The Bremer Detail (21 page)

I met with Sax and told him the boss was going. Sax was not happy at all. We discussed several different strategies about how to make the meeting happen. We could fly the advance team in on the Little Birds, then ferry the ambassador in via the same method. We rejected that idea when we realized that if we were attacked there, we would be trapped. We went over other possibilities and rejected them all. The only way to keep the ambassador safe was to travel the way we always did. Both our assholes puckered at the thought. We were going to earn our money the hard way.

We went to chow and called it our last meal. The ghoulish sense of humor never failed us. If today was the day, we would go out fighting. I sat down, shoved the first chicken nugget in my mouth, and my phone rang. It was Brian Mac telling me that the ambassador needed to see me right now. I dumped my food in the trash can, returned my tray, and headed to the office.

As I walked by Sue mouthed, “Fuckers.” I wasn’t sure what she was referring to.

The ambassador and Brian were talking as I walked in.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?”

“Frank, are you trying to tell me that I can never go the Ministry of Oil again? Or that it is a bad idea to go today?”

“Sir, it is a bad idea to go today.”

“So I can reschedule it for another day?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“OK, we’re not going. Tell Sue to contact them and reschedule.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I almost skipped out of the office. When I told Sue, she smiled. Concern over the perils of the farewell tour and over all the people trying to arrange visits for their special interests weighed heavily. The requests seemed endless. People bombarded her with pleas and demands. I did not envy her at all. Each request meant she had to try and shuffle the schedule that had just been finalized an hour before. How she kept her sanity is a miracle.

I called Sax and told him the good news. He asked me if I was going to eat, and I told him I was. We met at the chow hall. The grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken nuggets were particularly tasty on this day.

Up to this point the rocket and mortar attacks occurred almost exclusively at night. Then, late one afternoon while the ambassador was working in the office, a series of explosions shook the palace. Windows creaked under the concussions, but did not break. The guys on duty quickly evacuated the ambassador downstairs to the basement that the Force Protection team deemed the safest place to be while under attack. The guys notified me, and I quickly ran over with a few other guys. We located an office where the ambassador could continue to work uninterrupted. It was not to be. He quickly walked out of the room and began shaking hands and posing for pictures with palace employees also seeking shelter. It was clear that he was unafraid as he made sure that everyone was okay. Bremer was a true leader. It made us crazy, but he was THE MAN, and THE MAN did what the man wanted to do. Our job was to make sure that he was able to. After about thirty minutes, the all clear was sounded. He went directly back to his office and picked up right where he left off.

Sue got me a copy of the almost finalized farewell tour plans. I felt a few of the places were less than appealing. Again I huddled at length with the intel guys to see if they had additional information, then plotted and analyzed the data against the semifluid schedule. One of the biggest question marks for me was a proposed dinner with Ayatollah Hussein al-Sadr. The last time we went there the advance team had been attacked on the way back to the palace. I spoke to Sue. She said the ambassador really wanted to go. I asked if we could change it to a lunch. A few days later she confirmed the change to a luncheon meeting. At least we would not be there after nightfall.

One evening we made a trip to Mr. Talabani’s house for dinner. The Peshmerga always treated us very well, and the food was outstanding. We enjoyed going there. Their security setup included nearly one hundred men spread out throughout the neighborhood. Nothing could happen without us having a lot of advance notice. We almost relaxed. We departed, and about ten minutes down the road the tactical commander spotted a bunch of gas cans stacked on the left side of the highway—perhaps thirty yards ahead of the convoy. At the same moment the shift leader reported a man with a plunger (detonator) in his hands about fifty yards off the road. The man was repeatedly pressing it. Q shifted right and pulled alongside the lead car, while the follow car pulled in directly behind the lead. The bad guy was getting carpal tunnel syndrome from pressing the detonator on the IED as fast as he was. Fortunately for us the ECMs were working at 100 percent, and they blocked the signal from reaching the explosives.

We reported the incident, and a military explosive ordinance disposal (EOD) team went out and disarmed the bomb. It was a device made from artillery shells designed to detonate on the radio signal of a garage door opener. Once again our tactics prevailed and no one was hurt. We all took a deep breath and laughed at the frustration of the terrorist as his bomb let him down. They were good; we were better.

At this time the State Department attached two agents to the detail. Both were great guys. They were there to watch and learn how we ran the detail on a daily basis so they could manage the switch from Ambassador Bremer to Ambassador Negroponte.

One big change they planned: instead of a Blackwater AIC, the State Department would now have a Diplomatic Security agent in charge of the detail as an AIC. The Blackwater guys would soon be answering and responding to a non-Blackwater boss. The guys were very wary of this switch. They feared another layer of bureaucracy that could slow down the response time to problems. The State Department has some great agents who were former military guys, former cops, etc., but they also had some straight out of college. Most of these younger DS agents had been doing visa investigations a few weeks before. Now they were in a war zone. Some really were not prepared for the realities of combat PSD missions. The smarter ones quickly picked up the nuances of the military jargon and forged great relationships with the PSD operators. Others had a tough time getting used to dealing with our operators. My guys, after having been there for months, were not sure the switch would work. Respect in our world is earned, not awarded via title. I hoped like hell the newly appointed DS AIC understood that he would have to earn their respect first, foremost, and quick as fire. (From all subsequent accounts I’ve heard most of the DS AICs did, and the working relationship was generally good.)

I was quite proud to learn that I would be the first and only AIC that Blackwater had for a head of state. It had been quite an adventure keeping the highest-ranking man in Iraq safe. But we were not yet finished.

The DS agents came with us on several missions and seemed to like and understand how, and more important, why we were doing certain things. I became good friends with Murph (a former Special Forces guy) who seemed to understand the challenges that awaited the new DS AIC. We would see soon enough. Most of my guys had heard stories of coming pay cuts, and many decided not to stay past the ambassador’s departure date. We began arranging exit flights to begin on 1 July, and Blackwater began scrambling to get new guys in-country as quickly as possible. The company’s new WPPS (Worldwide Personal Protective Security) training program was under way, and a lot of quality guys were joining up. Being a member of the Blackwater team was
the
place for high-risk security guys. Some had seen the pictures, read the stories, or heard the praise, and they were anxious to be a part of it. This was a blessing and a curse. When you don’t know what you don’t know, everything seems great. Many of the guys running the training program had worked with and for me, so the new guys coming in got up to speed more quickly. What you can’t train for is the heat, the rocket and mortar attacks, and the constant danger. You can simulate the very real Red Zone missions, but practice is never the same as the real thing. There are no time-outs or do-overs. You succeed and live, or you fail and people die.

I could foresee the pay cuts resulting in the new DS AIC finding himself with few experienced guys on his team. I called Blackwater. They wanted to know where the pay-cut rumor was coming from. I told them it was one of the new guys who had also announced that he was best friends with the program manager. He evidently didn’t have his facts straight. Blackwater quickly scuttled the pay-cut rumor for any of my current guys. Their pay would continue at the same rate for as long as they stayed in Iraq. A few decided that with no pay cut looming they would remain. Potential crisis averted.

The intel reports were as bleak as ever. The bad guys desperately wanted the ambassador’s head before he left. And also ours. By this time there had been more than a few incidents involving other PSD teams, both U.S. and non-U.S., needlessly shooting, injuring, or killing civilians. I called another meeting. “This,” I said, “we cannot let happen. If you’re scared, you can, and you should, leave now.” While protecting the ambassador no team member had been killed, nor had the team killed anyone. We had not fired a shot while keeping the ambassador safe. And would not, unless we were attacked and trapped. Of course every shooting by a PSD team was attributed by the media to Blackwater, and by extension to me. I became very weary of the other Blackwater guys doing stupid shit, and having to explain to people that it had not been by my team. And now it seemed every PSD team shooting, even the non-U.S. and non-Blackwater teams, was also mine.

Colonel Sabol called, and I could tell he was extremely pissed off. I went to his office, and he tossed a couple of ID cards on the table and asked me to explain them. The cards identified the holder as a Blackwater employee with authorization to carry a weapon in the Green Zone. I had never seen them before, and told that to the colonel. It seemed some guys at the team house had dummied up a bunch of ID cards for the local nationals they were employing. They had used the CPA badge as a template, and the IDs looked real as hell. The problem was they were phony as hell. Two local nationals used these cards to attempt to gain access to the Green Zone but had been stopped. The MP on duty saw they were fakes and quickly handcuffed the men and took them into custody. The MP realized that the color coding was wrong. Of course, since it was Blackwater, it landed in my lap. What were these guys thinking? I called Blackwater and again told them they had more than a few guys at the team house who were not doing Blackwater any favors. The leadership elements who were there were not up to the job. It never ended. To this day I do not really know if these issues were actually addressed by Blackwater HQ.

The ambassador’s Red Zone missions continued with a fury. We were doing three or four every day. The guys were on the top of their game. The drivers continued to screen other vehicles from the limo, and the MP CAT guys were going as hard as they could to keep us safe. We were a well-oiled machine. No one even got close. I had a tough decision to make as the 30 June departure date approached, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I had my Red Zone team, and I had several other guys who had never been into the Red Zone. Did I sit some of my regulars out to let these guys get experience (as they would form the nucleus of the team protecting Ambassador Negroponte), or did I continue to maximize the protection for Ambassador Bremer? It was a tough call to make. Threat reports continued to escalate. I talked with Sax and Drew, and we made the decision that this was not the time to start training new guys. We were in the home stretch and we wanted to win. The newer guys would have to learn on their own. We were not running a training program; we were running a PSD mission.

The ambassador began his farewell tour. These encounters lasted about an hour—shorter than most of the business meetings he had had up to this point. It was bittersweet for the team as we said good-bye to the Iraqi security guys we had met and with whom we had become friends during our many visits to all the various locations. The initial visits had been frosty, but now we were greeted with hugs and chai tea. They had taught us Arabic profanity; we had reciprocated with lessons in American swearing. It was pretty funny. By and large they were good guys doing the same job we were doing. There was professional courtesy on both sides.

June 2004

Blackwater lost another four guys on BIAP road. They were killed as they were making their way back to the team house after a run to the airport. A vehicle sped past their two-car motorcade, stopped a few hundred yards ahead of them, and set up a blocking force. The bad guys opened fire. A second later a second team of bad guys opened up on the cars from the side—a classic
L
-shaped ambush. One of the survivors had been with us a few months earlier. Condolences again came my way, and once again I explained they were not my guys. They were on a different contract. Eight Blackwater contractors had now been killed in action.

The announcement came that Ayad Allawi would be Iraq’s next leader. As a result he became the second-most-threatened man in the country. DOD decided keeping him alive was vitally important, so they assigned him a U.S. military security detail made up of active-duty SEALs. In their former careers as active-duty SEALs or Special Boat Team members, many of my guys had worked with these guys. I made sure we shared any and all information with them. There was the usual military versus contractor distrust, but these guys were professional and the distrust quickly disappeared. Blackwater teams protecting various diplomats, and the SEALs protecting others, would be at many events together over the coming months. There was no room or time for a dick-measuring contest. We realized that when we were together we became a force multiplier for each other.

Bremer’s rescheduled lunch with Hussein al-Sadr quickly approached. Again I expressed my concerns to the ambassador, and again he said that he was going. He told me to do whatever I had to do to make the visit happen. I met with Sax. We talked at length about how to keep the ambassador safe. Working on the DOD contract I knew we could request just about any asset I felt necessary to support our mission. Up to this point I had kept requests to a minimum because I knew the assets were in use supporting our ground troops. I didn’t want to put our forces in jeopardy. But this time it was different. The Iraqi bad guys had vowed that the ambassador would not live to see 30 June. I was determined to make sure that he did.

Sax did a very thorough map study and selected a route to the ayatollah’s house that we had never used before. We decided we needed additional traffic control points at various spots to make sure the motorcade never stopped. We discussed potential choke points and possible attack locations. Then we made a wish list. We checked it several times to make sure it was comprehensive and complete. There was no way I could present a list, get it approved, and then go ask for additional assistance. The initial list had to be correct.

Adding it all up we needed seventeen additional up-armored Humvees with heavy weapons, three Apache gunships, and two F-16 fighter jets. I put in the request and held my breath. A few hours later Brian called and laughed and said that we had been given everything we had asked for. Next we coordinated with the various groups, explaining to each exactly where we would be, the overall plan, and what we needed them to do. As usual, the communication aspect created the most difficulties. The tactical commander was going to have his hands full.

Fortunately for me, the TC at this time was HB. HB held an advanced degree in nuclear physics. He was smart, probably the smartest man on the team. He was also a stud of the highest order, having been a Division One soccer player from the University of Texas. For him handling six radios and remembering who he was talking to would be a walk in the park. Like most others on the team he was incredibly quick witted and sarcastic to the
n
th degree. His insights and opinions were always valuable to me. Like a few others, once he arrived he never left. A great deal of the team’s success is owed to him.

The routes were explained, and positions were assigned. The Humvees would take up positions around potential choke points and block all traffic as we approached so we did not have to stop or even slow down. We wanted smooth sailing. The Apaches would fly off to our flanks to keep an eye out for potential attackers that might be approaching as we moved. The F-16s would fly “top cover,” and be on standby to bring the “pain” if we did get attacked. For the first and only time, I told the Little Bird pilots that all three birds would be flying in support at the same time. Each would have two shooters onboard. I wanted the Little Birds as close to the motorcade as I could get them. The idea was to make the bad guys think several times before making an attempt on this day.

Sax and the advance team went out and set up the traffic control points, then went to the ayatollah’s house. The dog teams did a complete sweep around the neighborhood looking for explosives devices. Any vehicles parked in the area were checked and were noted as checked. They blocked off the street and prohibited additional vehicles from driving down or parking on the street. The MP CAT guys set up positions around the block and barred entry to areas already swept by the dogs. Sniper teams were deployed. Sax apologized to the al-Sadr team for our disruptions. They told us to do whatever we had to do. They knew their man would also be in immense danger once the ambassador showed up—the safer the ambassador, the safer the ayatollah. We had to work together, and we did.

Sax called and said he was set. I went to the ambassador and relayed that we were ready whenever he was. He grinned and said he would leave in two minutes. The motorcade rolled out of the palace area. We were on our way.

My guys were tense as hell. My guts, too, were tight. I said a little prayer asking for the day to go smoothly. About three hundred yards out my window I could see an Apache flying alongside us. What a beautiful sight! I could hear the Little Birds overhead. The F-16s had been asked to make some low-altitude flyovers to let everyone know they were in the area, and they did so about every thirty minutes. Everything was going according to plan.

We entered the Red Zone and headed to the lunch meeting. Our MP CAT rolled hard. About five minutes before we reached each choke point they coordinated with their brothers and sisters. As we approached each control point the additional MP assets stopped traffic to make sure we could sail though unmolested. It was like clockwork. As we hit the first choke point one of the F-16s buzzed overhead at about three hundred feet. The noise was wonderful. Q and the team had the ECMs working at full capacity. At designated spots and times the driving crew jammed all frequencies. No signal was going to get through if we could help it. We left nothing to chance.

As we rolled it occurred to me we just might survive this mission. Then I thought, we still have a few weeks to go so I told my brain to shut up, concentrate, and quit the idle chatter. We arrived at al-Sadr’s house without incident. Everyone involved did exactly what they were supposed to do. I could not have been happier. The ambassador went in, and I went to meet Sax to check on things.

A small crowd gathered at the end of the street. Knowing that the ayatollah’s men knew everyone in the area I went over to one I trusted and asked him to come with me to see if these people were local. He walked over with me and assured me that they were from the neighborhood and meant no harm. They were just curious as to what was going on. Even in the USA this would have happened. I told my guys to watch them, but to not be stupid.

The first hour passed. It was hot—like hell hot. The dogs were taking a beating and had to be rotated in out of the air-conditioned vehicles every thirty minutes. The guys were tense and sweating heavily in the heat. Everyone felt the tension. The entire team had locked the street down, staggering themselves at five- to ten-yard intervals. We had complete 360-degree coverage. No one could get the drop on us. With the exception of a few onlookers the area was eerily quiet. That’s an attack indicator: when an area is devoid of people, or activity, you had better be ready. Jad, one of our Arabic speakers, had overheard some local nationals talking. He understood them to say that everything was ready. An intel report came in over the net. If it was going to happen, it would be soon. The Little Birds rotated in and out as they had to refuel. The Apaches radioed and said they had to refuel. I asked them to go as fast as they could and held my breath as they headed out. The Apache pilots did me one better. As they left they contacted another pair of Apaches that had been operating in the area and asked them to cover for them while they refueled. And they did. The gods of war were smiling upon us.

The F-16s continued their low flyovers. It was loud. Really LOUD. One hour turned into two. The second hour became the third hour. The longer we were there, the more chances we had to get hit on the way home. Al-Sadr’s lead security guy finally came out and said they were finishing up. We hugged and wished each other well, knowing full well that this was probably the last time that we would see each other.

The ambassador came out. We loaded up for the ride home. The same tactics we employed on the way to the event were utilized on the way back, except on a different route. Again I hoped it would be a smooth trip out.

I worried about the advance team, which as usual would be the last to leave. On the last trip they had been attacked on the way home. I had told Sax to get out of there as quickly as possible after we left. I kept waiting for his call that they were moving. After about five minutes out, he called and said they were rolling. So far, so good. Nothing had happened on the trip out or at the arrival and departure. Now we just had to get back to the palace.

The MP CAT teams were taking zero chances. We could smell the finish line. The traffic control points were working perfectly. The Little Birds were right on top of us. I saw the checkpoint for the entrance to the Green Zone, and then we were in. We had made it. Everybody took an audible deep breath. We rolled up to the palace, and the ambassador went to his office. I felt good. As always, the question remained: Did we not have a problem today because of the efforts we put forth, or did nothing happen because nothing was planned? Either way, we had allowed the ambassador to accomplish a key mission. And we got him back safely. Once again, under very trying and difficult circumstances, we had not fired a shot.

Q and his guys departed the next day. I needed new drivers for the last month. Quite frankly, that scared the shit out of me. Instead of slowing down, Ambassador Bremer kept a more frenetic pace. Sue called multiple times each day with new places or meetings someone insisted the ambassador must attend.

“Frank,” Sue would say, “Chicken Balls is trying to get Jerry killed again.”

I would laugh, then talk to the intel guys and get a pulse reading. More often than not, Sue’s instincts were right on. Many of the proposed visits were not feasible in any way, shape, or form. Sue would dismiss them as quickly as she could.

After Q and his team departed, Jadicus came to me and asked if he could become a driver. He had been in the Little Birds, on the detail team, and on the advance team, but he had never driven. He wanted to give it a try. Fortunately by this time I had two additional medics, and after his meritorious service up to this point, I felt that I owed him the chance. I said okay. That evening Jad drove the limo from the palace to the villa—a two-minute move at most. Jad pulled up perfectly. We loaded the ambassador into the vehicle. We began to roll. Jad pulled up the proper distance behind the lead car. Everything was going well. Then Jad missed spotting a speed bump. At the last possible second he jammed the brakes. The vehicle hit the bump hard at about 20 mph, jolted up six inches off the ground, slammed back down. The ambassador groaned. It was a pretty good hit. I got the ambassador into the villa and headed back to the car.

Jad: “Frankwater, I know.”

Me: “Hope you enjoyed your driving experience.”

Jad just laughed. So did I.

The ambassador continued to visit the Iraqis who had been instrumental in helping achieve all that had been accomplished to this point. Several times each day we made moves into the Red Zone, and each day the threat level seemed to rise. I was tired as hell, and exhaustion infected my Red Zone team. Based upon intel the bad guys were becoming ever more determined to disrupt the scheduled 30 June handover of sovereignty to the new Iraqi leadership.

The ambassador spent a great deal of time with Ayad Allawi. Going to see him meant more interaction with the SEALs who were protecting him. We enjoyed going there. These guys knew they had a very tough job, and we spent a lot of time explaining and telling them the painful lessons we had learned and what we did to address certain issues. They did, in some respects, have an easier road to travel since they had the full backing of the U.S. military and could more easily get whatever assets they felt were necessary to accomplish their mission. And they were not viewed as
dirty mercenary contractors
, as we had been. The threat against their guy, Allawi, was extremely high. Many Iraqi factions had lobbied for others to be chosen. After the handover their lives would get harder as Allawi would become the number one target in Iraq. I did not envy them.

30 June drew closer. I knew that getting the ambassador out safely was going to take a major-league effort on our part. The guys had to be firing on all cylinders on each and every mission. This was not the time for complacency or to be looking for the finish line. We all wanted to go home and see our families, but to do this we had to finish strongly. Exhaustion or not, there was zero time to relax.

Guys began to ask about flight arrangements home, dates they would be leaving, possibly coming back, and all sorts of other issues I knew were important to them, but the questions and requests were driving me crazy. Throw in the fact that Blackwater had sent over a new guy to supervise the new team that would protect Ambassador Negroponte, and my ability to be all things to all people was tested to the extreme.

The two DS agents who had been assigned to us were a great help in reassuring the guys that not much would change. The agents’ biggest concern was the loss of institutional knowledge that would occur as all the leadership elements of my team departed. In most cases these guys had been there for six months or more. They were anxious to head home. This meant that the DS guys had to identify and begin to groom the next shift leaders, advance team leaders, and drivers. And they had to do all this while we were running 100 mph around Baghdad. I felt bad that I could not be of more assistance to them.