by Duane Evans
Jimmy and I looked at each other and then looked back at John. We shook our heads.
“Good. Get your visas and travel reservations lined up. We want you out there as soon as possible.”
“Roger,” Jimmy replied and we started for the door.
“One more thing.”
We stopped.
“I don’t expect to see you two back here anytime soon.”
Jimmy and I glanced at each other, and as we walked out of the office Jimmy turned to me and said in his folksy, southern way of speaking, “I do believe that was the shortest ‘frag’ order I ever did receive.”
Although John had not explicitly said it, his instruction to “get things going in the South,” referred to one thing: the capture of Kandahar, the crown jewel of the Taliban movement, and what would probably become al-Qa’ida’s last major sanctuary inside Afghanistan.
I don’t recall what, if anything, I said to Jimmy, but I do remember that I was satisfied. At last I had a mission, and it was a good one.
11
Pakistan on My Mind
It TOOK US A few days to get our visas and make travel arrangements. Meanwhile we had to purchase the gear we might need. Except for armored vests, CTC/SO didn’t have equipment to issue out, so instead officers were given an equipment and clothing list and provided a cash advance to make purchases. Finding all the items on the list in northern Virginia, particularly the clothes items, turned out to be a challenge. It seemed as if everyone in the U.S. government was out shopping for the same things. Trying to find a couple pair of heavy-duty cargo pants with a 34-inch waist or size 11 hiking boots proved almost impossible.
Although Jimmy and I were to focus on establishing operations in southern Afghanistan, because I was due to arrive in Pakistan soon, it looked like I might be in a position to meet with Pasha when he came out of Afghanistan. Discussions had continued at CTC/SO about possibly putting a CIA team in country to work with him. Since I was the officer who had re-recruited him and prepped him for his mission, I continued to be the logical choice to go in with him should the decision be made to do so. I had mixed feelings about this.
The idea of working with Pasha to try to detect al-Qa’ida moving into his home province in the rugged Hindu Kush would be a challenging and worthwhile endeavor, and on the practical side, the money I had spent on snow shoes and a sub-zero sleeping bag would not be wasted. But there was a stronger allure about the idea of working in southern Afghanistan. Unlike in the north where CIA had a still small but growing presence working with the Northern Alliance, operationally and tactically speaking, the South was a blank canvas waiting to be painted. There was no “Southern Alliance” that held territory or had an army with which we could join forces; the Taliban and al-Qa’ida were still in control there. Whatever we did in the South had to take into account those very different circumstances.
But those were challenges for the future. Before we could begin to tackle them, Jimmy and I first needed to get to Pakistan. Though I had previously served in the region, I had never been to Pakistan. I knew facts about the country and its government, but my personal experience related to Pakistan and its people was very limited. My closest experience and most memorable impression happened years earlier when I was in the Army. I was attending the Special Forces Officer Qualification course and had the opportunity to work with a Pakistani Army captain who was a member of my student team. He was in the course as part of a military services exchange program between the U.S. and Pakistan.
The captain was from a Pak commando regiment, and although the oldest soldier in the course, he consistently scored the highest physical fitness scores and always managed to be the first to finish our daunting obstacle course. From a physical fitness standpoint he was an animal, to be sure. However, his intellect and manners were also of the highest order, reminiscent of an Oxford-educated English gentleman, a comparison with which the captain’s accent aligned as well.
The captain and I were paired up throughout much of the training, so I got to know him fairly well—and in one instance almost too well. That incident occurred during a nighttime parachute jump into a national forest in North Carolina, which was the start of the course’s final exercise known as “Robin Sage.” The drop zone was tiny—“postage stamp” size, to put it in airborne vernacular, and it was going to be a challenge to hit it and avoid going into the unwelcoming branches that stretched up to us from the surrounding trees. We had exited the aircraft one after the other, but as my parachute deployed with a reassuring jolt, I realized that the Pak captain and I were very close to one another—dangerously close. The captain saw this as well, and we quickly steered away from each other to avoid our parachutes becoming entangled and collapsing. Safely separated, we turned our attention to reaching the unlit drop zone. As we floated through the moonless night above the trees, we suddenly found ourselves again coming toward one another, this time on a direct collision course. Fortunately, we just managed to avoid direct impact, but our parachute canopies, like the skirts of twirling dancers, brushed against one another as we passed by. Despite the dangerous distractions of our aerial ballet, we both made it to the drop zone unharmed. All but one of our remaining team members crashed into the trees, however, with the sounds of breaking branches shattering the silence of the night.
The scenario for the Robin Sage exercise was that our 12-man Special Forces A-team was jumping in “behind the lines” to link up with a guerrilla, or “G”, force. The team’s mission was to act as a force multiplier by training and advising the guerilla force on how to fight and defeat the conventional military forces of an authoritarian regime. It was during Robin Sage that I got to know the captain the best. At one point, he and I were teamed together to conduct a two-day reconnaissance of a guarded bridge that served as the target of the exercise. To be successful—and not be discovered by the bridge guard force—required great stealth and patience, and there was almost no talking between us as we scouted the bridge’s defenses during the days. However, at night we would quietly withdraw from the bridge and move deep into the woods to set up a primitive lean-to made of rain ponchos. We would roll out our sleeping bags under the shelter and try to get some rest. As we lay there listening to the sounds of the night, in a lowered voice the captain talked about his home and country. He was extremely proud of Pakistan and the Pakistani Army, telling tales of battles that had been fought in the many wars against India and the heroics performed by Pakistani soldiers. Despite the bloody history of conflict between India and Pakistan, the captain said he believed peace was possible one day, although it would be “a long time coming.”
As I thought about Jimmy’s and my upcoming trip to Pakistan, I remembered the captain and how impressed I was by him. I wondered how his Army career had turned out and what he thought of the current situation in Pakistan. His impression on me was so strong and lasting that some eight years later he would be the inspiration for the fictional character, Major Tarek Durrani, the protagonist in my novel North From Calcutta.
12
Saying Goodbye
Our FINAL PREPARATIONS FOR the trip to Pakistan included getting our shots updated and drawing body armor from CTC/SO. Between the body armor, sleeping bags, rucksacks, and clothing, to include cold weather gear, we had a lot of “stuff.” To transport it, I purchased a black waterproofed North Face wheeled duffle bag and managed to get most of the gear inside. The remaining items I packed into a large REI rucksack.
The last couple of days before leaving were a blur as Jimmy and I made our final preparations for deployment. During that time, however, a few events stood out. One occurred when I was catching an elevator to the 6th floor at Headquarters. When the doors opened, there stood George Tenet alone in the elevator, his trademark cigar sticking out of his coat pocket. I liked Tenet as a director. I believed he was the best director that I had served under, beginning with Bill Casey who was the director when I joined CIA. I had only met Tenet a couple times, most recently during a COS conference a year
earlier. I doubted he would remember me so I extended my hand and introduced myself. Shaking my hand and smiling, he asked where I was assigned. I told him CTC/SO and that I was headed out to Pakistan, hopefully en route to Afghanistan. As the elevator stopped at the 6th floor and I started to get off, a serious look crossed his face. Just before the doors closed he said, “Be careful out there. Don’t take any chances that you don’t have to.”
Another memorable event during that time was what was probably the most serious conversation I have ever had with my wife. We were still living at the Oakwood apartments while we waited for our household goods to arrive from overseas. One evening after work, we were strolling through an old cemetery behind the apartments reading the gravestones, some with dates from the 1700’s carved into them. I decided to tell her that I would be leaving very soon and I wanted her to understand why I had to do this. As I debated on how to bring it up, I realized that perhaps a cemetery was not the best venue for the conversation, and so I waited until we were walking down the sidewalk alongside a quiet residential street.
“It looks like I’ll be leaving in a few days and I think this time it’s for real. But I won’t be going to Afghanistan, at least not right away.”
She did not appear surprised. I had been trying to deploy for weeks, but I knew the word that I was finally leaving would hit her hard.
“Where are you going?”
“Pakistan.”
“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”
“No. I suspect at least a few months.”
There was a pause in the conversation as we continued to walk.
“I want you to know that I didn’t volunteer for this because I’m trying to get a promotion or that I’m trying to be a hero. I’m doing this because I have to. This is what I’m meant to do. I’ve known that from the moment of the 9/11 attacks.”
I had already come to terms with the possibility that I might not come back alive, although I didn’t tell her this. I had participated in some potentially deadly activities in my life, but the risks in those instances were relatively low, well calculated, and well understood. This time, though, there were simply too many unknowns to be able to evaluate what all the risks would be. It was really the first time I felt at a deep level that what I would be doing could cost me my life, and cost my family a husband and father. It would be a terrible price to pay. But each time I had considered the risks, I also remembered the thousands of Americans who had been murdered at the hands of al-Qa’ida. I also thought of the victims’ families and friends who had to endure the unimaginable pain of their loss. And was there any reason to believe it wouldn’t happen again? I certainly did not seek or want to die, but I knew if there was any cause that was worth dying for, this was it. I also knew that there were plenty of Americans who would have done anything to trade places with me, and I recognized what an honor and privilege I had been given to serve my country at this critical moment in history.
My wife did not really know or understand the full scope of what my work would entail, but she certainly knew some risk was involved. Still, after 23 years of marriage, she also knew me better than anyone.
“I know you have to do this,” she said, “And I understand why you’re doing it. Just be safe and come back home to me as soon as you can.”
“I will. I promise you I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
That conversation was my way of making peace with her. If I were killed she would know that at that moment in time, there was nothing more important to me and that I had believed in what I was doing with all my heart. I have no doubt, particularly in those early days with the horror of 9/11 still present in everyone’s mind, that every member of the small group of Americans, both CIA and military, who found their way to Afghanistan went there with the exact same belief and feelings that I had.
PART TWO
PAKISTAN
13
Islamabad
Jimmy AND I DEPARTED for Dulles Airport directly from Headquarters in an Agency motor pool van late one October afternoon. The trees along the Dulles Access Road glowed in shades of gold and red as the sunlight washed through them, and I felt a tug of regret that this would likely be my last look—for this year at least—at the glorious crescendo of autumn color. Like the taste of a great wine, I tried to savor it for as long as I could.
At the airport I turned my attention to the reality of the trip at hand, and Jimmy and I began the routine for boarding an international flight. Not surprisingly, when we checked in at the counter our duffle bags and rucksacks were considerably over the weight allowance, and each of us paid close to a thousand dollars in excess baggage fees.
We boarded an overnight flight to Paris, arriving at Charles De Gaulle Airport in the early morning just after dawn. Our connecting flight to Islamabad did not leave until later that afternoon, and I wasn’t looking forward to the long layover. As it turned out it wasn’t so bad. Jimmy and I were unexpectedly directed to a small room inside the transit lounge. It had a couple of couches, and since we had the place to ourselves, we decided to stretch out and catch up on some sleep. We never knew why we were given this special treatment by the French. It may have had something to do with our unusual check-in luggage, which included holsters, two bullet-proof vests, GPS’s, knives, and an assortment of outdoor gear. Whether the reason for the special treatment had to do with a desire to keep us isolated out of security concerns or not, we appreciated the privacy all the same.
Late that afternoon we boarded a British Air flight to Islamabad, arriving there after dark. A station representative expedited our processing through Pakistani Customs and Immigrations, and we went directly to a modest hotel in an out-of-the-way part of town. The next morning, very much jet-lagged, we reported to the station.
Our first stop was with the Deputy Chief of Station, or DCOS, whom I knew but had never worked with. The meeting did not go well. It quickly became apparent that Jimmy and I, as members of CTC/SO, represented the enemy in the DCOS’s eyes. This was not completely unexpected. Anyone who had read the cable traffic between the station and CTC/SO over the previous weeks could pick up on the friction and tension that existed. Tension between Headquarters and a field station is not that unusual even in routine operational matters, and can even have some positive benefits, a check-and-balance system so to speak. But in this case, the CT effort we were engaged in was not routine. The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that up until the 9/11 attacks, because there was no CIA station in Afghanistan, the station in Pakistan served as the de facto station-in-exile for Afghanistan. That meant Islamabad station had taken primacy on all things Afghan. With the creation of CTC/SO, the station’s role in relation to Afghanistan had changed from being the lead player to a supporter, albeit a critical one, given its regional location and its resident expertise on the country. To hear the DCOS talk, however, it was as if nothing had changed. He reacted as if CTC/SO was just another Headquarters element, and Jimmy and I were just two more TDY’ers sent out to support the station.
After listening to what Station wanted to do—or at least what the DCOS wanted to do—which varied significantly from what CTC/SO envisioned for the future, I sketched out CTC/SO’s plan for the way ahead in southern Afghanistan. The central tenet of the plan being to put CIA teams on the ground in support of as-yet-to-be selected Pashtun tribal leaders willing to take on the Taliban and al-Qa’ida in their own backyard. This plan was not unknown to Station as it had been communicated and discussed in cable traffic at some length. Still, it conflicted with Station’s approach. Its management believed that ongoing efforts to negotiate with key members of the Taliban government to give up al-Qa’ida members in Afghanistan could still bear fruit.
“Station calls the shots on Afghanistan, and we’re not ready to endorse this strategy,” was the essence of the DCOS’s response.
“Even if you don’t endorse it, you need to support it. CTC/SO is responsible for CIA’s effort in Afghanistan, and it wants to mo
ve forward in the South as quickly as possible. Station’s support is essential to this,” was the essence of my rejoinder.
“No one told me SO is in charge,” the DCOS said, a defiant look on his face.
I found it hard to believe that he really did not understand that SO was in charge of the Afghanistan initiative, but I took him at his word.
“Then I’m telling you. CTC/SO is responsible for directing all CIA activities in Afghanistan. Everyone recognizes the key role this station has to play in the effort but SO is in charge, not the station.”
It was an uncomfortable moment and I thought it entirely possible that Jimmy and I would be on our way home the next day.
Fortunately, we weren’t sent home, and a few days later, the COS called us into his office. Since our arrival, we had not seen much of him as he was a busy man, frequently in meetings, including meetings with the U.S. Ambassador, Pakistani President Musharraf, and the leadership of the Inter-Services Intelligence Directorate (ISI), Pakistan’s premiere intelligence service. My face-to-face impression of the COS matched with what I had previously heard: he was a serious-minded, smart guy who knew his stuff. After seating ourselves, the COS looked up from the cable he was reading.
“Headquarters has decided to support Hamid Karzai with an agency team. You two, along with our officer, Greg, as the team leader, will form the advance element of Echo Team. We’re making arrangements to get you down to a Pak airbase in Jacobabad ASAP to link up with the U.S. Air Force Special Ops Wing. They’ll be supporting your infiltration into Afghanistan. A paramilitary team out of Washington will join you there in a few days and bring the gear and weapons you’ll need.”
The COS didn’t need to explain who Hamid Karzai was. A respected anti-Taliban Pashtun leader, Karzai was now inside Afghanistan trying to foment a rebellion against the tyrannical regime.
