“In January 2014 in the town of Sidi-Slimane, Morocco, a wanna-be jihadist named Haamid Muhammad put out a call for fighters against the great Satan – the United States – from a local internet café. Sidi-Slimane is 50 km north of Rabat,” I said.
“Within 2 months he gathered over fifty fighters, with no money and few weapons. A Saudi junior prince Aabad Aabzaari was in Morocco and was one of the people Haamid befriended in the internet café,” I said.
“Money suddenly became no problem and neither did weapons or technical support. Haamid developed a code for the fighters to communicate without using their names on the forums and later in emails. Numbers instead of names; the first digits of the number identified the location,” I said.
“Here is the conversion numbers to names table that was in a plain language attachment,” I handed it to Eric.
“For example, Aabad’s little support group in Alwajh, Saudi Arabia was 100 with Aabad himself firstname.lastname@example.org for an internet address. Haamid was email@example.com,” I said.
As I read the translated text I passed the sheet around with Vicky collecting them back.
“Now fast forward a few months, another connected group located in El Golea, Algeria became 300 with the commander Naabih Nayef having 300101,” I said.
“The training camp that you reference in the report that you said that you could not find any information on is located 10km outside Murzuq, Libya. The commander there is Jaad Dahi, also known as the Lion. Based on the information we were able to get in this stack of papers, 25% of those who go to the camp do not survive the training,” I said and continued.
“Here is one from the prince giving detailed instructions on how to get to the training camps and how to avoid detection by your top secret intelligence satellites. How do you think he got that bit of information?” I asked.
The throat clearing, shifting in their seats and the need for water increased ten-fold.
I passed out a pile of papers one at a time; I was not going to read every one.
“Fast forward again to June 2015; here are the instructions from Jaad to Haamid for his fighters: along with items to bring to the camp and directions. Haamid sent all fifty of his fighters. Only 30 came back to Sidi-Slimane; an accident en-route and an explosives training accident claimed 20,” I said as I passed out the sheet with the information. Those 30 were the ones that attacked the embassy at Rabat.
I kept handing out the transcripts; cell phones started sending pictures and text. Vicky kept rushing them to get the papers, back much to the dismay of Frank, Eric and the NSA guys.
With another jump ahead I read one with detailed surveillance of the Morocco embassy site for the two weeks prior to the attack. “That surveillance was brought to the attention of the onsite Embassy security chief by my JBG people and was ignored. That brush off cost four people their lives,” I said.
“The surveillance was so detailed that it even gave the time the flag was raised every morning,” I added.
Here is one, sent to the Prince asking for his prayers for success, that gave detailed plans for the attack on the Morocco embassy,” I said
“This stack of papers has communications to and from the Prince to the group at the Washington learning center, with instructions to attack JBG. That group had been to the Murzuq Libya training just one week after Haamid’s group,” I said.
They came across the Mexican border. For a cool one million dollars the cartel furnished a guide and the explosives to make the bombs that were in the vans,” I said
‘Do you want to know what really sucks?” I asked. All I got was blank stares.
“I was introduced to that bastard prince at the embassy party in Saudi Arabia; he has embassy access,” I said.
The look of surprise and dread on the faces said all that was needed to be said.
“This final stack of 25 pages contains the names and contact numbers of jihadists who have come in with or are attempting to come in with the refugees and across the Canadian and Mexican border, along with a list of high value priority targets. Again, JBG as well as several embassy locations are on that list. And all of them have been to the Libya camp or the second training camp in Algeria” I said. “Bad news is coming in more ways than you can imagine,” I added.
Vicky had all the papers back and I put them in my briefcase, including the final stack of 25 pages that they did not get to read. I was going to let them sweat it out a few days, if I made it out the door. I would see that Frank and Eric had copies in their emails when they logged in tomorrow morning.
I picked up the Morocco final report and held it upright, “This is either a cover-up or a case of the world’s worst intelligence gathering ever,” I replied.
“My intelligence team found all this with one thousandth of the resources that you have. Just what the hell are you doing?” I asked, not expecting any answer.
Ben Smith took one more photo out of the folder and laid it on the table. It was of Morton Field with the C17 circled. “What the hell are you doing with that,” he asked as he thumped his finger on it.
“I wish I could tell you it was mine to carry drones to Morocco to blow the training camps off the face of the earth. But it is too damn rich for my blood. Talk to your counter parts; they know what it is,” I replied.
There were several files that Burt and Robert had given me that I had not shown the group. One of them was a picture of Haamid, taken by his own computer just two days a go.
In his depression following his group’s failure to cause more collateral damage and not get the Ambassador with the embassy attack, Haamid was ordered to go off-grid until everything cooled off.
Haamid was stupid; he was going to the internet café every day at the same time looking for orders to start a new group.
Yesterday when I read all this information, I sent Haamid’s picture, all the location information and all the other information to Andy with, “handle if you can.”
What I did not tell anyone – including Jason – was that 8 of the Rapid Response team were four former Navy Seals and four Army Special Forces, including the explosives expert. Jason had read the codes on their applications but apparently did not understand what it meant or did not think it mattered.
All eight of those guys had worked in various assignments in Libya, Morocco and Algeria during Obama’s support for the spring uprisings. I had long informative talks during the training; they knew the area very well.
I stood getting ready to leave.
“BJ, we really would like to have that last folder and to know how you collected all this information,” Eric said.
“Do you want it bad enough to make a deal?” I said.
“I guess it depends on what you want,” he replied after he glanced at Frank and Marty.
I opened the briefcase and handed Eric the file.
“I want to be in the control room when the “go” command is given to the Special Forces to take out the training camps,” I replied.
Frank, Marty and Eric nodded. Frank added “We can do that.” The NSA guys just sat and looked bewildered and confused that anyone would make demands of the group, let alone get that quick of a positive response.
Just then my phone received a text and a picture. I sent the text and picture to my tablet. It was perfect timing.
I took the picture of Haamid out of the briefcase and laid it on the table, “This is Haamid two days ago. And this is Haamid three minutes ago,” as I handed Eric my tablet to look at the picture. Haamid was hanging out his car window with an entrance hole between the eyes and the back of his head missing, with blood and brains all over the side of the car.
The text in the corner simply said, “Special ops mission accomplished quietly. His laptop is in route to you.” They had used a silencer and had gotten away clean.
The picture went around the table fast, my tablet a little slower as they flipped between the text and picture.
Vicky’s eyes were big as saucers as she looked at the picture.
When the 18 came back from the week of R & R, I would show them the before and after picture of Haamid. Nothing relieves the pain of what they went through like revenge served cold.
The NSA guys were data people; they turned green looking at the picture, but the senators never changed expressions. Eric, Frank and Marty looked at each other several times as they handed the tablet back and forth between them for a second and third look. Eric was the only one to speak, “We are still friends, right?”
We had just driven in the yard when I received a text from Eric, “You never said how you collected this stuff; OK, I know a girl has to have some secrets and good girls never kiss and tell.”
“You made an impression; those NSA guys are still talking about it. That was a nice closure to the meeting, just good old cause and effect,” Eric
“Oh, by the way, Frank, Marty and I will never need reminding to never ever piss you off.”
Edit by Alfmeister
Proof read by Bob W.