THE SCENARIO -- Parts 3 and 4

PART THREE: HISTORY

Sinclair’s history lesson resumed with Nicaragua in the early eighties. The Agency backed the Contras, a ruthless paramilitary force, against the Sandinistas, a coalition of working class and indigenous peoples. It was there that an infamous Agency Operations Manual was uncovered.

As Sinclair put it: "How to Subvert Popular Government by Terrorist Tactics."

It openly advocated a nightmare scenario: Creating an atmosphere of constant fear with random looting, rape and murder, techniques of torture, hiring criminals to do the dirty work, assassination, and creating martyrs by killing your own leaders. He added that the Agency would not hesitate to use the same tactics within our own country if it believed it could get away with it. He connected the dots: Nixon and Watergate, Reagan and Iran-Contra, the Kennedy assassinations and Martin Luther King.

I was reluctant to consider such a wide brush for any story in the current political climate. The mere whisper of conspiracy, past, present or future, would never get past the editorial board of any major news organization, including mine.

Still, he left an impression, almost unthinkable thoughts, unspeakable possibilities that would transform my dreams to nightmares and darken my view of the world for years to come.

It was not the world I believed in. It was not the world I wanted to believe in. I was not prepared to accept such a radical transformation of reality.

Sinclair went on about our involvements throughout Latin America: El Salvador, Guatemala, Chile, Grenada, Panama, Columbia, Argentina, Bolivia and Peru. (In Argentina, 9-11 recalls the Agency sponsored coup that replaced Salvador Allende with the butcher Augusto Pinochet.) Everywhere it was the same story: Subversion of lawful democracies in favor of military despots. We allied ourselves with thugs, criminals and drug lords.

He lingered on the story of Archbishop Oscar Romero, the clergyman who stood up against oppression of the poor. It was hardly noted in the American press when nearly 200,000 peasants were slaughtered in Guatemala, but when six Jesuit priests, four American missionaries and the Archbishop Romero were tortured and executed, it was front-page news.

"Why do they hate us?" he asked with a twisted grin.

"They hate us for Suharto, America’s bloody gift to Indonesia. They hate us for the massacre of East Timor, where the price of opposition was one quarter of their population.

"Why do they hate us?"

He was pacing the room, gaining momentum, as he moved on to the Middle East: Iran, Iraq, and Afghanistan. The first Gulf War was fought over the issues of cross-drilling and Kuwaiti belligerence. Saddam Hussein cleared the invasion with the American consulate but he could not have been surprised by America’s betrayal. It was an opportunity to establish dominance in a critical region. Our objective was accomplished when we refused to leave as promised after the war.

"Why do they hate us?"

"We financed Islamic fundamentalists throughout the world but especially in Afghanistan when the Soviets invaded. After the Russians pulled out, we asked the ‘freedom fighters’ to return our more sophisticated weaponry. They politely declined."

If it was an argument, Sinclair was winning. My mind was opening to the possibility that our government was guilty of massive crimes against humanity. I was beginning to believe that we – our government, our intelligence forces, and our military – were the real terrorists but my mind stopped short, unable to make that leap.

I wondered why he left the Agency. He had known these things for years. Why would he continue to work for an agency that was at least partly responsible for so much suffering and death?

It was not something he wanted to address. His eyes grew cold; his entire body seemed to shrivel like an old man in a storm. Finally, he produced an obituary and quietly sat down while I read:

"William Randolph Sinclair, Jr., 27, of Arlington, VA, died at St. Jude’s Medical Center. He was a veteran of Desert Storm. He is survived by…"

The pieces started falling into place. His son, following the example of his father, lost his life in consequence.

"You wrote a story," said Sinclair, "about the Gulf War Syndrome."

I had indeed. As many as half of the soldiers who served in the first war later contracted the sickness. It began with a mild rash, headaches, nausea, but developed into a neurological disorder resembling Parkinson Disease. Whatever the cause – depleted uranium munitions, experimental vaccines – the military chose to deny its existence rather than investigate. When they were forced to investigate, their findings were always inconclusive.

"Billy walked over to the high school football field," continued Sinclair. "He was a star athlete, you know. He walked out into the center of the field, knelt as if in prayer, and put the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth…"

His face grew ever darker and a shadow seemed to come over him. His gaze went inward as he summoned the image of his child.

"Before Billy died it was just a game. Not any more."

The history lessons were over. It was not that I had won his trust. It was just that he no longer seemed to care. If his story had merit and I had the courage to run with it, it was mine.

PART FOUR: THE SCENARIO

Sinclair came up with the terrorist attack scenario in January 1996, ten months before his son ended his own life. It proposed a simultaneous attack by an Islamic fundamentalist group on several cities within the United States. It was an attack on both civilian and government targets – the Washington Monument, Disney World, the World Trade Center, the Pentagon – using commercial airlines as missiles. His superiors were intrigued and asked him to give the enemy a name. He did so. The name had been around for years and his face was that of the perfect enemy: Usama bin Laden.

He emphasized that none of this was the product of his imagination.

"I have no imagination," he said. "I wasn’t a fiction writer. I was not paid to write stories. I was paid to create realistic scenarios based on existing facts. Everything is in the public record."

He instructed me to check the official transcripts from the investigations of the African embassy bombings, the attack on the USS Cole, and the trial records of the first attack on the World Trade Center. I did so. It all checked out. Usama bin Laden, altered after September 11, 2001, to Osama bin Laden was an Agency recruit from the days of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.

Sinclair explained that he ran a cost-benefit analysis, projecting the cost in lives and economic loss against the "benefits" to the Agency and the powers it served: Increased military spending, congressional approval of covert operations, broad powers of domestic surveillance, control of Congress and the White House, and, most critically, a forty year "war on terrorism" – a long awaited replacement for the Cold War. It was a virtual carte blanche for the neoconservative ideologues already entrenched in the White House.

"It would have been so easy to prevent this catastrophe," he said.

He reminded me that the director of the Federal Aviation Administration pleaded with Congress and the administration to secure the cockpits of commercial airlines long before September 2001.

"Where was the Agency then?" he asked. "Where was the FBI? Where were all those men in high office who knew what was being planned and did nothing to prevent it? It would have been so easy."

I had always considered myself a good, patriotic citizen. Even if I did not always agree with my government, I believed my country was the best and most virtuous on the planet.

This was not a story I wanted to hear, no less report: That our leaders – those in charge of defending our nation – knew what was about to happen and failed to act.

Sinclair offered me an envelope. He explained that it contained all the evidence I would require. I hesitated. I imagined he was reading my mind: Was this really what I wanted? Did I wish to go down in history as the man who exposed the great lie? Did the facts even matter? Would I be vilified by my colleagues in the press? Would I be called a traitor? Would I lose my job and everything I valued and worked so hard to protect?

I took the envelope in my hands, held it for the length of a second thought, and tossed it onto Sinclair’s desk. I had a confession to make. I had already contacted the authorities.

"I suspect," I said, "there are a couple of agents outside right now."

Sinclair flashed his sardonic smile.

"Congratulations," he said. "You passed the test."

I looked at him with disbelief. All of his passion and conviction were nothing but smoke and mirrors, lies and deceptions, like the lies of war.

"You try to convince me that my government has betrayed the nation, its people, its founding principles, and if you succeed, I go to jail."

"You want to work in the fourth estate," he replied, "that’s the test. It’s the price you pay to enjoy the blessings of your profession and the esteem, the privilege and the power of serving the greatest nation on earth."

He was wrong. The price was much greater. Beneath his twisted sense of humor, a profound sadness would stay with us both as long as we lived. For each of us, shame was the price of survival.

He winked and I went my way. I was back in the newsroom. A few months later, I was given a column and a seat on the editorial board.

I never asked my publisher if he was in on the sting. I never had to.

JACK RANDOM IS THE AUTHOR OF GHOST DANCE INSURRECTION (DRY BONES PRESS) AND THE JAZZMAN CHRONICLES (CROW DOG PRESS). SEE HIS BLOG: WWW.JAZZMANCHRONICLES.BLOGSPOT.COM.