Ghost (18 page)

Gallo is not your off-the-rack, loser, lone-gunman type. He doesn’t fit the profile. I need to talk to him at length. In mid-November, I make arrangements with St. Elizabeths to sit down with Gallo for a series of interviews. When I arrive at the hospital, I’m shocked at Gallo’s transformation. They have him medicated, and instead of a delusional, muttering lunatic, I’m met by a calm and highly intelligent human being. Whatever had gone wrong inside Edward Louis Gallo could obviously be controlled.

“Mr. Gallo, how did you know Secretary of State Shultz’s address?”

He answers matter-of-factly, “I followed his motorcade.”

What? How did our agents not detect him?

“How did you do that?”

Gallo shrugs and replies, “I sat on a bench outside the Truman Building. Watched the motorcades come and go. After a while, I figured out which limousine was the secretary of state’s. It wasn’t that hard.”

He goes on to recite a typical day for George Shultz. He’s spot-on, and his description is chillingly detailed.

He concludes by off-handedly mentioning, “One day, I parked near the VIP entrance and just followed him home.”

Unbelievable. I’m reeling at this.

“What did you do once you followed Shultz to his house?”

“Watched things. That guard in the front yard with the Uzi made it tougher, but I still was able to do it.”

He starts recounting our security arrangements. He has an amazing memory and an eye for detail. He figured out how many agents protect SECSTATE, where they are posted, when shift changes take place. He found the gaps in the security screen and developed contingency plans to penetrate them.

He also spent hours watching the Truman Building from different positions on the street. He took note of our security arrangements for motorcades and knew where each agent was placed. He noted their fields of fire and areas of responsibility.

Gallo deciphered and compromised everything. Worst of all, we never even noticed him. Had it not been for his mother, I have no doubt he would have been able to execute an attack on the secretary of state. Gallo in his nonmedicated, delusional condition could have delivered a devastating blow to the United States.

I spend hours debriefing Edward Louis Gallo. When I come away from our meetings, I can’t help but feel sorry for the man. He had built a successful life for himself, only to see it ruined by family tragedy and mental illness. Once treated, he seemed utterly normal. But by then, it was too late. His career had been derailed, his relationships had frayed, and his delusions drove him to attempt assassinations. Now he’s a brilliant but ruined man who will spend years behind bars.

At the same time, he has highlighted profound weaknesses in our security operations. How was he able to conduct such extensive surveillance without attracting our attention? How was he able to follow the Detail around, snoop out our tactical deployments at Shultz’s house, and figure out the best places to launch an attack? Clearly, we need to do something different.

We never saw him coming. That fact haunts me. It underscores our vulnerability and makes it blindingly obvious that we need to totally revise how we do business on protective security details. If we don’t, somebody in our charge is going to die.

nineteen

PAK-1 DOWN

August 17, 1988
Bethesda

Flash Precedence

We have been informed by the Pakistani foreign minister that the presidential aircraft, PAK-1, crashed near Bahawalpur. There were no survivors. President Zia-ul-Haq, Ambassador Raphel, and U.S. Army BG Wassom plus the Pakistani joint chiefs of staff were killed in the crash. Pakistani military units are en route to the scene and martial law has been declared.

Post requests further guidance by flash precedence.

From my desk behind the big blue door, I reread the cable with a sinking feeling. Pakistan’s senior governmental and military leaders are all dead. Zia barely held the country together with terror and an iron rule when he was alive. With him dead, Pakistan could dissolve into total chaos—with nukes. And all of this is going down at ground zero for the biggest Cold War conflict since Vietnam.

Zia was our closest ally in south Asia. He spearheaded our covert war against the Soviets in Afghanistan. It is through Pakistan that all our weapons, money, and ammunition flow to the mujahideen. Now, just as the Soviets have cried “uncle” and started pulling out of Afghanistan, the key architect of our victory has been burned to ashes.

I wish Steve Gleason was here; he always handled these crises with a cool hand. Unfortunately, he left the office a few months back to take an RSO slot overseas.

I huddle with our new chief, who is a good man, to gameboard how we’ll handle the news. We decide to send an immediate intelligence tasker (IT) to every embassy and RSO across the globe. An IT is an urgent message designed to marshal all our assets, sources, and contacts to focus on one series of specific questions. It is our way of broadcasting a need for detailed information, and fast.

We don’t know if PAK-1’s destruction was a result of an accident or assassination. We’ve got to find out if there were any threats leveled at Zia or the ambassador prior to the flight. That’s question number one for our tasker. Question number two assumes the worst. If it was a hit, is anyone taking credit for it? Is anyone boasting about it? Are there any clues out there?

The taskers are sent out with flash precedence. All over the world, our intelligence operatives scramble. They work their own sources and meet with security and intel agencies from Germany to Canada, Saudia Arabia to the Philippines.

The Dark World is totally silent today. No threats are reported. No bragging or credit taking is heard. This has never happened before, at least not since I joined the DSS. After huge geopolitical events, the Dark World’s communication sinews always sing with rumor and innuendo. Then the walk-ins start trickling into our embassies and office here at Foggy Bottom. And of course, we get the crazies, too.

With this crisis, there’s nothing. Not even the whack jobs come out of the woodwork this time. What’s it mean?

In Washington, the CIA, FBI, NSA, DIA, NSC, and the State Department all frantically review their files, looking for anything that we collectively might have missed. Was there some warning that got overlooked? Other than the typical saber rattling between Pakistan and India, and the Soviet Union’s hostility toward Pakistan over their defeat in Afghanistan, there’s nothing specific to indicate a plot against President Zia.

Maybe the crash was an accident—an accident that happened to wipe out the better part of an ally’s leadership.

There are no coincidences in the Dark World. This smells like a hit. If it was, it’ll rank as one of the most successful in history. The assassins essentially decapitated Pakistan’s command-and-control leadership with one event.

Within a couple of hours of the crash, the situation in south Asia has deteriorated even further. The Pakistani army and air force are at each other’s throats, tossing accusations and recriminations back and forth. The surviving members of the government are paranoid that a coup is under way. Simultaneously, India has increased its military’s alert status. Some Pakistanis suspect the Indians have assassinated their president. The tension between the two nuclear-armed nations is growing by the hour. Troops are massing along both sides of the border, and their nuclear readiness has been increased. In the middle of it all, we still have the CIA running a covert war out of Pakistan against the Soviets in Afghanistan.

My phone rings. Mr. Dittmer and our new CT chief want to see me ASAP. Apparently, I’m going to Islamabad.

twenty

NIGHT FLIGHT

The air force executive jet speeds us over the Atlantic. This time, I cross the pond in comfort. The seats are plush, the heater works so I don’t need the extra-thick coat I brought along, and the coffee is first-rate. I sit in shirtsleeves next to Brad Bryson, both of us sipping our java as we talk about the mission ahead. Brad’s working for me on this mission, though we were in the same training class back in 1985. He joined the CT office only a few months ago, and now he’s getting the same hard-core introduction to the Dark World that I did. He’s not much older than twenty-four.

Time to brief Brad.

“Okay, here’s the situation. Pakistan is coming unglued. They had a weak central government to begin with. But now with Zia and most of the rest of the leadership dead, the country could very well fall into civil war. At the same time, we’ve picked up some intelligence suggesting that India is considering a preemptive strike against Pakistan. They’re afraid the Pakistanis will blame them for Zia’s death and launch their nukes. A first strike takes care of that fear.”

The color drains out of Brad’s face. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers.

“Yeah. It’s bad.”

Brad says, “And we’re flying into the middle of it?”

“Yes. To defuse it.”

“By finding out who really killed Zia?”

“Not exactly,” I reply. “Look, the National Security Council and the boys on the seventh floor at Foggy Bottom talked this over. What the world needs right now is a cooling-off period. A crash investigation will buy time for everyone. It forces the Pakistanis to wait for our conclusions before they respond to anything. Plus, if we discover it was an accident, the international implications evaporate. The Pakistanis will still have internal issues to deal with, but at least they won’t be tossing nukes at the Indians.”

Brad asks, “But what if we conclude the Indians assassinated Zia?”

“Well, let’s hope they’re not that stupid.”

Brad doesn’t respond. He looks as tense as I feel. I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye to Sharon. If I end up as collateral damage in a Pakistan-Indian nuclear war, she’ll never even know how I died.

“Okay, the NSC decided to send me as the lead investigator for the State Department. You and I will be working with an air force crash investigation team that we’ll link up with in Germany. We’ll fly out to Islamabad together.”

Brad starts taking notes. As he writes, he asks, “Why isn’t the NTSB doing this?”

The National Transportation Safety Board has the best crash analysis and investigation unit in the world. Brad’s question is a logical one. I’m not surprised he thought of this. He’s an exceptionally sharp agent and possesses not just a keen intellect, but common sense as well. He had no prior law-enforcement experience before coming to the DSS. This is a rare thing for our service, but the powers that be saw a young college grad with tremendous potential.

“NSC decision. The NTSB team includes an FBI agent. Mr. Dittmer told me that the NSC concluded that his presence would actually ratchet up the tension, not relieve it. It would send a signal to the Pakistanis—and everyone else—that the United States believes the crash site is actually a crime scene.”

“It could be.”

“Yes, but we don’t want to telegraph that. The world’s in a precarious position right now. Perception is everything. An air force crash team sends a better message. Zia’s plane was an old C-130 Hercules built during the Vietnam era. The air force team wants to find out what went wrong mechanically. See the difference in perception? Besides, right now if we sent the FBI in, the Pakistanis would take it as an insult. Like they can’t investigate their own president’s death. Their pride is at stake.”

“Okay, but the FBI must be pretty pissed to be shut out.”

“That’s their problem. We’ve got plenty of others. Besides, the NSC will run interference for us. Colin Powell, Dick Armitage, and Robert Oakley made a point of taking care of us and have already paved the way for our arrival with the Pakistani authorities. They’ve been assured we’ll get complete cooperation once we get there.”

Brad thinks this over for a minute, then asks, “Why won’t our presence get the same reaction the FBI’s would?”

“Good question. We’re there because of Ambassador Raphel’s death. Don’t forget that it is the DSS’s job to investigate any diplomat’s death overseas. We’d be there no matter what the situation, so our presence is just standard operating procedure.”

“Right. Okay. What do you need from me?”

I’ve never been the lead investigator on a case like this. With all the international entanglements and tension, it could get ugly, and the truth could get lost. I’m going to need his eyes, ears, and analytical skills on this mission. Brad worked in the DSS’s Washington Field Office fresh out of agent training. I wanted his mind in the CT office, and the first chance I got, I convinced Gleason to snag him away from the WFO.

“Observe everything. The little details, the subtle vocal inflections of a witness, the body language of our hosts—watch for these things. Figure everywhere we go, we’ll be under surveillance, so be careful what you say to me, okay? Our rooms are bound to be bugged. So be discreet.”

Brad’s face pales. Beneath the color drain, though, I see resolve. The kid’s okay. He’s got mettle. He just needs experience.

I finish off my coffee and stare into the bottom of the cup for a couple of heartbeats. “The most important thing is the truth, okay?”

“Okay.”

“There’s going to be a lot of pressure on us. No doubt there will be conclusions that the Pakistanis want, conclusions that our government will want, conclusions that others want—the CIA, Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence. Who knows. Ignore all that. Keep your mind open and don’t let any of the politics influence you.”

As the senior man, I can’t show the stark terror that’s boiling beneath my professional façade. The truth is, I’m not sure I’m ready for what’s ahead.

“One more thing,” I add. “We may be targets ourselves. If this is an inside job, whoever did it will not want to get caught. Right now, everyone’s a suspect.”

“I’ve got your back, Fred. Don’t worry about that.”

Brad’s a straight arrow whose character is rooted in his middle-American upbringing in South Dakota. He’s a good man to have at my side on this mission. We’re going to have to walk a tightrope. If we screw up, we could very well precipitate a war. That was made clear to me before we left Foggy Bottom.

“Pakistan has always been a dicey post. Don’t forget what happened in ’79. They came over the embassy walls in Islamabad and a marine got killed. It looked like it was going to be a repeat of Tehran. Not much has changed. If anything, there are more radicals on the street, and there could be some in the ISI and their air force. Keep your head on a swivel.”

We both fall silent. The executive jet speeds us to our rendezvous with the air force crash team. I spend the rest of the flight staring out my window, lost in thought. Outside, all I see is impenetrable darkness. I wonder if I will ever see my wife again.