would examine all the data electronically, so that they could follow anyone who had ever touched the bank account or credit card of someone in their database. Then they would look at that person’s accounts, and run the traces all over again. It was simple link analysis. They told us that the digital space was our best weapon. Everything had an address, and every event left a signature.”
“Why did they need you, Mr. Sabah?”
“Sometimes they had trouble with the Arabic names when they were doing their analysis. They needed people who were cleared into the SWIFT system who could help them make it work. We were consultants. We had to be approved by their security before they would let us into the program. One day we had a videoconference with one of the Americans back in Washington, the big boss who was running things. He gave us, what do you call it, a ‘pep talk.’ He was very loud.”
“Do you remember his name or where he worked, Mr. Sabah? Maybe I could go back and talk to him.”
“The name was a false one, I am sure. Mr. Smith. Mr. Jones. I did not take it seriously. But he told us that he worked at the Counterterrorism Center. That was real, I think.”
“Yes, sir. The CTC was running that program, with the Treasury Department. What did the man look like?”
“He was thin, tough. He looked like a soldier. I can’t remember the rest, really. The video wasn’t very clear.”
“That’s okay. I’ll try to find out who that was. Now, you said there were other consultants who were involved in this surveillance program. Do you remember where they were from?”
“All the places you would think. There was a man from Saudi Arabia, a man from Kuwait, one from Morocco, two from Egypt, two from Pakistan, maybe more.”
Marx had been making notes as he talked, but she paid special attention now as he spoke of the consultants.
“Did you meet them, these consultants? Did you learn any of their names?”
“Oh, no. That was against security. This was a videoconference, remember. We were all watching from separate locations. I only know about the others because when they began the session, they gave an overview, so that we would know what a big thing this was. They wanted us to feel we were part of something important.”
“But there was a consultant from Pakistan, you said.”
“Two, I think. But I never saw them. They were trying to protect our identities.”
“Do you think George could have been one of the consultants?”
“I didn’t think so when he contacted me last year. He said he was an American, and that he had been part of the program, and they were restarting it. But when you told me at the other house that my George was a Pakistani, I thought maybe yes. He might have been one of the consultants. He seemed to know all the same things that I did, when he contacted me.”
“We’ll get to George in a minute. But what else can you tell me about this meeting with the man from CTC, by videoconference?”
“He was like a coach in one of those American sports movies. He wanted to get us excited. He told us we were part of the war on terrorism, and that people in every country were working with us. He said that by helping identify members of Al-Qaeda, we would help America bring justice to the world. They could not escape, he said, I remember that. He said Americans had big hearts, or strong hearts, or something like that. They could not hide. America would hunt them down and kill them.”
Marx made a note to herself, and put a star next to it.
“Anything else?”
Sabah pondered the question a moment, searching his memory, and then came back to her.
“One more thing. He said America had a weapon called a Predator that could follow the Al-Qaeda fighters from the skies, by flying over the places where they were hiding in Pakistan. They had been using it since 2002, but now there were more of them. I had only read about these Predators in the newspaper, but here was someone talking about them. He said that with our help, America would take revenge for September 11, so that it would never happen again. They cannot escape justice, he said. It was supposed to make us feel happy and strong.”
“Did any of the consultants say anything, when this man from the CTC talked about the Predators?”
“Everyone was very quiet. We were all thinking, I suppose, about how powerful America was, that it could follow people and kill them from the sky.”
They took a break. Sabah wanted to walk his dog and asked if there were any plastic bags. One of Major Kirby’s men kept an eye on him and Emile as they circumnavigated the property several times.
Marx wrote a quick cable for Cyril Hoffman about the discussion she had just had with Sabah. She asked him for two pieces of information. First, she wanted a list of any Pakistani nationals who had been used as consultants during the SWIFT phase of the Terrorist Surveillance Program. She requested every shred of information they had on such people-phone numbers, addresses, travel records, security assessments, reports from liaison services. Second, she wanted a list of any senior officials from the Counterterrorism Center who had briefed foreign nationals involved in the SWIFT program in 2005.
She sent the cable in the restricted-handling channel, requesting an urgent response. But she thought she already knew the answer to her second question.
While dog and master were still outdoors, Marx tried to reach Thomas Perkins in London. His cell phone was turned off. A policeman answered his office extension and said that it would not be possible to talk to Mr. Perkins or leave a message for him at present. That was a relief for Marx, in truth, knowing that Perkins was under police quarantine.
Marx sat down again twenty-five minutes later with Sabah. He looked restored by his brief jaunt outdoors. There were grass stains on the seat of his trousers, from where he had evidently lain down on the lawn for a tussle with Emile. Sabah turned on his laptop computer as soon as he was seated, before Marx had a chance to ask him. He wanted to do his work now and get it finished.
It took thirty seconds for the machine to boot up and the screen to come alight. He opened his contact file and searched for names, mumbling to himself as he tried one, then another. Eventually, he voiced a relieved, “Ah,” and called up the name.
“I was looking in the g ’s for ‘George,’ but I had him listed by the last name he is using now on his emails, which is a w. I forgot that. Do you want the address?”
“Yes, please.” She tried to sound at ease, as if this piece of information weren’t something her life might depend on.
“It’s George. White09@yahoo. com. That’s what he called himself, George White. That’s the address we used to communicate the last half dozen times. Before that it was GeorgeWhite17@hotmail. com. I still have that address but it doesn’t work. He closed the account.”
Marx asked for his cell phone numbers. Sabah had two, but he thought they were both dead. The U.S. number was 001-703-202-1211. The Swiss number was 4179-555-6548. She repeated the email addresses and the numbers back to Sabah carefully, digit by digit, to be certain she had them right.
“Do you mind if we take another little break?” she said. “I need to share these with my colleagues so that they can do some detective work.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek, which pleased and embarrassed him, and then excused herself and went into the control room, where they had set up a secure communications suite. Major Kirby brought in the dog to keep Sabah company, along with a sandwich and a glass of beer. Sabah drank the beer but fed most of the sandwich to Emile.
The communications officer helped Marx set the right designators for her message. She sent the cable to Hoffman, this time copying the Information Operations Center, which managed CIA exploitation of cyber- intelligence, and copying the operations center of the National Security Agency, as well. Then she waited.
36
