See No Evil: The True Story of a Ground Soldier in the CIA's War on Terrorism by Robert Baer Page B
Authors: Robert Baer
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My heart started racing, especially when the agent said he had to have them back in two hours. The sergeant who had borrowed the manuals needed to return them to the safe before he went off duty. There wasn’t enough time to go to the office, copy them, and run a good counter surveillance route. Worse, at that hour New Delhi would be crawling with IB, but I could take them that night or maybe never.
The choice seemed obvious. I slammed on the brakes, pushed the agent out of the car, and yelled at him to meet me in two hours behind guest house number three at Delhi’s Gymkhana Club. The agent looked at me, confused. I reiterated,’ You’re either in the goddamn bushes behind number three or you don’t get your manuals back. ‘I sprayed him with gravel as I spun the car around.
As soon as I got into the office, I called the officer who did our technical operations, or the tech as we called him, to come help. He worked the document copier, and I the lone Xerox. Inevitably, the paper jammed not long before the machine ran out of toner. The toner was locked in a closet, which neither of us had the key to. The tech had to drill the lock. By the time we finished, I had exactly seventeen minutes to get to the Gymkhana Club.
As I passed through the first circular intersection, I saw a parked car turn on its lights and pull out after me. A second fell in behind it. I checked my watch. I now had six minutes to get to the handoff with the agent. Ordinarily, I would have driven around until I’d flushed out the two cars, but there was no time,
I continued along the main road, which was bumper-to-bumper with cars. With all the swimming lights in my rearview mirror, I couldn’t tell whether the two cars were still behind me or not.
About half a mile away from the Gymkhana, I cut down a back street, a shortcut I’d taken hundreds of times and one I knew would be empty of traffic at that time of night. As soon as I turned the corner, I slammed down on the gas pedal. I must have been doing fifty by the time I was halfway down the block. No one drove that fast on Delhi’s side streets, and anyone trying to keep up with me would have to show himself. I kept my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
I don’t know if it was because of a premonition or not, but when I looked back at the road, an enormous cow was spanning it. I knew in that split second that if I hit the brake, I would skid and hit the cow, dead center. That left me the option of going around it. The problem was that India’s sacred cows are completely unpredictable. When they panic, they’re as likely to bolt forward as to turn and bolt the other way. Flipping a mental coin, I headed for the cow’s rear end and cleared it by a good two inches. The right side of the car had dipped into a mud-filled sinkhole on the side of the road - I could hear the axle scraping along the edge - but my momentum carried me through. It was a miracle I didn’t flip. As soon as the car stopped fishtailing, I looked in my rearview mirror. The cow was gone, but in its place there were now at least three pairs of lights. They had to be IB. Worse, they were gaining on me.
I knew I had broken all the rules. The last thing you want to do when you’re under surveillance is to tweak the adversary’s interest. It only makes him more determined. But I had no choice. I could either hand back the manuals - I had three minutes now - or abort, and the agent had made it clear that if the sergeant didn’t return them that night, he would be caught and arrested, bringing the whole house of cards tumbling down.
By the time I pulled through the Gymkhana’s gates, the three pairs of lights had grown to five. In my rearview mirror I watched them file through the gates one by one. The closest car was maybe ten feet from my rear bumper. There wasn’t any more road, but I kept going - right down a gravel walking path between two tennis courts. I figured they wouldn’t follow me. I was right. All five
The choice seemed obvious. I slammed on the brakes, pushed the agent out of the car, and yelled at him to meet me in two hours behind guest house number three at Delhi’s Gymkhana Club. The agent looked at me, confused. I reiterated,’ You’re either in the goddamn bushes behind number three or you don’t get your manuals back. ‘I sprayed him with gravel as I spun the car around.
As soon as I got into the office, I called the officer who did our technical operations, or the tech as we called him, to come help. He worked the document copier, and I the lone Xerox. Inevitably, the paper jammed not long before the machine ran out of toner. The toner was locked in a closet, which neither of us had the key to. The tech had to drill the lock. By the time we finished, I had exactly seventeen minutes to get to the Gymkhana Club.
As I passed through the first circular intersection, I saw a parked car turn on its lights and pull out after me. A second fell in behind it. I checked my watch. I now had six minutes to get to the handoff with the agent. Ordinarily, I would have driven around until I’d flushed out the two cars, but there was no time,
I continued along the main road, which was bumper-to-bumper with cars. With all the swimming lights in my rearview mirror, I couldn’t tell whether the two cars were still behind me or not.
About half a mile away from the Gymkhana, I cut down a back street, a shortcut I’d taken hundreds of times and one I knew would be empty of traffic at that time of night. As soon as I turned the corner, I slammed down on the gas pedal. I must have been doing fifty by the time I was halfway down the block. No one drove that fast on Delhi’s side streets, and anyone trying to keep up with me would have to show himself. I kept my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
I don’t know if it was because of a premonition or not, but when I looked back at the road, an enormous cow was spanning it. I knew in that split second that if I hit the brake, I would skid and hit the cow, dead center. That left me the option of going around it. The problem was that India’s sacred cows are completely unpredictable. When they panic, they’re as likely to bolt forward as to turn and bolt the other way. Flipping a mental coin, I headed for the cow’s rear end and cleared it by a good two inches. The right side of the car had dipped into a mud-filled sinkhole on the side of the road - I could hear the axle scraping along the edge - but my momentum carried me through. It was a miracle I didn’t flip. As soon as the car stopped fishtailing, I looked in my rearview mirror. The cow was gone, but in its place there were now at least three pairs of lights. They had to be IB. Worse, they were gaining on me.
I knew I had broken all the rules. The last thing you want to do when you’re under surveillance is to tweak the adversary’s interest. It only makes him more determined. But I had no choice. I could either hand back the manuals - I had three minutes now - or abort, and the agent had made it clear that if the sergeant didn’t return them that night, he would be caught and arrested, bringing the whole house of cards tumbling down.
By the time I pulled through the Gymkhana’s gates, the three pairs of lights had grown to five. In my rearview mirror I watched them file through the gates one by one. The closest car was maybe ten feet from my rear bumper. There wasn’t any more road, but I kept going - right down a gravel walking path between two tennis courts. I figured they wouldn’t follow me. I was right. All five
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