The Bin Laden Plot

25 WASHINGTON, D.C.

Christine O’Connor eyed Jake Harrison, seated at the other end of the conference table. He had not yet answered the question — Who was the man wearing the hood?

She had known Harrison for most of her life, and it was clear that he was evaluating how to respond. Finally, he answered.

“He was the senior al-Qaeda courier.”

McFarland looked at her computer display. “You’re saying that Abu Ahmed al-Kuwaiti, who was reportedly killed during the raid, was captured instead?”

“That’s my understanding,” Harrison replied. “I never saw the hooded man’s face. He was escorted from the compound and loaded aboard the Chinook with bin Laden’s body.”

Rolow interjected, “Why is there no record in our files about a prisoner? It was our operation, damn it!”

“That’s because JSOC,” Harrison replied, referring to the Joint Special Operations Command, which planned and conducted the mission, “took custody of the prisoner, and every member of the assault team was instructed to not mention him in our after-action reports.”

“Who gave this instruction?”

“John McNeil.”

“And now that McNeil is dead, we can’t ask who gave him the order. How convenient.”

McFarland resumed the questioning. “Why did JSOC take custody of the courier and keep that a secret from the CIA?”

“JSOC took custody because he was classified as an enemy combatant. As far as the secrecy, I suspect it was to prevent al-Qaeda from learning we had taken their lead courier prisoner, so they wouldn’t immediately change their communication protocols.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” McFarland replied. “The only way we would have benefited is if JSOC provided what they learned from the courier to us, so we could exploit it. To my knowledge, no information regarding al-Qaeda communication protocols was ever provided to the agency as a result of the Abbottabad raid. If they had the courier and extracted this information, what did they do with it?”

“I have a better question,” Rolow said. “Where is the courier?” He directed his gaze toward Harrison.

“I don’t know.”

Christine asked, “Why would McNeil want you to track down this courier?”

That really wasn’t the question she wanted to ask — she was working her way to it. She had always wondered why the goal of the Abbottabad raid was to kill bin Laden instead of apprehending him. He was the mastermind of al-Qaeda, a gold mine of information if captured. Of course, letting the world know you had bin Laden in custody would have been unwise, setting American citizens up for innumerable hostage situations until bin Laden was freed. There was only one logical conclusion.

“What if the man on the floor is the courier and the captured man is Osama bin Laden?”

There was a heavy silence in the conference room until Harrison spoke.

“That thought has crossed my mind.”

“Why is that?” Christine asked.

“The SEALs on the first and second floors were issued strict orders to remain on their floors after the compound was secured, and not venture up to the third floor. It’s understandable to some degree. Each team was assigned to a floor — to neutralize or disarm all threats, contain and control any noncombatants, and, once the compound was secure, strip the area of anything that might be of intelligence value: documents, computers, thumb drives, phones, and other electronic gear. We didn’t have extra time to tour the compound and gawk at bin Laden’s body.

“As a result, only the SEALs on the third floor knew the identity of the second man. By the time he descended, he had already been hooded. Once we landed in Afghanistan, he was taken to a separate hangar and I never saw him again.

“Regarding the dead man on the third floor, a positive ID couldn’t be made in the compound. He took two bullets to the face, leaving a gory mess, which made it difficult to verify his identity via facial recognition. Even when he was cleaned up afterward, we couldn’t achieve one hundred percent identification visually. We had to rely on DNA analysis.”

McFarland examined the files on her computer.

“I have the photos,” she said. “Want to take a look?”

Christine nodded.

McFarland paged through three sets of photographs: bin Laden on his bedroom floor after being killed; in an aircraft hangar at a military base in Afghanistan after he’d been cleaned up, which were the most recognizable and gruesome; and those taken prior to the burial at sea before a shroud was placed around his body. There was extensive facial damage from the two bullet wounds — one bullet had blown out his left eye and a large part of his frontal bone, and the other had collapsed a good portion of the right side of his face.

McFarland broke the silence after viewing the macabre pictures. “I have to agree with Harrison. Based on these photos, positive visual ID wouldn’t have been possible. Regarding DNA analysis, how many times have we dealt with screwups using DNA identification?”

“We’re not talking about a screwup here,” Rolow replied. “If the dead man on the third floor wasn’t bin Laden, we’re talking about a deliberate cover-up to ensure the public didn’t learn that bin Laden was taken alive. They could have either faked the DNA results or taken a sample from an alive-and-well bin Laden and submitted it for analysis.”

“Then there’s the burial at sea,” Christine said. “No body to dig up for further analysis. There’s no way to prove bin Laden was actually killed, in case conspiracy theories circulate and take hold.”

“You mean, there’s no way to prove the body wasn’t bin Laden’s,” Rolow replied.

“Exactly.”

“I have the video of bin Laden’s burial at sea. Want to take a look?”

There was a murmured consensus, so McFarland activated another video file, and the clip began playing on the conference room display. The video appeared to have been taken from Vulture’s Row, high atop an aircraft carrier’s island superstructure, looking down at the carrier’s flight deck, and McFarland provided details as the video progressed.

Osama bin Laden’s body had been flown to the aircraft carrier USS Carl Vinson for burial at sea. Within twenty-four hours of his death, Muslim religious rites were performed: the body was washed and wrapped in a white shroud, and prayers were offered in Arabic. Bin Laden’s body was then placed in a black plastic bag along with three hundred pounds of aircraft tie-down chains to ensure the bag sank, then taken topside for burial. At the edge of the carrier deck, the body was placed on a flat board, which was tilted upward, and the body slid into the northern Arabian Sea.

After the video clip ended and the display went black, Christine pondered the burial-at-sea decision, which ensured the body could not be inspected later if anyone doubted bin Laden was killed. Was it possible he had been taken alive, with the CIA kept in the dark? If so, who was pulling the strings and how far up did the deception go?

“Here are my thoughts,” Christine said. “A four-pronged plan to run this to ground. First, track down the SEALs on the third floor and have a conversation with them. Find out who they took prisoner.” Looking at Harrison, she asked, “Who were the SEALs on the third floor?”

He provided the names, which McFarland verified matched the mission report. “Checks.”

“Second, identify and interview every agency member who participated in Operation Neptune Spear. Piece together what we know. I don’t believe any of us were in our current position during the Abbottabad raid, so we’re at a disadvantage and need to get up to speed.” She looked at Bryant Monroe.

“That’s correct. I became deputy director four years afterward, and PJ and Tracey assumed their positions only a few years ago.”

“Third,” Christine said, “I’ll discuss this matter with the president. I’ll see what he knows or if he has any guidance on how to proceed.

“Finally” — Christine turned to McFarland — “I suppose we have the ability to infiltrate the JSOC data archives?”

McFarland smiled. “Depends on who’s asking…”

“Tunnel into the JSOC files. Find every bit of information on the Abbottabad raid and the prisoner they took custody of.”

“You got it,” McFarland replied.