Over THE COURSE OF the next couple of weeks Joan and I had a few more hotel meetings with Pasha to review his plan for how he would return to Afghanistan and set up his source network. We also needed to train him on how to use a GPS device. This would be a critical skill for him, and one he would have to know well enough that he could also train members of his network. By using the GPS, the locations of any al-Qaida members could be accurately determined and reported back for targeting purposes. From my college ROTC days when I competed in the sport of orienteering, and from my six years in the Army that included Ranger School and the Special Forces Qualification course, I knew how to use a map and compass very well. But my Army service pre-dated GPS technology, so I was in no position to train anyone on it. For this task, SAD provided a young paramilitary officer named Ted to assist us.
After briefing Ted on the case, we arranged to pick up Pasha and take him to a large park in northern Virginia where we would conduct the training. It was the weekend and the weather was nice that day, so there were quite a few people at the park. If there had been more time, we would have preferred to do the training on a military base or at a CIA facility, but it wasn’t possible to make those arrangements in the short timeframe we had; the park would have to do. The problem was, with the memory of 9/11 still very fresh in everyone’s mind, Pasha’s pronounced Afghan appearance and ethnic style of clothing immediately attracted the attention of anyone who saw him. The fact we were working with a GPS only heightened people’s interest and suspicion.
“This isn’t good. We’ve got to get away from all these people. I wouldn’t be surprised if they called the cops on us,” I said.
Ted agreed. We finally found an area of the park where there wasn’t anyone around, and we were able to complete the training in a couple of hours. I took advantage of Ted’s instructions as well, knowing that if I ever made it to Afghanistan I would need to know how to use the GPS.
As we made our way back to the parking area and began to encounter more people, Pasha once again began to draw attention. We got in the car, and as we pulled away, I saw in the rear view mirror a middle-aged man with his two children by his side, writing down our license plate number. I wasn’t worried that he might call in the plate number to the police or the FBI because I had an Agency credential I could produce if need be. What did worry me, though, was how much attention Pasha drew to himself simply by the way he looked. I imagined the kind of attention he would generate from both the public and airport security personnel when he went to Dulles Airport in a few days holding a ticket with Pakistan as his destination. If he or his luggage were subjected to extra scrutiny, it could cause problems. We wanted his trip to be as problem-free as possible, so we would have to make special arrangements to get him through the airport and on his way.
The Transportation Security Agency did not exist at the time but the U.S. Immigration Service did, and it had an officer assigned to CTC whose job, among other things, was to provide assistance in situations like this. First thing on Monday morning, I met with the immigration officer to discuss how we could get Pasha through the airport without a delay and without causing undue concern among other passengers. Although for operational security reasons, I could not tell the officer what Pasha would be doing for us, he understood enough to know that it was important, and he was eager to help. With his assistance, arrangements were made for Pasha’s travel.
On the night of his departure I picked him up at a predetermined location in northern Virginia. On the drive to Dulles Airport, I went over the contact plan for when Pasha would be met again in two weeks time. The meeting would take place in Pakistan’s capital, Islamabad. I did not know for certain that I would be the officer to meet him, so I gave him a verbal parole that would be used in the event that he met with a different CIA officer.
At Dulles, Pasha and I met the CTC immigration officer and a couple of his colleagues at an auxiliary gate where I had been instructed to go. Pasha and I got out of the car and transferred his bags into an unmarked van. This would be the last time I would talk to Pasha in the U.S., and it was time to say good-bye.
“Alright, my brother, this is the first step. Either myself or one of my colleagues will see you in Islamabad. Remember what we talked about. You need to come to the meeting with a full report on what’s going on back home. That will be what determines the next steps we take.”
“No problem. I am ready to do this.”
After a quick embrace, Pasha got into the van that headed off for the terminal building. One of the immigration officers escorted me to a room inside the terminal where we would be able to monitor Pasha’s boarding of the aircraft via closed circuit television. I was beginning to get a bit concerned as most of the passengers had boarded and there was no sign of Pasha, when suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, he appeared and got at the end of the line and boarded the plane. I stayed at the airport until his plane took off, and then returned home wondering if I would see Pasha again.