Richard Clarke - Sting of the Drone

“Enough,” Bahadur said. He extended his hand for the Somali to shake. In his palm there was a thumb drive. “On this are your instructions. It will not download. You can only open it and read it once. When you close the file, it will erase. Then drop it off the dock when no one is looking. There is a boat that leaves from this street and goes to Canada, yes?”

“The Blue Nose, yeah, every day, from up the street.”

“Show me,” Bahadur said. “Point it out and then walk away. If you do this work well, you do it exactly at the time I will give you. It must be precisely simultaneous. You will never have to work again, not for us, not for anyone. Understood?”

“I am down with that,” the young man smiled. Sensing Bahadur’s confusion, he added, “I get it, man, I understand. Rich man.”

Bahadur smiled back as they walked together toward the Blue Nose. No, he thought, dead man. Just like the Yemeni in Philadelphia and the Nigerian in Chicago. They would probably all succeed in the missions. Some would die in the explosions because the timers were set differently than the boys were told. Some would survive, for a while. A few weeks later they would travel to France, to Mexico, to Jamaica to collect the rest of their money. There his men would meet them and wipe the trail clean.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23

FOUR MILE RUN

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

“I don’t wear makeup,” he said.

“Well, you will for this,” Linda Greene told Raymond Bowman as she drove her Prius down the interstate. “I am your public affairs advisor for this, assigned by Winston Burrell. And I am not going to have you do badly or look badly. It would reflect poorly on the Administration, Dr. Burrell, and me. You are going to be persuasive. And you are going to wear makeup.”

They were driving together to the PBS Washington studios, which were actually in Arlington, Virginia. And they were lost. “I know, we are late, but we will be there in time for the show. Just tell me again where we turn,” Greene said into her iPhone as she drove. “No, I don’t see the Weenie Beenie. What the hell is a Weenie Beenie? Yes, I know it’s a live show and we have to be on time.”

As they finally pulled up to the nondescript building surrounded by high fencing, Linda Greene summed up one more time what Ray should say, “We have extensive checks and balances, a thorough review of every proposed mission. These missions are essential to the safety of the United States. They save American lives. Any Administration that had the capability to do this and failed to act would be guilty of dereliction of duty. Got it?”

“I know what to say,” Ray replied as he stepped out of the car.

Raymond Bowman was about to defend the drone program on nationwide television, because the National Security Advisor had told him to do so. He was not looking forward to it. For over twenty years in government he had remained out of the public eye; now he was going to be cross-examined for twenty minutes by one of the nation’s best-informed television personalities, Charlie Cross. After the opening introductions, Cross got right to it.

“Who decides who dies?” Cross began.

“I think our purpose is to prevent Americans from dying,” Ray replied. “Terrorists may think they can decide on which Americans will die and when. It’s our job to make sure that they don’t succeed.”

“That’s not what I meant, and I think you know that,” Cross countered. “Who decides who America kills with its drones?”

“American forces attack enemy forces based upon credible intelligence. When we use Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, UAVs, there is an extra process, involving lawyers, experts, and senior officials from five federal agencies. We have Rules of Engagement that require high confidence that the target is an active threat to American lives and America’s national security interests.”

“We’ll get to that, but my question was who decides. Is it the President? What is his role?” Cross persisted. “Or is it you?”

The studio lights were so bright that Ray could see nothing in the room except his interrogator. It reminded him of one of the advanced interrogation techniques he had helped to put an end to. “The President approves the list of people designated as High Value Individuals. He is presented with the recommendations of the departments. He is given the dossiers, demonstrating that the individual is an active threat to Americans. These are people, Charlie, who are trying to kill Americans. Such people, regrettably, exist. They have to be stopped, before they kill,” Ray said warming to his argument.

“So the President of the United States has become an executioner, deciding on who lives and who dies?”

“Charlie, the President is the head of the government. The government’s first duty is to defend its people. He does that,” Ray said, reaching for his glass of water. After taking a sip, he continued, “Another President might delegate this job, but he has chosen to be directly involved because, in his view, ultimately it is on his authority that these actions are being taken and he believes that he has a moral responsibility to ensure that we are acting ethically and responsibly.”

“Ethically killing?” Cross asked.

“Ethically using force, including lethal force, in self-defense,” Ray replied, “as Presidents have since George Washington.”

“So what are the Rules of Engagement? How are we acting in self-defense when we surprise some group of Arabs in a small town in Yemen? What are we defending, the corrupt Yemeni government?” Cross pressed.

He felt sweat breaking through the makeup on his forehead, but decided to ignore it. “If we attack a target in Yemen, it is because we have very good reason to believe that those people are sitting there actively planning to kill Americans, training people to kill Americans,” Ray answered.

“So we don’t attack targets or people who threaten other governments? The attacks in Yemen aren’t meant to prop up the regime there? You have never attacked a target there except to stop an attack on Americans?” Charlie Cross asked.

“I am unaware of any attack in Yemen except against AQAP, al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, and they are committed to killing Americans,” Ray hedged.

“Well, that’s a little different from saying all the attacks were to prevent some imminent attack on Americans. We also used drones against Qadhafi’s forces in Libya. Were they threatening America?” Cross asked. He had found a clear case when drones had been used when Americans were not in danger.

“In Libya, yes, back then we acted to enforce a UN Security Council resolution and under the authority of NATO. But now,” Ray responded, “we are only acting to defend Americans. Sometimes the people we target simultaneously threaten Americans and others, but the determinative criterion, the ultimate question is ‘Will these people kill Americans?’”

“Let’s leave that. Let me ask you, you know the people who pull the trigger, the people who you call the pilots even though they never leave the ground. Doesn’t it seem like a computer game to these guys after a while?” Cross probed.

“We call them pilots because they are. They have flown F-16s, F-18s in combat,” Ray shot back. “They fly on average twenty-two hours on patrol or in transit for every hour that they are engaging a target. They know they are flying real planes, with real weapons. And it is not up to them to fire their weapons; they have to be given approval after an extensive review. They don’t look at the target for seconds, the way other pilots do. They stare at the target for hours to be sure that they have the right target and that attacking will not endanger innocent people.”