EXTREME PREJUDICE: The Terrifying Story of the Patriot Act and the Cover Ups of 9/11 and Iraq

by Susan Lindauer

  It would be a One-Woman Experiment with a new and wholly different approach to counter-terrorism. Success would depend on my ability to cultivate difficult relationships with Libyan and Iraqi diplomats in the opposite direction of official U.S. policy. If I succeeded, I hoped to win the grudging respect of U.S. military types like Hoven, who ordinarily equate anti-terrorism with mandatory threats of force. I wanted to prove that engagement and diplomacy would succeed just as well.

  I had one iron-clad condition. Under no circumstances could the U.S. government interfere with my activism for any reason. I had opposed the first Gulf War with Iraq, and I fiercely opposed any second war. I demanded full rights to lobby Congress and the United Nations against U.S. militarism and sanctions on Iraq, Libya and the Middle East overall. If that seems contradictory to a U.S. Intelligence agenda, in fact the success of my anti-terrorism work would depend on the sincerity of my anti-war and anti-sanctions activism. The two parts would be inextricably linked. That’s what the U.S. wanted to leverage. That’s what the U.S. would have to tolerate.

  My condition was fully accepted and understood. But first there was somebody Hoven wanted me to meet.

  Paul teased me by withholding the name of this CIA officer until right before our meeting. It took several months to get approval for a face to face conversation. I was Press Secretary for Congressman Ron Wyden, an Oregon Democrat at the time. So I thought I was hot stuff. But that only got me so far with this crowd.

  These people are trouble-shooters in a crisis. They stay in when everybody else gets out. They fix things that others have broken and abandoned as hopeless. They’re intensely creative risk-takers— 24/7. You’re taught that every encounter, every experience provides a weapon or a tool. Every crisis creates new opportunities. You’ve got to be incredibly tough, tenacious and resilient to play in their game. The stakes are high because a good Asset impacts the opportunities on the playing field for everybody else. That’s the whole purpose of an Asset.

  When I finally met Dr. Richard Fuisz in September, 1994,76I got insight to the special diva status the Intelligence Community affords itself. Though I was a congressional staffer for a leading Democrat, Dr. Fuisz would not deign to come to Capitol Hill for our first meeting. I, the Congressional staffer would have to go to him in Virginia. His office was deemed appropriately “secure.”

  Hoven promised the trip would be worth it. Driving out to Chantilly, Virginia, he took all the back roads and cut through neighborhoods, so I would have difficulty returning. The next day I drove back to the office and found it on my own. Paul was impressed.

  On our drive, he gave me the low down on Dr. Fuisz’s remarkable career as a top CIA operative in Syria, Lebanon and Saudi Arabia in the 1980s. Hoven described Fuisz in almost legendary terms. His team in Lebanon coordinated the hostage rescue of Terry Anderson et al., locating their make-shift prisons in the back alleys of Beirut, and calling in the Delta Force for a daring raid.

  Later, Dr. Fuisz testified before Congress about U.S. Corporations that supplied Iraq with weapons systems before the first Gulf War. He ran a fashion modeling agency with Raisa Gorbachev that incidentally sold computers to the Soviet government during Glasnost, while her husband, Mikhail Gorbachev was President of the Soviet Union.

  Dr. Fuisz got outed as CIA by Damascus, after stealing the blueprints for Syria’s brand new telecommunications system from a locked storage vault. A Real Life “Mission Impossible.”

  Finally, Dr. Fuisz claimed to know the real story of Lockerbie, including the identities of the terrorist masterminds, whom he insisted were not Libyan at all.77

  Remarkably, Dr. Fuisz lived up to all the hype.

  In those days, Dr. Fuisz looked like a cross between Robert DeNiro and Anthony LaPaglia, a devastatingly handsome man of Hungarian descent, whose playground ran to Monte Carlo and Paris, when he wasn’t trouble-shooting in Beirut. He had an apartment in Paris overlooking the Seine, until one of the Saudi princes borrowed it for a weekend with his girlfriend, who refused to leave, invoking Parisian laws of “squatters’ rights.”

  Without question, Richard Fuisz is the most fascinating and complicated individual I’ve ever met. For him, it’s effortless. He’s brilliant and unforgettable. As a scientist and inventor, he’s got a drawer full of patents on pharmaceutical products. He’s like an alchemist. Working with him and Hoven was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. I have no regrets at all.

  During negotiations for the Lockerbie Trial at the United Nations, I put together a sworn statement about our first meeting in September, 1994:78

  Dr. Fuisz maintained close business ties to Lebanon, Syria and Saudi Arabia during the 1980s. As part of his work, he infiltrated a network of Syrian terrorists tied to Islamic Jihad—the precursor to Hezbollah— who, at the time of his residence in Beirut, were holding 96 high profile western hostages, including Associated Press reporter, Terry Anderson; Anglican Envoy, Terry Waite; CNN Bureau Chief, Jerry Levin; and CIA Station Chief, William Buckley.

  Islamic Jihad released gory videos of Buckley’s brutal torture sessions, finally resulting in his death—and heightening the urgency of rescuing the other hostages.

  Dr. Fuisz impressed on me that his team had identified the kidnappers behind the hostage crisis, and located the streets and buildings where the Americans were captive, at tremendous personal risk. Once he identified their locations, he called in the Delta Force to execute a synchronized raid.

  Unforgivably, the order for the hostage rescue was rescinded by top officials in Washington, and delayed several months, until right before the 1988 Presidential election of George H. Bush. Dr. Fuisz called it the original “October Surprise.”

  We talked a great deal about how the sale of heroin/opium from the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon finances terrorist activities on a global scale. Dr. Fuisz explained how the bombing of Pan Am 103 was intended to strike down a team of Defense Intelligence Agents, flying back to Washington to protest the CIA’s infiltration of heroin smuggling, as part of locating the hostages in Beirut. The DIA team was suspicious that a double agent on the CIA team was warning Islamic Jihad whenever rescuers got close, so the hostages could be moved. Dr. Fuisz claimed the Pan Am 103 bombing was an act of terrorist reprisal to protect their profits from aggressive drug interdiction efforts. They wanted to stop the fact-finding team from reaching Washington to make their report.

  To my great surprise, Dr. Fuisz swore he could identify who orchestrated the bombing of Pan Am 103. He stated categorically that no Libyan national was involved in the attack, in any technical or advisory capacity.

  Dr. Fuisz asked for my help as a congressional staffer. Apparently he had aggravated the Feds, by trying to contact the Pan Am 103 families about Lockerbie. He also testified before a Congressional Sub-Committee about a U.S corporation that supplied Iraq with SCUD mobile missile launchers before 1990.

  Now, instead of praise, he was enduring harsh audits by the Internal Revenue Service investigating his use of black budget moneys.

  Efforts by his attorneys to stop this harassment had been answered with warnings that he should shut up about U.S. arms supplies to Iraq and the Lockerbie Conspiracy.

  That was how the bombing of Pan Am 103 arose in our conversation. Dr. Fuisz complained that he could provide a great deal of information about Middle Eastern terrorism, except the U.S. doesn’t want anybody talking about Libya’s innocence. Then he jumped into the Lockerbie case by way of example of terrorist cases that he could immediately resolve. He complained that the messenger was getting shot for delivering an honest message.

  Because of his Syrian ties, he told me he “was first on the ground in the investigation,” to use his words. At that point, I tried to sound tough. “Oh yeah, everybody knows Syria did it. The U.S. repaid them for supporting us during the Iraqi War by shifting the blame to Libya.”

  Immediately he cut me off.

  “Susan, Do you understand the difference between a primary source and a secondary source?
Those people in Virginia are analysts. They’re reading reports from the field, but they don’t have first-hand contact with events as they’re happening on the ground. Or first hand knowledge about what’s taking place. So they don’t actually know it, even if they think they do.”

  “I know it, Susan. That’s the difference. Because of my Syria contacts, I was there. They’re reading my reports.” (Then he laughed sarcastically.) “In my case, they’re reading them and destroying them.” (And he threw up his hands.) He continued on:

  “Susan, if the government would let me, I could identify the men behind this attack today. I could do it right now. You want a police line up? I could go into any crowded restaurant of 200 people, and pick out these men by sight.”

  “I can identify them by face, by name.” He started gesticulating, and counting off on his fingers. “I can tell you where they work, and what time they arrive at their office in the morning—if they go to an office. I can tell you what time they go to lunch, what kind of restaurants they go to. I can tell you their home addresses, the names of their wives if they’re married, the names and ages of all their children. I can tell you about their girlfriends. I can even tell you what type of prostitutes they like.”

  “And you know what, Susan? You won’t find this restaurant anywhere in Libya. No, you will only find this restaurant in Damascus. I didn’t get that from any report, Susan.” Dr. Fuisz started shaking his head. “I got it because I was investigating on the ground, and I know. Do you understand what I’m saying to you now? I know!”

  To which I answered. “For God’s sakes tell me, and I’ll get my boss to protect you—” a reference to Congressman Ron Wyden.

  Then he got really mad. “No, no! It’s so crazy. I’m not even allowed to tell you, and you’re a congressional staffer.”

  This was how I learned that Dr. Fuisz is covered by the Secrets Act, which severely restricts his ability to communicate information about Pan Am 103 or any other intelligence matter. Though he states freely that he can identify the true criminals in this case, he requires special permission from the CIA to testify, or a written over-ride by the President of the United States, if the CIA refuses to grant permission.79

  I believed that was tragic on two accounts. First, the accused Libyans were denied the right to a fair trial where they might call witnesses to launch an effective defense, and exonerate themselves of all charges. And secondly, the Lockerbie families were denied the ability to close this terrible wound, and experience the healing that would come from discovering the complete truth surrounding this case.

  On both accounts, I could not stay silent. I recognized that our disclosures might pain the families. And yet it’s precisely because I abhor all such violence— terrorist and military— that I believed we must pursue the truth.

  As it turned out, there was a second purpose to Dr. Fuisz’s candor about Lockerbie. Somebody needed to approach Libya about the Lockerbie Trial. Somebody like me— who recognized and accepted the truth of Libya’s innocence—would be ideal to initiate contact with Libyan diplomats at the United Nations. Given my passionate opposition to sanctions, I might have a shot at persuading Libya to accept a trial, whereas nobody else could get in the door. Perhaps I could get the negotiations unstuck.

  I seized the offer enthusiastically. (Iraq was added to my agenda one year later.) From that point on, in our private conversations, Hoven identified himself as my “case officer” or “handler.” Many of my private papers from the mid-1990s refer to Hoven as my “Defense Intelligence handler” or “DIA contact.”80 That’s not something I invented afterwards. It was always there. I always believed that Hoven filled an important liaison role to defense intelligence. Both men supervised me. They provided instruction and guidance. I trusted them fully to stand behind me.

  Dr. Fuisz made no attempt to hide his CIA connections He had a vast network of contacts throughout the Arab world, and penetrating insight to Middle East politics. His intelligence credentials were easily established, and known to the Arabs as well.

  Hoven was more cagey about his connection to Defense Intelligence. But there was no way to have a conversation with him, and not conclude he had deep spook ties. He talked about the Defense Intelligence Agency all the time. He often spoke of visiting “the Farm—” a euphemism for DIA. I would tease him with questions about the animals on this Farm. I called it the “Old McDonald game.”

  “Are there chickens on your farm?” I’d ask. “No,” he’d say.

  “But surely there are cows?” “No,” he’d shake his head with a smile.

  “Oh, is it a pig farm? Do you have horses?”

  “No,” he’d say. “It’s sort of an under-ground bunker built into the side of a hill, with a wall of technology gadgets when you entered the building.”

  It’s sometimes hard for outsiders to understand. But it’s the nature of intelligence to behave that way. Only a handful of people knew what I was doing all those years, either. It’s something you hold close. It’s how intelligence functions.

  The bonds that I forged with Hoven and Fuisz lasted almost a decade. I knew these men intimately. Paul loved teasing that I was a “goofy peace activist.” That never offended me.

  And extraordinary as it sounds, the instructions from the Old Arab Man in London on the morning after the bombing of Tripoli proved extremely valuable to the success of my outreach to Iraq and Libya, too. While controversial in the West, the old Arab man called it right on the mark, with frightening precision. Decades later, I am still discovering that he told me everything about my own life on that morning. It’s quite exceptional, and intensely uncanny. To myself, most of all. Yet it’s impossible to deny that it happened.

  So it went. As an Asset throughout the 1990s, I gained direct, “primary” access to the day by day flow of cooperation from Libya and Iraq on counter-terrorism. Virtually no one else enjoyed such close proximity to either of those embassies during that period.

  All of that explains how, when Republican leaders decided to go to War with Iraq, the profound depth of my involvement and knowledge created a major obstacle to their revisionist brand of history. If the White House hoped to invent a story that could defeat theactual facts of history, they would have to get rid of me first.

  Their lie could not exist alongside my truth.

  They would have to destroy me.

  Oh how they would try.

  CHAPTER 4:

  A SECRET DAY IN

  THE LIFE OF AN ASSET

  On my desk sits a bronze statue of a little girl in a frilly dress riding a rhinoceros. That’s my life—feminine but slightly dangerous. OK, more than slightly dangerous. Rhinoceros have horns and armor plates to protect them in rough play through all sorts of adventures.

  My adventure as an Asset lasted from 1993 until 2002. My countries were Iraq and Libya. But my efforts encompassed Egypt, Syria/Hezbollah, Yemen and Malaysia. If that doesn’t communicate high level security interests, I don’t know what could. There were some extraordinary consequences for that level of involvement. But it was all worth the price. I wouldn’t change a single moment of my experience.

  Those were exciting times. Under the intense supervision of Dr. Fuisz and Hoven, I established contact with the Libya House in May 1995, and the Iraqi Embassy at the United Nations in August, 1996. About every three weeks I would travel from my home in the suburbs of Washington DC to visit diplomats at the United Nations in New York. In a crisis, or when our projects intensified, I traveled to New York more frequently. By 2002, I estimate that I met with Iraqi and Libyan diplomats 150 to 170 times each.

  Our outreach was not exactly covert. From the outset, diplomats from Libya and Iraq understood that I sought to create a back-channel in support of dialogue that would break the stalemate and help end sanctions on their countries. All of us understood each other.

  My first meeting at the Libya House involved a shockingly frank conversation, in fact, of my connection to Dr. Fuisz and his ability to iden
tify the terrorists who plotted the bombing of Pan Am # 103, a.k.a “Lockerbie.” Dr. Fuisz was already well established as a major CIA operative in the Middle East, who tangled with Syria and Lebanon during the Terry Anderson hostage crisis during the 1980s. So when I explained that my work involved Dr. Fuisz, Libyan diplomats understood with utmost clarity what that meant: I had high level contacts deep inside the CIA.

  I recall that the Libyan diplomat, Mr. Amarra, glanced up from his small white Turkish coffee cup, and smiled with a mischievous sense of irony.

  “Why, thank you CIA. On behalf of Gadhaffi, on behalf of Libya, we thank you, CIA. Thank you for helping Libya end our sanctions!” He had a good laugh.

  Once that genie’s out, there’s no putting it back in the bottle.

  I remember my first introduction to the Libya House like a sort of slapstick Laurel and Hardy comedy of intelligence errors.

  For security reasons, I dropped by Libya’s embassy at the United Nations unannounced and uninvited, with a request to meet the diplomat handling Lockerbie.

  Our team wanted to walk away and disappear if the meeting backfired.

  But making contact proved more exasperating than Dr. Fuisz and Hoven anticipated.

  When I arrived without an appointment, the Libyan concierge demanded that I go back outside to a payphone across the street from the Embassy. In an absurd game, he instructed me to telephone him and request permission to enter the lobby.

  “But I’m already here!” I protested.

  “No, no! You must go to the phone outside, and ask for permission to come in and speak to me,” the concierge tutted. “That’s how it must be done.”

  There was a light rain outside. I had advance warning that a squad of intelligence officers watched the Libya House from a nearby building. By now they were probably curious about this lone visitor to the Libyan embassy, too. I resolved not to panic. Except that when I phoned the Libya House, the concierge asked for my name, which sent daggers through my heart, since a phone so close to the Libyan Embassy had to be wiretapped. Sure enough, Dr. Fuisz told me that after I left, my fingerprints got lifted off the phone receiver.