DICK DOES
LIBERIA
Avery M. DICK
The Larson Agency Fairfax, Virginia
Copyright © 2009 by Avery M. Dick
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, or events in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
If you have purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for the “stripped book.”
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN: 978-0-615-25468-5
Contents
Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 1 Dankest Africa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 2 Mumbo Jumbo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 3 Praetorian Guardians . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 4 Mercy! Beaucoup . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 5 Golden Fleecing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 6 Honestly Disingenuous . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 7 Sketchy Skullduggery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 8 Rumble in the Jumble . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 9 Things Get Personable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 10 Poisonous Potpourri . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 11 Juju Jamboree. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 12 A Femme Fatale Confesses All . . . . . . . . . . . …
Chapter 13 Uncle Fred Steps Up to the Plate . . . . . . . . …. Chapter 14 Beat of Different Drummers . . . . . . . . . . . . ..
Chapter 15 Styx and Stones . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 16 Dickering Over Our Dilemma . . . . . . . . . . . …
Chapter 17 Our Grim Reaper Cometh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ....
Chapter 18 Resting on Our Lazy Laurels . . . . . . . . …. . . .
Chapter 19 Bothersome Boomerangs . . . . . . . . . . . . …. . .
Afterword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Foreword
P
tell a story that was decidedly grim—perhaps just dark humor on the Dark Continent. Liberia was on a downward trajectory and had little chance of turning itself around. Hope and confidence were in short supply like everything else in the beleaguered country.
The entire population was suffering greatly and the govern- ment of Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf was largely helpless in the face of overwhelming obstacles. Rampant corruption, indifference and crushing poverty all conspired against breaking the death spiral. That’s because a long, bloody civil war had drained the nation’s resources and spirits. Now a human monster threatened her fragile regime and its democratic institutions. When it rained, it poured, especially in Liberia’s wettest of rainy seasons.
There was only one potential bright spot on an otherwise bleak horizon—oil and natural gas. Huge fields had been discovered off the country’s coast and in its territorial waters. The big energy companies were already licking their lips and calculating their outra- geous profits. By the way, the prospective was good for a gusher. Unfortunately, Liberia was ripe for the picking and plucking given its weakened condition. The greedy vultures were already circling, flapping their wings and beating their puffed chests in anticipation of good things to come.
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The monster had other plans for the nation that included his taking power by force, hook or crook or whatever means necessary. His appetite for money and absolute power was insatiable. He was a ravenous glutton whose hunger for more could never be sated. Equally alarming was his sociopathic bent for ruthless and reckless behavior. The unholy union of aberrant desires and brutally cold- blooded intentions spelled disaster for the frail country. Whatever the costs, he planned to topple Ellen Sirleaf and install himself as the next president of the fledgling republic.
My role in the drama was all too clear: bell the cat to prevent a coup and civil war. My employer of second-to-last resort, the State Department’s Diplomatic Security Service, had ordered me to catch a monster while it was distracted or napping. I thought McDonald’s was looking better and better by the moment. “How about some fries with the burger, ma’am?”
I hope you enjoy the read and say a little prayer for the Liberian people.
Very truly yours,
Avery M. Dick III (DS Special Agent, Ret.)
P.S. May God bless America!
CHAPTER 1
Dankest Africa
“Phil, you need to remember that Liberians are wicked and vicious people.”
—Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, President, Republic of Liberia
The fasten seat belt sign flashed-on and the pilot announced we were approaching Roberts Field and to prepare for landing. The mostly black passengers and the few white expats onboard dutifully complied with the instruction. I suspected a number of people were returning home from the Diaspora after many years of self-imposed exile. Liberia was not a tourist destination by any stretch of the imagination. A positive, upbeat imagination and strong dose of hopefulness were necessary to emotionally cope with the current conditions in the desperately poor country. That was because Liberia was down on its prospects and almost down for the count. Its collective sanity and tenuous stability were quickly slipping away. Those who couldn’t or wouldn’t grasp the dire conditions and consequences of the situation were simply whistling past the graveyard. I quickly stifled a yawn and an uncontrollable urge to purse my lips. As the plane turned on final approach, I saw it was raining
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heavily, --not surprising for the wet season that still had two months to go before the weather turned sunny and brutally hot. Regardless, it was always hot and humid here with the only relief offered by the intermittent breezes off the Atlantic. Monrovia had the distinction of being the rainiest capital in the world. I didn’t bother to verify the claim because I didn’t particularly care and forgotten to bring my hydrometer. In my particular profession, wet-work was always a possibility and an occupational hazard. Thank God I’d remem- bered to bring an umbrella and my rubbers!
The 30 mile trip from the airport to the city reminded me of my previous visit in 1992 when I served as acting Regional Security Officer at the U.S. embassy. Between then and now, the country had undergone 14 on-and-off again years of devastating civil war. The entire country was now in shambles and desperately trying to reestablish basic infrastructures. No commercial electricity existed in the country and other basic services and products were nonex- istent, scarce or prohibitively expensive. Liberia was a basket case without even the pretense of a basket—wicker and rattan were in short supply too.
The United Nations, wealthy donor nations and non-govern- mental organizations were doing their best to prop up the newly-elected, democratic government and provide for the basic health and food needs of the people. In most respects, it was an uphill battle with Sisyphus leading the charge. Bureaucratic inefficiency and endemic corruption within the Liberian govern- ment conspired to keep the boulder from making much progress. The country’s viability and very future were in serious question. Otherwise, things were just hunky-dory.
Jersey Briggs, my former colleague and erstwhile friend, had convinced me to come out of retirement and take the assignment. It didn’t take much convincing since I was bored and broke. His offer gave me the opportunity to overcome both desultory condi- tions. I readily agreed before hearing the details and considering
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the dangers involved in accepting the job. I could be especially impetuous when money was involved. Patriotism came in a distant second but still served as a plausible excuse for my desperate, disso- lute and pecuniary desires.
Jersey was the Director of Investigations for the U.S. Department of State, Diplomatic Security Service; the same position I held until I retired some years ago. We’ve had an on-again, off-again relation- ship for years. That meant I didn’t fully trust the fucking bastard! He had suckered me into dangerous situations before and had no compunctions about doing so again. Hiring me was a no-lose situ- ation for him. If I succeeded in solving a tough case, he’d garner most of the kudos. If I failed, he would tell his superiors that old Avery had lost his touch and should be removed from the reserve rolls for future assignments; put out to pasture like a broken-down dray horse. In any case, DS would effectively distance itself from any political pratfalls by not assigning an active duty agent, just a retread who had obviously outlived his usefulness to the outfit.
Sometimes loyalty and camaraderie were also in short supply among those who protect and serve.
My notional assignment was to conduct an in-depth review of DS’s antiterrorism assistance program in Liberia. It was a suitable cover under the circumstances and one that would hold up under scrutiny by the local security services, the U.S. embassy and the DS advisory team providing assistance to the Liberian Special Security Service. I only prayed my beard stayed intact long enough to get the job done so I could get the hell out of here. If it didn’t stay put, I risked much more than losing face.
The Special Security Service was the Liberian government orga- nization charged with protecting the president, senior officials designated by the president and visiting foreign dignitaries. Its mandate largely mirrored that of the U.S. Secret Service but that was where the comparison ended. The SSS or Triple S, as commonly called, had been used by previous regimes as an instrument of terror
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and repression, largely a goon squad that reputedly had murdered, raped and kidnapped opponents and ordinary citizens alike without concern or consequence.
During its history, some of its agents had been characterized as sadists who engaged in gruesome acts of torture and cannibalism during the country’s darkest hours. Some of these men, the worst of the worst, were assigned to the SSS Special Antiterrorism Unit. Now the entire organization was being restructured, equipped and trained by the U.S. government—all in the name of fighting inter- national terrorism.
An important change occurred with a democratically elected president in 2006—Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. She was the first woman elected to such high office in Africa and represented a bright ray of hope for the people of the Godforsaken country. One of her first acts was to request personal protection from the U.S. government. She didn’t trust the Triple S since many of its senior leaders opposed her candidacy and reportedly were involved in thwarting her elec- tion to office. She’d also been hunted down by the SSS during the war years and had never forgiven them for that little episode in her life that almost caused her execution at its hands.
Moreover, there was the issue of the Triple S reputation in Liberia. She needed time to purge the organization of those members she considered undesirable or disloyal. President Sirleaf had even gone so far as to recommend changing the organization’s name to the Executive Protection Service to remove the stigma that still haunted the peoples’ minds and memories. That and other positive changes affecting the SSS were pending passage in the Liberian congress. She was one bound-and-determined lady who had publically vowed to professionalize the SSS, even if it killed her. The fellow members of her Unity Party constantly worried about the same outcome.
President Sirleaf had initially requested the U.S. Secret Service to provide agents for her security detail. The Service turned down the request noting it was outside the scope of its duties and authorities.
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She next asked the State Department to send Diplomatic Security
Service agents to provide similar protection.
The department declined but offered to fund a modest-sized security detail comprised of American contractor personnel for a limited period of time for her personal protection—just enough time for her to purge the senior leadership of the Triple S. The department also agreed to field an antiterrorism assistance team to Liberia to mentor and advise the reconstituted Triple S in achieving an acceptable level of professionalism and proficiency. The team would work in Liberia until the Triple S reached that magic level of competency or antiterrorism funds dried up or a new U.S. admin- istration decided otherwise. The protection team had departed many months ago, but the advisors might be on the ground for years to come. Respect for basic human rights could be a difficult concept to accept for an organization that for many years had a freehand and sometimes itchy trigger finger.
The undesirables in the organization were quickly replaced by the president’s trusted friends. Unfortunately, personal loyalty sometimes took precedence over experience. That had serious repercussions regarding the Triple S achieving a level of viability consistent with the advisors’ mission, U.S. government objectives and the president’s own desire. A five person team, comprised of retired DS special agents, now tried its best to coach, cajole, mentor, monitor and help transform the organization into a professional security service. The going was tough and progress was measured in tentative baby steps rather than leaps and bounds.
Regardless, the one thing the advisors never ever did was to protect, or suggest that it protected, the president or anyone else in Liberia. There was simply too much potential political fallout to assert such a claim. So, the Americans were merely advisors and nothing more. The Triple S maintained sole responsibility for the president’s safety and most certainly not the U.S. government. It was an important distinction for political correctness and PR spin
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alone. God forbid something should happen to her on America’s watch!
While the advisors roles and responsibilities were clear, at least in their minds, the State Department and the administration’s deci- sion to field an advisory team and fund an antiterrorism program in Liberia was less so. That was because there wasn’t any terrorism as defined by the U.S. government or serious threat of terrorism in the country. The threat from what were called former combat- ants was of some potential concern since most possessed combat experience and access to arms that hadn’t been recovered by the government at the end of the fighting. However, the fear had not materialized although crime was another matter altogether. That was because former combatants had been responsible for much of the violent crime throughout the country. That distinctly antisocial disease remained the most pressing public safety issue of the day.
If there was no credible terrorist threat to Sirleaf or the government of Liberia, why would the U.S. government provide antiterrorism assistance? I wondered.
The answers I believed could be found in the unique and special relationship between Liberia and the United States. That and the fact that Liberia had just elected a democratic government headed by a very capable woman no less, a first for Africa. Perhaps there was another, less charitable motive too.
Liberia was founded by the abolitionist movement for freed American slaves in the early part of the 19th century. Many former slaves and freeborn blacks migrated to the country over the next century or so as part of the back-to-Africa movement. It didn’t take long for the newcomers to subdue the indigenous tribes and dominate political life in the country. The Americo-Liberians as they were called had little in common with their backward, native brethren. Their social customs and cultural perspectives had been forged in the United States. As a result, many American icons and institutions were adopted by Liberia. For example, the U.S. dollar served as official currency and its flag closely resembled that of the
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United States. It was the only foreign nation that had named its capital after a U.S. president—James Monroe. Even its executive, judicial and legislative branches of government were patterned after those in America.
Many other examples of Americanisms and Americana existed throughout its culture and institutions. The special bond between the two countries had not been broken for almost two hundred years. Perhaps it was because the slavish nature of the White Man’s guilt tended to die hard in the lopsided relationship. Perhaps it was something altogether different nowadays.
Ellen Sirleaf had been educated and worked in the United States for many years and was a friend of President George W. Bush and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. Bush had visited Liberia twice during a two year period while in office, both short day trips. For a sitting president to visit a backwater, West African state was largely unprecedented. Visiting it twice was considered highly suspect by many of the pundits and politicos who tracked such things. Eh, what’s up Doc?
Liberia held no geopolitical or other interest for America, except one—potentially huge, off-shore oil and gas fields that hadn’t yet been tapped and exploited. These large reserves, now owned by former American slaves, offered temporary relief to energy hungry Americans. The exploration and mapping of the fields had been completed and preparations were underway to begin drilling. Coastal, West African countries from Nigeria to Angola had already sprouted offshore oil rigs. It was now Liberia’s turn to cash-in on its natural resources in a big way. It was the country’s sole hope for economic salvation. The avaricious players on both sides of the Atlantic were gushing about the bright prospects on the horizon.
The decision to aid the new Liberian president with her personal safety concerns was a laudable and predictable act. It was another example of democracy building in action and a shrewd business move that would likely result in more obscene profits for the big U.S. oil companies. The United States most definitely wanted
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President Sirleaf to have a long and successful stay in office. So much so that it had already urged her to run for a second term. She would be seventy-two if that should happen. Her continued tenure was good for Liberia and good for America: a win-win situation for both countries. The Liberians desperately needed oil money to rebuild the country and the United States desperately needed the energy. Friendly, bilateral relations didn’t get any more symbiotic or cynical than that—just business as usual and another foreign policy success. Chalk one up for the good guys!
Speaking of being bushed, I was dead tired from my flights and the six hour wait between the Brussels to Monrovia leg of the trip. My embassy driver dropped me at Sea Suites where the embassy leased several furnished apartments for temporary assignees like me. I was too exhausted to even unpack. Instead, I chain-smoked several cigarettes and listened to the rain pound on the corrugated metal roof of my apartment. The pummeling sounds, Mother Nature’s soothing white noise, had a relaxing effect and I slept soundly for the next twelve hours.
Sometimes those who protect and serve were so wet behind the ears they didn’t anticipate the dangers intimidating or inundating them in Liberia’s dampest season.
CHAPTER 2
Mumbo Jumbo
would likely survive.
The entire passing scene was thoroughly depressing and seem- ingly hopeless. The government was overwhelmed by the severe economic and humanitarian situation and could only beg for help from outside sources. However, largesse only came in small packages these days. Countries in the region couldn’t help much because they had economic problems of their own. So, the new president undertook missions to the capitals of the richer nations of the world to appeal for money and equipment needed to rebuild
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her nation. Washington, DC, Beijing, Berlin, Tripoli and London were favorite stops on the frequent itineraries abroad. Hat-in-hand diplomacy was now the order of the day. But getting the country back on its feet again would be extremely difficult and problematic at best. Truthfully, it needed a damn miracle or very rich uncle to survive. Maybe some oil to grease the wheels of progress would help too.
I wore my best leisure suit to the meeting—the crimson one with faux pearl buttons. My black wingtips were shined to a high gloss. I stored my pack of Marlboros and Bic lighter in my pants pocket so as not to create an unseemly bulge in my jacket. I wanted to appear presentable and professional to my colleagues. I thought I looked particularly spiffy as we said in certain, closeted circles. Perception and self-delusion, rather than substance, counted for a lot in the State Department.
Following the perfunctory security screening, I was promptly ushered into Jackson Smyth’s office located on the ground floor of the chancery. I immediately shook hands with him and then turned to Phil Jensen who was sitting on a small sofa next to the window. Jackson was the embassy Regional Security Officer or Security Attaché. Like his counterparts around the world, he was a DS Special Agent who simply changed monikers while assigned abroad. The title was less important than the function—the U.S. government’s top cop and security official for Liberia. Since he was many years my junior, I only had known Jackson by his corridor reputation in the department. It was a solid one.
Phil Jensen was another matter altogether. We’d been contem- poraries in the Diplomatic Security Service, although never directly worked together during our careers. However, we had carpooled for a number of months from the Virginia suburbs to Main State and had gotten to know one another fairly well. He had a long and distinguished career with DS having served many years over- seas as a Regional Security Officer in some of the world’s hotter
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spots. By the way, that didn’t refer to the locales climatic conditions unless you counted the incendiary security and political situations in Lebanon and the Philippines during the tough times. Phil was retired but had returned to harness as a contractor serving as the senior security advisor overseeing the State Department’s Anti- terrorism Assistance program for Liberia. That meant he was the number one guy on the proverbial hook and responsible for profes- sionalizing the Triple S.
Phil had two masters to satisfy in that role: the DS Anti-Terrorism Assistance Office in Washington for general policy guidance and the embassy RSO for operational matters within the country. He had to walk a fine line between the two and keep both organiza- tions informed and content. The balancing act wasn’t always easy given the internecine battles that flared-up from time-to-time.
Sometimes those who protect and serve needed the presence of mind and a couple of ambidextrous alter-egos to cope with bureau- cratic tugs-of-war and clownish juggling acts.
Phil Jensen spoke first. “Hi Avery and welcome to the bottom of the third world. Why would you volunteer to come to a shithole like this when you could be kicking-back in the real world with the drinks and the ladies? As I recall, you liked both very much and occasionally to excess.”
Phil was well aware for my penchant for wine and meaningful, casual sex. I had earned a certain reputation over the years for those weaknesses, along with a few days of unpaid leave for some of my more outrageous indiscretions. Despite my flaws, I was also univer- sally recognized by my peers for my work ethos and tenacity as an investigator. Those qualities had saved my tenuous career and skin on more than one occasion.
“Phil, dedication and patriotism would be my first explana- tion, not the fact that I’m flat broke and need the money. My few virtues and many vices are getting expensive these days, my friend.
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Besides, I had nothing better to do and looked forward to escaping the Washington winter for awhile,” I quipped.
“Also, I haven’t seen you in about 15 years and thought it high- time to renew our acquaintanceship.”
Both laughed at my silly answer. However, the money part was absolutely true. Nothing else I’d say today would be because I’d been sworn to secrecy by Jersey Briggs. Only the ambassador and President Sirleaf had been briefed on the true purpose of my visit to Liberia via a NODIS, eyes-only cable from Washington. I didn’t care for the fact that I couldn’t reveal my mission to trusted colleagues but Jersey was adamant that I maintained cover for as long as possible to avoid any inadvertent leaks. The consequences of premature disclosure of why I was here could be disastrous for the mission and me personally. Given his logic and my innate instinct for self-preservation, I didn’t bother arguing the point.
“Avery, we received notice of your arrival from ATA and under- stand the purpose of your visit is to conduct a program review of the Liberian SSS operation in terms of our assistance. However, a two-person team was here less than 10 months ago and did the same thing. We came out smelling like roses. So what gives? Why’s there another review so soon?” Jackson pointedly asked.
Jackson was sharp and asked the logical question. I was sharper though and had a bullshit, but wholly logical answer.
“The reason is the Hill. The oversight committees are breathing down the backs of all government agencies providing foreign assis- tance to make sure Uncle Sam’s monies are being spent properly and judiciously—the old waste, fraud mismanagement stuff again. It’s a direct result of the reported widespread abuses in Afghanistan and Iraq, not so much the nickel-and- dime programs like in Liberia and elsewhere that DS funds.”
“It’s a matter of the small fish getting caught up in Congress’s big dragnet. Regardless, DS, with its relatively modest dollars to fund the programs around the world, is on the spot. We’re required to provide a report to the Hill within 90 days on each of the programs
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along with a certification that each is in full compliance with set spending limits and that funds are being expended as authorized. There’s no mystery here, just more bureaucratic rigmarole.”
“But couldn’t I have done the same thing and submitted a compliance report?” Jackson retorted.
“Sure, you could have, but how much credibility would it have if challenged by the Hill staffers? Jackson, you and Phil are part and parcel of the program here and not exactly unbiased observers. Look, I’m not, nor is DS, questioning your honesty or integrity. That’s not what this is about. DS headquarters correctly concluded that both of you are much too close to the situation and that’s why an outsider must conduct the review. It’s certainly nothing personal. Similar reviews are scheduled for Afghanistan, Indonesia, Pakistan and elsewhere. Liberia’s not being singled out for any special treat- ment,” I blatantly lied through my smiling teeth.
“Okay, fair enough. I’ve been around long enough to realize that logic and reason don’t often win the day in the department. Please give us a broad outline of what you plan to do and how we can help. Nothing personal Avery, but we have full plates here and can’t afford to hold hands for our visitors, even DS colleagues,” Jackson commented.
The last thing I wanted was Jackson’s or the embassy’s help. Despite local customs, I also didn’t want to hold hands with him. However, my foot was now firmly in the door but I hoped no one would abruptly slam it on me. I didn’t want to injure my reputation as a flatfoot in good standing. On-the-job injuries could sometimes be fatal in my profession.
“I anticipate working with Phil and his crew for the next few weeks. Phil, I promise not to step on your toes or get in your way. I appreciate your position because I’ve been on your end of the stick many times over the years. To get started, I’ll need some back- ground briefings and introductions. I’ll also need a car and driver to get me around. I sure as hell won’t drive here. By the way, where
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can I buy cigarettes and a good bottle of wine? We all have our priorities and particular vices, don’t we?”
I didn’t get or expect an answer. I certainly didn’t bother to ask about the women because I never had any difficulty locating that commodity before. However, that last line got a little chuckle from both of them. I couldn’t tell if it was a knowing chuckle or one that suggested I couldn’t find such staples in Monrovia.
Sometimes those who protect and serve spoke in forked tongues that were tied tightly in many knots.
“Avery, this is a good time as any to give you the big picture story of the Triple S,” Phil announced.
“Its story is closely intertwined with the political history of Liberia since the ouster of the last democratically elected president, William Tolbert, in 1980. That’s a good starting point for perspec- tive and context and one of the reasons why we’re assisting the Triple S today.”
“It’s a bloody story of coups, countercoups, plots and coun- terplots, bizarre juju rituals, high-level corruptions, acts of terror against the citizenry, the grossest human rights violations imagin- able, personal and tribal enmities and vendettas, sociopathic and sycophantic actors of various stripes and much more. It is a tale that speaks to the disintegration of a country and society that was founded on American principles and values. Avery, please sit back for your primer on Liberian politics and subsequent civil wars that brought this country to its very knees.”
I waited for the popcorn to be served, but before Phil could begin his spiel, I asked for a brief intermission to go to the John and smoke a couple of cigarettes. I had gotten to know the embas- sy’s John fairly well from my previous visit in 1992. Fortunately, he hadn’t moved in the interim and I renewed his acquaintance in the nick of time.
I suspected Phil’s telling could take awhile and I wanted to satisfy my bodily needs first. I didn’t want to miss a word of what
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he was about to say. It sounded like the storyline would make for a good B-movie except the script was all true. However, the trailers of coming attractions were stalled in preproduction. I prayed for the sake of the country there wouldn’t be any sequels.
“William Tolbert was the last democratically elected presi- dent before the country abruptly slipped into insanity, later to be followed by chaos, war and anarchy,” Phil began. “Successive regimes led by warlords or their surrogate puppets ruled or tried to rule the nation. I say rule because govern is a much too charitable word to apply to the situation. Truthfully, rank, raw and brutal dictatorship is a much better descriptor.”
“Tolbert was ousted in a military coup in 1980 by Master Sgt. Samuel K. Doe backed by our Uncle Sam. Doe’s rule was charac- terized by corruption and brutality. More of the same was in store for Liberia in the coming years. A rebellion, led by Charles Taylor, a former Doe aide and leader of the National Patriotic Front of Liberia, began in December 1989. The following year, Doe was assassinated by another rebel leader named Prince Johnson whose forces had temporarily taken the capital.”
“According to popular lore, the trussed Doe was taken before Johnson and forced to kneel in front of him. Johnson was sitting on the veranda of a home located on Bushrod Island sipping a cold Budweiser. Johnson repeatedly asked Doe where the government ledgers where located—the country’s bank accounts. Doe refused to tell him or didn’t know. Regardless, the encounter’s outcome was predictable. On orders, one of Johnson’s goons put a single bullet into the back of Doe’s head. As he did, Johnson reportedly quipped ‘this one’s for you, bud!’ It turned out that the sergeant had received the ultimate in corporal punishment, all accomplished in traditional, African style.”
Both Jackson and I gave a little snicker to Phil’s puns and word-
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play. He had a reputation for his offbeat, politically incorrect brand of humor.
“During the mess, the Economic Community of West African States negotiated with the government and the rebel factions and attempted to restore order, but the civil war raged on. By April
1996, factional fighting by the country’s warlords had destroyed any last vestige of normalcy and civil society. After much back and forth, the civil war finally ended in 1997. Some would argue there were wars because of intermittent periods of peace and calm—mox nix to me.”
“In what was considered by international observers to be a free election, Charles Taylor won 75% of the presidential vote in July 1997. The country had next to no health care system and the capital was without electricity and running water. Taylor had also supported Sierra Leone’s brutal Revolutionary United Front in the hopes of toppling his neighbor’s government in exchange for diamonds that would enrich his personal coffers. It was always about getting money in any way, shape or form with all of these characters.”
“Keep in mind that all of the warlords in this drama funded their operations through the mining and export of the so-called blood diamonds and extorting monies from the few international companies operating in Liberia at the time—the rubber planta- tions, timber producers and iron ore mines.”
“But the sale of blood diamonds provided the bulk of money needed to finance and support their personal wars. The diamonds were mined in alluvial streams located in the mineral rich inte- riors of both Liberia and Sierra Leone. Men, women and children were forced to sift and dig by hand for these ruthless entrepreneurs. The laborers worked under the worst conditions imaginable from sunup to sunset, seven days a week in shallow, open pits. Many
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died from malnutrition, exhaustion, disease and sometimes lead poisoning from their guards’ rifles. The diamonds were smuggled out of the country and sold or traded for munitions on the world’s markets. It was an extremely lucrative trade and one that kept the various rebellions robustly endowed, almost indefinitely.”
“Here’s another point to remember. These wars were not ideo- logically or geopolitically motivated in the slightest. The foreign powers may have preferred one warlord or another for the sake of stability and peace but there was no meaningful financial or other support, overt or otherwise, to the warlords by the outsiders. The blood diamonds bought what was needed to further perfect and sustain the genocidal wars.”
“In 2002, rebels—Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy—intensified their attacks on Taylor’s government. By June 2003, LURD and other rebel groups controlled two-thirds of the country. Finally, on August 11, Taylor stepped down and went into exile in Nigeria. Gyude Bryant, a businessman seen as a coalition builder, was selected by the various factions as the new president. By the time he was exiled, Taylor had bankrupted his own country siphoning off $100 million. According to the New York Times, Taylor left Liberia the world’s poorest nation. In 2004, international donors promised more than $500 million in aid to shore up the country’s ailing economy. With many of these nations, the checks are still in the mail.”
“In a November 2005 presidential runoff election, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, a Harvard-educated economist who had worked at the World Bank, defeated George Weah, a former world class soccer star. In January 2006, Sirleaf became Africa’s first female president.”
“In 2006, former president Taylor, in exile in Nigeria, was arrested and turned over to the International Court in The Hague
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to face trial on charges of crimes against humanity for supporting rebel troops in Sierra Leone’s and Liberia’s brutal civil wars that claimed the lives of about 300,000 people in the 1990s. Taylor initially refused to appear in court when his trial opened in June
2007. However, he subsequently changed his mind and the trial has now resumed. Don’t look for a speedy verdict because his list of crimes is very long.”
I was already well aware of this last bit of information but said nothing because I was bound to secrecy by the bureaucrats in Washington.
“Avery, here’s one, important take-away message from all of this bloody nonsense—not a single rebel leader had the slightest interest in Liberia except what the country could provide each in terms of lining their own pockets. Forget the patriotic, nationalist, liberation, democracy crap they spouted to justify their actions. It was all eyewash to cover their true motive for taking power— money, money and more money. Unbridled greed was the only personal agenda for seizing control of the country and running it into the ground.”
“The consequences for Liberia are now clearly evident. It has the highest unemployment rate of any African country, perhaps in the world. An estimated two-thirds of the people are said to suffer from posttraumatic stress from the fighting and deprivations. Critical infrastructure such as rail, electrical, telephone, water and roads has been destroyed or severely degraded. Basic health care is extremely limited or nonexistent; there are only 200 doctors to serve 3.4 million citizens. The people are still greatly suffering from the perverse, self-serving form of patriotism practiced by the rebel warlords.”
“Let me transition to the Special Security Service at this point in my monologue. You’ll hear many stories about the political
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situation and rebel wars while you’re here so if I missed any high spots you’ll be able to fill in the blanks. Everyone has a tale to tell because everyone in the country personally and poignantly suffered one way or another during the past fourteen years or so—and still continue to suffer. So much so that the government has convened a Truth and Reconciliation Commission that is slowly disclosing the traumas, abuses and corruptions of the war years. By the way, its hearings are broadcast live on the one TV station and over the radio. They’re a very popular source of information and macabre form of entertainment here.’
“The Triple S has had a checkered past to put things mildly and diplomatically. It was originally established in February 1966 to provide protection to the president, vice president, other high ranking government officials and visiting foreign dignitaries— much like the U.S. Secret Service. By the way, that’s still its sole role today under President Sirleaf.”
“However, its reputation was so badly damaged during the Taylor regime that the current president has submitted legislation to change the organization’s name. The atrocities, or crimes against humanity as the United Nation call them, that were committed by the SSS under Taylor were simply too obscene and offensive to the Liberian people to let the old name stand. Sirleaf wants change and professionalism and that’s why we’re here. It’s a struggle to say the least but the U.S. is committed to giving it a shot. God only knows what will happen after we leave. Old ways die hard, espe- cially in Liberia where violent, premature death has been a way of life for the past many years. I’ll relate only the organization’s history under Taylor since it’s critical to understanding what is facing us in mentoring and advising the SSS of today.”
“Charles Taylor was a military dictator and bully of the worst stripe. He was elected to office as the country’s president in 1997, a cruel joke perpetrated on the Liberians by themselves. One of
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his first acts was to take control of the SSS and fill its ranks with his loyalists and cronies. Personal safety and survival were great motivators for him in those days. Most members of the service were former fighters in his NPFL rebel group, although many were simply thugs and sociopaths of the first order. The new Palace Guard was molded in his image and shaped to carry out his will.”
“One could not resign from the organization for any reason because that suggested disloyalty and disloyalty suggested being summarily executed. One never wanted to be terminated for cause for any reason. Plots and paranoia ruled the organization’s activities in those days. The dictator had to be protected at all costs because if he fell from power his underlings would too. Falling from power meant fleeing the country or imprisonment or execution by the next regime. These things were the only options for those officials who actively supported Taylor and his abusive, corrosive rule of the country between 1997 and 2003.”
“However, Taylor’s SSS also operated outside the palace gates with impunity as a paramilitary unit. The number of agents and operatives swelled to about 1,500 at its height and served as Taylor’s personal instrument of terror that was most often directed against his own people, but later as fighters against the LURD rebel forces that vowed to topple his regime.”
“In rural areas, particularly in remote parts of Lofa and Gbarpolu counties, armed SSS agents illegally entered homes, most often to steal food, money or other property. Members of the security forces in those areas generally were paid and provisioned inadequately and often extorted money and goods from citizens. Local communities were compelled to provide food, shelter and labor for members of the forces stationed in their villages. Human Rights Watch reported that President Taylor’s SSS was also mobilized to combat LURD rebels. Again, the SSS then largely consisted of his former
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NPFL combatants who were paid a one-time fee of $150 and were expected to pillage for food and other basic needs thereafter.”
“I’ll spare you the gruesome details of SSS activities—there are too many emotionally wrenching, despicable acts to relate. No doubt you’ll hear many of them during your stay. They are so horrendous that I suggest you listen to them only on a strong, empty stomach after a couple glasses of wine—white Zinfandel as I remember from our earlier days in DS.”
“Suffice it to say that Taylor and some of his senior cronies are undergoing trial at the moment in The Hague’s International Court of Criminal Justice for crimes committed against humanity. Others are wanted and on the run. Others will escape justice alto- gether, I suspect.”
Phil didn’t realize it but he had just touched on the reason I was here—my true mission to Liberia.
“Avery, that’s a quick and very dirty history of the Liberian political situation during the past couple of decades. It’s not been a pretty picture and the country’s current snapshot is blurred and sketchy at best despite the recent election of the Iron Lady of Africa, Ellen Sirleaf.”
Sometimes those who protect and serve kept a straight face beneath an African mask to better conceal their nervous facial expressions and true intentions.
CHAPTER 3
Praetorian Guardians
More to the point, maybe I should have had my head examined before accepting the damn assignment! I was now terribly worried about what I was up against and how I might gracefully exit from this little drama with my head held high or at least still atop my shoulders. I know, I know, heavy is the head that wears the crown.
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However, my neck was so bowed at the moment that I couldn’t help but notice that my black wingtips needed a shine.
It had rained again throughout the night. I awakened several times by what I first thought were the sounds of gunshots very close by. I reflexively took defensive action by pulling my sheet over my head and praying that it was only a neighbor being attacked. As young agents-in-training, we had practiced this tried-and-true defensive technique over-and-over again as a security blanket and comforter in times of danger. It worked and I quickly fell back to sleep.
In the morning, I identified the attackers—pear-sized almond fruits that had fallen from the trees onto the metal roof above my bed. By the large number of shell casings lying on the ground, the act was an obvious gangbang by a bunch of out-of-control nuts. Okay, one case solved but another big one to go before I’d sleep soundly again.
Sometimes wishful thinking, misguided altruism and old-fash- ioned self-preservation motivated those who protect and serve.
Phil Jensen had offered to take me on a short tour of the key sites associated with SSS protective responsibilities. It didn’t take long to hook-up with him because he only lived two doors away from me at Sea Suites. Our first stop was about three miles down Tubman road, the same one that fronted the Sea Suites compound.
“Welcome to my world, Avery,” Phil greeted me with a grin as we got into his Nissan Patrol SUV and headed to President Sirleaf ’s residence.
“This has been my home away from home for the past eighteen months. I have about four more to go until the current contract ends. I don’t know or care if it will be extended. In any event, that will be it for me. I’m pretty well burned-out at this point and looking forward to rejoining my family back in Virginia. Enough is enough! I’ve paid my professional dues and then some since I’ve been here.”
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While chatting, Phil carefully negotiated the many road obstacles in our path—open manholes, ruts and bumps hidden by standing water, school kids darting in-and-out of traffic and the numerous walkers who used the macadam roadway for travel rather than the water-soaked, dirt shoulders. But worst of all were the small, yellow taxis, invariably Nissan Sunnys’, that would abruptly stop in the middle of the road or cut in front at the last second to snag a fare. The fact that many didn’t have working taillights and turn signals made the experience all the more challenging. I sat more upright in my seat and tightened my seatbelt a notch but Phil didn’t blink an eye at all of the happenings before us. I suspected for him it was just another, routine commute to the office.
“We’ll be arriving at the president’s compound in a couple more minutes,” Phil casually mentioned as he avoided a pothole large enough to swallow the front axle of our vehicle.
“It’s time for a shift change and you’ll get to see the SSS presi- dential security detail in action. Her Nibs is leaving this morning for the airport for a flight to New York to attend the annual United Nations General Assembly meeting. Maybe we’ll tag along and check on how they handle the motorcade. We routinely do this as part of mentoring and critiquing performance.”
“Phil, remember those days when as young agents we actually looked forward to the event. It was nonstop work and partying for two weeks each year. It was a great opportunity to reconnect with colleagues from the various field offices and headquarters. I also recall it was a great opportunity to get hammered and laid. Those were fantastic times.”
“Those were the days my friend, I thought they’d never end……” I sung in my husky, smoker’s voice. That little bit of singsong garnered a loud groan from Phil. I knew then I hadn’t lost my touch for bringing joy into other people’s lives.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell is going on?” Phil exclaimed as we pulled through the entrance to the president’s residence. Before us
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was the motorcade with all of the vehicles lined-up and positioned as taught. Obviously, interpersonal relations and anger manage- ment techniques were not being taught because about 30 or more SSS agents and drivers were shouting and jostling each other. It appeared that the Midnight Shift going off duty and the Day Shift coming to work were engaged in a heated argument.
“Stay in the car Avery and observe. I’m sure this little dustup will be grist for your program critique and a black eye for me and the advisors. God, talk about bad karma and timing! The president is scheduled to depart any minute,” Phil muttered as he slammed the door and ran to the commotion.
I didn’t envy Phil’s situation. He and his team didn’t supervise or manage the Triple S. The only thing he could do under the circumstances was to referee the situation as best possible. I wished I could tell him he didn’t have to worry about the incident as far as I was concerned. There would be no program review or report. That wasn’t why I was here.
I watched as one group of agents, presumably assigned to one shift, tried to physically remove the agents sitting inside the vehi- cles. I guessed those agents comprised the other shift, but I wasn’t sure. No one had thrown a punch or drawn a weapon but the situ- ation was tense and might easily spin out of control.
Phil was now speaking to someone who appeared to be a senior SSS officer. I would later confirm my hunch. He was Frank Yeaten, the SSS Deputy Director for Operations, who was in command of the security details for all officials and dignitaries protected by the organization. Others soon joined them in discussion; likely the shift leaders.
After about 15 minutes or so, the situation dramatically calmed. The agents occupying all of the motorcade vehicles got out and allowed their colleagues to take charge. The departing agents and drivers didn’t look happy but it seemed they had now complied with whatever decision and order was made by their superiors. It looked like a mini crisis in discipline among the ranks had narrowly
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been averted at the 11th hour. Actually, it was 8:30 when the presi- dent departed for the airport. She didn’t have a clue as to what had just transpired and wouldn’t learn of the incident until well after her return to Liberia.
Phil was fuming, red in the face and highly agitated when he returned to the vehicle. I didn’t ask him what had happened. He would tell me in his good time and way when he cooled down. He had known me well enough over the years and knew he could confide in me. I would never betray his confidence or trust. I bided my time and bit my tongue while we drove to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—the temporary home to the Office of the President, the SSS and the American advisors. Phil was so pissed-off that he didn’t bother to shadow the president’s motorcade to the airport.
We parked in front of the MFA but Phil left the vehicle running to keep the air conditioning going. It was only about 9:00 am but the combination of heat and humidity was already oppressive. It was raining lightly and I didn’t mind waiting for a few minutes to let it stop. I couldn’t get used to carrying an umbrella and had forgotten mine at the apartment. Old age, I guessed. No matter, I was much too crusty to melt.
“Avery, you just got a good taste of what we’re up against here,” Phil finally spoke as he idly stared out the windshield.
“It was simply another example of the undisciplined, immature nature of the SSS—weak senior leadership and little self-discipline in the lower ranks. Effective and sustainable command and control measures within the organization are largely nonexistent or disre- garded. Personal agendas, political affiliations, old friendships or vendettas, and tribal allegiances are much more important things in their society. Perhaps up to two-thirds of the force has no sense of duty or responsibility, except to themselves.”
“What you just witnessed was an argument over money—small money as it’s called here. President Sirleaf customarily hands out packets of money to the people that see her off on international
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trips. She’s done this since she took office and now everyone who wishes her farewell expects a handout or white envelope as they refer to it. In this case, the Midnight Shift insisted on accompanying her to the airport even though the shift had just ended. They refused to turn over the vehicles and weapons to the Day Shift. I found out that even one of the security vehicles was hidden at an adjoining compound so the oncoming shift couldn’t find it. It planned to join the motorcade on the road to the airport.”
“Okay, money was on the table and both groups were jockeying for a piece of it. Is that basically it?”
“Yep, it is, but there’s some history here. This is not the first time this has happened and it’s symptomatic of the lack of profession- alism on the part of the SSS as a viable security service. Can you imagine what would have happened if the Iron Lady had walked into that mess? She would have been furious and rightly so. I can assure you she would have fired everyone present, including me.”
“But here’s the real issue. How do you instill a fundamental sense of duty and personal accountability into a people that have lived in fear, repression and economic hardship for the past genera- tion? Now, with a true democracy, the average Liberian believes he or she has almost unlimited personal rights but they have no sense of the responsibilities that go along with them. I’m convinced it’s a direct response to the tyranny they have lived under for the past many years. Prior to 1980, most people lived in a democratic society where there was a sense of nationalism, unity, and a collective will to live in peace and harmony. No more, my friend. Everyone’s now out for themselves in making a buck any way they can and regard- less of consequence. It’s really a sad comment on today’s Liberia.”
“I understand that self-interest was of paramount concern in order for people to survive in the war years. Order and discipline during those bad times were achieved by intimidation, bribery or the barrel of a gun. Whatever worked, worked back then.”
“Unfortunately, those are not options for us as advisors. We have to cajole, coerce, convince, prod, connive and sometimes capitulate
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to get the most basic things accomplished in terms of equipping, training and mentoring these guys.”
“Remember Avery that we’re still associated with a diplomatic security service and we have to act accordingly,” Phil mentioned while smiling. Actually, it was more of a grimace.
Minding one’s P’s & Q’s was often more important than making progress for those who sometimes protect and serve.
“There are numerous examples of significant SSS screw-ups and ineptitudes that I can cite. In retrospect, many would be hilarious if they weren’t so damn serious. All of these things add-up to a big question mark as regards the Triple S’s ability to protect the president of Liberia. And make no mistake, she takes her personal safety very seriously, as she well should. She’s made many enemies over the years in her quest to bring stability and democracy to the country. In doing so, she’s thwarted the financial and political aspi- rations of those who would like to return to the corrupt, personally profitable, good old days.”
“Phil, I’m curious, how much money will each of the motorcade agents and drivers likely receive?”
“About five, six bucks a head. They earn two hundred a month so I suspect that it’s big money to them. Regardless, they’re paid well by local standards. Come on, let’s get a cup of coffee and I’ll show you more of my little kingdom from Hell.”
So far, so good, I thought. I had successfully conned Phil and Jackson as to the purpose of my visit to Liberia. My cover story didn’t have to hold-up long though. I understood it was perishable and that was okay. I just needed some time to put my plan in place and see what happened. Both would soon learn why I was here and they would be royally pissed that they hadn’t been cut-in to the operation at the beginning. However, that was impossible now given the constraints I was working under.
I simply couldn’t afford to show my hand just yet. The