The Lone Gladio Countdown: 3 Weeks to Go
We are continuing our countdown to The Lone Gladio official launch date: September 11, 2014, with only three more weeks to go.
Yesterday, after reviewing and re-reviewing our proof copies, we submitted our officially final file for publication. I know one thing: I won’t be re-reading this book for a very long time. In addition to over a year of writing, I have had to endure reading this book at least two dozen times since its supposed completion. Can you blame me?!
Okay, so what is left to do? I am happy to report: not much. I am going to send a few copies to my trusted independent news and blog partners. I will be working on a brief news release for the launch and newsletters. We will update The Lone Gladio website. And … well, I’ll be leaving home for a couple of minor surgeries on September 8, and return on the day my book will be officially released- September 11.
If you haven’t already, please subscribe to my newsletter for all the coming news, updates and promos for The Lone Gladio here at The Lone Gladio Website. You can also join The Lone Gladio pages at Twitter and Facebook
Also, for our coming BFP Quarterly Donation Drive we are now offering a very limited number of advance signed copies of The Lone Gladio, packaged with one-year BFP membership and our latest BFP DVD-The PSYOPS Series. If you are interested, which I hope you are, Click HERE or check out the information at the bottom of this post.
Now, are you ready for the second round of select excerpts from The Lone Gladio? Here we go: Please meet FBI Analyst Elsie Simon:
Chapter 5
. . .
Elsie was about to sit and start up her monitor when she changed her mind, grabbing her notepad and heading out.
She entered the unit’s file and archives room where she noticed an Asian translator on her knees methodically filing copies of her printed transcripts. The FBI insisted on keeping with its precomputer methods. Each analyst had to make multiple copies of every translated document or concluding analysis and file them with each corresponding unit. In addition, another copy had to be submitted to the central secretary, who arranged secure hand-delivery to headquarters at the end of each day, and yet another had to be filed here in this enormous archive. Change was despised. Any time-saving resource or innovation was doubly loathed and fought against.
Up until the terror attack, analysts worked at headquarters, where they received hand-delivered translated documents from the language specialists and agents’ reports from field offices around the country. Their analyses then were sent to the unit heads, who shared them with the corresponding agents.
Middlemen and redundancies often caused delays and near useless analyses. Raw data without context or a hastily written field report almost never gave the full picture. Analysts and agents need regular briefings and consulting face to face in real time. Stale and dated data produces useless analyses.
Elsie proceeded along the wall opposite to where the translator was finishing up. She opened the first drawer on top, ran through the alphabetized folders until she found the file that corresponded to her unit and current operation numerical code. She removed the file, placed it on top of her legal pad, and quietly closed the drawer. Once she heard the translator exit, she quickly moved near to where the woman had been filing. This was the area for the Arabic division.
Elsie opened the middle drawer for northern Africa–related cases and operations, scanning the folders under Egypt until she reached 2001. Spotting the CT-Counterterrorism section, she pulled the folder rack forward and removed the file labeled Mahmoud, Yousef CT 119-TSC WFO.
The file was amazingly thin. She flipped open the jacket. Only two pages: one with a short paragraph summarizing the Canadian unit’s memo and deportation date and time; and the other, an itemized list of Yousef’s belongings confiscated by Canadian Intelligence, with several items redacted and turned over to the FBI.
According to the list, Yousef carried three international passports, one of which was a diplomatic passport issued in 1997 by the State Department under the name Khalid Ramesh—immediately raising the question of whether or not it was faked. Why would the State Department issue a diplomatic passport to an air force major stationed in Nebraska? If it was real, wouldn’t that give credence to her theory that Yousef worked as a double agent? She wondered what Ryan’s reaction would be. Still, there was no way for them to verify the passport’s authenticity.
Yousef carried a laptop as well, with numerous suspicious files and documents, many of which were encrypted and a few in other languages, including Arabic and Turkic. Notes with regard to this were blacked out; Elsie couldn’t help but wonder why.
What was he doing with Turkic documents? She couldn’t stop the questions swirling in her head. The bureau had him for over 72 hours; where is the rest of the usual thick paperwork? Where is the FBI’s order for translation and analysis of Yousef’s documents? Did they in fact get them translated and analyzed? If so, to whom did they assign those tasks? Where was the insisted-on customary paper trail for that? Why is the fileso empty? Who was the arresting agent(s), and where is their mandatory routine report?
She placed the file back in the folder, closed the drawer and returned to her office. Clearly, she was anxious to share this new finding with Ryan but had to wait. In-house phone or direct discussions of their outside case inside the building was verboten. Instead, they used a code to signal each other of the need to meet or talk. She planned to use it now.
For Meltem’s sake, she pretended to be working with her headset on while typing and staring at her monitor. After thirty minutes, she grabbed her legal pad and the file she’d removed from the archive room (the current boring case she and Ryan had been working on per their unit boss’s order, right after the Nazim fiasco) and took the stairs.
Elsie knocked twice on Ryan’s door. No response. She opened it a crack and peeked in. Empty. Going over to his desk, she tore a page from his Post-Its and jotted down a note: I’ll be @ Lunch @ La Luna Pizza, 12 p.m. # 89. 89 stood for fairly important but not urgent. She stuck the note on the center of his desk and went back to her cubicle.
She spent the next couple of hours going over transcripts, one of which instantly caught her eye. It pertained to a State Department request sent to the Turkish embassy on behalf of two employees of US International Education Development (USIED-US) for temporary work visas. According to the document, this was for a “brief education assessment trip” to Diyarbakir, a city near the border of Iraq-Turkey. She took out her personal organizer and wrote down the names, dates of birth, and assignment titles in her coded and abbreviated style, submitting the full versions into her infallible memory database. This case was hers alone and had nothing to do with Ryan’s projects or the bureau.
She left her office at 11:45 to give herself time to walk to La Luna. Walking outside like this, by herself, always helped her to think clearly.
She thought about their meeting this morning, and went over everything Ryan had given her. Granted, his intel was almost all fourth hand: from a supposedly reliable informant to Robert, Robert to Ryan and then to her—not ideal sourcing for solid analysis. Much better would be to meet the informant face to face.
Yousef was one of a select few top-tier operatives of the massive terror operation in the United States. He was one of the three who were captured, and one of the two captured alive. How could he be out, roaming freely and traveling internationally?
She had to think. With his education, background, and intimate knowledge of the al-Hazar network he’d be incredibly valuable as an asset-informant-agent. Might the U.S. government, for instance, alter his face and send him out on missions to catch a bigger fish? She supposed so; yet she doubted it. What made Yousef high value also made him risky and unreliable: very hard if not impossible to keep tabs on and control once out. Doing so no doubt would ensure disaster.
Elsie shifted gears, to Yousef’s files and history: What happened to them? Did the Pentagon order the bureau to hand over everything, leaving no trace? Again, this was doubtful; not that the Pentagon wouldn’t try. Between the two agencies there existed an epic ongoing pissing contest. Besides, someone somewhere in the FBI would always keep a copy, just in case. Even so, knowing that HQ had those files did not help her or Ryan.
Now she was back to the reasoning that had filled Ryan with such rage and adamant denial. What if Yousef had been a government agent from the start? What if his position with the U.S. Air Force and obtaining high-level clearance were by design? What if he was working with and directing al-Hazar as a commando general while being followed and watched by his bosses at the Pentagon? Finally—and horribly—what if his U.S. bosses knew of al-Hazar’s plans all along? Who knew, precisely? How many knew, and for how long? Even more, what if al-Hazar had moles in key positions within the government? What if they operated a major network within our government agencies? Could it be? Perhaps. They certainly have the money and backing, and when it comes to high-level U.S. officials, everything is up for sale. Or was this scenario too far-fetched?
She stopped when she realized she’d overshot the pizza joint by two blocks. Turning around, she double-timed it back, making sure to be there at twelve on the dot.
The place was packed. Elsie ordered a slice and tall lemonade and stepped aside. Every time the door opened, she’d glance to see if it was Ryan; so far, no sign of him.
She took her slice to a little wooden table and sat there alone, picking at it. Fifteen minutes later, still no sign. She took one last sip of her too-sweet drink, tossed the oily plate and cup and left. Lunchtime over.
. . .
Sibel Edmonds is editor of Boiling Frogs Post, founder-director of the National Security Whistleblowers Coalition, and author of the acclaimed book Classified Woman: The Sibel Edmonds Story. She is the recipient of the 2006 PEN/Newman’s Own First Amendment Award. Ms. Edmonds has been subjected to several government-asserted State Secrets Privilege orders, and the U.S. Congress has been indefinitely gagged and prevented from taking up her case through unprecedented retroactive classification orders issued by the Department of Justice. She is nationally recognized as the most classified woman in the United States. She has an MA in public policy from George Mason University and a BA in criminal justice and psychology from George Washington University.