by Joby Warrick
Weeks later, Mike Hayden was officially out of a job. Newly elected President Barack Obama had opted for a fresh start by naming an old Washington hand, Leon Panetta, to run the CIA. Panetta had no significant intelligence experience but was a proven manager, having been chief of staff in the Clinton White House. One of his first decisions was to retain Hayden’s popular deputy, Steve Kappes, as the agency’s deputy director and to keep the agency’s entire counterterrorism team intact.
Hayden’s initial meeting with his successor was cordial, if occasionally awkward. Panetta had gotten off to a poor start inside the CIA by publicly criticizing the agency’s harsh treatment of al-Qaeda captives, some of whom had been locked in secret prisons and subjected to waterboarding, an interrogation tactic that mimics the sensation of drowning. Panetta testified in his confirmation hearing that he believed such techniques constituted torture, a criminal offense.
Hayden made a curt reference to the controversy. “You should never use ‘torture’ and ‘CIA’ in the same paragraph,” he advised dryly. But the retired general was mostly interested in talking about something else. Using notes he had written on an index card, he cautioned Panetta against being lulled into underestimating al-Qaeda. Although the terrorist group was being hammered in northwestern Pakistan by Predator strikes—a practice Obama had already heartily embraced—it remained capable of hitting Americans in ways that were both unexpected and potentially devastating. Just three months earlier, a Taliban-allied terrorist group from Pakistan had launched commando-style attacks on Mumbai, raking hotels, rail stations, and other buildings with automatic weapons and grenades, and killing more than 170 people.
Hayden now looked directly at Panetta. This was the important part.
“I don’t know if you understand this yet, but you are America’s combatant commander in the war against terrorism,” he said. More than the Pentagon, the FBI, or anyone else, Hayden continued, the CIA was responsible for hunting down terrorists in foreign countries and stopping them before they could strike. Other CIA directors had carried out similar missions in bygone years, but now the job was different: For the first time in the agency’s history, “stopping” the bad guys meant killing them.
“You will be making decisions,” Hayden said, “that will absolutely surprise you.”
Panetta listened politely, but Hayden’s final point struck him as a bit dramatic. At military posts, a change of command was often greeted with ceremonial flourish: boot clicks and salutes and theatrical rhetoric. It would be weeks before Panetta fully understood what Hayden meant.
On his way out, Hayden stopped by the White House for a final meeting with the newly elected president. In an Oval Office briefing with Barack Obama, the general mentioned a pair of targets the agency had been monitoring in northwestern Pakistan. Hayden had authorized a strike, and the agency’s team was waiting for the right moment, he told the president.
Later that morning, after the meeting had moved into the White House’s Situation Room, Hayden was asked about the Pakistani operation. What about those two targets?
Hayden made a quick call on his secure phone.
“Check,” he said, “and check.”
Hayden left the meeting a few minutes later amid appreciative smiles and handshakes.
They certainly seem supportive, he thought, appraising the young president and his security team with guarded approval.
He had officially passed the baton. Now it was their turn.
2.
HAUNTED
London—January 19, 2009
A winter squall was whipping through central London’s Grosvenor Square, scattering newspapers and tourists and pelting Franklin Roosevelt’s caped statue with sheets of rain. Jennifer Lynne Matthews peered from her office window into the thick weather, barely able to see.
It was another soggy Monday in London and the start of the final stretch of a nearly four-year stint as the CIA’s chief liaison on counterterrorism to Britain. Soon she would be on her way either back to Virginia or to an entirely different location—perhaps even Afghanistan—and the uncertainty was making her anxious. The morning’s cable traffic had brought unsettling news. The FBI was chasing a possible threat by Somali terrorists to blow up the inaugural parade for the newly elected president, Barack Obama, due to begin in less than twenty-four hours. In Afghanistan, insurgents had attempted an unusually sophisticated double suicide bombing just outside the CIA’s secret base near the city of Khost. First, a minivan was blown up at the front gate, killing and wounding mothers and young children who had been waiting in line to see the base doctor. As guards and troops rushed to help the wounded, a truck, sagging under the weight of a massive bomb, came barreling down the main highway. A few well-aimed gunshots by an Afghan soldier had killed the truck’s driver and averted a bigger disaster.
She studied the item, habitually fingering the thick shock of brown hair that spilled across her forehead. Was this the kind of place she wanted to be? Matthews was forty-four now but looked younger, her body lean from years of running and her angular features showing no trace of wrinkles. She was nowhere near retirement, but after two decades of CIA work, her career choices were becoming increasingly momentous. If nothing else, another overseas posting would mean a better pension when the time finally came.
Still. Afghanistan.
Matthews sat back in her chair and stared into the gloom outside her window. Office workers were slogging through the square with their umbrellas, and some of them would be heading to pubs later that day for celebrations marking the end of George W. Bush’s presidency. Glad though she was to see certain members of Bush’s security team leave town, Matthews would not be celebrating. She reserved great disdain for Bush’s former defense secretary, Donald Rumsfeld, one of a half dozen men she blamed for letting Osama bin Laden slip away when the CIA had had the terrorist in its crosshairs. But the prospect of an Obama presidency had been more unsettling to some of her former comrades in the agency’s Counterterrorism Center. Candidate Obama had condemned the agency’s past use of waterboarding and had even called it torture, suggesting that investigations, public hearings, and even criminal charges were on the agenda.
Matthews knew about waterboarding. She had spent weeks by the side of Abu Zubaida, the man who became renowned as the first high-value al-Qaeda prisoner to be subjected to the procedure, in a controversial, secret prison overseas. As one of the CIA’s leading al-Qaeda experts she had fed questions to the interrogators as they did their work. She had been pregnant at the time and became so sick afterward that her doctors worried about the health of her unborn baby.
But underlying her anxiety about the torture case was an even deeper secret, one that had gnawed at her for four years and followed her to London when she accepted the CIA’s liaison post in 2005. Thousands of miles from CIA headquarters, in the heart of one of the world’s great cities, she had plunged into her new role with an intensity that left her physically and emotionally spent, yet it was clear when a lawyer friend from the CIA General Counsel’s Office stopped by for a visit that the old pain still raged.
“I can’t get this thing out of my head,” she told him, fighting back tears. Matthews had gone over the details many times, with this friend and others. The lawyer offered reassurance but quickly concluded that it was hopeless. “She was haunted,” he later said.
The reasons for Matthews’s anguish were well known within the CIA, where roughly two dozen other officers carried the same burden. After the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks the CIA’s internal watchdog, the Office of the Inspector General, had launched a wide-ranging investigation into how the intelligence agency had failed to uncover the al-Qaeda plot to hijack four airliners and crash them into buildings. Other U.S. departments shared in what was arguably a government-wide failure, but the agency’s probe homed in on CIA missteps that had allowed two of the nineteen hijackers to enter the United States undetected.
Leading the probe was career CIA analyst John L. Helge
rson, a quietly amiable former college professor who surprised his peers by becoming one of the most aggressive and fiercely independent inspectors general in the agency’s history. Helgerson concluded that the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center had failed to respond to a series of cabled warnings in 2000 about two al-Qaeda operatives who later became part of the September 11 plot. The first warning came in January of that year, when the two operatives, Nawaf al-Hazmi and Khalid al-Mihdhar, were observed attending a meeting of suspected terrorists in Malaysia. Soon afterward the CIA learned that one of the men had obtained a U.S. visa, and the other had apparently already entered the United States. The cables were seen by as many as sixty CIA employees, yet the two operatives’ names were never passed along to the FBI, which might have assigned agents to track them down, or shared with the State Department, which could have flagged their names on its watch list. In theory, the arrest of either man could have led investigators to the other hijackers and the eventual unraveling of the 9/11 plot.
Helgerson’s report named individual managers who it said bore the greatest responsibility for failing to ensure that vital information was passed to the FBI. The report, never released in full, also recommended that some of the managers be reviewed for possible disciplinary action.
Jennifer Matthews was on that list.
The report ignited a furor at CIA headquarters as top agency officials pushed back sharply against Helgerson’s call for individual accountability. It was unfair, Helgerson’s critics argued, to tarnish a few managers for what had been a collective failure. The agency’s director at the time, Porter Goss, decided the matter by formally rejecting disciplinary reviews. He then ordered that Helgerson’s list of names remain classified.
From the reprieved officers came a collective sigh of relief. But Matthews would not be consoled. It galled her that she, one of a handful of dedicated al-Qaeda experts in the CIA before 2001, had been accused of failing to take al-Qaeda seriously. Matthews believed the opposite was true: She had been among the few who had recognized the threat posed by Osama bin Laden in the 1990s. Like others in the agency’s al-Qaeda unit, she faulted the country’s political leaders for missing numerous chances to kill or capture the Saudi terrorist.
It was abhorrent to Matthews that her name would be forever linked to one of the worst intelligence failures in U.S. history. The jagged sliver continued to bore into her psyche years later in London, long after public interest in the agency’s pre–September 11 failures had dried up.
As Matthews sat in her sparsely furnished office overlooking Grosvenor Square, she could see how it would all unfold. A leak that revealed her name as one of the culpable. A media flurry. A ruined career. And, most painful to contemplate, public disgrace.
“The worst part was that her children would know,” said the CIA lawyer who visited with her. “She would be indelibly tarnished, forever linked to the failures of September 11.”
London had served as a welcome respite for Matthews and her family, at a time when she really needed it. She had relished her long weekends and holidays traveling with the family around Europe. She savored repeat performances of her favorite musical, Les Miserables, on the London stage, and she bought cases of French wine to add to a growing collection back home. At work, Matthews was caught up in the investigations of several international terrorism plots, including the 2006 al-Qaeda plan to blow up commercial airliners using liquid explosives. British colleagues came to respect her knowledge of the subject matter and quickly adjusted to her take-no-prisoners style. “I could always tell which of my office mates had met with Jennifer on any day,” one British intelligence officer would later recall. “It was always the busiest person in the room.”
But now it was over, and Matthews was torn over what to do next. Most of the typical slots for someone with her background involved a desk somewhere back in Langley, an unappealing prospect for multiple reasons. Career-wise she was near the top of the government’s civilian pay scale, yet she lacked the experience in key areas necessary to make the jump into upper management, the so-called senior executive service, where minimum salaries start at $111,000 a year.
During trips to Washington she rode the elevator to the CIA’s seventh-floor administrative wing to seek advice. The guidance was consistent: There were gaps in Matthews’s résumé that had to be filled before she could advance. Matthews was already an experienced manager who had led ably in London and Langley. But in two decades of counterterrorism work, she had never served in Kabul or Baghdad, front-line posts that were central to the CIA’s core mission. If Matthews really wanted to move up, she had to go to war.
But not all war zone jobs were the same, she discovered. A stint in Baghdad’s Green Zone would mean three years of hard work away from family. But within the constellation of CIA facilities were a few dismal outposts where conditions were so harsh or so dangerous that a one-year assignment was considered equivalent to three years anywhere else.
A base chief’s slot was due to open up in the early fall in just such a place, Matthews was told. It was in the wilds of eastern Afghanistan not far from Tora Bora, in what historically had been considered one of the roughest locales in that most violent of countries. It also was next door to a pair of Pakistani provinces that were the heartland of the Taliban and the location of the last confirmed sighting of Osama bin Laden.
Matthews knew the place. It was called Khost.
Other officers already were vying for the position, but Matthews quickly claimed the inside track. Several of the CIA’s most senior officers supported her for the job, telling Matthews that her one-year stint would be as beneficial to the agency as it would be to her own career.
Some of her closest friends and mentors were divided on whether she was suited for such a position. Some worried that it was too much, too soon. Matthews had no experience in dealing with the security demands of living and traveling in a war zone. She also had little background in the science of running covert agents, a separate tradition within the spy agency with its own highly specialized training and skills. Much of the Pakistani work at Khost involved working with networks of undercover operatives.
Then there was the personality factor. CIA peers who worked with Matthews regularly knew her to be passionate and direct, but also impatient and stubborn.
“She didn’t take questions well, and she had no patience for people who didn’t know as much about a subject as she did,” recalled a former covert officer who met with her regularly at Langley. “She had this way of sighing audibly, as if to say, ‘I know this; why don’t you?’ ”
Yet it was hard to argue that she lacked experience. Matthews had helped run operations against al-Qaeda from Washington and London for nearly fifteen years, and her role in the CIA’s takedown of Abu Zubaida had been roundly praised. Matthews’s team had led the agency’s two-year search for al-Qaeda’s former logistics man, tracking him at last to a safe house in the Pakistani city of Faisalabad, where he was surrounded and captured by dozens of Pakistani commandos and CIA paramilitary officers.
Moreover, Matthews’s superiors saw in her exactly the qualities the agency needed in its escalating war against al-Qaeda: leadership skills, mental toughness, enthusiasm, ambition, and an unquestioned mastery of the subject matter. One of her bosses had a pet name for her: STRAC. It was an old Navy acronym that stood for “Standing Tall, Ready Around the Clock.” The CIA had big plans for Matthews, it was clear, and the point of sending her to Afghanistan was to help her gain the experience she needed. With the agency stretched thin by years of deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, it was getting harder to find willing volunteers whose job skills lined up perfectly with the opening. But in Matthews’s case, the candidate in question seemed to have the important ones, said a retired senior officer who weighed in on her professional appraisal.
“She was so smart and so careful,” the officer said. “The best people are simply the best people. An excellent case officer can also be an excellent analyst, and vice vers
a.”
Matthews, by all accounts, spent even less time worrying about her fitness for the job. Khost offered everything she was looking for: both a way to move up and a path to personal redemption. The mere fact that some were questioning her ability made her even more determined, friends said.
Matthews did finally seek the advice of one dissenter, a retired CIA officer whom she respected, someone who knew the bureaucracy well and was unfailingly blunt in his opinions. The two spent an afternoon together on his porch overlooking the Virginia foothills. Then they got on his computer to look at satellite images on Google Earth. In the photographs, the CIA base at Khost is clearly identifiable because it sits on an airfield with a packed-dirt runway, expanded by the Soviets in the 1980s to support bombing sorties against Afghan rebels dug in to the mountains. Just east of the base was the border crossing at Ghulam Khan, gateway to Pakistani strongholds controlled by notorious warlords and militants such as Jalaluddin Haqqani, Baitullah Mehsud, and perhaps bin Laden himself.
The retired officer attempted to distill his advice in a way that he hoped would penetrate Matthews’s reflexive defenses. For the CIA’s sake and for yours, he told her, Khost is the last place you should want to go.
“I understand the drive you’re feeling to go there,” the officer told her, according to his account of the conversation. “But you’re not thinking clearly. This is a paramilitary environment, and you have no experience with that.”
He ticked off a list of other concerns. Khost ran covert agents, something that Matthews knew little about. The drone strikes she helped orchestrate could kill innocent civilians and possibly expose her to legal jeopardy. Even her gender would work against her, he said, as Afghan tribesmen would be loath to negotiate as equals with a woman, particularly one wearing fatigue pants and a T-shirt.
Matthews’s eyes flashed at the suggestion that she as a woman would be at a disadvantage. The conversation became heated, and the more the two argued, the more adamant Matthews became.
