soldiers.” By that time, maybe a hit could be set in motion. I leaned in close, inches from his face. “He has to be there,” I told him, “or you get nothing.”
“He will be there,” he replied, staring back at me without blinking.
“Be where?” I pressed. I had to have the location.
He was silent. I could hear the seconds ticking by in my head. If he didn’t tell me now, he might never tell anyone. I had pushed him into this corner. It was strictly between him and me. Anyone else would have to start all over again. And by then it might be too late. Saddam might be somewhere, anywhere else. All my experience as an interrogator had come down to this one moment. It had taken me two hours to break one of the most important insurgents in Iraq. If he was going to talk, it had to be before he had a chance to change his mind. It had to be now.
“He is at a farm in Ad Dawr,” Muhammad Ibrahim said at last in a low, hoarse whisper as John translated. “It is south of Tikrit, just east of the river.”
“Whose farm?”
“It belongs to a man named Qies Niemic Jasim.”
I grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil. “Tell me the location,” I said.
I frantically drew a map as he talked, taking down as many details as possible. One of the other interrogators, a guy named Scott, stuck his head in the door. “Lee called from the flight line,” he told me. “He said it’s time to go. The admiral’s waiting.”
“I know you don’t know who I am,” I told Scott. “I realize you have no reason to believe me.” I handed him the scrawled paper. “But this is a map of the location of Saddam Hussein. Please call Tikrit and talk to Kelly. He’s the analyst there. Tell him Muhammad Ibrahim was captured last night and he is going to take us to Saddam.” I turned back to the prisoner and we exchanged a final look. “He has to be there. You have to be right or you’ll never see daylight again.”
He nodded. “I will take you.” He seemed calm now, almost relieved. He had nothing left to hide. And I had found out what I needed to know. We had both reached a turning point.
Chapter 19
ACE IN THE HOLE
0810 13DEC2003
Lee was waiting for me at the runway when I pulled up a few minutes later. The huge C-17 that would take us to Doha was revving its engines. The noise reminded me of my time as an infantryman back in the 82nd Airborne Division.
“Did you talk to the admiral?” I shouted as he walked toward the cargo hold.
He nodded, but I could see from his expression that the news wasn’t what I’d hoped for. “I don’t think he was really paying attention,” Lee said. “I told him that you had gotten information that might lead us to Saddam and he just nodded. I don’t think I got through to him. Maybe you should try.”
I spotted Admiral McCraven making his way up the back ramp of the plane with his entourage of analysts and assistants. I hurried to catch up with him.
“Good to see you, Sergeant Maddox,” he said. “Are you ready to give that brief?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “But I think you should know that the situation has changed. We got Muhammad Ibrahim last night and he’s given us a location for Saddam.” He stared at me blankly. As the commander of the entire task force in Iraq, he was dealing with a flood of information on a daily basis. If what I was telling him were true, he probably assumed that he would have already heard it from higher up the chain of command. I’m not sure whether he just didn’t believe me or decided to wait to get confirmation from a more reliable source. Whatever the case, it wasn’t going to interfere with this important trip to Doha. The plane was already taxiing out to the runway. I sat down and strapped myself in. We were leaving Iraq and nothing I could say now was going to change that.
As we lifted off I found myself wondering whether the admiral would want me to include the interrogation of Muhammad Ibrahim in my CENTCOM briefing. I was still wondering two and half hours later when we touched down in Doha. As soon as we stopped rolling, the admiral stood and headed out of the plane. His staff trailed behind, trying to keep up with his long purposeful strides as he walked toward a group of men who had arrived from CENTCOM to meet him.
I rushed to gather up my gear and follow. I wanted another chance to talk to him, but I was slowed down by all my bags and rucksacks that I’d hurriedly packed just before we took off. I had tied it all together with dummy cord and by the time I got onto the runway, stuff was dropping everywhere. A plastic canteen clattered onto the tarmac making a terrible racket. I could hear Lee trying to stifle his laughter behind me.
“Just keep going,” he said. “I got it.” He followed along, picking up the scattered debris. I really wanted to talk to the admiral, but I had too much luggage hanging and falling off me to make much progress. When I finally caught up with him, the admiral turned to me. “Now tell me again what happened last night, Edward,” he said.
“It’s Eric, sir,” I replied and went on to walk him through Muhammad Ibrahim’s capture once more.
This time I caught his attention. “We got Muhammad Ibrahim?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “And just before we left he told me that he would take us to Saddam. Sir, he drew a map to the location. They have it back at BIAP.”
I could see that the information was finally sinking in. Just then, a CENTCOM representative approached us. He was visibly excited and he told the admiral that he needed to call Tikrit immediately. They quickly headed off toward the terminal.
Ten minutes later Admiral McCraven was back. “Tikrit is very excited about this,” he told me. “They’re going to try to put something together.” He turned to his staff. “We’re going back,” he told them. “Just as soon as they gas this thing up. There is no way in hell I’m going to be out of Iraq when we bring in the big guy.”
My heart started pounding. I was going back to finish what we’d started. Somebody up there liked me. Then admiral looked back at me. “I want you to stay here, Sergeant Maddox,” he said. “You need to brief General Custard on the link diagram as we planned.”
I looked at Lee in disbelief. If anyone needed to go back, it was me. I needed to see this thing through. My first reaction was to try to talk him into letting us return with him. But I didn’t say anything because I knew it wouldn’t have done any good. The admiral wasn’t asking for my opinion. He’d already decided.
“Wish us luck,” the admiral said as he headed back to the flight line.
I swallowed hard but couldn’t hold back my feelings. “It wasn’t luck, sir,” I said. He stopped and looked back, staring at me for a long moment. Then he turned on his heels and strode toward the bird.
The soldier who had been waiting to drive us from the flight line stepped forward and introduced himself. He was Sergeant Peters and he had been listening in on the conversation. “So you know where Saddam is hiding?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yeah,” I replied distractedly as I watched the refueling trucks pull up to the plane.
“Is he full of shit?” the sergeant asked Lee.
“Normally, I’d say yes,” Lee joked loudly enough for me to hear. “But in this case he just got finished talking to the one guy on the planet who actually knows where Saddam is hiding.”
“So why didn’t you go back?” Peters asked.
“I
guess they don’t really need us anymore,” I said. It was hard to admit, but it was true. All they had to do now was get Muhammad Ibrahim to lead them to the farm. My work was done. It was up to the rest of the team now.
“Hey,” said Sergeant Peters, “the admiral was coming out here for a few days of R&R. I was supposed to drive him around. You guys want to go instead?”
I looked at Lee and shrugged. “Why not? The briefing’s not until tomorrow morning. We’ve got nothing else to do.”
Six hours later, I was sitting in my deluxe hotel room with a view of downtown Doha. A wave of exhaustion swept over me. I had been running on pure adrenaline for the last three days. It had finally caught up with me and I could barely keep my eyes open.
We had spent the afternoon getting a quick look around Doha, ending up at a high-end restaurant where Admiral McCraven had a reservation. We had a delicious Middle Eastern meal, the best food I’d eaten in five months. Of course, everything tastes better with cold beer, and Lee and I kept them coming. For the first time since I’d arrived in Iraq, I could feel myself starting to unwind. There is no better feeling than that first meal, that first beer, and that first breath of freedom after a deployment. I couldn’t help but think about what might be going on back in Tikrit, but I wasn’t going to let it interfere with the good time I was having with my best friend.
In the middle of the night I woke up suddenly. The bedside clock read three A.M. With nothing else to do, I turned on the television. By some miracle it was tuned to ESPN. There was an announcement being made that sent a rush of pure joy through me: Jason White, the phenom quarterback for the Sooners, had won the 2003 Heisman Trophy.
It was an amazing capper in what had appeared to be a heartbreaking season for the Sooners. A week ago to the day they had been crushed by Kansas State in the Big Twelve championship game. Back then I was still in Tikrit, hunting down the two Muhammads in Samarra. It seemed like years ago. Life was full of disappointments. A week ago, OU had lost and for all I knew, Saddam had slipped through our fingers again. But there were consolations, too. Jason White had won the Heisman, and the Sooners were still going to the championship game. Anything could happen.
