The Bin Laden Plot

24 LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

The morning mist had begun to lift as Harrison was waved through the main gate at Langley. As he approached the parking garage, his cell phone vibrated. It was Khalila.

“Heads up,” she said when Harrison answered. “We’ve been directed to attend a meeting in the director’s conference room at 8 a.m.”

“What’s the topic?”

“The meeting invite doesn’t say, but I’m sure it’s about the file on McNeil’s flash drive. When I stopped by Analysis this morning to check on the decryption status, the tech told me the file activated a trip wire of some sort when it was decrypted. He said McFarland got called back into the office last night.”

Harrison checked his watch: 7:55 a.m.

“I just pulled into the parking garage. I’ll meet you on the seventh floor.”

He joined Khalila as he stepped from the elevator, and the pair headed toward the director’s office. When they entered the adjoining conference room, Harrison immediately registered the tension in the air.

Christine was seated at the head of the table, flanked by Bryant and Rolow on one side and McFarland on the other. The DDA had her laptop computer open, with several thick folders stacked beside it. She looked exhausted, as if she’d been up all night.

No greetings or smiles were offered.

“Have a seat,” Christine said.

After they settled into their chairs, Bryant asked Khalila, “Where did you get this file?”

Khalila turned to Harrison, who answered, “From John McNeil’s widow. What is it?”

“It’s a video of the Abbottabad raid, during which Osama bin Laden was killed. A raid that both you and McNeil participated in. Apparently, you’ve been keeping secrets,” Bryant replied in an accusatory tone.

“As I should have,” Harrison countered. “I’m not allowed to share those details with anyone not read into the program.”

“It was a CIA-led operation,” Bryant replied with attitude. “A reasonable person would assume that the people around this table, aside from Khalila, are authorized access to that information.”

“Until thirty seconds ago, my participation in that operation wasn’t relevant. Now that it is, what would you like to know?”

There was a short silence as Harrison stared Bryant down.

McFarland replied instead. “We want to know how this highly classified and sensitive video was floating around in the public domain.”

“You’d have to ask John McNeil. He gave the flash drive containing the video to his wife the morning he was killed. He put it in an envelope with my name on it, then told his wife to give it to me if anything happened to him.”

“Was there anything else in the envelope?” McFarland asked.

“A note in McNeil’s handwriting, which said — 3rd floor desk. Find him.”

Bryant and Rolow exchanged looks, then Rolow spoke next.

“Khalila, have you accessed this file and watched the video?”

“I have not. The file was encrypted.”

“Have you made a copy of this file?”

“No.”

“You may leave.”

Khalila rose from her chair as Harrison intervened. “Khalila is my partner, assigned to track down Mixell. It appears that whatever Mixell is involved in, and the reason he killed McNeil, may have had something to do with the Abbottabad raid. Khalila should be privy to all relevant information.”

“She’s not read into the program,” Rolow replied.

“Then read her in.”

There was a strained silence in the conference room until McFarland spoke. “The CIA is the original classification authority for this operation. We can authorize Khalila access to the information.” She pulled a form from one of her folders. “I brought a nondisclosure agreement for this program, just in case.” She looked to Christine for direction.

“Read her in,” Christine said.

Khalila dropped back into her chair as McFarland pushed the agreement across the table to Khalila, who read and signed it. As McFarland retrieved the document, she said, “Like the other Top Secret, SCI programs, you cannot disclose protected information to unauthorized personnel.” She slid a sheet of paper, containing the names of those read into the program, to Khalila.

After Khalila reviewed the list, McFarland asked Christine, “Shall I play the video now?”

Christine nodded.

McFarland activated a display at the front of the conference room with a remote control, then clicked on a computer file. A video began playing.

Harrison realized they were watching a video of the Abbottabad raid from a night vision camera built into a SEAL’s gear, most likely Commander McNeil’s. He was aboard the second of two stealth Black Hawk helicopters speeding just above the treetops in the darkness. Both helicopters hugged the hilly ground, hoping to avoid detection by Pakistani military radar during their approach to Abbottabad.

Bin Laden’s compound came into view: a three-story concrete structure surrounded by a stone wall. The lead helicopter, barely audible, slowed to a hover inside the compound walls and began its descent. Harrison watched from a distance what he had experienced firsthand — he’d been aboard the lead Black Hawk.

The helicopter got caught in a vortex ring state, an airflow condition that prevented the rotor downwash from diffusing. The pilot lost control of the helicopter and its tail grazed the compound wall, damaging the tail rotor. The helicopter tilted to one side and the pilot performed an emergency landing, burying the Black Hawk’s nose in the ground to prevent it from tipping over. Harrison recalled those perilous seconds as the helicopter’s main rotor churned into the dirt as the aircraft tilted. But the vehicle held together as the rotor ground to a halt.

McNeil’s helicopter landed nearby and the other SEALs joined those from the first Black Hawk, who had egressed from the damaged helicopter without injuries. After clearing the smaller building inside the compound, SEAL breachers — demolition experts — placed explosives on the main building’s doors, gaining access. McNeil entered the house after several SEAL fire teams entered the building, with each unit assigned to clear and control a specific floor.

The video moved through each level of the house, recording the greenish images. By the time the video reached the third floor, they had passed four motionless persons lying on the floor — three men and one woman — each with several bloodstains, plus several groups of women and children sequestered along the walls.

On the third floor was another group of women and children with a SEAL watching over them, and a tall man lying supine on the ground, with several gunshot wounds to his head and torso. His face was a bloody mess, making visual identification impossible.

Normal lighting flicked on, illuminating the room in yellow, incandescent light.

The video abruptly ended.

McFarland shifted her gaze to Harrison. “This video raises several questions. The first issue is that this video isn’t in our archives; there’s no record of it even being recorded. It appears that McNeil took it upon himself to record the raid, then never turned the video in.

“The second issue is — why did he want his wife to give this to you if something happened to him?” She stared at Harrison, waiting for a response.

“I don’t know. There isn’t anything on the video that I wasn’t already aware of, and I assume it’s the same for you.”

McFarland replied, “Correct. Which makes this a puzzling issue. What about McNeil’s note. Do you have it?”

Harrison pulled it from his back pocket and tossed the index card across the table to McFarland. She read the message aloud, confirming Harrison’s earlier report.

“3rd floor desk. Find him.”

McFarland picked the note up with tweezers and placed it into a small plastic bag she pulled from one of her folders. Then she rewound the video to when McNeil reached the third floor.

“Let’s take a look at the desk.”

The video began playing again, culminating with the view of Osama bin Laden’s body on the floor. The lights flicked on for a few seconds before the video ended.

“There it is,” McFarland said, backing the video up to just before it ended. Against the back wall of the room was a desk crowded with various items: a computer tower, display, keyboard, several thumb drives, a handheld radio-transceiver, a cup holding several pens and pencils, three stacks of manila folders, and a few books standing beside each other.

Harrison and the others stared at the image, trying to make sense of McNeil’s message.

Find who?

And how would the desk help them?

They spent several minutes staring at the desk’s contents, postulating what McNeil’s message meant. They made no appreciable headway until, while watching the video again, McFarland spotted something.

“There,” she said, pointing at the dark computer display. There’s a reflection on the screen.”

Harrison looked closer. It was an image of two men, visible for a few seconds before the video ended. The reflection was blurry due to the camera movement, making it difficult to determine who they were.

McFarland enhanced the image with an editing program on her computer. The two men came into focus. One was a SEAL, escorting a tall, hooded man with his hands tied behind him toward the stairs.

There was a tense silence in the room as Harrison waited for the inevitable question, which came from McFarland.

“Bin Laden was supposedly the only male on the third level. If that’s him on the floor, who’s the guy in the hood?”