Rough Him Up Some?

If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men.

—Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Theseus, V.I.211

CAPTUS did himself no favors, however. XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX X XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XX .

XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX .

XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXX . Not long after he agreed to my proposal he so irritated me that I got up from a session and walked out. Big Guy was waiting in the hall.

Big Guy was not too bright and did not trouble himself with what CAPTUS said. He always struck me as having been detailed to the intelligence service as a jailor from some subaltern position in the army. He received his orders and simply carried them out. If CAPTUS was a prisoner, Big Guy’s service must want him to be detained; that sufficed. He was uninterested in, indeed, incapable of perceiving, any sort of psychological manipulation or game. For him, the issues were straightforward. He was the kind of man that Wilmington had tried to appear when briefing me back at Headquarters. But Wilmington was a white-collar, educated intelligence officer, projecting toughness, playing a bit of a false role. Big Guy was not playing. He had no guile. He was, at heart, a thug.

“Ah,” Big Guy said with a slight turn-up at the corner of his mouth, because I seemed ruffled, and because he felt, at last, more in his element. He violently plucked out a couple of his nose hairs and casually flicked them off his fingers. “XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXXXX .” Big Guy looked at me expectantly.1

I was appalled. I had expressed frustration with CAPTUS, but XXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXX .

I did not want this and would not allow it on my case. I was there to interrogate an al-Qa’ida member, not torture anyone.

I answered Big Guy with all the official force, command, and seriousness I possessed:

“No. No. Listen to me. No. XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX. Am I clear about this? XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXX .”2

Big Guy showed almost no emotion, but I took his stoicism to be a comment on my reaction, and detected a hint of disdain. He was professional, however.

“Yes, yes, okay. I understand.”

He remained amused that CAPTUS had irritated me. Early that evening, Little Guy joined us for a wrap-up meeting about the day’s work. Big Guy told him, half kidding me for having lost my temper, that I “wanted to have CAPTUS roughed up.” I found nothing amusing about this at all and repeated to Little Guy that “I do not want CAPTUS ‘roughed up.’ I would not have anything to do with such a thing, and I in no way whatsoever said, implied, or desired that CAPTUS be touched. I do not want that at all. And I am speaking formally.”

Little Guy understood and the matter ended there. But I had been apprehensive that a frustrated expostulation might lead to torture. It did not.

Our cases were always compartmented on a need-to-know basis. Frequently during my career, I did not know what my officemates were doing, or whom they were meeting, and they did not know whom I met. As one of the few officers involved in interrogation of HVTs, though, one heard things informally from time to time.

There were occasional murmured comments about terrible fog-of-war choices facing colleagues dealing with detainees.

While I was exasperated with CAPTUS, and heatedly telling Big Guy to do nothing about it, I heard a grim rumor, furtively mentioned by a colleague traveling TDY and passing through the station, that XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX . I was shocked. I had to assume that if true, it must have been due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control—battlefield situations, perhaps, like what had happened in the early days of our war in Afghanistan, when CIA officer Johnny Spann, and numbers of Taliban, were killed in chaotic conditions. It was inconceivable to me that there could be any other explanation. But my thoughts nonetheless recurred to the challenge, the impossible challenge, of seeing and deciding clearly in the “gray world,” where there might be no good choice, and yet one must choose a course of action on the spot. It was so easy to cross a line, when one could not see clearly, where there might not be a line, where one had to decide immediately what to do, when historical guidelines had been repudiated, and when pressure was intense and relentless.

In any event, I had my own problems, rumors were always insidious, the echoes were distant, and no more substantial than the hot whispered air by which one heard them.3

“My guy” CAPTUS was in solitary isolation, but well treated otherwise. So far as I was aware, he had not been subjected to physical coercion.

Liaison informed us that we would have a several-day break in meeting CAPTUS. He had been sent away “XXXXXXXXXXX XX ,” according to liaison, to give the CAPTUS interrogation teams a short break. This happened several times. It was true that the interrogation was tremendously labor intensive and draining for all concerned. These visits “XXXXXXXXXXX XXXX” disturbed me; I did not like what, to my ears, was too elusive a characterization. I did not know what liaison did to CAPTUS during these interludes.

But liaison controlled the asset, and the case, and allowed us to interrogate CAPTUS, whom they were holding for us. This was their soil, we were there on sufferance, and they had ultimate control, so long as we kept him in their country. XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXX XXXXX .4

I do not know any more about this element of the CAPTUS case—and I was the one running it. I knew that no one person actually ever ran any operations in intelligence, and I unhappily thought of my tense conversation with Wilmington at Headquarters, which seemed so long ago and so far away, when he sneered to me, “Well, then, you just walk out of the room, if you feel you should. Then you won’t have seen anything, will you? You will not have been party to anything.”

Headquarters’ pro forma response to my proposal arrived; it lauded my initiative but said that it did not consider my proposal feasible.

My plan had been forlorn from the outset, and I had known it before sending it in. It reflected my growing doubts that CAPTUS was the evil al-Qa’ida member we believed him to be when he was rendered, and ill ease that we had destroyed the man’s life based on an error. And yet, I wrestled with my conflicting knowledge that he possessed information about al-Qa’ida operations that he appeared to avoid discussing. But then, I knew, too, that he was trying not to say things that he was sure would be misconstrued to his detriment. I thought this reticence understandable, and not necessarily proof of guilt. The stakes were high and the case was rife with contradictory impulses and information. So I knew my proposal was forlorn from the outset; believed that he was a victim of our misguided assessments and zeal; found detaining him to be inefficient, probably unjust, but now inevitable; believed, too, he was withholding information about certain aspects of al-Qa’ida operations.

And CAPTUS, because of some combination of unfortunate circumstance, his stupidity, his willful duplicity, the CIA’s self-fulfilling yet erroneous assessments about him, the CIA’s legitimate determination ruthlessly to pursue and destroy al-Qa’ida killers in a time of war . . . found himself rendered, trussed, isolated, manipulated, interrogated, and “sent to the desert.”

The one consequence of my futile proposal was to put Wilmington and Headquarters more at odds with me on some aspects of how the case should be run, and on significant parts of the entire operation. They added this to my implicitly critical views on how the case had been and should be run, to my cables detailing my conviction that CAPTUS was not a member of al-Qa’ida and to my initial concerns concerning interrogation methods, however discreetly indicated during my initial briefing. But this was, and always remained, sub rosa. Tensions and disputes almost always play out sub rosa in the DO.

The cable from Headquarters closed by expressing Headquarters’ support. It was the DO’s version of a thin smile.

1 The deleted passage concerns what Big Guy proposed to do with CAPTUS.

2 The deleted passage concerns my emphatic opposition to what Big Guy had proposed.

3 I heard nothing more about the incident, or incidents. I learned much later that a detainee had died in Afghanistan, which was the subject of a formal investigation. It appears that the detainee died, unintentionally, from an aggressive interrogation gone hideously wrong. The man froze to death.

4 The deleted passage concerns my effort to learn about what happened during these absences.