The Circuit (28 page)

I could have kicked myself for not having the camera rolling.

Inside Suweidi, Abdullah followed my driving instructions to the letter; slowing down when we passed significant landmarks but never stopping. On camera, he talked more about Suweidi’s current troubles than his own chequered past. He pointed out at least four areas where incidents had recently taken place, from gun battles to helicopter attacks. My heart sank as he pointed to where the BBC crew had been shot. Poor lads. It’s difficult for any journalist, including those with experience in hostile environments, to balance reporting needs with security needs. The two are often at odds and when presented with one or the other, ambitious journalists will usually cross their fingers, go for the story and hope they get away with it. The BBC crew had made the mistake of filming on the streets of Suweidi for nearly half an hour. Militants can organize and stage an attack within minutes. Sadly, the BBC lads didn’t have a security adviser around to remind them of this.

Our entire recce took approximately fifty minutes door to door. When we returned to the hotel, I told Nic he could film in Suweidi, as long as he stayed inside the vehicle and kept mobile – which he did. In the end, we were both well pleased: Nic because he’d got the story and me because he’d got it safely.

CHAPTER 27

The year 2004 was shaping up to be great for me professionally. Working with the media was a ball, especially Nic Robertson. I’d seen Nic through some of the most hazardous areas of Afghanistan, Iraq and even Saudi Arabia. From a security standpoint, all of these assignments were successful; partly because we were lucky, but mostly because Nic let me get on with my job.

By autumn 2004, my work for that year had come full circle. AKE asked me to return to Baghdad to look after CNN. I wasn’t expecting a carbon copy of my first trip. The insurgency had gained tremendous momentum in the months I’d been away and the operational environment had grown far more treacherous. Hardly a day passed when I didn’t hear about a security adviser getting hit in Iraq.

The worsening security situation was apparent as soon as I landed. The AKE convoy waiting to collect me from Baghdad International Airport had been upgraded from soft-skinned to very good-spec, low-profile armoured 4x4s. After a quick brief, including an update of the latest insurgent incidents, I was handed my weapons and kit and off we went to the Palestine hotel. I noted a marked increase in the number of foreign security details driving up and down the airport road. We must have passed at least half a dozen, all of them very overt, from their choice of vehicles to the visibility of weapons and body armour. No wonder security advisers were getting hit practically every day. The one advantage for us, though, was that the conspicuous teams would draw attention away from us.

By the time we reached the Palestine, the AKE lads had caught me up on what was going on with CNN. The network still had a large presence in Baghdad and there were several correspondents and crews operating out of the bureau. Most of the journalists were working within the security guidelines established by AKE, but some insisted on operating unilaterally.

Journalists are competitive; even when they work for the same network they can guard their stories jealously. A minority of CNN staffers were sneaking off without taking advisers or letting anyone know where they were going. It was complete insanity. Not only were they putting themselves at risk by travelling alone, if they went missing, no one would have a clue where to start looking for them.

Even inside the Palestine, this small group of CNN staffers was refusing to maintain any semblance of cohesion with the rest of their team. Rather than sleep on one of two designated floors, they’d scattered themselves throughout the hotel. If the Palestine were attacked, the AKE team would be running all over the place trying to do a head count and get everyone to safety.

The clients also had a major transport issue. I was told that in addition to the two new armoured 4x4s, CNN was still using an armoured BMW 5 series that had been brought in from Amman purely as an interim measure until the 4x4s arrived. The BMW was very old and had broken down on no fewer than three occasions with CNN staff riding inside.

Finally, the AKE lads were contending with a new development that had cropped up during my absence: Iraqi security advisers. CNN had taken on several of them, the argument being that they were more low profile, and much cheaper than western advisers. When it comes to operating low profile, I’m the preacher and the choir. But that wasn’t enough in my opinion to overcome the disadvantages of using local security. The Iraqi advisers had limited options outside their home market and would therefore be much more likely to cave in to the client on important issues. Working in their own backyards also exposed the Iraqi advisers to blackmail, extortion and death threats from insurgents.

When I asked what was going on with respect to addressing these issues, the lads told me that they’d all been brought to the attention of the Baghdad Bureau Chief but he hadn’t sorted the issues to date. They told me I was welcome to try with him.

Of all the issues brewing at the bureau the one that topped my priority list was the BMW. A vehicle failure in a hostile environment can cost a client their life. At the first opportunity, I went to see it for myself. From a few yards away the car didn’t appear armoured, which made it very low profile. But that was the only thing it had going for it. The vehicle was close to thirty years old and had been armoured without upgrading the chassis or engine. No wonder it was breaking down. It’s like a person who piles on loads of weight; eventually things start to give out. It was time to either blow up the BMW ourselves or shift it back to Amman. Using it operationally in Baghdad was a disaster waiting to happen.

I went to see the bureau chief immediately. The bureau was located in the Palestine’s former swimming pool changing rooms; a large open space with no natural light (sandbags had been piled up outside the only window). It was sectioned off by rows of tables holding computer terminals, editing and viewing equipment. The bureau chief’s area was in the centre of the room.

When I saw the bureau chief, I recognized him immediately. It was the same young man I’d escorted to the presser in the Green Zone on my first trip to Baghdad – the one who refused to wear his body armour. I couldn’t get through to him back then so it was little wonder my fellow advisers were having difficulty with him now.

I walked over and reintroduced myself to him. His complexion was very pale and pasty – a bad sign. It suggested he probably rarely left the hotel. A bureau chief’s main job is to send correspondents and crews out to cover stories. Having worked with the media for a while, I’d learned that the best bureau chiefs get out on the ground whenever possible.
²¹
Like a military ops officer in a hostile environment, a bureau chief should understand what is safely achievable and what is not. The best way to gain this understanding is through first-hand experience.

I listed my concerns about the BMW to the bureau chief and asked him why, given its history of mechanical failure, it hadn’t been replaced with a more reliable vehicle. Before answering me, the bureau chief looked around to see who was listening to our conversation. He told me the car’s problems had been fixed and that there was no money in his budget to buy another one.

‘Can’t you send a memo to Atlanta [CNN Headquarters] explaining that due to the number of crews in situ you require another armoured vehicle?’ I asked.

The question really got his back up. He told me it would be him who’d decide which issues to take up with Atlanta – not me. His tone was very defensive. The fact that the conversation was happening within earshot of his staff probably wasn’t helping matters. I asked him to take a walk with me around the Palestine’s gardens so we could chat privately.

Once outside, I tried to put his mind at ease by telling him that my intention was to help him; not to hinder him or undercut his authority. I explained that sometimes it pays to have a fresh set of eyes on a situation to see where things may be falling down. I then listed my concerns: the BMW, the staff being split all over the hotel, crews taking off unilaterally and the local security advisers.

The bureau chief agreed with certain points, such as consolidating the CNN staff on two floors and making sure no one left the hotel without taking an adviser and letting someone know exactly where they were going. He did not agree with me on the issue of local security. The BMW was also a major sticking point; he refused to replace it, arguing that all the mechanical problems had been sorted.

I told him that the vehicle was almost thirty years old and no amount of servicing would make it roadworthy.

He didn’t agree.

A few days later I was assigned to look after CNN correspondent Diana Muriel. Thoroughly feminine with a refined demeanour, Diana didn’t fit the typical image of a scruffy, weatherbeaten war reporter but her track record spoke for itself; she’d covered riots in Northern Ireland, spent three months in Afghanistan in 2002 and survived a two-month desert embed with the British military during the 2003 Iraq invasion.

Diana was working on a story featuring a local medicine man using traditional practices to treat people for common ailments. Iraq’s medical system had once been the envy of the Arab world. Diana’s report would show just how badly it had broken down.

The shoot was to take place in Baghdad’s Khadamiya district, a forty-minute drive from the Palestine. During the pre-shoot briefing, Diana expressed her reservations about travelling across town. She was wise to be cautious. A dozen journalists had already been abducted in Iraq that year, including an Italian who was killed by his captors. With her pale skin, blue eyes and blonde hair, Diana was a tempting target for kidnappers and insurgents. Thankfully, she was savvy enough to realize that she wasn’t going to blend in with the locals just by throwing a scarf over her head.

I assured Diana that if things looked dangerous, we’d turn around and come straight back to the hotel – provided our car was up to the task. The only vehicle available for the shoot was the crappy BMW. I didn’t hide my concerns from Diana; she had a right to know all the potential risks involved with getting her story. Before we left the Palestine, I asked the bureau chief again about the BMW’s servicing. He was adamant that the vehicle was fine. I still didn’t believe it, so I asked our driver to kick over the engine and do a few laps around the car park of the Palestine before we left. I had him keep the engine running while Diana and her shooter loaded their gear into the car.

It was late morning and, as usual, Baghdad’s roads were extremely congested. The weather was hot and humid and the BMW’s fan laboured like an old man with emphysema to keep us moderately cool. I knew the car’s engine would be struggling as well. Somehow, the car made it to Khadamiya without breaking down. I didn’t want to risk having it not start up again, so I asked the driver to keep the engine running throughout the shoot.

The doctor’s office was located down a narrow passage in the centre of Khadamiya’s old town. It was a small surgery with just enough room for the doctor’s kit and a patient to sit upright in a chair. During the shoot, two American helicopters flew over us low and fast. The locals disappeared into their houses immediately. One woman was kind enough to beckon us in to take cover with her. I thanked the woman but declined her offer. The people in the neighbourhood were genuinely nice but I knew word of our presence would eventually filter up the street, possibly to the wrong people. The longer we stayed the more vulnerable we became. It was a very worthwhile story and I was happy to continue as long as Diana and her shooter kept things moving. She wrapped the shoot quickly, nailing her stand-up in one take.

The engine was still running when we got back to the car. We all piled inside and headed back towards the Palestine. It looked like we’d complete the assignment without a hitch, and then the car’s history caught up with us. It was mid-afternoon, around 3 p.m. local time. We were crawling down a five-lane highway in bumper-to-bumper traffic when the BMW died. There was no sputtering or lurching – the engine just cut out, full stop.

Our driver steered the vehicle onto the shoulder of the highway. ‘It’s happening again! It’s happening again!’ he said.

I asked the driver to get out and check under the bonnet (if Diana or I were to leave the vehicle, we’d instantly draw attention). While the driver tried in vain to fix the engine, I called the AKE operations desk at the bureau for backup. The lad on the desk was fuming that the vehicle had broken down – again. Two minutes later he rang back to say that one of CNN’s local fixers was in the vicinity and would divert to our location to collect us.

I saw the fixer heading towards us in the opposite direction down the highway. When he drew parallel with our position, he pulled over and waved. The fixer was a welcome sight but I still had to get everyone across ten lanes of Baghdad traffic in full view of everyone. To make matters worse, the driver refused to leave the vehicle. I told him there was no way we could cross the highway without being seen. Everyone would know he was working with westerners, which could mark him a target.

The driver understood but refused to abandon the BMW, afraid that if he did, he’d be fired. I told him that was rubbish and CNN would never do that, but nothing I said would convince him. It did occur to me to simply set the BMW on fire (I carry a flare in my kit just for that sort of situation), but short of chinning the driver and throwing him over my shoulder – which wasn’t an option – there was nothing I could do to get him to come with us.

I couldn’t be skipping across the road several times; everything, people and gear, had to be cross-decked to the fixer’s vehicle in one go. Fortunately, Diana was wearing her head scarf and all of us were wearing body armour underneath our clothes. We were as low profile as we could possibly get. I grabbed my car weapon, an AK, but kept it in its canvas bag with the zip open for easy access. We moved in a close-knit group; the crew in front, followed by Diana and me at their backs. Traffic was moving slowly and many of the drivers on the road were able to figure out our situation. The majority were hospitable; a couple of lorry drivers pulled up, leaving gaps for us to cross. But the friendly drivers weren’t my concern. I was worried about the ones in the background, the insurgents and opportunists waiting to abduct a westerner. It took less than thirty seconds for all of us to cross the ten lanes and jump into the fixer’s vehicle. As we pulled away, I looked back at the driver; he was leaning over the open bonnet and talking on his phone.