Eric Maddox: Mission: Black List #1

“He is usually asleep right now,” Lee replied. “The guy works twenty-hour days.”

“Will he mind if we wake him up?”

“We can try,” Lee said with a laugh. “Once he’s down, it’s hard to get him up. I know. I’ve tried.”

He was right. After shouting in his ear, we were finally able to get the colonel to open his bloodshot eyes. He stared at us confused and still half asleep. “What’s going on?” he mumbled.

I explained the situation as clearly and quickly as I could. I could only hope I was reaching him through his haze of fatigue.

“So what do you want me to do?” he asked when I was finished.

“I need you to put on your uniform and sign a document.”

The colonel yawned. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be over there in a minute.” He laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. I looked at Lee in frustration. He shrugged and tapped his wristwatch again. We left the tent and stood outside for a short, intense conversation.

“Lee,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to prison and get Muhammad Ibrahim ready for the J-3.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think the colonel is going anywhere,” he told me. “I’m not even sure he heard you. Besides, it’s 0740. We’ve got to get out to that plane now.”

“But what if we explained all this to the admiral?” I asked urgently. “Do you think he’d stay?”

“I don’t think it would do any good. He’s on his way to brief General Abizaid’s J-2.” He saw the desperate look on my face. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do the best I can.” He looked at his watch. “That flight is going to take off at 0800. Be there.”

I took off as fast as I could back to the prison, where Muhammad Ibrahim was waiting with John. I must have sprinted three miles in the last hour.

“There is an officer coming,” I told the prisoner. “He’ll have the agreement ready to sign. After that, you’ll have thirty seconds to tell us what you know. I’m not fucking around with you anymore, Muhammad.”

“I will tell him,” he assured me.

“What are you going to tell him?”

“That I will help you find Saddam.”

“No motherfucker,” I shouted. “You’re not going to help anything. You are going to do it. You are going to take us there or you are never going anywhere again.” It was time to remind him who was really in charge now.

“You want to go?” he shot back. “Let’s go. You and me. We will go right now.”

“Don’t fuck with me. I want the location. The exact location.” I had no time to try and arrange another hit. I had to find out where Saddam was hiding and get the information passed along before I left.

“Then I will take you there.” He was actually going to give us Saddam. I could see that he was both terrified and excited by the prospect.

“You will take us,” I told him, “but not now. You’ll go tonight, with the soldiers.” By that time, maybe a hit could be set in motion. I leaned in close, inches from his face. “He has to be there,” I told him, “or you get nothing.”

“He will be there,” he replied, staring back at me without blinking.

“Be where?” I pressed. I had to have the location.

He was silent. I could hear the seconds ticking by in my head. If he didn’t tell me now, he might never tell anyone. I had pushed him into this corner. It was strictly between him and me. Anyone else would have to start all over again. And by then it might be too late. Saddam might be somewhere, anywhere else. All my experience as an interrogator had come down to this one moment. It had taken me two hours to break one of the most important insurgents in Iraq. If he was going to talk, it had to be before he had a chance to change his mind. It had to be now.

“He is at a farm in Ad Dawr,” Muhammad Ibrahim said at last in a low, hoarse whisper as John translated. “It is south of Tikrit, just east of the river.”

“Whose farm?”

“It belongs to a man named Qies Niemic Jasim.”

I grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil. “Tell me the location,” I said.

I frantically drew a map as he talked, taking down as many details as possible. One of the other interrogators, a guy named Scott, stuck his head in the door. “Lee called from the flight line,” he told me. “He said it’s time to go. The admiral’s waiting.”

“I know you don’t know who I am,” I told Scott. “I realize you have no reason to believe me.” I handed him the scrawled paper. “But this is a map of the location of Saddam Hussein. Please call Tikrit and talk to Kelly. He’s the analyst there. Tell him Muhammad Ibrahim was captured last night and he is going to take us to Saddam.” I turned back to the prisoner and we exchanged a final look. “He has to be there. You have to be right or you’ll never see daylight again.”

He nodded. “I will take you.” He seemed calm now, almost relieved. He had nothing left to hide. And I had found out what I needed to know. We had both reached a turning point.

Lee was waiting for me at the runway when I pulled up a few minutes later. The huge C-17 that would take us to Doha was revving its engines. The noise reminded me of my time as an infantryman back in the 82nd Airborne Division.

“Did you talk to the admiral?” I shouted as he walked toward the cargo hold.

He nodded, but I could see from his expression that the news wasn’t what I’d hoped for. “I don’t think he was really paying attention,” Lee said. “I told him that you had gotten information that might lead us to Saddam and he just nodded. I don’t think I got through to him. Maybe you should try.”

I spotted Admiral McCraven making his way up the back ramp of the plane with his entourage of analysts and assistants. I hurried to catch up with him.

“Good to see you, Sergeant Maddox,” he said. “Are you ready to give that brief?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “But I think you should know that the situation has changed. We got Muhammad Ibrahim last night and he’s given us a location for Saddam.” He stared at me blankly. As the commander of the entire task force in Iraq, he was dealing with a flood of information on a daily basis. If what I was telling him were true, he probably assumed that he would have already heard it from higher up the chain of command. I’m not sure whether he just didn’t believe me or decided to wait to get confirmation from a more reliable source. Whatever the case, it wasn’t going to interfere with this important trip to Doha. The plane was already taxiing out to the runway. I sat down and strapped myself in. We were leaving Iraq and nothing I could say now was going to change that.

As we lifted off I found myself wondering whether the admiral would want me to include the interrogation of Muhammad Ibrahim in my CENTCOM briefing. I was still wondering two and half hours later when we touched down in Doha. As soon as we stopped rolling, the admiral stood and headed out of the plane. His staff trailed behind, trying to keep up with his long purposeful strides as he walked toward a group of men who had arrived from CENTCOM to meet him.

I rushed to gather up my gear and follow. I wanted another chance to talk to him, but I was slowed down by all my bags and rucksacks that I’d hurriedly packed just before we took off. I had tied it all together with dummy cord and by the time I got onto the runway, stuff was dropping everywhere. A plastic canteen clattered onto the tarmac making a terrible racket. I could hear Lee trying to stifle his laughter behind me.

“Just keep going,” he said. “I got it.” He followed along, picking up the scattered debris. I really wanted to talk to the admiral, but I had too much luggage hanging and falling off me to make much progress. When I finally caught up with him, the admiral turned to me. “Now tell me again what happened last night, Edward,” he said.