The passport used by the man in Orlando identified him as Mohammed al-Qahtani, and immigration records showed that he was refused entry and sent back to London shortly before 9/11. The investigating agents cross-checked the information with FBI data that laid out the hijackers’ movements in the years and days leading up to the attacks in New York and Washington. The results left them dumbfounded.
While Qahtani was being detained at immigration, Mohammed Atta, the lead hijacker, was at the Orlando Airport making calls from a public phone. He used his AT&T card five times that afternoon and evening, from 4:30 to 8:30, to contact a mobile phone with a Dubai number. A check of security tapes showed that Atta was waiting at the airport in a rental car, leaving at 9:04, long after Qahtani was supposed to have arrived.
There had always been a mystery about the 9/11 attacks. Every plane had four hijackers, except for the one that crashed in Pennsylvania; only three boarded that flight. FBI agents were certain that there was a twentieth hijacker who had somehow been thwarted. The assumption, until now, had been that Moussaoui was the man, even though the evidence was scant.
Now the FBI had strong proof that Qahtani might be the missing hijacker. And he was locked up, available for questioning.
• • •
Another attack was coming, a big one. This time, al-Qaeda terrorists were planning to destroy a nuclear reactor, most likely Unit 1 at Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania, but maybe Indian Point in New York. Or at least, that was what new intelligence was indicating.
The first hint of a threat came from a Middle Eastern intelligence service, one with a checkered track record for accuracy. But a mosaic of other information, including a spike in chatter among known terrorists, was raising fears in the Bush administration that al-Qaeda might be on the verge of an onslaught even more deadly than the 9/11 strike. An attack on a nuclear facility wouldn’t be easy—thick concrete containment shields protect the reactor core, and breaching them would require a massive explosion. But, if targeted accurately, a plane that crashed into a power plant could trigger the release of a lethal amount of radioactive iodine, a component of the reactors’ fuel rods.
The intelligence indicated that the blow might be launched over the July 4 weekend, but once that date came and went, the rumbles of an impending disaster didn’t quiet down. Instead, new data suggested that an attack might come on the first anniversary of 9/11. Administration officials—from the White House, the CIA, the Pentagon, and the Justice Department—debated whether to warn the public of the danger.
They decided to wait but agreed that the questioning of detainees in Guantanamo, Afghanistan, and the secret prisons had to be stepped up. If any of those men had an inkling about such a monstrous plot, then the interrogators needed to wrench it out of them.
• • •
Dressed in a green prison jumpsuit, John Walker Lindh sat at the defendant’s table in an Alexandria courtroom, listening as federal judge T. S. Ellis III recited the precautions that would be taken to protect the identities of witnesses at his criminal trial.
The judge asked if the lawyers were satisfied with his plans to use black curtains to block the public’s view of some of the people who would be testifying.
James Brosnahan, one of Lindh’s lawyers, stood. “We have no objection to it, your honor, in view of what’s occurred.”
“All right,” Ellis responded without missing a beat. “Well, I suppose, then, you had better tell me what occurred.”
The defense and prosecution had agreed to resolve the case at about one o’clock that morning, Brosnahan said. Under the terms of the deal, Lindh would plead guilty to two felonies—supplying services to the Taliban and carrying an explosive device while committing that felony. In exchange, the government agreed to recommend a twenty-year sentence.
“All right,” Judge Ellis said. “Mr. Lindh, you may come to the podium, sir.”
Lindh stood and walked to the center of the room, facing the bench. Ellis went through the usual procedural niceties, asking Lindh if he knew the consequences of changing his plea, if he was in a state of mind to make such a decision, if he understood that the agreed-upon sentence wasn’t binding on the judge. Lindh simply said, “Yes” in response to each question.
“Now, Mr. Lindh,” the judge said. “Tell me, sir, in your own words what you did.”
Lindh replied with a mutter, and Ellis told him to speak up.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Lindh responded. “I provided my services as a soldier to the Taliban last year, from about August to November. In the course of doing so, I carried a rifle and two grenades. And I did so knowingly and willingly, knowing that it was illegal.”
After Lindh made his statement, the prosecutors spent several more minutes rattling off details of his actions.
Ellis looked at the podium. “Mr. Lindh, how do you now plead?”
“I plead guilty, sir,” he said.
When the session ended, two marshals escorted Lindh from the courtroom through a side door. He made no eye contact with his father, mother, sister, and older brother, who were seated in the second row.
Outside, he was placed into a vehicle in a convoy of four SUVs. They drove away for the short trip back to prison, where Walker could remain for the next two decades.
• • •
The information culled from interrogations at Guantanamo was disappointing at best. Each time General Dunlavey flew to Washington to brief Rumsfeld, he complained that the tactics used by the intelligence group lacked teeth. A more dynamic mix of techniques needed to be applied.
Rumsfeld delegated the task of coming up with options to Jim Haynes. The trouble was that Haynes had no idea what unit in the Pentagon knew about questioning enemies—it certainly wasn’t anyone in his office. He consulted Richard Shiffrin, the deputy general counsel for intelligence.
“Dick,” he said. “Where’s the expertise in the Defense Department on interrogation?”
“I’m not sure,” Shiffrin replied. “We’ve been out of that business for a long time, at least since Vietnam.”
But perhaps, Shiffrin suggested, the Joint Personnel Recovery Agency—the group responsible for coordinating the military’s capability to recover missing or captured soldiers—could help. That unit oversaw the SERE program, which taught military personnel how to resist aggressive interrogation.
“There’s got to be some scholarly professional literature on the subject,” he said. “And perhaps they have some.”
• • •
Shiffrin telephoned Fort Belvoir, the JPRA headquarters, and was connected to the agency’s chief of staff, Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Baumgartner.
“I wanted to see if I could get some information on the use of physical pressures in SERE training,” Shiffrin said.
At first, Baumgartner was caught off guard. “Are you asking for the information to use physical pressures in interrogations?” he asked.
“Yes. One of the things we want is whatever information you have to see whether we can reverse engineer the techniques.”
Now Baumgartner understood. The Pentagon was looking into whether it could apply the methods used to teach resistance to American soldiers and essentially turn the process around—a training plan to teach defensive strategies would instead be converted into an offensive line of attack.
“I want to be helpful,” Baumgartner replied. “But the SERE techniques are designed to show Americans the worst possible treatment they may face. Any use of those techniques on detainees would require administration approval.”
Understood, Shiffrin replied. But he still needed to review whatever written information the JPRA might have about the procedures used in SERE.
“Well, we have a library of information,” Baumgartner replied. “But it’s at Fairchild Air Force Base. It’s going to take some time to get it.”
An entire library, at Fairchild. Outside Seattle. This, Shiffrin knew, was going to be difficult.
• • •
Tony Blair’s
top military and national security advisors delivered their conclusions on July 23—the Americans had made up their minds. They were going to invade Iraq.
In private conversations, Bush administration officials had essentially written off the U.N.’s effort to rein in Saddam Hussein as ineffectual. Stephen Hadley, deputy national security advisor for Bush, had pointedly told one British official that there was no need to wait for another resolution to be pushed through by Kofi Annan, the U.N. secretary general; how many times, Hadley asked, were they supposed to stand by while the Iraqis stiffed Annan? Condoleezza Rice was a bit more restrained in her comments, one official told Blair, but not by much.
“Will the Iraqis welcome an invasion or not?” Blair asked.
Jack Straw, the foreign affairs minister, answered. “The regime will appear popular until it tips,” he said. “But when it tips, it will tip quickly.”
The group discussed the Americans’ preparations for mounting an invasion, and the international challenges they faced. Kuwait, Diego Garcia, Cyprus, Turkey—all were key players in the evolving military plan. But the invocation of Saddam’s probable possession of weapons of mass destruction in winning the cooperation of those countries could backfire.
“Of the four countries posing a potential threat from WMD—Iran, Korea, Libya, and Iraq—Iraq would be fourth,” Straw said. “Saddam doesn’t have nukes, although he does have some offensive WMD capabilities.”
That raised the key question: What made the Americans so dead set on invading Iraq? Was this about weapons of mass destruction, or instead about the overthrow of Saddam? Was this folly?
“It’s worse than you think,” Blair said. “I actually believe in doing this.”
Still, he added, he was acutely aware of how difficult it would be to sell an invasion to the Parliamentary Labor Party and the British public.
“What if we just don’t go in with the Americans on this?” Straw asked.
Not a chance. “That would be the biggest shift in foreign policy in fifty years,” Blair said. “I’m not sure it’s very wise.”
On the other hand, they should not let the Americans lead Britain around by the nose. “On the tactical level, showing maximum closeness publicly is the way to maximize influence privately,” Blair said.
Geoff Hoon, the secretary of state for defense, wasn’t sure that the Blair government could do much to sway the Bush administration toward seeking a new U.N. resolution before taking military action. “The Americans’ clear view is that they already have legal justification,” he said.
“Well, first, I need to be convinced of the workability of a military plan,” Blair said. “And, second, of an equally workable political strategy.”
There could be an impasse, Straw cautioned. “We could probably get the votes for a U.N. ultimatum,” he said. “But the Americans may not want to go down that route.”
Perhaps not, Blair said. “But I see regime change as the route to dealing with WMD.”
• • •
The legal tug-of-war between Judge Doumar and the government over the Hamdi case intensified with each passing day.
Since the court of appeals tossed out his ruling that Hamdi be allowed to consult a lawyer, Doumar had pressed for the government to justify, with evidence, why Hamdi was being detained without charge. He ordered that the administration provide him with copies of Hamdi’s statements, the names and addresses of his interrogators, and the name of the person who decided that he was an unlawful enemy combatant.
The government lawyers shot back, essentially telling Doumar to take a hike. They argued that he had no right to any of that information because it involved national security matters linked to the conduct of the war. They would not comply. At a hearing, an enraged Doumar slammed the government for ignoring his order, suggesting that the refusal could lead to a contempt citation.
Just as the tussle seemed to be moving toward all-out legal warfare, the government blinked. It filed papers that included, without explanation, a link to a Web page where it had posted the Manchester Manual and attached a two-page declaration about Hamdi from Michael Mobbs, special advisor to Douglas Feith, the undersecretary of defense for policy.
In the document, Mobbs said that, based on a review of relevant records, he was familiar with the circumstances surrounding Hamdi’s capture and detention. Hamdi had received weapons training from the Taliban, Mobbs wrote, and he had surrendered to Northern Alliance forces following an intense battle. He had relinquished his rifle, was taken to a Northern Alliance prison, and had been present during an uprising there. Military screeners determined that Hamdi fitted the criteria for an enemy combatant. He was then handed over to American forces.
Doumar reviewed the filing. And he wasn’t happy with what he read.
• • •
At Fort Belvoir, Colonel Baumgartner was gathering information about the psychological effects of the SERE program. He knew next to nothing about the topic, but Shiffrin from the Pentagon had asked him to write a memo describing how the harsh interrogations—especially waterboarding—affected the mental health of soldiers.
For research, Baumgartner brought together some subordinates—a group he called “the exploitation answer stuckee team”—and they were forwarding any useful material they found. Baumgartner also did his own digging and telephoned Dr. Jerald Ogrisseg, chief psychologist at the air force’s SERE school.
“I wanted to get your thoughts on waterboarding the enemy,” Baumgartner said.
Ogrisseg was taken aback. “Wouldn’t that be illegal?”
That wasn’t a judgment for Baumgartner to make. “People from above are asking about using waterboarding in real-world interrogations,” he replied.
The whole idea seemed misguided, Ogrisseg thought. No one at SERE was an expert in interrogations.
“Well, aside from being illegal,” he said, “this is a completely different arena than we at the survival school know anything about.”
Even so, Ogrisseg agreed to review the data. He found that, in SERE, the long-term psychological effects from aggressive interrogations were minimal.
There were sound reasons for that. The air force worked hard to prevent temporary damage to a trainee’s mental state from spiraling into something harmful. During training, the air force performed three extensive debriefings, giving participants the opportunity to describe their experiences; this mitigated the risk that a dramatic experience would transform into a traumatic one. Also, air force personnel who took SERE training knew that they would be waterboarded for a short period of time, were aware of what to expect, and had the chance to stop the process at any point if panic set in.
None of those controls would be incorporated into a real interrogation. Whatever happened at the SERE schools was irrelevant in assessing the psychological impact of waterboarding an enemy.
• • •
Baumgartner wrote his memo in the most diplomatic tone he could muster. A lieutenant colonel couldn’t exactly send a message to the Pentagon saying, “Are you people crazy?”
The JPRA, he wrote, indeed had at its disposal experts on the use of harsh interrogations, called exploitation techniques. His unit had already briefed intelligence agencies on those methods and would be happy to do the same for the military. He was sending some documents, he wrote, that contained academic analyses of interrogation tactics, based on what had been effective against captured American soldiers in the past.
Then he tiptoed toward a warning. “The ability to exploit, however, is a very specialized skill set built on training and experience,” he wrote. This was not for amateurs.
The memo sparked some questions from the general counsel’s office, so Baumgartner set to work on a follow-up the next day, July 26. He tossed subtlety aside—this memo included an unsigned attachment that was the bureaucratic equivalent of flashing lights and sirens.
“Upwards of 90 percent of interrogations have been successful through the exclusive use of the direct approach, where a
degree of rapport is established with the prisoner,” the document read.
Translation: The law enforcement approach works. As for aggressive tactics?
“Once any means of duress has been purposely applied to the prisoner, the formerly cooperative relationship can not be reestablished. In addition, the prisoner’s resolve to resist cooperating with the interrogator will likely be increased as a result of harsh or brutal treatment.”
Skilled interrogators relied on subtle, nonverbal behaviors to assess a prisoner’s psychological state, gaining insights that could be used to foster cooperation and to judge the veracity of the subject’s statements.
“The prisoner’s physical response to the pain inflicted by an interrogator would obliterate such nuance and deprive the interrogator of these key tools.”
The paradox was that the harsh techniques that reduced the ability to gauge a prisoner’s truthfulness simultaneously increased the probability of lying.
“If an interrogator produces information that resulted from the application of physical and psychological duress, the reliability and accuracy of this information is in doubt,” the attachment said. “In other words, a subject in extreme pain may provide an answer, any answer, or many answers in order to get the pain to stop.”
Baumgartner assembled the packet of information and sent it to the Pentagon. The CIA received no such warning that conducting brutal interrogation was foolish.
• • •
In a secret prison, a CIA operations officer had both of his hands wrapped around a detainee’s neck. He manipulated his fingers, then pressed down on the carotid arteries to cut off the blood flow to the man’s brain.
The detainee nodded off, close to passing out. The officer released his grip and shook him.
“Come on,” he shouted. “Wake up.”
Then he did it again. And again.
Years later, when questioned about the event, the officer would inform investigators that he had never been trained in interrogation techniques before he began questioning al-Qaeda suspects.
• • •
500 Days: Secrets and Lies in the Terror Wars Page 42
