Worthy Fights: A Memoir of Leadership in War and Peace

by Leon Panetta

  All that took less than half an hour, and at 6:20 p.m. McRaven declared that there was a “high probability” that it was bin Laden. The DNA samples from the corpse later would establish beyond any doubt that we had in fact killed Osama bin Laden.

  We closed up the link to Afghanistan, and Jeremy and I hopped into one of the CIA’s SUVs and rode from Langley to the White House. The sun was setting, and it strobed through the trees as we made our way down the parkway. Washington was quiet. It was a Sunday evening, May Day 2011. Usually a trip to the White House was a last-minute opportunity to make sure we had our facts and issues in order; we would tick off items, shuffle through papers. Today we rode in silence.

  When we arrived, Mike Morell joined me in the Situation Room, where the president was already meeting with his team. As Mike and I entered, the others looked up and extended their congratulations. “Great job,” the president said. “Everyone at the CIA who worked on this deserves the nation’s thanks.” It was a special moment for me and the CIA—nothing makes a fight more worthy than the joy of winning.

  The topic of discussion when I arrived was how, when, or even whether to announce what we had just done. We proceeded with the plan to conduct a burial at sea, so the body was transported by marines flying an Osprey to a waiting aircraft carrier, the USS Carl Vinson.

  Bin Laden’s body was prepared for burial according to Muslim traditions, draped in a white shroud, given final prayers in Arabic, and then placed inside a heavy black bag. Three hundred pounds of iron chains were put inside as well, to ensure that the body would sink. The bagged body was placed on a white table at the rail of the ship; the table was tipped over to drop the body into the sea. It was so heavy that it dragged the table in with it. As the body sank quickly out of sight, the table bobbed on the surface.

  At the White House, President Obama’s initial impulse was to say nothing for the moment. He was acutely conscious that if we announced this to the world, we could not be wrong. We should wait for the DNA analysis, he suggested. That struck me as sound reasoning, but probably unrealistic. “This is going to come out,” I interjected. We’d set off explosives, fired lots of shots, and left a burning helicopter in a suburban neighborhood a mile or two from Pakistan’s West Point. It seemed to me unlikely that this secret was going to hold very long.

  Obama acknowledged that I had a point there, and my standing was pretty high at just that moment. “Today, anything you say I’m prone to agree with,” he said, chuckling. He quickly turned serious again, and added, “But we have to get this right. I want us to have thought through everything.”

  Gates, Clinton, and McDonough argued that the president, having made the courageous call to approve the operation, should be the one to announce it. The president continued to mull his options, wanting to make sure we handled this correctly with Pakistan while also holding back until we were absolutely sure it was bin Laden whom our forces had killed.

  The meeting was about to adjourn so that Admiral Mullen could call his counterpart, General Kayani, in Pakistan. As we were breaking up, Jeremy entered the room carrying the report of the facial recognition analysis. It was built on points of comparison developed by the agency’s technical experts—details such as a facial mole, the curvature of his ear, the space between his eyes, the shape of his earlobe. Every one matched. “We got him,” the president said. He struck me in that moment as deeply satisfied but in no sense joyous and not yet convinced he should announce it to the world.

  Mullen enjoyed a strong personal bond with Kayani, though one that had already been tested that year with the Ray Davis matter. With Undersecretary of Defense for Policy Michèle Flournoy listening in and taking notes, Mullen placed the call and informed Kayani that we had conducted a covert operation against bin Laden. “It is very good that you arrested him,” Kayani responded. “He’s dead,” Mullen said. That seemed to take Kayani aback, as did the information that bin Laden had been living in the compound for five years. Somewhat to our surprise, Kayani responded by asking us to make the announcement, figuring that at least that would leave ambiguous the question of Pakistan’s participation in the raid.

  After that call, we reassembled in the Situation Room and reviewed what we knew. The president was now convinced. “We shoot for tonight,” he said, regarding the plan for announcing the action. “Let’s have a draft within an hour.”

  Obama then called Pakistani president Zadari and Afghan president Karzai, and I made a similar call to Pasha. He had just heard of the raid, and his response to me was largely one of resignation. I told him that we had made the deliberate decision to exclude him and his agency from our planning, and hoped that it would relieve them of any blowback from having cooperated. He wearily replied that “there’s not much to say. I’m glad you got bin Laden.” I reminded him that two American presidents had vowed to take this action unilaterally if we had the chance; he acknowledged that, again with more resignation than anger. Our friendship would never recover, and relations between our countries were undeniably strained, but it was a price we had to pay for an action we had to take.

  I called home to share the news with Sylvia, and we enjoyed a quiet moment of reflection, reminding each other of all the work that had brought us to this point in our lives and the nation’s history. I couldn’t stay on long, but I suggested that she call Ted Balestreri, tell him to watch TV, and let him know that he owed me a bottle of wine. After we hung up, Sylvia tracked down Ted at his club, where he was finishing dinner. She reminded him of his New Year’s offer.

  “Turn on CNN,” she instructed him. “And get the wine opener ready.”

  His response: “The son of a bitch set me up.”

  Shortly after 11:30 p.m., President Obama addressed the nation and announced what we had done. He mentioned me by name, which I found overwhelming, and poignantly acknowledged the work of our intelligence and counterterrorism officers, which was wonderfully deserved. And his reflection on this moment as a pivotal episode in a long and devastating war perfectly captured the sentiments of me and my colleagues as we watched from the East Room:

  The American people did not choose this fight. It came to our shores, and started with the senseless slaughter of our citizens. After nearly ten years of service, struggle, and sacrifice, we know well the costs of war. These efforts weigh on me every time I, as commander in chief, have to sign a letter to a family that has lost a loved one, or look into the eyes of a service member who’s been gravely wounded.

  So Americans understand the costs of war. Yet as a country, we will never tolerate our security being threatened, nor stand idly by when our people have been killed. We will be relentless in defense of our citizens and our friends and allies. We will be true to the values that make us who we are. And on nights like this one, we can say to those families who have lost loved ones to Al Qaeda’s terror: Justice has been done.

  Tonight we give thanks to the countless intelligence and counterterrorism professionals who’ve worked tirelessly to achieve this outcome. The American people do not see their work, nor know their names, but tonight they feel the satisfaction of their work and the result of their pursuit of justice.3

  I congratulated the president on his speech. George Little took me to Jay Carney’s office, and we conducted a conference call with reporters to share what information we could. Then Mike Morell, Jeremy, and I left the White House. As we crossed the lawn to our car, I could hear the crowds outside the gate. They were chanting, “U.S.A., U.S.A., CIA, CIA.” It was the proudest moment of my professional life.

  I called an all-hands meeting of CIA employees the next day, and hundreds gathered in the Bubble, as we called the auditorium that sits just outside the main entrance to the headquarters. As I stood up to speak, officers were laughing, cheering, and applauding. “What the hell are you all excited about?” I asked, to roars of more laughter. “What a great day.”

  Everyone there, I noted, shared in th
is victory, one that would “go down in history as one of our greatest achievements.” I mentioned the chants that I had heard as I left the White House the night before and noted that they were “for every officer who has ever worked in a war zone. They were for every officer who ever helped thwart an Al Qaeda attack, whether it’s Europe or Africa or South Asia, the Middle East or here at home.”

  After describing the evidence that led us to bin Laden’s compound, I acknowledged that we had launched our mission without knowing with complete certainty who we would find inside. “Yes, it’s dicey,” I said, recounting the deliberations with the president and his team, “yes, there are risks, and yes, you don’t know how this is all going to work out. But the bottom line was that we thought we had an obligation to act.”

  Finally, I read to them one of the many e-mails and messages we had received since word of bin Laden’s death had rocketed around the world. “I am an Australian citizen who lived in New York City from 1997 to the end of 2000,” one correspondent wrote. “I worked at Deutsche Bank in midtown. The guy who sat behind me . . . died in the South Tower on 9/11. From the bottom of my heart, thank you . . . just THANK YOU . . . I have closure.” My colleagues erupted in applause. They had done their jobs.

  Over the next few days, we tidied up the loose ends of our operation. McRaven and I briefed the Hill. One memorable moment from those sessions came in response to a question from Senator Bill Nelson. “What in the training of those SEALs taught them to push these two young girls aside?” Nelson asked of the team member who put the children into a safe room during the raid.

  “Senator,” McRaven responded, his voice trembling with emotion, “these are Navy SEALs, but first they are people. They are people who value life. They have wives, kids, mothers, and fathers. That’s what taught them.”

  The team had seized four weapons in the assault, and now I had to dispose of them. I gave bin Laden’s AK-47 to the CIA Museum, where it is today, and presented a second AK-47 to the SEAL team (they, in turn, brought me a brick from the compound; it sits in a glass case outside my office in Monterey). The last two were pistols, and I sent one to the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center and one to the Pentagon.*

  The two shots that ended bin Laden’s life did not vanquish the threat of terrorism or even Al Qaeda. They did not ensure this country’s safety. Nothing can. But they denied Al Qaeda its founder, its functional leader, and its mythological figurehead. More important, his death proved that America was resolute. It took years of work and a brave call by the president of the United States. But the end of bin Laden firmly proclaimed that no matter how long it takes or how much risk is involved, this country will not let others do violence to us without repercussions. To the victims of 9/11, the victims of Khost, the victims of terrorism anywhere, we proved that we will fight until justice is done.

  FOURTEEN

  “To Be Free, We Must Also Be Secure”

  President Obama’s decision to nominate me to the CIA was the single most surprising appointment I received during my years in government, but his suggestion to move me over to the Department of Defense was a close second. The first hint I had of it came in late 2010 at the conclusion of one of the periodic meetings of our intelligence team. They generally occurred, as this one did, in Bob Gates’s Pentagon office, and featured the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the director of national intelligence, myself, and a few other representatives of the intelligence agencies. We sat at a large rectangular table in Gates’s enormous office—Eisenhower used to point out that his Pentagon office was larger than his boyhood home—and shared our work, trying to avoid duplication between the Pentagon and the CIA and figuring out ways to extend the reach and sophistication of our agencies.

  This time, Bob asked me to stay for a minute as we all got up to leave. Curious, I sat back down and waited. Once the others were gone, Bob returned to the table.

  “Leon,” he said, “I’m about ready to go, and I just want you to know that I’m going to recommend you to succeed me.”*

  I was unsurprised at the first part. Bob had already stayed beyond the year that he had promised Obama, and I knew he was ready to leave. The second half, however, floored me.

  “Bob, at some point, I gotta go,” I said. I’d promised Sylvia and the institute that I would not stay in Washington beyond four years, and I didn’t think it was right for the president to name one secretary to replace Gates and then have to turn right around and name another two years later if he was reelected. I shared those reservations with Bob.

  “I don’t agree with that,” Gates responded. “You are the one person around here who understands loyalty and support for the troops.” My budget experience would also be valuable, he added, as the pressure for cuts was mounting.

  It was my turn to disagree. “I’m sure there are others out there,” I said. “And I’m not sure this is the right thing for me.”

  After leaving him that day, I told Sylvia and Jeremy, but then didn’t think much more about it. I was plunged back into the details of the bin Laden planning, which picked up steam in early 2011. But the White House kept poking at the idea. Bill Daley, who succeeded Rahm Emanuel as chief of staff, insisted that I should take it and that no one else could do the job. That was ridiculous and I told him so, specifically suggesting that they call Colin Powell and interview him for the position. I did agree, however, that if they couldn’t find anyone else suitable, I’d be willing to consider it.

  That was the last I heard of it until I arrived for a meeting with Joe Biden in the early spring of 2011. I visited him at the White House, and we sat down for what I thought would be one of our regular catch-up sessions. Instead, he came at me regarding the Defense job. He insisted I was right for it, that it would make the transition smoother to replace Gates with an existing member of the national security team, that it would represent the capstone of my career.

  As we batted the idea back and forth, I asked who might replace me at CIA. Biden told me they were looking at David Petraeus. That gave me pause. I had worked well with David, but worried more than a bit about whether a four-star general—who was so used to entourages and perquisites and a strict chain of command—could bond effectively with the agency staff, who it seemed to me thrived in a more casual and freewheeling and less hierarchical environment. The agency’s senior officers were sensitive to manipulation—they weren’t spies for nothing—and if they sensed that Petraeus was there to advance his standing or agenda, not theirs, they’d have a tough time adjusting. I tried to raise my concerns gingerly.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked. Biden did not answer. I suspect that the White House shared at least some of my apprehension about Petraeus; he and the president had danced around each other during the Afghan surge debate. But my guess is that Obama’s advisers were taken with the idea of moving the general to the CIA in part for political reasons: Placing him atop the agency almost certainly would distract him, at least for a while, from the presidential ambitions he was believed to harbor. And of course, he was qualified and had the stature for the post.

  As for me, I was convinced that the president would eventually find someone else to replace Gates, and I openly downplayed speculation that I would get the job. Mike Morell told me one day that he’d heard a rumor I was being considered. I acknowledged that I’d talked it over with the White House, but I insisted to him that I was staying. He seemed relieved. Meanwhile, Gates’s chief of staff, Robert Rangel, made clear to Jeremy that Bob was pushing for me, undeterred by my ambivalence. A few days later, when press reports began to suggest that I was a candidate, I announced in our CIA morning staff meeting that I did not expect to be offered the post, and intended to turn it down if I was.

  For the moment, that settled it. I flew home for Easter weekend on Friday, April 22, staying in touch with the office regarding our surveillance of the compound in Abbottabad. McRaven’s forces were setting up at the base in eastern Afgh
anistan, and all was proceeding according to the plan.

  On Sunday, April 24, I was flying from Monterey to D.C. when the phone rang in the plane. That didn’t happen very often. The communications specialist on board quickly grabbed it and handed it to me. It was the White House Situation Room, and the president was trying to hunt me down. We were on an open, unclassified line, so we didn’t discuss the planning of the mission; instead, he turned straightaway to the Defense job. He told me what I already knew—that Bob was leaving and that he wanted me to consider the post. He didn’t press me hard to say yes right away—that’s not Obama’s style—but he made clear that his expectation was that I would come around. I told him I thought there were others who could do the job, and that in any event I needed a day or two to talk to Sylvia and make a considered decision. Although technically I didn’t accept anything, I hung up thinking that the president believed he had secured my agreement to join his cabinet as secretary of defense.

  Back in the office on Monday, I pulled in Jeremy to seek his advice. He suggested that before I formally accepted, I should lay down some conditions, which I jotted down on a notecard. First, I should have the same access to the president that Gates had, including a weekly private meeting. Second, I should have the authority to pick my own team, including my own deputy secretary and chief of staff, and to make whatever military personnel changes I thought were necessary. Third, I needed to be involved in every decision about the military or the deployment of military forces. (This should have been unnecessary, but Bob had often complained about what he regarded as meddling from the White House, and I wanted to be sure not to replicate those frictions.) Finally, and perhaps most important because of the long separations, I needed to be able to go home on a regular basis. That had been my practice during most of my time in Washington—the only exception being my years as Clinton’s chief of staff, when Sylvia joined me—though the reasons for it had changed a bit over time. When I was in Congress, I considered it important for my constituents that I be in regular contact with the district and its issues. In the executive branch, it was important for my sanity—it kept me grounded in real life and connected to my family. Without those trips, I could not have functioned effectively.