The O'Leary Enigma

by Bob Purssell

  “That’s a new development,” remarked Susan.

  “We got them for this operation.”

  Probing, Susan asked, “How? From whom?”

  Since this was my line of questioning, I said, “Before we investigate that aspect, let me see what kind of units you are using.”

  Henri reached into his pocket and handed me a high-end model almost identical to the ones we had trained on at the ANCS. “Very nice. Which features do you use?”

  “We were given only familiarization training,” replied Henri.

  “Why was that?”

  With anger in his voice, Henri replied, “The instructor was a haughty—” but stopped before actually swearing. He then derisively added, “He thought himself very clever.”

  “I bet you’ve been doing your own self-training.”

  Henri smiled and then said, “The instruction manual has more than three hundred pages. It is in English, so I have to translate.”

  “You trained me. Let me reciprocate.”

  Henri, who had bootstrapped himself to technical proficiency on numerous occasions, found my offer irresistible. When he nodded, I explained, “These units allow you to record both sides of a conversation. It’s straightforward; let me demonstrate.”

  * * *

  Hooked on learning how his new toy worked, I reeled Henri in. As I did, Susan and I had to work hard to keep from breaking up laughing. In a half-hour, I had trained the man how to: record conversations, transmit the contents of the communicator’s memory, and discover the location of remote communicators. When I had finished, amazed, Henri asked, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “You’re just getting started,” I replied.

  Before Henri could respond, Susan asked, “Who gave you these units?”

  “The Saudis.”

  Now it was my turn. “There are a lot of Saudis. Give us a name?”

  When Henri didn’t respond, Susan demanded, “Tell us.”

  Henri again kept his silence and this infuriated my compatriot. “Henri, listen and listen real good, ’cause you don’t want to make a mistake on this one.” After a pause, Susan explained. “You and your buddies are no longer dealing with a collection of bozos from the government of Chad. The United States will do what is necessary to resolve this hostage problem. If that means eliminating everyone in your debating circle, if that means piles of dead Chad nationals, it’ll just be some more collateral damage, and no one on my side will give a God damn. Understand?”

  Susan’s sheer vehemence stunned Henri. Her reaction was unexpected and, while not intimidated, I think Henri appeared to be recalculating his options because he glanced at me. I glared back as hard as I could and demanded, “Give us the Saudi’s name.”

  * * *

  Editor’s Note: In her after-action report (21 May 2019), Barbara analyzed Henri’s position: Henri did not want to cooperate with us for philosophical and ideological reasons. Also, I doubt if our threats carried much weight. However, the idea of fighting on behalf of a policy (hostage taking) that he vehemently opposed and for the Saudis, whom he hated, was anathema to the man. Additionally, he did not trust the members of the Central Committee who had allied themselves with the Saudis and were orchestrating the kidnapping.

  * * *

  For what seemed like an eternity, we stared at Henri, and he stared back. Suddenly, the communicator I had used to train Henri buzzed. He answered the call, excused himself, and went to the kitchen. Because the house was small with thin walls and the neighborhood was quiet, Susan and I were able to hear Henri’s side of the conversation.

  “Estelle, slow down.”

  “Did he say why you’re not to communicate with me?”

  “I’m no longer reliable! He said that?”

  “Did he give you an explanation?”

  All but shouting, an angry Henri roared, “Members of the Central Committee are saying I sabotaged the communication system?”

  “Say nothing; appear to go about your business. I will call you within the hour.”

  “Don’t lose heart. I have a plan for dealing with this cabal of adventurers.”

  * * *

  A scowling Henri rejoined us and recounted his conversation with Estelle. He then said, “I am prepared to identify the members of the party that instigated the kidnapping, but only if certain conditions are met.”

  Susan replied, “Go ahead; I’m listening.”

  Henri got up, went to his desk and got some blank sheets of paper. When he had finished his writing, Henri said, “This is a list of political prisoners being held by the government of Chad. You will arrange for their release.”

  Susan asked, “Does the list include Comrade Francois?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll arrange for his release outside Chad.”

  Henri nodded before continuing. “Next condition: the United States will restrain the government of Chad’s campaign against the party.”

  “Definitely.”

  “My last condition: To give me plausible deniability of any cooperation with you, the government of Chad will arrest me. You will ensure that the government does not mistreat me. Before my trial, you will arrange my escape.”

  Susan replied, “Agreed,” and when Henri paused, she said, “Now let’s talk about what my side gets in return.”

  Henri drew a diagram, handed it to Susan, and then explained, “This is the layout of the building in which the hostages are being held. When your ambassador confirms our agreement, I will give you its location and the password so you can fool the guards.”

  Susan started to speak, but Henri raised his hand and she stopped.

  Henri took another sheet of paper and began writing again. As he wrote, Henri explained, “These are the names of people from the radical faction that are involved in the hostage abduction. The first three are members of the Central Committee.”

  Finished, Henri handed that sheet of paper to Susan, who, with obvious gratitude, replied, “Thank you.”

  Henri, who was comfortable around women, said to me, “I haven’t forgotten you. Here’s the name of our contact with the terrorist cell. You met him Friday night.”

  On the paper, in beautiful penmanship, was the name “Hamza Alghamdi.”[49]

  As I studied what he had given me, I must have wrinkled my face. Responding, Henri said, “I know it is a stupid cover name, but you must remember he is as stupid as he is arrogant.”

  Recognizing that Henri was unaware that I had killed Hamza, I wondered: Should I tell the man? Susan, who was sitting so Henri could not see her while he looked at me, discreetly shook her head. Following her lead, I kept the knowledge of Hamza’s demise secret.

  In the car, when we got to the main road, my emotions bubbled over. “Susan, you did it! You got everything.” I paused and then continued, “You have got to be proud of your accomplishment.”

  A subdued Susan nodded. Wistfully she said, “Now for the fun part.”

  AMBASSADOR KRAMER

  After walking into the safe house, a surprisingly elderly man greeted Susan, and she gave him a hug. As she introduced me to Clarence, for some reason, I also felt compelled to give the old fellow a hug, and he smiled with appreciation. When we separated, he told Susan, “I gave Charles a heads up on what you’ve been up to.”

  Obviously anticipating a negative reaction, Susan tentatively asked, “Did he …?”

  “I told him you were trying to give him an option.”

  “How did that go over?”

  “He appreciated your concern.”

  * * *

  The four of them sat around a rectangular coffee table with Charles on the divan opposite Susan, while George sat to Charles’ right and Albert to his left. Out in the hall, in an aside to me, Clarence explained, “Albert is handling the negotiations, but not getting very fa
r. George is our techno-warrior, ready to pounce, if he only knew where.”

  The four discussed various approaches to the hostage situation for a half-hour, and then Charles announced his instructions. “Albert, you keep negotiating at the same pace, don’t give away that we’re considering alternatives. George, I want you to light a fire under the recon folks. Impress upon them that we need a full court press, now! Susan, have Clarence help you net-net your story, and then fire it off to Langley.” Rising off the divan, Charles finished with, “In the meantime, I’ll talk to the ambassador and Washington.”

  As instructed, Clarence helped Susan and me with our net-netting. In a half-hour, we had a comprehensive, five-hundred-word description of our meeting with Henri.

  The message immediately provoked a range of responses. Some emails railed against the idea of negotiating with the terrorists, several objected to our exceeding our authority, others said too much had been offered, a number warned of the impact on our relations with the government of Chad, and a few welcomed the intel on the radical faction and its backers. This was only the beginning. More and more requests arrived: some for biographical data on the people populating Henri’s list; others for data on Henri’s hostage diagram; and yet others on topics both germane and seemingly unrelated to the hostage rescue. With a few exceptions, most of the emails had either a critical or a negative tone.

  Why didn’t our critics slap us down or pooh-pooh Susan and me? The simple reason: Clarence.

  When he left to take a call, Susan told me that Clarence had served in northwest Africa for decades. He knew the personalities and the history. He had advised junior staffers on their way up to becoming senior officials. As a younger man he had been a doer of daring deeds; later, the movers and shakers had listened intently to his counsel.

  About an hour after we sent our initial message, while reading an email, Clarence said, “Problem.”

  “What is it?” asked Susan.

  “A state department analyst is characterizing Henri as a possible agent provocateur.”

  “Why?”

  “Says he knows one of the people on Henri’s list of radicals and worked with him when they were both posted to Benin. Doesn’t believe the fellow—Ngarmbatina is his name—is a party member, let alone part of the radical faction.”

  “What happens now?” I asked

  “The analyst has copied a member of the assistant director’s staff. I expect he’ll raise the agent provocateur issue.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes went by and Clarence got a call from Charles. The three of us were to come over to the embassy immediately.

  Susan and I huddled in the back of a panel van that Clarence was driving. As we approached the embassy, I could hear the reporters, upon recognizing the driver, yell out their questions. In response, the police blew their whistles and yelled at the reporters. When the van stopped, Clarence opened the backdoor, and I found myself inside the embassy garage.

  Clarence took us to a conference room and told us to wait there while he left to speak with Charles. Ten minutes later Clarence rejoined us and explained, “Charles and the ambassador have run into a shit-storm of criticism from within and outside the agency for negotiating with Henri.”

  Clarence looked at the both of us with a hard, no-nonsense expression before saying, “Charles is not backing down—which I find commendable—but his recommendation that we pursue the Henri option will be rejected unless he can provide convincing evidence.”

  Her voice tentative, Susan asked, “Is the risk he’s taking … big?”

  “Very. Charles recognizes, for him, this is a career-determining moment.”

  Susan said, “But he didn’t negotiate with Henri; we did.”

  Clarence replied, “Charles has a defect. He’s a stand-up guy who hasn’t learned to throw his subordinates under the bus to save his own hide.”

  I asked, “How can we help?”

  Clarence replied, “The ambassador will only consider making the call to initiate the hostage rescue if he believes that Henri is on the level. Practically, the issue boils down to whether Ngarmbatina, the man in question, is a loyal civil servant or a member of the radical faction.”

  * * *

  The conference room began to fill. George arrived; Albert would join the video conference electronically. A beefy woman—I think her name was Ethel—with a brusque manner said in a loud voice, “Let’s get started. Someone shut the door.”

  With the door shut, Ethel, using a no-nonsense approach, informed all, “We’re here to answer the ambassador’s question: is this Henri person’s input legitimate?” After a pause, she added, “Clarence, tell us about Henri.”

  Clarence directed me to tell of my interactions with Henri at the radiotelephone relay station. At the end of my brief summary, I made the point that Henri could have arranged my capture or execution.

  Clarence next had Susan describe our meeting with Henri. When she had finished, Clarence asked for questions. The most pertinent one was from a man in Langley, who asked, “Would you characterize your dealings with Henri as purely transactional?”

  Susan answered yes; I responded, “With one exception, yes.”

  “And that exception was?”

  “He hoped, someday, we would meet under better circumstances.”

  We were done. Ethel now called upon the state department analyst who had raised the agent provocateur concern. As I watched his image on the monitor, he described how he had met Ngarmbatina, the man on Henri’s radical list. The analyst then recounted their working relationship, which covered a period of nearly two years. When the analyst had finished, he answered questions. The man who had asked me the transactional question now asked the analyst to “describe the personal aspects of your relationship.”

  The analyst explained how his family and Ngarmbatina’s had become friends, and how, on several occasions they had socialized. To emphasize his point, the analyst said, “We hosted a birthday party for Ngarmbatina’s son. I have some pictures from that occasion.”

  Someone said, “Let’s see what this guy looks like.”

  As requested, the analyst began showing pictures of Ngarmbatina at the birthday celebration. The fifth picture showed Ngarmbatina standing in the center of a group of partygoers. Startled, I blurted out, “I know him.”

  Sitting next to me, Clarence asked, “Who, Lieutenant?”

  By this time, the analyst had moved on and was discussing another picture. I said, “The young man, in the other picture.”

  Clarence called out, “I’m sorry; could we back up to the previous picture?”

  The analyst stopped and redisplayed the picture. Clarence asked, “Which one of these people do you know, Lieutenant?”

  “The young man, third from the right.”

  “How do you know him?” asked Clarence.

  I explained how Hamza had been present at the radiotelephone relay station the night I had learned to repair the malfunctioning equipment.

  “When,” asked Clarence, “was this photograph taken?”

  The analyst replied, “Nearly five years ago.”

  With the enlarged image of Hamza’s face filling the monitor, Clarence asked, “Lieutenant, in spite of the fact it’s five years old, are you sure this is a photograph of the man you dealt with at the radiotelephone relay station?”

  “He was younger, of course, but it’s the same person.”

  A woman from the state department asked if anyone knew of Hamza. When no one responded, a man from Langley asked, “Is there any possibility of grabbing onto this Hamza guy?”

  Clarence looked at Susan and then me. Susan lifted her eyebrows, and I knew my moment had come. Clearing my throat, I explained, “Hamza is dead.”

  Somebody asked, “How’d that happen?”

  I gulped before answering. “He was part of a group tha
t was trying to kill me.”

  When someone asked for details, Ethel intervened. “We’re getting off the subject. We need to know: is there a more-than-casual link between Ngarmbatina and Hamza?”

  Ethel’s request sparked several minutes of inconclusive discussion, which ended when she said, “Let’s wrap this up. Is there any more input before I make my call on a recommendation?”

  With no input forthcoming, she said, “I will explain to the ambassador that we have conflicting evidence about the person in question on Henri’s list. Because of this uncertainty, I will recommend that the people on Henri’s list be put under surveillance until we can verify their loyalties.”

  * * *

  Susan and I waited in a vacant office, while Ethel, accompanied by Clarence, met with the ambassador. We quietly made small talk and twenty minutes passed.

  Clarence reappeared, and Susan asked, “How’d it go?”

  “Ambassador Kramer wants to speak with the both of you.”

  We followed Clarence into the ambassador’s office and, wearing a short-sleeve golf shirt, Ambassador Kramer greeted us from behind his desk. Getting straight to the issue, he said, “Tell me your story.”

  I went first. When I finished, the ambassador told me, “I compliment you on your initiative and courage.” After she recounted our meeting with Henri, Ambassador Kramer also complimented Susan on showing initiative. Then, speaking to us, he asked, “Ethel has advised me to go slow, check things out. That okay with you two?”

  I waited for Susan to respond. When she didn’t, I said, “No, sir. I think you’ll be endangering the hostages.”

  “How?” responded the ambassador.

  “When they find out Hamza is dead, they’ll avenge their loss at the hostages’ expense.”

  “Do you agree, Waterford?”

  “Sir, Henri’s information is time-sensitive. They could move or attack the hostages at any time. Anything might provoke them.”

  The ambassador asked Clarence, “You’re the wise man of this outfit. What do you think?”

  “I don’t have much hope that technical means, reconnaissance will locate the hostages. As for the negotiations, without a big juicy incentive from us, the kidnappers will drag them out indefinitely.