No True Glory (36 page)

Latif and the city elders met with Mattis, explaining that the people of Fallujah wanted no help from outsiders. No American soldier could enter the city. It made no difference if he was coming with a tank or an electric generator. Latif denied there were any foreign fighters in the city. Mattis shot back that he was willing to give Latif a little time to get the Fallujah Brigade organized to attack “those murderous bastards.”

In late May the rate of attacks along the nearby highways dropped, provoking a burst of optimism among senior officials. General Myers argued that “this is the right way to do it . . . We need to know when to back off.” In testimony before Congress, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Gen Michael Hagee, said that the critics of the Fallujah Brigade did not know what they were talking about. “If that’s a defeat,” he said, “we need more defeats like that.”

Efforts to be upbeat contrasted with the stories reporters gathered at high personal risk. Iraqi police gave false directions in the hope of capturing American reporters. A news crew was kidnapped and released only after tense negotiations. A
Washington Post
reporter escaped as his armored SUV withstood repeated bursts from AK-47s while careening down the highway to Baghdad at ninety miles an hour.

Correspondents from Reuters, the
New York Times,
NBC News, the
Washington Post, Harper’s
magazine, and the
Los Angeles Times
sneaked into the city. They described gangs of insurgents searching cars, manning checkpoints, and conducting patrols while the Fallujah Brigade soldiers stood idly by or joined them. They reported residents basking in the apparent insurgent victory and making boastful proclamations. “I believe the U.S. forces went through one of their toughest times here, meeting the resistance they did,” said a government worker in the city. “We believe God saved our city. And we believe they learned a lesson: not to mess with Fallujah.”

The imams declared the city would be governed in accord with the strictest interpretation of the sharia. Those selling alcohol were stripped, flogged, and driven through town, bare backs bleeding, to be ridiculed and spat upon. Barbers were beaten if they offered “Western-style” haircuts. Students with long hair were rounded up, mocked, and shorn. Anyone caught drinking beer was beaten and paraded through the streets. Residents were whipped for petty transgressions such as talking back to a mujahedeen fighter. Shop owners selling lipstick, American-style magazines, or pop music CDs were beaten and their meager goods smashed or stolen.

The regiment’s intelligence officer, Maj Bellon, had contempt for the imams advocating Islamic fundamentalism. “Wahhabism itself isn’t the motivating force in Fallujah. The imams use the mosques to gain control over ignorant people. They preach hate, and that’s not a religion,” he said. “I keep the book on these guys. Most of them are criminals. They own the real estate, they send out thugs to shake down the truck drivers doing the run to Jordan, they fence the stolen cars and organize the kidnappings. They get a cut of every hijacked truck. They could teach Al Capone how to extort a city. They use young, gullible jihadists as their pawns. Don’t think of them as clerics. Think in terms of a Mafia don. They stand there in a religious costume, because that is exactly what it is, and inspect the latest haul before saying afternoon prayers.”

Foreign fighters from Syria and Saudi Arabia trickled into the city. The insurgents organized a ruling council, called the Mujahedeen Shura, which moved into a mosque in the center of the city and issued written passes for Arab journalists to visit the “liberated” city. Truck drivers passing by on the main highway to Jordan were forced into the city and executed or held for ransom. Neighborhood militias sprang up, manned by teenagers who perhaps joined out of intimidation but soon cheered as hapless Iraqis were disemboweled at the whim of the mobs. The reign of the Taliban had descended on Fallujah.

The loose gangs of jihadists resembled the Jacobin communards of Paris in 1793—gang rule by a bloody hand with no political ideology or organization. Though Secretary Rumsfeld had labeled the insurgents as “dead-enders,” the rule of the Terror in France suggested that tenacity fed by blood could persist for years. Between 1793 and 1795 more than a hundred thousand French citizens were murdered by their neighbors as society was trapped in a paroxysm of psychotic betrayals. Finally, Robespierre himself was led to the guillotine.

Like Robespierre, Zarqawi’s weapon was terror wrapped in fuzzy ideology. His campaign of blowing Shiites to bits was intended to provoke retaliation against the Sunnis and lead to large-scale civil war. He would improvise where he would go from there. Neither the American nor the Arab press called particular attention to the proliferation of terrorist safe houses in Fallujah, while the city elders vehemently denied Zarqawi existed.

At the end of May Zarqawi kidnapped in Fallujah thirty-four-year-old Kim Sun-il, a missionary fluent in Arabic who worked as a translator for a South Korean company. A videotape delivered to Al Jazeera showed Sun-il denouncing the Coalition and pleading with the South Korean government to withdraw its 3,500-man construction battalion in exchange for his release. Weeks of debate in South Korea, featuring the tearful anguish of Sun-il’s family, followed. When the South Korean government held firm, Zarqawi beheaded Sun-il and distributed the video to the Arab television networks.

A
Washington Post
reporter observed that, although President Bush had declared “security a shared responsibility” inside Fallujah, the insurgents controlled the streets, sharing power with nobody. Publicly, the MEF was reluctant to agree: “It is only a supposition that Fallujah is a sanctuary for insurgents,” said the operations officer for the MEF.

Trends, though, were emerging that supported the supposition. When Fallujah was under siege in April, there were five bombings of civilians across Iraq; in the six weeks after the siege was lifted, there were thirty bombings. The Marines retaliated with air strikes against safe houses inside Fallujah, using unmanned aerial vehicles with video cameras to follow the terrorists to their lairs. The insurgents reacted by dispensing roving gangs to accost strangers, executing fourteen Iraqis as spies.

As the jihadists were consolidating their power, the Fallujah Brigade was doing nothing. Latif’s compound on the outskirts of the city was mortared, killing and wounding a dozen Iraqis. When he was unable to gather a force to retaliate, his effectiveness ended. After that the brigade officers treated him as a figurehead useful for delivering cash from the Americans. Sometimes the officers didn’t even stand when he entered the room. One month after the brigade had replaced the Marines, none of the agreed-upon conditions had been met. No heavy weapons had been turned in; the foreign fighters and perpetrators of the mutilations remained at large; the insurgents were controlling the city; no military convoy dared to drive through the city; kidnappings were a daily occurrence; and terror bombings had increased.

_____

Mid-June marked the end of the third month of daily dealings between the Iraqis and the Fallujah Liaison Team, comprised of civil affairs officers, intelligence operatives, and Arabic speakers from the division. They reported directly to Toolan, who also met daily with Iraqi delegations. After hundreds of meetings, supplemented by intelligence profiles, the regiment had a good mosaic of the city’s political structure and leaders. The CIA had several excellent informants, and SSgt Qawasimi had recruited four others. About once a week Qawasimi went a few days without a shower, put on a dishdasha and kaffiyeh headdress, stripped off all American-type items, picked up a worn AK, and slipped out after dark to meet with informants. In exchange for used cars and cash payments of $200 he bought information on Zarqawi’s cells, the Syrian gangs, the Wahhabi clerics, and the rich, shadowy Baathists.

When Qawasimi had the names, descriptions, and addresses of the safe houses, he turned over the folders to Bellon. What drove Bellon to distraction was the casual Iraqi approach to identifying the precise house. Agents were given GPS sets with accuracy within fifteen feet, as well as other devices. After an agent was caught with GPS and beheaded, the other agents were reluctant to carry such equipment. Bellon’s best homing source were the crews of the unmanned aerial vehicles. The video feeds included a continuous GPS update, while the crews became expert at tracking individual cars and men down any street or alley.

Putting together the pieces, Bellon told Toolan he estimated there were seventeen separate insurgent gangs in the city and about a dozen key leaders. Aside from the Syrians and Zarqawi, they were home-grown and not into exporting suicide attacks. They were primed to fight, though, still on an emotional high, thinking they had defeated the division in April.

Yet those street gangs couldn’t go anywhere; the regiment held the highways. The Fallujah Brigade was being paid, and their officers were holding back 10 percent to share with all the insurgents who hadn’t climbed on the gravy train. Mattis wanted to meet face-to-face with the enemy and explain how stupid the fighting was. They were living in their own city; no one was bothering them. It was time to get on with their lives, not drive around in stolen police vehicles looking tough, without enough money in their pockets to consider marriage or a future.

Toolan and Mattis wanted to talk directly to leaders with influence. All strands of intrigue led back to Sheikh Janabi. He preached a radical brand of Wahhabism in his large mosque in the center of the city, but he had been a businessman and smuggler for decades before embracing religion. His family had exercised power in city circles for three generations. While not as rich as Sheikh Ghazi, Janabi, according to Bellon’s reports, was raking off 10 to 20 percent from every hijacking. He was the go-to man who could return a kidnap victim before Zarqawi got hold of him. He was hauling in serious money, between $20,000 and $40,000 a month. Most of the gangs asked favors of him, or at least dropped by his mosque grounds once a week.

Toolan talked to Suleiman about approaching Janabi. Toolan had intervened when Hatim, correctly claiming the city council had chosen him, tried to take over command of the National Guard battalion. Toolan said Suleiman would stay in charge if the soldiers wanted to keep being paid by the Marines. Suleiman, who was straightforward, kept his distance from the Marines and didn’t curry favor. He refused to play the middleman and act as a bridge to Janabi.

Hatim volunteered to be the intermediary, endorsed and assisted by Jamal, the mufti released from prison by Bremer. Although Jamal seemed sincere about toning down the sermons of other imams, rumors persisted that he was supporting the insurgents. All the elders who lived in the city seemed to have two faces, saying one thing to the Marines and another to the insurgents. Toolan sent half a dozen messages to Janabi, who demanded a letter signed by Ambassador Bremer guaranteeing he would not be arrested. Eventually, he offered to meet if MajGen Mattis signed the letter and came personally to the Government Center. Mattis agreed.

In mid-June Mattis met Hatim at the cloverleaf east of the city. Hatim vehemently insisted that only nine vehicles could enter the city, not a good sign. With Toolan up in a command helicopter and a Quick Reaction Force standing by, Mattis agreed to nine and made his second trip into Fallujah. In mid-May Latif had been the guest of honor at city hall among a crowd of Arab dignitaries and Arab TV crews. This time Latif wasn’t even invited. Instead, Janabi was the central figure, a short, trim man in his early sixties with a long beard and sharp features, wearing a white dishdasha and a full Arab headdress.

While the perfunctory introductions were being made, Sheikh Ghazi exchanged a few words with Qawasimi.

“Marines are no good,” Ghazi said, visibly angry.

His smuggling had dried up during the siege, his hand-picked mayor (Ra’ad) was in prison, and no contract money from the Americans was coming his way. Qawasimi shrugged and walked away.

As in May, dozens of sheikhs sat along the walls, craning their heads to hear. None spoke. This was a meeting between the Marine combat leader and the guerrilla leader. Putting aside small talk, Mattis and Janabi politely exchanged terse verbal blows.

“For the sake of your city,” Mattis said, “you must tell Zarqawi and the Syrians to leave. They are killing your innocent fellow countrymen. We intend to kill all terrorists. That means more bombing and fear in the city. This is unnecessary. I am sure a man of your power can put a stop to it. Get them out.”

Qawasimi was translating, sitting behind Mattis.

“Someone gives you bad information,” Janabi said with a glare at Qawasimi. “There are no foreigners here. You bomb innocent people. We only protect our homes when you come to destroy.”

“We are here to help—to make the water safe for your children, to bring electric power into the schools, to clean out the garbage that spreads disease,” Mattis said. “We have the money. We can pay your contractors right now, beginning today.”

“The people do not trust you after all this war,” Janabi said. “Give us your money and let us take care of ourselves. That is the best way.”

The two men continued to spar verbally, neither giving an inch. Mattis’s message:
Terrorists hiding in Fallujah are killing innocent Iraqis. You can stop that. Together we can build a safe, healthy city.
Janabi’s message:
The killing is all your fault and everyone here wants peace. Leave Iraq. You are not welcome.

Hatim waved his arms at Qawasimi to end the talk. They had agreed to stay only fifteen minutes. Hatim was agitated, certain that mortars and machine guns would open up at any moment, as they had when the Marines and soldiers from the 82nd had come in March.

“We may be in for it,” Qawasimi murmured to Mattis as they got up to leave.

“I hope so,” Mattis said.

He grimly shook hands with Janabi and walked out. He had been warned that Janabi had previously plotted to assassinate him. In his role as commander, he had brushed off the warning. Privately, he had an emergency plan. If they were hit inside the Government Center, as had happened in March, he was arresting Janabi. If that provoked a firefight inside the room, he was going to put two rounds in Janabi’s head. As Qawasimi, a few steps behind Mattis, walked by Janabi, the sheikh uttered a quick, low curse: “Traitor.”