Licensed to Kill (9 page)

For now, though, covert operations continue and task force looks for excuses to cross the border, the Contractor says. An American civilian operating inside Pakistan could need help, which gives the U.S. military a reason to cross the border in support, hot pursuit, or just to call in mortar and air fire on nebulous “bad guys.” But until they do, the shadow war depends on men, like the Contractor, willing to work and fight in a no-man's land just beyond the reach of U.S. power. I ask him if there's an extraction plan if a mission in Pakistan gets messy. “The extraction plan is that once you are across the border, you are on your own. There is no uplift. You are screwed if things go wrong.” But that vulnerability is essential to the role of a contractor. “You are not in the federal system or in the military system,” he says. “You are deniable, disposable, and deletable.”

That independence—and the secrecy that goes with it—is part of the Contractor's code. And, as far as he is concerned, it should remain inviolate even in death. “When we get killed, it's usually because we fucked up,” he says. “We lost two guys, set up and ambushed. We lost a case officer in a training accident. That, along with [Johnny Micheal] Spann getting killed in the middle of an interrogation, adds up to four CIA operators killed in this war.” Traditionally, the CIA does not disclose an operative's identity, even if he is killed. But in Spann's case, the Agency decided that his anonymous star would be going on the Wall of Honor at a time when the Agency desperately needed a publicly identifiable hero. “That's a decision that has been made since September 11 to polish up the CIA's image. You can't shit on a dead hero, so I think the number-two guy at the Agency has decided to grab some glory to counteract all the Agency fuckups since the Bay of Pigs…. Tenet got hammered because of 9/11 and wanted to show that we are still working, to show that we are putting out an effort. The problem is that fucks the rest of the guys and their families because this leaves the wives and families dangling in the wind, and you have more tradecraft exposed…. I don't know why we have to be the poster boys to fix the CIA's reputation.”

Revealing Spann's name made him a hero, but it also exposed his wife, which blew her cover and publicly identified his children as the offspring of two covert officers. When I thought about it later, I understood that the Contractor saw this public celebration of his private tradecraft as a violation of his own tribe's code. The Contractor's willingness to talk to me seemed to be driven by his anger over seeing that code of secrecy begin to crumble. The independent contractors he works with in the covert world of OGA assignments signed on for the job because they could be assured their exploits and identities would be kept under the radar, if for no other reason than for the protection of their families. But now it seems the CIA is willing to sacrifice that commitment to its operators in order to grab a little glory.

The Contractor asked me to leave him off a short distance from his base. He didn't want to have to explain what he was doing driving around in Taliban territory. I said good-bye to the Contractor near his little mud fort at the edge of the empire and carried on in my little yellow-and-white taxi.

CHAPTER 3

         

The Praetorian Guard

“At the end, we all knew there might be a conflict of interest.”

—C
ONTRACTOR WORKING
A
RISTIDE'S PERSONAL
SECURITY DETAIL DURING HIS DOWNFALL

The fall of the Taliban did not guarantee American forces a respite from random violence, ambushes, and daily attacks by bombs and rockets. In the new Afghan reality, the number-one target is Hamid Karzai. Karzai is a Westernized “moderate” Pashtun with a noble lineage and diplomatic skills who speaks fluent English along with four other languages. He was an easy choice for the United States to support as leader, but any Afghan who dared to align himself with America became a target of not only the Taliban, but also disgruntled warlords like Gulbuddin Hekmatyar. Afghanistan has a long history of using assassination to change the course of their nation, so a future attempt on Karzai's life seemed a near certainty.

The U.S. government originally began training a team of Afghan bodyguards to protect Karzai but soon recognized the unreliability of the custom-made palace guard. It seemed no amount of training would make the Afghans an effective security force, and the indigenous detail remained vulnerable to infiltration. Other Afghan leaders, like General Rashid Dostum or Ismail Khan, had trusted contingents of hardened fighting men who had fought with them for decades, some having endured prison time and great hardship in the service of their leaders. Karzai had little military experience and no trusted men who could be counted on to take a bullet for him, if necessary. Karzai called the State Department and begged for a security detail.

Dictators avoid ethnic or tribal intrigue by hiring professional mercenaries as palace guards. For example, the Saudi royal family hires ex–Delta and Special Forces independent contractors for their protection. However, it is unusual in modern times for one country to contract and pay for the only protection for a foreign leader (although at one time the State Department managed the security of Haiti's Jean-Bertrand Aristide, before handing it off to a private firm).

As an interim measure before a long-term solution could be formulated, the assignment went to JSOC (Joint Special Operations Command), who assigned a detail from SEAL Team 6, the covert antiterrorism group. Better known as DEVGRU, for Development Group, SEAL Team 6 is the naval equivalent of Delta Force. As one of its specialties, DEVGRU provides personal security for high-ranking military in high-risk environments. The SEALs deployed on June 2, 2002, and their security detail was in place by the fifteenth of that month. This particular team was scheduled for a six-month rotation, to end on December 15.

The SEALs shadowed Karzai much like special operations groups guard U.S. generals and admirals when they visit Afghanistan. The show of force that followed Karzai around may have given the impression of tight security, but it wouldn't be long before an enemy of the new Afghan government would exploit a critical vulnerability to take a shot at the president. While using an American detail may have removed the threat of infiltrators from Karzai's immediate protective force, it did nothing to prevent the same in the security forces of other Afghan leaders.

On September 5, 2002, Karzai traveled to his hometown of Kandahar to attend his younger brother's wedding. After evening prayers, Karzai was leaving the governor's compound in his black American-made SUV when an uniformed member of the palace guard, who had just been hired seventeen days earlier, fired four to eight shots at Karzai with a Makarov pistol. Flying bullets barely missed Karzai, instead hitting Governor Gul Sherzai in the neck. When the assassin fired the first shots, a twenty-three-year-old shopkeeper leapt, pulling him to the ground to wrestle the gun away. A young boy also moved in to help. The SEALs, trained to kill at close quarters, began shooting in the direction of the assassin and killed all three Afghans. Although there was only one assassin, the young boy and shopkeeper were killed for their well-intentioned, if amateur, attempts to save Karzai. The bloody event hit the news and instantly communicated a message that the U.S. military protected Karzai and dealt out violence without regard to the innocent or guilty. The fallout from the incident made it an even greater imperative to devise a new answer for Karzai's protection problem. Luckily, Craige “Mad Max” Maxim had already been working on replacements.

Maxim, a white-haired, compact man in his midfifties, has thirty years in the army, with twenty of those years in Delta. Oakley sunglasses usually mask his no-nonsense facial expression. Craige headed Delta's training program and gained fame in the service for running high-risk PSDs to protect generals and dignitaries in war zones or other areas with a high likelihood of attack. He is up front about his motivations for getting back into the business as an independent contractor after retiring from Delta: “I missed the action. It was my way of doing something after September eleven. It became personal.”

Most agreed that the emergency deployment of SEAL Team 6 was overkill and expensive, but the importance of Karzai's survival to U.S. national interests made even extraordinary measures necessary. Using the SEALs bought time until a long-term solution could be devised, which is what Craige had in mind when he pitched the idea to the State Department of recruiting a detail of independent contractors to keep Karzai alive. He had the contacts and experience, and said he could have a crew of three dozen American bodyguards up and running in sixty days.

“I said if I was able to select, hire, and fire, I would take the job. I made a list of how many weapons we needed, what kind, and we had to coordinate that with State. It had to be sanctioned by the DoS, and they were in way over their head.” So the State Department supported Craige's idea and added the plan to an existing DynCorp contract, making Maxim and his men subcontractors to DynCorp. “DynCorp already was doing State Department security contracts in Jerusalem and Bosnia, and they had $50 million left over on their contract, so they just shoehorned the Karzai job on their contract.” Although some Afghans would be integrated into the Karzai Protection Detail, or “KPD” as it was called, it would remain a foreign-manned and funded detail paid out as a private contract to DynCorp.

Using private contractors could contribute to a slightly more positive public perception than having Karzai constantly accompanied by members of the U.S. military, which only added to the impression that he was an American puppet. Also, if any unfortunate incident occurred, the blame could be shifted away from the American government and military to the provider of services. Further, the contractors' training could be tailored for the special situation in which they would be expected to work, something that Maxim believed could prevent a controversial tragedy such as what occurred in the Kandahar incident. “I have a love-hate relationship with the SEALs. They do things differently. For example, the AIC's [agent in charge] job is to cover and evacuate. You can't do that if you are carrying a long gun. I will just say that the events that transpired were directly related to the SEAL mind-set.”

Craige and his advance team spent time in Kabul in July of 2002 doing the initial vulnerability assessment. Craige then spent July and August recruiting. By September 8, he had thirty-nine contractors lined up for the Karzai protection detail, and he continued adding to that as he could. “What we did was spend a lot of money to hire the right people. We hired the kind of people whose safety is between the trigger finger and the brain. People who can read the situation—color, contrast, movement, stuff you either understand or you don't. A good seventy percent of my team were ‘white side' SEALs. Forty-six was the total number we ended up with. When I hire a team, it's all about attitude and tactical sensing. That's something you get with experience. Combat veterans have it, but so do cops.” State initially requested that all security details be made up of former SF, but Maxim insisted that former police officers would also have the skills necessary for the job. Given the limited recruiting pool of former SF and the ballooning demand for such security details, the concession was an important one.

Craige recruited his Karzai team before the Iraq war, and thus prior to the massive explosion in demand for private security services, so he envisions a day when it won't be so simple to assemble a team of experienced professionals for such an important assignment. “At some point, we are going to have to train people from scratch…. We know that the tier-one people are going to be tapped out. It takes ten years to become a professional, ten minutes to dress like one, and ten seconds to talk like one.”

A high-risk personal security detail goes to a much greater measure of protection than the standard variety, and operators must be highly trained to anticipate and respond to a virtually unlimited variety of attacks. Craige points out, “There is a big difference between high-risk protection and the kind of protection that the Secret Service provides. The Secret Service and State Department provide executive protection typically in a nonhostile environment. We add to that because of the threats where we work. They provide a two-car motorcade. If it's a high threat, we roll a lot harder. We make sure we have enough spank to get the job done.”

When on duty guarding the “principal,” or protected individual, an operator must be completely attuned to the possibility of danger behind every car or around every corner, without allowing paranoia to spark overreaction to nonthreats. It's difficult to estimate how many individuals actively seek the assassination of Karzai, but since one lucky bullet could end America's plan for Afghanistan, the State Department was taking no chances. Snipers, sniffing dogs, fortified checkpoints, and many other military elements were combined to create a small armed force similar to the Swiss Guard that protects the Pope.

Craige views the business of PSDs as a cat-and-mouse game—a game he has yet to lose. He also knows that as the protection around the principal increases, so does the level of threat. “When we first arrived, the Taliban were doing ‘dog' hits… putting out objects with explosive residue on them to see if we would stop. They used a double-layer toolbox once and had a surgical glove with explosives residue just to see if we would find it. The enemy learns and adapts.” Not long after the new DynCorp security detail arrived, massive bomb blasts and even surface-to-air missiles would be targeted at Karzai.

Conditions were not ideal. Maxim refused to let his people use the building set aside for their housing because of security issues. The assigned house was abandoned in favor of a hastily constructed “Camp Aegis,” a cluster of tents erected a hundred yards away from where Karzai slept. Maxim's team moved into Camp Aegis on December 15, 2002.

Craige delivered his team on schedule, and Karzai stayed alive during his time on watch, but the deal would come crashing down when DynCorp's management style clashed with Maxim's understanding of their business arrangements. Craige is blunt about what happened: “DynCorp fucked with us on our benefits, mostly holiday pay, so we walked as a group when our ninety days was up.” The experience left a bitter taste in Mad Max's mouth. Faced with the mutiny of Karzai's entire PSD deciding not to renew their contracts, DynCorp had to scramble to replace the entire team, or risk leaving an important client completely exposed.

When Craige Maxim and his team walked on DynCorp, it was not reported or known to the outside world that Karzai's life could be dependent, not on national security or patriotic loyalty, but on a dispute over holiday pay. For DynCorp, losing a few million dollars on a contract that does not affect the core business does not have much effect, though not being able to deliver on the Karzai detail could risk endangering other government contracts. At the time of the Karzai contract, 95 percent of DynCorp's $2-billion company and 23,000 employees worked on U.S. government business. Much of the personal security work that DynCorp won before September 11 has been subcontracted to aggressive new companies like Blackwater and Triple Canopy.

In DynCorp's scramble to replace Karzai's security detail, Pete Walther, an ex–Special Forces weapons sergeant from South Dakota, signed on with four dozen other ex-police and -military for two back-to-back six-month contracts.

Square-jawed and built low, Pete resembles a real-life white-skinned version of the Incredible Hulk. In his early thirties, he originally hails from the Midwest and spent over a decade in the Special Forces as weapons specialist. He had been in ODA 595, the Special Forces A-team that teamed up with General Dostum in the Dari Suf Valley at the beginning of the U.S. offensive in Afghanistan. He followed Afghanistan with a tour in Iraq, and then returned to his home base at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. He admits that Afghanistan was the World Series for the Green Berets. His time in Iraq taught him that “Big Army” controlled that war and that Special Forces took a backseat to the traditional military. The “Stop Loss” had been lifted on his team, giving him the freedom to make a decision—stay in the Special Forces until retirement, or get out to work as a contractor making three times his normal salary. DynCorp typically paid State Department rates—$450 to $550 a day—but the Karzai contract paid $600 a day and a guaranteed year-long assignment with two six-month contracts. Over $200,000 sounded enticing to a soldier who would typically make less than $50,000 a year in the U.S. military. Pete represents just one of thousands of operators who have decided to leave the military and transfer millions of dollars' worth of training and institutional knowledge to the private sector, where it is repackaged and sold back to the government at a premium. Shortly after his retirement, Pete boarded a plane and headed to Kabul to risk his life in the protection of a foreign leader.

Guarding “the Old Man”

Kabul has changed dramatically in the two years since the Taliban fell. Sandbags block easy access to the oft-shelled palace complex in Kabul. Along the busy road, shipping containers filled with dirt act as blast barriers against truck bombs. Improvised steel plates provide cover for machine-gun positions. The rooftops sprout antennas. Snipers watch through binoculars from makeshift towers. Tajik-Afghans from the ethnic group of the head of the military, General Fahim, have posts outside the perimeter, while mostly Pashtuns help guard the Pashtun president inside the gates. A simple flash of my U.S. passport allows me access to the outside gates, but the Afghans who accompany me must cajole and bullshit their way through to the inner sanctum, even though it is common for foreigners and journalists to have an interpreter and a driver in Kabul.