I was always careful not to color my information with personal bias because that is one of the main reasons that HUMINT(human intelligence) can be flawed and unreliable. Very often, the spy sees what he wants to see, then the analysts see what they want to see and some bombs get dropped 6000 miles away. The job of a spy isn't to make judgements on what is important. He is to report as much as he can and let people with really high I.Q. 's and no social skills distill his intel. I tried to belay the information that I thought was timely, first. But I got almost everything written down so that when I went back to the US I would be able to hand it over to my handler(s). I had twenty or thirty pages of hand written notes when it was allover.
As it turned out we - my attorney and I - were working for several agencies. There was the Naval Investigative Service, the Central Intelligence Agency, the State Department, and possibly the Federal Bureau of Investigation. There may have been more of them, but I'm not certain who all of the players were. If all of this ever comes out in front of some Senate Hearing, then we'll probably learn who everyone was . . . and who to blame for the inaction. Most likely that will occur right before my car accident, or heart attack, or radiation overdose.
So, I'm making my lines to my attorney. information dumps over regular phone Often, when I would call there were intelligence agents in the background asking me questions and telling me where to focus my antennae. I was directed several times in that manner and my focus was redirected often. The funny thing about all this was that I kept expecting some kind of James Bond gadgetry. You know, some super sleuth micro telephone device. Something cool? No. Apparently that kind of technology hasn't made it to the 'War on Terror' yet. Or, they thought that I was full of crap and didn't want to waste valuable taxpayers dollars on some ignorant pursuit. Gosh. Iraq war, Afghanistan . . . I'm confused. Well, I guess we can just pray that they get that budget, someday. We all have our fingers crossed.
I had friends in that prison who had cell phones smuggled in for less than 400 euros. At the very least a secure cellular, or satellite secure phone could have been provided. I couldn't understand why what we were doing was not considered important enough to warrant a better line of communication. Later, I came to realize that it must have been for the sake of deniability. If they ever used funds to aid in my 'work' then there would be a paper trail that linked them directly to this dirty little Op. Then somebody would have to actually admit that they were working this gag and answer a bunch of questions about how and why we probably let 191 people die in Madrid, Spain when we had an American on the inside of the al Qaeda cell that was an instrumental part of the plot. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
I was doing this every couple of days, and even though we were taking huge risks, it was paying off a bit. As I will explain later, we hit on several good pieces of intelligence; and we did it in a timely enough manner that the US government could act on it. What they did was another matter altogether. But they did have the information. They seemed more interested in the financial side - the terrorists' funding - than in the terrorists themselves, locations of training camps, tactics, or terrorist plots! All of which I got for them. Yet all they ever acted on was the money. That's the part of all this that lS really going to piss you off.
Welcome to the bureaucratic labyrinth that is 'International Terrorism.'
I believe that in some darker place, beyond our world, there are several hundred voices asking why their lives ended on March 13, 2004. They are calling out from one of those places that the living choose not to talk or even thing about. That haunting place where whispers and screams are drowned and choked in the nothingness. And those cries that make it through the darkness are asking . . . what happened? Where did it all go?
And they are not sad when I hear them . . . they are angry.
SEVEN
I'll take you through the different players, now. As I quickly did, you'll start to see how complex it can get.
My first target was Jack. I refer to him as a target because it dehumanizes him; lessens the emotional toll that it might take on the vacuum that is my soul. At sniper school they have a famous question on one of the written tests where you have a target in your sights and he holds up a small child in order to obstruct your shot at his upper lip. The question is basically, , What do you feel?' The correct answer is . . . recoil. A target is an object, nothing more. Jack was an object that I had to understand, and though complex and intriguing, he was still just a thing.
Yaarok Asraf, known as Jack, was my first objective. He was the Israeli that I mentioned earlier, and I needed him to get in with the real bad guys. I first found it very odd that Jack was hanging around the AQ boys. As a general rule Muslims and Israelis don't get along so well. Jack's background was that his parents were a mixture of Israeli, Moroccan, and Lebanese. He was a dark-complected, slightly balding man with big liquidy eyes set deep into his head. He was a bit overweight, but still active in his long 'power walks.' He wore nice clothes, which included high-dollar jewelry and watch to match. Plenty of bling for old Jack. He spoke several languages including Arabic, Hebrew, Spanish, and French. He seemed like a luxury car salesman. The kind of guy who'd be more than willing to help you part with two or three hundred thousand bucks.
I first thought that the AQ boys were just hanging around him because he had money. In a prison environment people will often flock around those with plenty of cash. Although, I guess they do that in any environment. As I got to know more about this curious alliance I began to learn that the story was much darker. Jack had made most of his money doing Import/ export, which we all know runs hand-in-hand with organized crime. He had offices in Morocco, Spain, France, Israel, Gibraltar, and some other more obscure locations.
He said that his main business was cheap clothing, but curiously he was also involved in several jewelry stores. Not that jewelry is a sinister business, but that some of Jack's business partners were involved in a rather large On-line gambling firm in Gibraltar. That firm was explained to me as a very large money laundering operation. His associates were also connected to Safra bank. And there were all kinds of seedy connections between the Russian Mob and various other groups using this bank to move nearly 100 million dollars in illicit funds. So I was thinking that his angle was financial. Maybe he bankrolled Jihad. Who knew for sure what his religious beliefs really were. His parents being from both Jewish and Arab decent could leave a brain pretty conflicted.
Jack explained to me that he was a former member of the Israeli Military, namely in a department called, Shin bet. That is essentially a military intelligence unit. I couldn't really tell what to believe and what not to, so all I did was continue to note the major points and hope that it would all piece together. He also told me that he had made tons of cash by going in with contractors and rebuilding places that had been destroyed. Places like Lebanon, Israel, New York. He said that after a storm, or a bombing, there was so much money being spent on reconstruction that a clever contractor could make more money than he could count.
That must be a bunch because most of the Jewish guys I know are very good at math. I then wondered if he just waited around until a bomb went off and then brought in his construction guys to cash-in.
As I got closer to him we began to talk about both politics and religion. Two subj ects which I was still "undecided 11 on. That's how it works. Spies don't need strong opinions. You can't be too outspoken, or even too much of a supporter of the cause. They'll eventually see right through it. The target needs to believe that they are the ones converting you . . . showing you the path. A guy with heavy opinions might be spy. But a guy whose kind of on the fence is a 'prospect.' So I listened intently as Jack tried to convert me.
I remember when we were walking one morning and he stopped and turned. Looking very intently at me he said, 'you have some Jewish blood in your family?' It was as much a statement as it was a question. As if he somehow 'knew.' Well, of course, Jack. However did you guess? I told him that my grandpar
ents on my father's side were Jewish. Who knows, maybe they were? Jack smiled self-assuredly, and winked. He told me that he could tell when he first met me. I shrugged. A Jew knows a Jew, I suppose. Nothing gets past old Jack.
It seemed like after that epiphany Jack just opened up to me. He told me about a jewelry scam for a couple million dollars out of New Jersey. He told me about brokering MANPADs(Man Portable Air Defense Systems) to different buyers in North America. Basically a Stinger Missile sale. You see, when the Russians invaded Afghanistan the United States was supporting the Mujahideen. One of the ways in which they did this was to supply both funding and weapons to the Afghani fighters. At that time we were in the middle of the Cold-war, trying to stop the menacing spread of Communism in its tracks. The US decided that part of its support would be to offer U.S. built Stinger Missiles at the price of US$ 50,000.00 a pop. So the Mujahids conjured up enough cash and favor to purchase about 15,000 of them. That's what we call in the business, 'a Shitload' of surface-to-air missiles. And the funny thing is that they are so easy to use that a sixth grader can fire one if he feels inclined.
Here are the stats on the Stinger missile:
Length - 5 feet (1.5 meters)
Diameter - 2.75 inches (7 cm)
Weight - 22 pounds (10 kg)
Weight with launcher - 34.5 pounds (15.2 kg)
Explosives - 2.2 pounds, impact fuze (explodes on
contact with target)
Speed - 1,500 mph (2,400 kph, Mach 2)
Altitude Range - Approximately 11,000 feet (3 km)
Distance Range - Approximately 5 miles (8 km)
These missiles are almost idiot proof. So simple to use, ln fact, that they ran the Russians right out of Afghanistan. Sounds like a happy ending? Here's the good news: No more invasion and only a couple thousand Stingers were used in the process. Bad news: The Mujahideen fell in love with their toys and decided not to sell the remaining 10 or 12 thousand missiles back to the U.S. (even at twice the original price). So all of these shoulder launched monsters disappeared. Poof . . . and they were gone. They are now cached allover the Middle East, Northern Africa, and Europe. Some have even crossed the drink and made it to the Americas. They can easily catch a passenger plane on landing or take-off; or a bus; or a train; or a . . . well, you get the point.
At any rate, Jack had claimed to have been involved in the black market sale of a couple of these death sticks. The more that I learned about him, the more I considered that it was possible that he was still working for the Israelis. Probably not in a military capacity; but maybe Mossad or some related unit. Perhaps he was doing exactly what I was doing. I couldn't verify any of his information, but then it didn't really matter. He wasn't my major target, not exactly. But he was peripherally connected to the AQ boys, so he was important all the same. Also, there was the possibility that he was rogue, just working in between the lines. Some people start out with the best of intentions, and end up loosing their idealism and turning to capitalism. The difference between a good spy and a double agent is the bank account. People, no matter how noble and idealistic, will turn. Maybe it's sex that lures them. Maybe cash. Blackmail, extortion, disenfranchisement in the government, lost patriotism, or whatever. What difference does it really make? Greed almost always wins in the end.
Jack could be so many things, and I didn't know which. I started hearing things about the Dutch during conversations between Jack and the AQ boys. I heard Jack and the others mentioning Holland, and the Dutch, and all sorts of related things. I figured something might be up so I reported it to my attorney during one of our information dumps. In the background one of the guys asked about my source. I described Jack and gave his legal name, and then I waited with silence on the other end of the line.
I could hear muffled conversation and then one of the nameless voices told me to 'stay away from Jack.'
What? I didn't understand.
It was explained to me that I was to give Jack plenty of room, and not to concentrate on his activities. It was 'hands off' on Yaarok Asraf. So, at least now I had my suspicions confirmed. He was working for somebody. I didn't know who, but that wasn't really important to me. My job hadn't changed. Get close to the AQ boys. Jack was just a stepping stone to bigger targets. Just for the record, I still think he was dirty, even if he was a spook.
Over the next several weeks I heard a lot of discussion about the Dutch. I continued to report this to my attorney and the faceless voices. I was reminded to back-off of Jack. I started to wonder if I was just being paranoid, and reading too much into nothing. And really, what the hell do I know about being a spy?
Almost exactly six weeks later the Dutch Embassy in Riyadh was bombed by a group claiming to be associated with, or part of, al Qaeda. Kind of spooky, I thought. On the next call to my attorney I was told that everyone was now 'very interested' in what information I could provide. Then again, maybe I was just lucky.
I started to get this uneasy feeling that maybe I wasn't , lucky. ' My religion - that of science and physics - doesn't have room for luck, only uncertainty. You see, it's different when you read about these guys in the newspaper, or on CNN. When you actually live with them and have a relationship with them you start to see just a glimpse of just how cold and horrifying humans can be. If they want to get you . . . your dead.
EIGHT
After the Dutch embassy bombing in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, people seemed to be much more interested in my intel.
Now to be fair, one hit doesn't mean I was really on to anything. Just like gang members talk to their friends around the country, so do muslim extremists. And my information was probably not accurate enough to have done much good. I suppose they could have put all of the Dutch embassies on 'high-alert' or beef up security around Dutch owned facilities. Heightened security measures might have helped save a few lives and help to minimize the property damage. But who can be certain?
What I needed to do was get accurate, verifiable intel that could establish my contacts as being on the inside; in some way directly connected to the higher-ups at al Qaeda. I had to get close to the 'Shot-callers.' I didn't only need this for the sake of establishing my credibility with the intelligence guys, but I had to have it for my own piece of mind. I needed proof that this was real. That this wasn't another Oklahoma City, where all sorts of suspects mayor may not be legitimate. I wasn't fishing for scape goats; I needed to hook the real thing. The only way that was going to happen was if I was much closer to the AQ boys. I needed to be in with them, not just a friend of Jack's. And fringe association was not going to be close enough.
As I was considering ways to achieve this goal a little piece of fortuity fell in my lap. One of the AQ boys, a 'mechanic' by the name of Mohammed(for security reasons I will leave out the last names), began speaking to me. He had homes, or locations rather, in Spain and France. He was Algerian by birth, but like so many of his countrymen he moved to France. You see, France occupied Algeria for over a century until Charles De Gaulle ended the occupation in the sixties, withdrawing French forces and giving Algeria its autonomy. Incidentally, it nearly cost De Gaulle his life on several occasions as pissed-off military men from the French Foreign Legion and the French Army tried to have him assassinated. I experienced there to still be a general hatred for De Gaulle in the Legion. Anyway, there are plenty of Algerians in France. And this particular AQ boy wanted me to teach him english. Oh, those inscrutable al Qaeda operatives. Always looking to better themselves through education.
I recognized that this was a good opportunity. If I got in with Mohammed, then I would be inside their barrier. And this was a feat, because there were several attempts to pierce the invisible wall that the AQ boys had around them by other intelligence agents. I am almost certain that at least one French, and several Spanish agents tried to ingratiate themselves with the AQ boys, but to no avail. Strangely enough, one of them disappeared . . . but who knows?
Mohammed was being held by the Spanish authorities at the behest of the u
.s. Government. He~ along with about 13 or 14 other terrorist suspects were waiting patiently in Valdemoro prison(a.k.a. Terrorist University) while the Spanish government tried to figure out how to keep them illegally imprisoned without having other terrorists blow stuff up allover the country. The Spanish were already having their own problems with local terrorists, namely E.T.A (Basque Separatists). The last thing that they needed was al Qaeda feeling like they should influence world politics by making things like trains and busses detonate. That's a literary device known as 'foreshadowing.' So, while the Spanish Ministry of the Interior was juggling the legal and moral ramifications of holding a bunch of legal 'residents' without charges, they were also being pressed into sending troops into Iraq to support the U. S. led War of Terror, I mean 'War on Terror.' My mistake. Qui te a juggling act, indeed.
From the way that the other people, guards included, treated the AQ boys I'd say they were clearly apprehensive. They were given plenty of space, and nobody pressed them for anything. Funny how nobody ever tries to shake down a muslim extremist for his lunch money. It was not lost on me the realization that if they found out what I was doing, they would probably not want me to continue breathing. They have a penchant for large knives, those extremists. So, I settled myself each day to walk and talk with Jack and the AQ boys; to teach Mohammed english; and to not get killed.
My buddy, Mo. Mohammed's background was that he had a family in France, and that he worked as a mechanic. His family had left Algeria sometime in the late '80s. He was very crafty, and seemed to pick things up very quickly. I figured him for a bomb technician or weapons fabricator. He was about 5'5" with a thin frame and rather frail features. His head was shaven, as are most of the active Cell members for al Qaeda.
Those guys that you see on television with all their scraggly beards, like Ossama Bin Laden, are not actual operators. That long beard, that will land you spread-eagle on the floor of an airport, is more or less a status symbol for a religious leader such as an Imam. But the soldiers themselves are clean shaven and businesslike. No facial hair of any kind. They even pluck their arm pits in some cases, depending on their particular religious beliefs. I found that to be a little anal, but I digress. Mohammed had small intelligent eyes that were greenish and curious as they moved back and forth. He was very polite! and spoke a little english. When I watched him look at things it was as if he was a architect or a scientist. He kind of took things in dimensionally.
Walking Ghost: Welcome to Terrorist University Page 4
