No Easy Day: The Firsthand Account of the Mission That Killed Osama Bin Laden

CHAPTER 10 The Pacer

They led me into a conference room that served as the operations center.

Laptops and printers were set up on folding tables. Maps of Pakistan hung on one wall, including maps of a city called Abbottabad. All of the furniture was made of faux leather, with under-stuffed cushions and metal armrests. The guys had pushed most of the lounge furniture to one side next to the plastic plants to make room for gear.

The room was empty except for a few civilians from the CIA working quietly. I tried to take in some of the maps and photographs, but it was all so overwhelming. I still couldn’t believe they finally found Osama bin Laden.

We had never had any good leads. He was like a specter hanging over the whole war. We all dreamt about being on the mission to kill or capture him, but no one really thought about it seriously. There was too much luck involved. We all knew it came down to being in the right place at the right time, and walking into the operations center that Tuesday it appeared we were all in the right place. They had simply handpicked the most senior guys in the squadron rather than pull an existing troop.

Mike walked up and saw us in front of the organizational chart. There were twenty-eight names on the list, including an EOD tech. An interpreter and a combat assault dog, named Cairo, rounded out the team.

“Ali is a terp from the agency,” Mike said. “Terp” was short for interpreter. There would also be four alternates in case someone got hurt in training. “We broke everything down into four teams, and I’ve got you down as one of the four team leaders.”

Tom was also listed as a team leader.

“You’ll be on Chalk One for the infil,” Mike said. “Your team is responsible for the guesthouse, C1, to the south.”

C1 was the designation for the guesthouse, a separate structure from the main house in the compound, which was where Bin Laden would most likely be living. Chalk One and Chalk Two referred to the two helicopters that would carry us on the mission.

I noticed Charlie and Walt were also in Chalk One, but on a different team. The mission was organized so that both helicopters had the same capabilities. Chalk One mirrored Chalk Two. I had an officer on my team who would step in if Jay’s bird went down. Mike, our master chief, counted as part of my team, but once on the ground he was there to direct traffic and keep us on the timeline.

The layout of the target was still unfamiliar. I could see a diagram on one wall showing the compound and the arrow-like shape of its walls. I knew the guesthouse was a peripheral assignment; I’d be lying if I told you for a split second I didn’t wish I was going to be part of the team that was tasked with going to the roof of the main building, called A1. If all went as planned they would be the first team to make entry into the third floor, where Bin Laden was thought to be living. That wish quickly faded and I focused on what I was tasked with. There was plenty of action to go around, and I was just happy to be a part of the mission.

“Check,” I said, studying the chart. “Is Will coming back for this?”

Will rounded out my team. He was assigned to our sister squadron, which was already based in Jalalabad, Afghanistan. A self-taught Arabic speaker, Will would be able to communicate with Bin Laden’s family.

“You’ll link up with Will in J-bad,” Mike said. “I’ve got a meeting now, but check out the model. They spent good money on this thing. The rest of the guys should be back from breakfast in a few minutes.”

I walked out of the operations center and poked around the building, sipping a coffee. Our equipment was strewn all over the floor in a room just off the foyer. Pelican cases with weapons were open in one corner. Radios on chargers lined the far wall next to bags of tools. A chart printer was pushed into one corner. Crowding another corner were several white boards and easels with writing pads attached for note taking.

I found the mock-up of Bin Laden’s compound just outside the doors to the main briefing room. It sat on a five-foot-by-five-foot plywood base. It was made of foam; a massive wooden box secured by several padlocks sat in the corner of the room. The box covered the model when it wasn’t being used.

The model showed Bin Laden’s house in amazing detail, right down to the small trees in the courtyard and cars in the driveway and on the road that ran along the north side of the compound. It also had the location of the compound’s gates and doors, water tanks on the roof, and even concertina wire running along the top of the wall. Grass covered the main courtyard. Even the neighbors’ houses and fields were rendered in almost exact detail.

Between sips of coffee, I studied the three-story house.

The one-acre compound was on Kakul Road in a residential neighborhood in the city of Abbottabad. The town, north of Islamabad, Pakistan’s capital, was named for British major James Abbott. It is the home of Pakistan’s military academy.

My other teammates were still eating breakfast, so I had the model to myself. I was eager to get started, but I was still trying to wrap my head around what I learned that morning. We were finally going after Osama bin Laden.

Osama bin Laden was born March 10, 1957, in Riyadh. He was the seventh of fifty children. His father, Mohammed Awad bin Laden, was a construction billionaire, and his mother, Alia Ghanem from Syria, was his father’s tenth wife. Bin Laden barely knew his father. His parents divorced when he was ten years old. His mother married again, and he grew up with four stepsiblings.

In high school in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, Bin Laden joined an Islamic study group that memorized the entire Koran. In high school, he was exposed to fundamentalist Islam and Bin Laden grew his beard long like the Prophet Muhammad.

Bin Laden married his cousin when he was eighteen years old. They had a son in 1976, the same year Bin Laden graduated. He went to King Abdulaziz University in Jeddah and earned a degree in public administration.

When the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in 1979, Bin Laden relocated to Peshawar, Pakistan, and later Afghanistan. As a Muslim, it was his duty to fight the invading Soviets, he claimed. He built camps and trained mujahedeen, sometimes using aid from the United States. When the war ended in 1989, Bin Laden returned to Saudi Arabia, but was disgusted by what he considered the corrupt royal government. In 1992, he spoke out against the Saudi government and was banished to Sudan.

A year later, he formed al Qaeda, meaning “the foundation” or “the base” in Arabic. His goal was to start a war with the United States to rally Muslims to create a single Arab country across the Middle East.

His war against the United States started in 1996 when al Qaeda blew up a truck in Saudi Arabia, killing U.S. troops stationed there. Under pressure from the international community, the Sudanese government exiled him, and Bin Laden fled to Afghanistan and the protection of the Taliban.

In 1998, al Qaeda became a household name when his group bombed U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania. The attacks killed close to three hundred people. He followed up the embassy attacks by bombing the USS Cole in Aden harbor in 2000. But his most decisive blows were the four attacks on September 11, 2001. His followers killed almost three thousand civilians in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania. After Coalition forces toppled the Taliban in 2001, Bin Laden went into hiding after narrowly escaping capture by Coalition forces at Tora Bora in Afghanistan.

For the last ten years, Coalition forces, including the United States, had been hunting for him along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. Besides the 2007 spin-up, all of the intelligence we received had him hiding in Pakistan.

Soon, my teammates started to come in from breakfast. I was still studying the model when Tom walked into the room. He was one of the team leaders on Chalk One, and his team was responsible for clearing the first floor of the main building, called A1.

“They call him the Pacer because he walks for hours. They keep seeing the Pacer there,” Tom said as he pointed to a courtyard on the east side of the compound. “According to what the intel folks are saying, he walks out in the garden area to exercise from time to time. They think the Pacer is UBL.”

Walt and Charlie came in next. They both had big grins on their faces.

“You called it,” I said to Charlie. “How did they find him?”

“One of his couriers,” Charlie said. “He has two guys working for him.”

The day before, the CIA had briefed my teammates on the “Road to Abbottabad,” essentially how they found Bin Laden. In the operations center, there were several booklets full of intelligence about the area and Bin Laden. While we waited for the others to arrive from breakfast, I started to read the briefings. I was a day behind and wanted to get up to speed before the serious planning started.

Public sources later confirmed that the target compound, worth close to $1 million, was built in 2005, close to Pakistan’s military academy. It was much larger than other houses in the area and didn’t have a telephone or an Internet connection. The walls were built higher on the southern side of the compound to prevent people seeing inside the courtyard. Those walls blocked the view of the second and third floors. The windows on both the second and third floors of the main building were blacked out so no one could see in or out.

There was no evidence the Pacer had any contact outside of the compound. The residents burned their trash and had very little contact with their neighbors.

One of the people known to live at the compound was Ahmed al-Kuwaiti.

The CIA learned of Ahmed al-Kuwaiti after the interrogation of a man named Mohammed al-Qahtani, a Saudi citizen and the alleged twentieth hijacker on September 11, 2001. Immigration agents barred him from entering the United States in August 2001 because they thought he was trying to immigrate illegally to the United States. Investigators found out later that Mohammed Atta, one of the leaders of the plot, was waiting for him at the Orlando airport that day.

Al-Qahtani was sent back to Dubai only to get captured in the Battle of Tora Bora in December 2001 and sent to the prison at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. When his fingerprints came back as the same man sent back by immigration, interrogators went to work over several months in 2002 and 2003.

Al-Qahtani eventually told them that Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the planner of the September 11 attacks, sent him to the United States. He also admitted to meeting Bin Laden and receiving terrorist training, and identified a man named Ahmed al-Kuwaiti as one of Bin Laden’s couriers and right-hand men. Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, who was by this time in American custody as well, also acknowledged he knew al-Kuwaiti, but stressed that the courier was not part of al Qaeda.

Then in 2004, Hassan Ghul was captured. Ghul was a courier and al Qaeda agent. He told intelligence officials al-Kuwaiti was close to Bin Laden. When interrogators questioned Khalid Sheikh Mohammed about it again, he downplayed al-Kuwaiti’s role. Mohammed’s successor, Abu Faraj al-Libi, captured by the Pakistanis in 2005, told interrogators he hadn’t seen al-Kuwaiti in a while. Since both Mohammed and al-Libi dismissed al-Kuwaiti’s role when asked about him, intelligence analysts began to believe he might be with Bin Laden.

The CIA knew that al-Kuwaiti and his brother, thirty-three-year-old Abrar Ahmed al-Kuwaiti, had worked for Bin Laden in the past. The agency started to track Ahmed al-Kuwaiti in Pakistan, hoping he would lead them to his brother and then to Bin Laden.

Then, during an intercepted call to his family in 2010, one of his family members asked him what he was doing for work. For the most part, al-Kuwaiti had been savvy and kept his employer secret. So, when the family member asked what he was doing for work, al-Kuwaiti said he was “doing what he used to do.”

That subtle answer connected some dots and provided a good starting point for this operation. It was all circumstantial evidence, but it was all we had to go on.

The CIA started to track Ahmed al-Kuwaiti, watching his patterns. They noticed he drove a white truck with a picture of a rhino on the spare-tire cover. The CIA eventually tracked the truck back to the compound in Abbottabad, which now sat in model-form in front of me.

The CIA assessment said Bin Laden lived on the third floor of A1, the main building. His son Khalid lived on the second floor. The CIA expected at least one or two wives and a dozen kids. Kids are typically found at most targets we assault so this was an issue we were very familiar with.

Jay and Mike had helped plan the mission’s broad strokes in Washington weeks before, but it was our job to get into the weeds and really put the plan to the test. We knew our capabilities better than anyone, and since we were being trusted to execute the operation we would also have a critical role in the planning.

We all gathered around the model, as Jay and Mike started talking about where the planning was to date. Since the guys had been at it for twenty-four hours, the broad strokes of the plan had started to come together.

“We’re going to fly to the X,” Jay said. “Chalk One will rope into the courtyard.”

Moving over to the south side of the model, Jay pointed at the guesthouse, designated C1.

“Mark, you and your crew are responsible for C1,” Jay said. “Your team will move directly to the guesthouse. The sniper will clear the carport and then set up on the roof. You guys will clear and secure C1. Ahmed al-Kuwaiti lives in the house with his wife and kids. When you’re finished, move to backfill Tom’s team in A1.”

The remaining assaulters in Chalk One, led by Tom, would split up and make their way to A1.

“Charlie and Walt will move to the north door of A1 and wait,” Jay said. “They think the Pacer typically uses that door. The CIA’s assessment says there is likely a spiral staircase that leads up to his living quarters on the third floor.”

Tom and his team would move to the southern door, enter, and clear the first floor. The courier’s brother, Abrar Ahmed al-Kuwaiti, was thought to live on the first floor of the building with his family. Based on what Tom saw inside, his team would either clear through to the north door or let Charlie and Walt in. If blocked, they would exit and loop around to the north door.

“We have no idea of the layout inside the house other than we suspect that the house is cut into two living areas,” Jay said. “So Charlie and Walt will hold their position until Tom gives them the all-clear to breach.”

Meanwhile, the second helicopter—carrying Chalk Two—would drop off a five-person team north of the compound that would act as external security. Two assaulters and the CAD (combat assault dog) would patrol the perimeter of the compound. The dog would be used to track down squirters. The remaining two assaulters and the interpreter would position themselves just to the northeast corner of the compound to deal with possible onlookers or local police.

This external security job was actually one of the biggest and most dangerous positions on the raid. If we ran long on target, they would have to deal with first responders, most likely police, and the threat of military forces showing up. It wasn’t the sexy mission, but it was absolutely essential and could end up being the most dynamic.

“Once outer security is dropped off, the helo will pick up and hover above A1 and the remaining assaulters are going to rope onto the roof, make their way down onto the third-floor balcony, and clear the third deck.”

If the intelligence was correct and everything went according to plan, that was the team that was most likely to encounter Bin Laden first.

The rest of the brief Jay and Mike spent going over the load plan. Finally they designated several “pro” words for the operation. Pro words are one-word messages that relay information in an efficient manner. This kept radio traffic to a minimum and made passing information more reliable. On this mission, we chose pro words with a Native American theme.

“UBL is Geronimo,” Jay said.

The mission briefing took about an hour, and when we were done Mike and Jay left.

“Now you guys shoot holes in this,” Mike said. “Jay and I have been looking at this for several weeks now. You guys got it yesterday. Take some time and really get into the weeds.”

We tried never to fall in love with a plan, because that breeds complacency.

The first thing we tried to do was find an alternate way to approach the target. No one wanted to fly to the X. We’d given up doing that years ago. We were more comfortable being dropped off and patrolling to the compound. Our tactics had evolved over the years into being as sneaky as we could so we could keep the element of surprise until the very last second.

The reconnaissance and sniper teams studied satellite images, trying to find landing zones within four to six kilometers of the target, but none of the routes seemed to work. The compound was in a residential area. All of the landing zones were either too close to urban areas or we’d have to walk down city streets. The risks of getting compromised during our infil were too high. In the end, flying to the X was the lesser of two evils. It would be loud, but it would be fast. We couldn’t risk being compromised during the foot patrol.

Huddled in separate corners of the operations center, the teams got together individually to plan their part. Beyond our personal gear, we started to divide up our team gear list—a ladder, a sledgehammer, and explosives.

“I’ll need the ladder to climb the carport,” the sniper said. The collapsible ladder was heavy and burdensome. “Mike said he’d carry it on his back during the fast-rope so I can provide better security.”

We positioned two snipers, one in each door of Chalk One, to cover us as we roped into the compound. We didn’t need someone walking into the compound with an AK-47 and shooting us as we slid down the rope.

“Since Will isn’t here to argue, he gets the sledge,” I said with a smirk. “I’ll carry two breaching charges and a set of bolt cutters.”

A breaching charge was a two-inch-thick strip of explosives. The charge was about twelve inches long with a strip of adhesive that ran along its spine so we could stick it to the door. Once initiated, it would explode in about three seconds and usually tear a door open by cutting through the locking mechanism.

The goal of each team was to be self-sufficient. The last thing anybody wanted was to have to call another team over to help because they didn’t have the right equipment.

A woman from the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency, a blonde in her early thirties, took care of the maps and satellite images for us. She provided any detail—big or small.

Kneeling down to look at the mock-up, I studied the door leading into the guesthouse.

“Hey, are these doors on C1 inward or outward opening?” I asked her.

She was back in a few minutes with the answer.

“Double metal door,” she said. “Opens outwards.”

It was like that all week. If we had a question, they had the answer, including where the Pacer walked, who else lived on the compound, which gates were locked or unlocked, and even where they frequently parked their cars. They had a huge number of images from drones and satellites, and there wasn’t much they didn’t know about the outside environment of the compound.

In Washington, President Obama and his advisors were still discussing different options. The president still had not signed off on the ground-assault option. All we had been authorized to do up to now was to start planning and conduct rehearsals. The White House was still considering an Air Force option, a massive air strike using B-2 Spirit bombers to level the house.

Defense Secretary Robert Gates supported the air strike because it kept American ground forces out of Pakistan, which made the mission less like an invasion of the country’s sovereignty.

The United States didn’t have a great track record when it came to commando raids like the one we were planning. Since Operation Eagle Claw, there was a lot of risk in putting troops in harm’s way in a sovereign country.

During Eagle Claw, one of six helicopters flying to a desert staging base in Iran before the raid hit a fierce sand cloud and crashed into an MC-130E containing fuel. The fire destroyed both aircraft and killed eight servicemen. The mission, one of the first operations conducted by Delta Force, was aborted. Eagle Claw was a disaster and contributed to Carter losing his reelection campaign.

The air-strike option required thirty-two two-thousand-pound smart bombs. The barrage would last for a full minute and a half and the crater would penetrate at least thirty feet into the earth in case the compound had a bunker system. The possibility for collateral damage was high, and the possibility of finding identifiable remains after that kind of destruction was low.

If we were going to conduct this mission either with an air strike or raid, they wanted proof it was Bin Laden. The assault was risky, but the air strike added additional complications.

A few days after we arrived in North Carolina, we saw the Pacer for the first time.

Standing around the computer screen, we watched drone footage of the compound. The feed was black-and-white with little detail. I could make out the main building and the courtyard that took up the northeastern part of the compound.

After a few seconds, I saw the Pacer enter the frame. From the video feed, he looked like an ant. There was no way we could make out his face or even how tall he was. But we could see him walk out of the north door and start pacing in an oval clockwise around the courtyard. A makeshift awning was rigged up to cover him, but it only shaded part of the garden.

“He does this for hours,” one of the agency analysts said. “I’ve seen him walk by guys doing work, but he never helps. He just paces.”

Sometimes, he walked with a female or a child. None of them stopped to do any work. When a veterinarian came to treat the cow that lived in the courtyard, they moved it to another courtyard for treatment.

“We believe the reason they moved the cow is they don’t want anyone to see that side of the compound,” the analyst said. “It’s circumstantial, but it looks like they are hiding someone. Hey, take a look at this.”

Clicking to another day’s feed, we could see the compound and then, from the right side of the screen, a Pakistani helicopter flew over.

“Where did that come from?” I said.

“A PakMil Huey,” the analyst said. “Not sure where it came from, but it was leaving the military academy.”

We all stared at the screen, waiting to see if anyone in the compound reacted. We didn’t see the Pacer sprint to a car and run. Instantly, we all thought the same thing. This meant he was accustomed to hearing helicopters.

“We might actually be able to get on the deck before they really figure out what is going on,” Charlie said.

With the mission planned out, we began rehearsals.

The Black Hawk swooped over the North Carolina pine forest and came to a hover over the compound. From my perch, sitting legs blowing in the breeze just outside the left door of the helicopter, I could see the life-size mock-up of Bin Laden’s compound. Nestled in a remote part of the base, the practice compound was built to scale using plywood, chain-link fence, and shipping containers.

Sliding down the fast-rope, I landed in the courtyard and moved to the double doors at C1. All around me, my teammates were racing to their objectives. The roar of the engines above us made it hard to talk, but after three days of practice we didn’t need to talk. The whole mission had become muscle memory. Besides some time hacks that were called out over the radio, the net was silent. Everyone knew their individual jobs. We had years and years of experience among the groups, so everything moved smoothly. This target wasn’t any more complicated than hundreds of others we’d assaulted over the years.

The rehearsals were less about training and more about selling to the White House that we could do it.

The level of detail on the mock-up was impressive. The construction crews at the base had planted trees, dug a ditch around the compound, and even put in mounded dirt to simulate the potato fields that surrounded the compound in Pakistan.

After a few runs, we asked if they could add the third-floor balcony and move some of the gates to better simulate the layout of the actual compound.

Before the next rehearsal, the changes were made.

The construction crew didn’t ask why and never said no. They just showed up and made all requested changes. We’d never been treated like this. All of the bureaucracy was gone. If we needed something, we got it. No questions asked. It was a far cry from what we were forced to deal with in Afghanistan.

The only black hole in the practice compound was the interiors. We had no idea what the inside of the house looked like. It wasn’t a big concern. We had years of combat experience, and we could apply it to this problem. We had no doubt we could pull this off; we just needed to get on the ground.

Stopping at the door of the container that simulated C1, I scanned inside before entering. During the real mission, I had no idea if Ahmed al-Kuwaiti would be armed or if he had a suicide vest. We anticipated all of the men—Bin Laden, Khalid, and the two Kuwaiti brothers—would fight back.

After we rehearsed the best-case scenario, we started running through the contingencies. Instead of roping into the courtyard, we landed outside the walls and raided the compound from there. We also practiced tracking down squirters if someone ran from the target before the assault.

Every single contingency was practiced to the point where we were tired of it. We had never trained this much for a particular objective before in our lives, but it was important. The mission was straightforward, but the extra preparation helped us mesh, since we’d been drawn from different teams.

After the last rehearsals, we all met in the operations center. Jay was there with an update.

“We’re headed home and then Monday we head out west for another week of training and a full mission profile,” he said.

I raised my hand.

“Do we have any official word if this thing is approved yet or not?” I said.

“Nope,” he said. “Still waiting on Washington.”

I looked at Walt. His eyes rolled. It was the “hurry up and wait” routine we had experienced with the Captain Phillips operation.

“My money says we don’t launch,” Walt said as we left.

We flew out to our training site early Monday. On Thursday, almost two weeks after we got the initial tasking, we had our dress rehearsal.

The entire team and all the planners gathered in a massive hangar at the base. On the floor was a map of eastern Afghanistan. A group of VIPs, headlined by Admiral Mike Mullen, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and Admiral Eric Olson, commander of the Special Operations Command in Tampa and a former DEVGRU commander, sat in stands near the map with Vice Admiral Bill McRaven.

McRaven has commanded at every level within the special operations community, including DEVGRU. He impressed me. McRaven, the three-star admiral atop the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), was tall, lean, and clean-cut. Most admirals look old or out of shape, but McRaven looked like he could still get the job done. He knew how to work his level and had a good handle on the politics in D.C.

We were about to execute what was called a “rock drill,” and everything from helicopter flight paths to the mock-up of the compound was present on the floor. A narrator reading off a script started the hour-and-a-half-long brief on Operation Neptune Spear.

The pilots spoke first. They walked everyone through the flight path from Jalalabad to the compound in Abbottabad. They talked about the radio calls as well as any contingencies that might arise in flight.

Finally, each assault team leader got up and briefed their individual tasks.

“My team will fast-rope from Chalk One into the courtyard, we’ll clear and secure C1, then backfill the rest of the teams in A1,” I said.

Most of the questions from the VIPs focused on the perimeter team. There were a lot of concerns about how our external security would handle onlookers.

“What is your plan if you’re confronted by local police or military?” they asked the team leader.

“Sir, we will de-escalate if at all possible,” he said. “First using the interpreter, and then using the dog, and then visible lasers. As a last resort we will use force.”

Toward the end, a question was raised about whether or not this was a kill mission. A lawyer from either the Department of Defense or the White House made it clear this wasn’t an assassination.

“If he is naked with his hands up, you’re not going to engage him,” he told us. “I am not going to tell you how to do your job. What we’re saying is if he does not pose a threat, you will detain him.”

After the brief, we loaded up into the helicopters and took off for one final run-through. We were going to assault a mock compound so the VIPs could watch. It was the final hurdle. I knew we had to do it, but it felt strange to be watched like this. It felt like we were in a fish bowl. We all agreed if jumping through these hoops was going to help us get approval, the hassle was worth it.

One minute from the target, the crew chief threw open the door and I swung my legs out.

Grabbing the rope, I could see some VIPs near the target staring up at us with night vision goggles. As the helicopter started its hover over our fast-rope location, the rotors kicked up a maelstrom of rocks and dust, blasting the VIPs and forcing them to run in the opposite direction. I chuckled as I watched a few of the women stagger away on their heels.

The rehearsal went off without an issue on our end.

“So, you think we’ll get the go-ahead?” Charlie asked me after the dress rehearsal.

“Dude, I’ve got no clue,” I said. “I’m not holding my breath.”

The flight back the next day was low-key. We were ready to go. There was nothing we could do now but wait.