Dr. Fuisz had other plans. He was building a mega-mansion in Virginia, a stone’s throw from CIA headquarters. He wanted it all.
Later on, the FBI and the Prosecutor would float the extraordinary suggestion that I had not contacted Dr. Fuisz at all. I didn’t ask for any money. I just ran off to Baghdad!
Yeah, sure I did!
Blissfully ignorant of my twisted future, on my visit to Baghdad I received assurances from the Foreign Ministry that Iraq was fully committed to the success of the weapons inspections.204 By the time I finished meeting with Dr. Saeed Hasan— now Deputy Foreign Minister and a personal friend, I was delighted that all of our back-channel efforts had succeeded so magnificently.
Now it got very interesting. My old diplomat friend was now a senior member of Iraq’s Intelligence Service, called the Mukhabarat. He was authorized to act as a liaison in Baghdad to the new FBI Taskforce. However, Saddam’s professed desire to cooperate with U.S. anti-terrorism policy could not alter the reality that the FBI and CIA would demand much more than Saddam’s government might be inclined to give. The FBI would not limit its focus to Saddam’s targets. They would have eyes open at all times.
Any real progress might be hazardous to Mr. A—s life, if Saddam perceived he was too close to the Americans. Or some jihadi might take him out.
From the outside it looked so easy. Yet it was fraught with danger.
Suffice it to say that I made a very special appeal for his help. And my outreach was rewarded. My friend agreed to put himself at great personal risk, in order to aid the FBI (or Interpol or Scotland Yard) in identifying terrorist targets moving inside Iraq. He promised to advise us when they arrived; where they stayed; whom they met; and their activities. Some of those people would be despised by Saddam. But a few might enjoy special protection, which my friend would have to overcome.
I was elated! Once I got home, I expected to receive commendations heaping praise on my cleverness and resourcefulness in developing this Agent at the top of Iraq’s Intelligence Service, no less. That’s a pretty big deal—if you “count on one hand the number of agents inside Iraq,”205 as former CIA Director George Tenet told Congress.
As proof of his performance, my friend’s first act of assistance was to identify a group of Jordanians, who fled into Iraq for medical treatment the first week of March, 2002. Apparently they had suffered war injuries fighting in Afghanistan. Mr. A— said they could not go home to Jordan, on threat of immediate imprisonment.
One jihadi in particular was a monster, Mr. A— claimed. The timing and description match the young Abu Musab al Zarqawi, infamous for orchestrating a massive bombing campaign against the U.S. Occupation that murdered hundreds of Iraqi citizens and U.S. soldiers.206 Hundreds of bombings, kidnappings and beheadings would be carried out against the U.S. Occupation under his banner.
It’s factually known that Zarqawi arrived in Baghdad seeking medical care for a war injury sustained in Afghanistan the first week of March, the same time as I did. More recently, some intelligence has pushed back Zarqawi’s arrival to May, 2002. That’s nonsense revisionism to protect Republicans from criticism of this lost opportunity to arrest him. It’s typical of the careless, self important prognostications flowing through the corporate media these days. They are factually wrong.
My friend told me the jihadi was a young man of craven violence urgently sought by Jordanian authorities. As my friend put it— “Some men are animals. This man is the worst I have ever seen. He belongs in a cage, and he should stay there.”
My friend offered to deliver him to the FBI Task Force. Iraqi Intelligence expected him to create serious problems wherever he went. They were anxious to hand him over to U.S. custody. Appallingly, the U.S. would not take him.
I also gave my friend a list of terrorists tied to the Pan Am 103 bombing, aka Lockerbie, including famed terrorist, Abu Nidal. I asked Mr. A— to exert his power to arrest Nidal if he showed up in Baghdad.
In July 2002, Iraqi police stormed a building where Nidal lived, and the world learned that the fabled terrorist died in a hail of gunfire fighting off arrest— or perhaps committed suicide, as Iraqi police closed in.
Immediately after his death, Nidal’s friends and family in Lebanon talked openly of his involvement in the Lockerbie bombing, and his regret that an innocent Libyan man, Mr. Abdel Bassett Megrahi had been sentenced to life in prison for Nidal’s crime.207
My Iraqi friend played an instrumental role in arranging Nidal’s capture.
By any measure, my trip to Baghdad was enormously successful. If U.S. ambitions to hunt out terrorists in Iraq were at all sincere, this strategically placed Iraqi Intelligence Officer would have had phenomenal value.
Appallingly enough, during my indictment, I faced bitter recriminations and threats of prison time for the actions I took to win him over, and protect him in Baghdad. Those attacks show how cheap the U.S. holds the lives of foreign helpmates. Congressional leaders and the upper echelons of U.S. Intelligence ought to think hard about endorsing such a message. It certainly makes us look very bad.
I feel that I deserve an apology.
Democracy Initiative
By far, the most fascinating development on my trip to Baghdad emerged quite unexpectedly at lunch with a member of Saddam’s Revolutionary Counsel at the “Iraq Hunting Club.”
Throughout the lunch, the Senior Iraqi official was identified only as “His Excellency.” Asked a couple of times for his name, his entourage replied with a smile– “We have told you. You may call him “Excellency.”
“That is his name?”
“Yes.”
Through photos and video broadcasts of Saddam’s cabinet meetings, I have visually identified him, I believe, as an attendant to Saddam at Revolutionary Council meetings, carrying papers and leaning over the Iraqi Leader for his signature. That adds a tantalizing quality to “His Excellency’s” surprise query at this luncheon.
“What value would the United States place on Democratic Reforms in Iraq, as far as lessening tensions between our two countries?”
According to “His Excellency,” “maybe Saddam would not be there. He might be gone.” The mere suggestion shocked me so much that I wondered if possibly Saddam was dying. Otherwise speculation about his future would be treasonous. Dictators typically don’t like underlings talking about the succession to their regimes. People get killed for conversations like this.
Registering my astonishment, “His Excellency” assured me that Saddam was preparing to assume a more distant role in government, and would support the development of democratic institutions that promote power sharing.
An activist for democracy myself, I responded enthusiastically, citing the European Union’s push for democratic reforms in Turkey, as a pre-condition for EU membership. Still, I expected only a symbolic or token proposal of Iraq’s commitment to reform. I was astonished, therefore, by the depth of thoughtfulness and the creativity of problem solving contained in Iraq’s proposal. Their package of democratic reforms was obviously well considered.
Critically, it must be stressed that this proposal was floated a year before the Invasion—and months before the U.S. publicly threatened a military assault on Baghdad.
It laid a path for regime change without resorting to violent warfare and Occupation.
Safeguarding the Exiles
According to His Excellency, Iraqi officials had devised a highly original plan to safeguard Exiles returning from London, Tehran and Detroit, so that they could join the political process.208
Iraq would invite the international community to reopen their Embassies in Baghdad, which His Excellency observed are “sovereign territory” of those countries. He stressed that Baghdad could not attack or arrest anyone inhabiting those Embassies, as violence against an Embassy constitutes an act of war against the home country, or near to it.
His Excellency suggested Iraqi Exiles could return home to Baghdad, and take up housing in those protected domiciles. Iraq would
allow Embassies to beef up security for their protection, and would allow them to take over neighboring houses to expand their compounds sizably. This was still Iraq. Eminent domain prevailed over individual rights to property.
The Exiles would be granted safe passage to their Party headquarters around Baghdad, and to other meeting points. Security provided by the embassies would guarantee their safety inside the country.
Establishing Political Parties and Party Headquarters
Upon returning to Iraq, the Exiles would have the right to establish political parties, including opening party headquarters around the country.209 They would have the right to publish opposition newspapers, and possibly a television or radio station. His Excellency stressed that the latter would depend on the United Nations’ willingness to amend or lift the sanctions, which tightly controlled and restricted media development inside Iraq. However, Saddam was prepared to share some oil revenues with the Exiles to promote their activities, so long as the level of funding did not negatively impact food and medicine for the Iraqi people.
In conclusion, His Excellency suggested that former U.S. President Jimmy Carter might head an international delegation to monitor future elections in Baghdad.
Jimmy Carter supervises election monitoring teams all over the world. He would never tolerate voter fraud in Baghdad or anywhere else. The international community could have trusted that such an eminent observer, of such renowned integrity, would safeguard this “new democracy” in Iraq, in a substantial and effective way.
The flow of conversation at the Iraqi Hunting Club that afternoon astonished me. The man was talking treason. Merely to suggest that Saddam might forfeit control over every facet of the government could be punishable by firing squad. Upon consideration, I questioned if Saddam might be terminally ill, and stepping back from the daily regulation of government. That might make him more accepting of the inevitability of public grasping for power, and open to plotting out the transition.
After the invasion proved that Saddam was not terminally ill, I concluded that he had behaved in the fashion of a survivor. He recognized his time had come, and he set about developing a strategy for implementing the inevitable, so that he would not be destroyed by it, but would find a proper balance and sanctuary for himself and his family.
Whatever motivated this conversation, it was a brilliant and creative opening for Democracy, the likes of which Iraqis never got from George Bush. This plan laid the foundations for major political reforms, and the creation of socio-political institutions necessary for a transition to pluralism, without requiring a military deployment or aggravating sectarian strife. It’s a blueprint worthy of attention in other conflict zones.
Back at the Al Rasheed Hotel, I checked the internet, and discovered the Lockerbie Appeal was finalized, too. The legal challenge on behalf of Abdel Basset Megraghi, the one Libyan convicted of bombing Pan Am 103, had failed in the Scottish Courts. There was nothing more Dr. Fuisz or I could contribute to the Lockerbie case.
That meant my work with Libya was over, too. Libya’s future appeared bright and dynamic, according to what I saw, with a cadre of (mostly) British Intelligence jumping in to carry forward.
I felt satisfied and content. I considered that my work as an Asset was essentially over— with mostly good results all around.
It was March, 2002—one year before the invasion. Winter was ending in Maryland, where I live in the suburbs of Washington DC, a few miles from Capitol Hill. When I returned home from Baghdad, the world looked ahead to peace and prosperity in the Middle East. I watched CNN and MSNBC, much amused, as pundits and Statesmen strutted before the TV cameras to prattle about my baby—the return of U.N. weapons inspection teams to Iraq.
After such a long labor, I was at peace to watch them.
CHAPTER 10:
BLESSED ARE THE
PEACEMAKERS
You’d never guess from all our success securing Iraq’s cooperation with anti-terrorism policy that I suffered from chronic exhaustion. My double-life was becoming more difficult to sustain.
While the whole country grieved over 9/11, I had to swallow my pain. My part in the 9/11 investigation allowed no time for grief. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t suffering like everyone else.
By early October, 2001, I began to experience panic attacks whenever I had to cross the street. My heart would start pounding; I would feel faint and dizzy. My legs would teeter, as if I might collapse on the pavement in the middle of oncoming traffic. I’d have to stop myself from grabbing the arms of strangers to get across the road. Lunchtime on Connecticut Avenue in the heart of downtown Washington about killed me.
I suffered terrible insomnia. I’d wake up at three in the morning, and sit on my back porch, chain smoking cigarettes until I could fall asleep. (I quit several years ago.) A couple of times I saw flashes of camera lights, and wondered if one of my early rising neighbors in artsy Takoma Park had photographed my self-abasement—or if the spooks were checking up on the lady who warned about 9/11. My paranoia skyrocketed. However someone definitely photographed me several times late at night in November and December, 2001. That’s also true. I saw them do it.
I beat myself up with recriminations over our failure to stop 9/11. I tortured myself wondering what more we could have done. (Honestly, nothing). That didn’t stop me from long nights imagining the possibilities. What if I had not left Andy Card’s house that day in mid-August? What if I’d waited another hour in my car? (I waited two hours.) Why didn’t I go back to drop off a written warning about our suspicions?
I considered the 9/11 investigation my personal responsibility. I would report to Dr. Fuisz’s office, and physically shake. My legs couldn’t stop bouncing—tapping my feet on the floor. I was totally wired, so much it hurt. But I couldn’t come down off it, either.
I’d always been addicted to danger. I thrived in harsh situations. I contributed to many other terrorist investigations. This was my element. I visited the Iraqi embassy whenever the U.S. bombed Baghdad. Diplomats raved that I was unnaturally calm in a crisis. I was notoriously not afraid in situations that would overwhelm most adrenalin junkies. I never flinched from those encounters.
“Paranoia” was another matter. Paranoia was an occupational hazard. Surveillance targeting me during any terrorism investigation could get hyper intense. The Intelligence Community needed to know what the hell was going on. And I would be the first to find out, because of my special contacts with pariah Arab governments. So I would get tracked heavily.
By example, at the close of the Lockerbie negotiations, on the night that Tripoli handed over the two Libyans for trial, I went down to the basement of my house, and found ten to twelve audio cables dangling from the ceiling. All the ceiling tiles had been torn out. I could see cables winding through every room above. Ceremoniously, I got a chair and cut the heads off the listening devices. I felt quite satisfied. My landlord, however, was highly perplexed.
That intensity of surveillance, while perfectly legitimate in these circumstances, aggravated my stress levels all the more. It was not “irrational” paranoia, as some have questioned. But it was stress provoking, nonetheless, because that degree of surveillance gets highly aggressive and intrusive. Sometimes whole teams would track my movements. Black sedans would chase me as I zig zagged through traffic on Interstate 95 all the way to New York. Over the years I learned to identify them. That didn’t make them the enemy. It was just part of the culture. A stressful surveillance culture.
After 9/11, they followed me into restaurants when I dined with Arab diplomats in New York. They checked into adjoining hotel rooms in New York to monitor my meetings with Iraqi diplomats on resuming the weapons inspections. They tried to wire hotel rooms that we might use again. They always tapped my phones. They’d jump out like paparazzi with cameras on the street. It happened in Washington and New York, with Rani Ali of Malaysia, and many times with Libya’s Ambassador Issa Babaa and others, who shall be glad to stay anonymous. I’d be
sitting in a chair, and somebody would pop up close to my face, whisper a code and disappear like a ghost. We’re in place. We’re ready. Face gone.
In late November or early December, 2001, I saw Richard— for the last time, it turns out—though I had no inkling that afternoon. I was debriefing him jubilantly about my successful visit with the Iraqi delegation, and Baghdad’s enthusiasm for the peace framework. I voiced concern over how detailed my letter to Andy Card, dated December 2, 2001, should be, as far as detailing the peace framework.
Richard replied: “You don’t have to worry. We always know exactly where you are, and everything you’re doing. We know it as soon as it happens. If you give us the Andy Card letters or not, we’re going to know anyway.”
Then he said something that I regarded as strange: “Even if I could not communicate with you directly, Susan— for any reason— you can trust that at all times I have full knowledge of the status of this project. And I expect you to complete it. Do you understand?”
In retrospect, I suspect that about this time, Dr. Fuisz got debriefed on the early war planning against Iraq—which he could not divulge to me under any circumstances. It got confusing on my end, for sure. But I don’t blame Dr. Fuisz. After 9/11, the spooks played at the top of their game. As long as they showed up in New York, I felt safe. Their appearance meant that my messages to Dr. Fuisz as to meeting times and locations made it up the chain. This was Iraq’s cooperation with U.S. anti-terrorism policy, after all, and resuming the weapons inspections. This was the hottest party in town. It’s incomprehensible that anybody would argue the Intelligence Community had no reason to track my engagements. That’s absurd. And wrong. They tracked it very heavily.
My pain was altogether different and private.
After 9/11, I was overwhelmed by “what ifs.” I recycled non-stop through my conversations with Dr. Fuisz in the summer of 2001. Many times I thought back to the day of FBI Director Robert Mueller’s nomination hearings on August 2, when Dr. Fuisz urged me not to go back to New York.
EXTREME PREJUDICE: The Terrifying Story of the Patriot Act and the Cover Ups of 9/11 and Iraq Page 21
