Insider Threat: The Mogadishu Diaries 1992-1993

  We arrived at the Port and Eric grabbed his briefcase before exiting the vehicle. With the engine turned off and the sun still shining bright I looked around and looked at Ayan.

  “You know, I missed you,” I said to Ayan. Ayan playfully head-butted me and replied. “I missed you too, Mr. Thompson.”

  After that, nothing mattered. I was content. Her disarming African accent reeled me in like a fish on a hook. Her almond shaped eyes were alluring. She was the complete package. My perseverance paid off.

  Initially, she was quite rude to me because I approached her like a girl at a disco on a Friday night.

  After Eric returned we headed to the beach for a mini picnic. Tootie brought a blanket, snacks and a flask of wine that she acquired from some Italian friends.

  The coolness of the waves offset the scorching heat. Eric and Tootie were so playful and corny it was funny just watching them.

  While they were snuggled up, Tootie pushed him down on the blanket and pounced on him playfully.

  “Are you glad to see me, or is that a gun in your pocket, Mr. Sherman?” Tootie asked.

  “Sorry babes, this time it really is a gun,” Eric said, chuckling as he sat back up and removed his 9mm from his holster.

  After about ten minutes of small talk, Tootie interjected and started an interesting debate.

  “Let’s talk about relationships,” Tootie suggested. “Uh, oh. I know where this is going,” I replied. Tootie sat up straight and looked at Eric and I kinda serious.

  I grabbed Ayan’s hand and hoped for the best, but I could tell she was curious about what Tootie had to say.

  “Clay. Why do men have problems committing to women?” Tootie asked.

  Ayan looked at me and waited for me to answer. The pressure was on; I had to answer for all the sins of mankind. But it was a fair question and I had what I believed to be a reasonable answer.

  “Tootie, I can’t speak for all men, but I believe men don’t have problems committing to women they want to commit to. Only the ones they don’t.”

  “Okay, then why do Black men cheat?”

  That question immediately put me on the defensive and I resented being put in that position.

  “Whoa. Tootie. How do you expect me to answer that? C’mon, play nice.”

  Tootie was not going to let it go. She persisted.

  “I am done with dating Black men. I have two brothers that will sleep with anything with a pulse, and sometimes I think that is negotiable. I think my youngest brother will end up just like them. I think it’s in their DNA. My father and grandfather were womanizers too.”

  “Tootie. Women cheat too. Right Eric?”

  “Not this one,” Eric said as he hugged Tootie tighter.

  Tootie looked at Ayan and asked her opinion. “Remember, I am Somali. I was born here in Mogadishu. Here, it is not uncommon for a man to have multiple wives, but he must be financially capable of providing for them equally.”

  Eric became more engaged and commented.

  “So do the men sleep with their wives in one big bed? How does that work?”

  Ayan rolled her eyes at Eric.

  “You would think that, Eric. Many of the wives live in different villages,” Ayan said.

  Everyone participated in the dialog so I continued the discussion.

  “There are degrees or shades of infidelity,” I said, waiting for a firestorm of criticism.

  “Bull…Shit. Cheating is cheating. Only a man would say that,” Tootie challenged me as expected.

  “Okay. Let me explain myself. There is treason in the third degree, treason in the second degree and treason in the first degree.”

  “Keeping going,” Tootie said with her arms crossed.

  “For example. third degree cheating would be…uh, like a one-night stand. Second degree cheating would be … sex with an ex.”

  “Now that is high treason,” Tootie blurted out. “No, first degree treason is high treason,” I said confidently.

  Eric shook his head because he knew exactly what I was referring to.

  “I only know one person guilty of treason in the first degree. When Eric and I were stationed together back in 1984, we knew a Sergeant named Maurice. Maurice was married to Tina and all of us were Los Angeles Laker fans. We watched the games at their house regularly on the weekends. Tina was an amazing cook and overall great host. Maurice often addressed Tina as his personal maid, even when she was in the room.”

  Tootie was slowly getting annoyed and she began to move slightly away from Eric.

  I continued.

  “Maurice got orders to Korea when his wife Tina was six months pregnant. After Maurice reported to Korea, Tina’s sister came down to help around the house. Just before Tina delivered, Maurice was granted permission to take leave to be there when the baby was born.”

  Tootie shrugged her shoulders and commented. “So, that happens all the time. Families do these things, you know?” Tootie said.

  “After Tina delivered, she remained in the hospital for about three days because she had a C-section. During those three days, Maurice and Tina’s sister Vicky had sex in every room in the house. He bragged about it to me and told me he videotaped it. Tina came home with the baby three days later and was never the wiser.”

  “Was Maurice Black?” Tootie asked. “Yeah.”

  “Told you. I knew it. Did you ever tell Tina?” Tootie asked.

  “Nope,” I answered.

  “Why not? She had every right to know.”

  “I agree, but not from me. I don’t believe in personally breaking up marriages.”

  Ayan sided with Tootie. “I would have told her.”

  Tootie elbowed Eric and asked what he would do.

  “Yeah. I think you should have told her Clay, she does have a right to know.”

  Immediately I felt betrayed by Eric’s response and I expressed my displeasure.

  “Tootite, may I see your purse for a second?”

  “Sure. Why?” Tootie asked as she handed me her purse.

  “Because I am sure Eric’s testicles are in there somewhere, because he obviously doesn’t have them.”

  “What?” Eric replied.

  “Just hand over your man card, you eunuch,” I commented half-jokingly.

  After that conversation ended, the atmosphere returned to where it was before, with Ayan in my arms the sun in my eye and the wind in our face. I don’t know if Tootie or Ayan bought my theory, but it really did not matter. I was living in the moment, and at that very moment, I was living large.

  Chapter 27

  A Place for Saboteurs and Traitors

  1 March 1993

  Over the next few days, I drafted my autobiography. Although I had a non-recommendation from Major Lewis, maybe a recommendation from someone else might suffice. There was a counterintelligence security briefing right after lunch in the MARFOR courtyard and I would ask Pritchard about it afterwards.

  The security briefing was mandatory for all personnel. Major Lewis’ disdain for counter- intelligence would make for an interesting follow on “Q&A” period (question and answer).

  The security briefing started promptly at 1300 hours with a few opening remarks from the Colonel. Gator shook hands with the Colonel and introduced himself to the audience.

  “Good afternoon. I am Gunnery Sergeant George Folks and I am a representative of the Sixth Counterintelligence Team. At the end of my brief, I hope that you will have a better understanding about a very real threat. The insider threat. What does a traitor look like? Just look to your left, then look to your right. That is what a traitor looks like.”

  I still harbored feelings of trepidation as far as Gator was concerned but I was able to see a different side of him. When he first addressed the crowd, there was tiny bit of wishful thinking that he would stumble all over himself, like I did before the CI interview initially. But Gator was on his game and he made the brief interesting and even used a bit a wit. He did an excellent job and I developed a professio
nal respect for him, despite our history. At the end of his briefing, he easily answered all of our questions, except the questions raised by Major Lewis. Initially, Gator was able to fend off the first round of questions from Major Lewis. But Major Lewis broke what I call the “three-question rule” by continuing to press Gator into answering questions that were obviously too sensitive to discuss in an open forum.

  Major Lewis wanted to have the last word.

  “There is no place in our military for criminals such as saboteurs or spies. That is why we have law enforcement,” Major Lewis stated in an attempt to upstage Gator.

  Major Lewis’ statement would not go unchallenged. Master Gunnery Sergeant Pritchard emerged from the back row and had a couple of remarks himself.

  “I disagree with you, Major. You see, there is a place for traitors in our military,” Pritchard said as he walked to the forefront and stood alongside Gator.

  “And where might that be?” Major Lewis asked. “On the end of my bayonet, the pointy end.”

  Major Lewis became aware of the crowds favorable response to Pritchard’s comments and tried to back him into a corner.

  “As a career law enforcement officer, we are trained to identify those who wish to do us harm. What methods does counterintelligence use to identify saboteurs and spies?” Major Lewis asked with contempt.

  “Major Lewis, you have your methods, and we have ours. But there is only way to positively identify these bastards.”

  “And what might that be. I’m all ears.”

  “A post-mortem examination. And that concludes your counterintelligence security briefing. Semper Fidelis Marines!”

  “Amen to that,” replied a lone voice in the crowd.

  In the battle between Major Lewis and counterintelligence, it was:

  Counterintelligence 1, Major Lewis 0 and it was a home game for the losing team.

  Gator and Pritchard departed the courtyard with several nods of approval with some applauding.

  I met Pritchard and Gator as they were departing in their Humvee. I wanted to know if I could solicit another recommendation for my package.

  “Gunny T., I really wish I could give you a better answer, but unfortunately we cannot bend the rules. The only exception would be if the letter were from someone else in your chain of command. Who is next in your chain of command?” Pritchard asked as he lit his cigar.

  “That would be the Colonel,” I replied less confidently.

  “You have nothing to lose by asking the Colonel, he is a fair man and a damn good officer. Just ask him.”

  I thanked Pritchard for the advice, and even complimented Gator on his presentation. Gator gave me a nod in acknowledgement.

  As the Humvee tires spun in the dirt making a dramatic exit, I decided I would ask the Colonel. I had nothing to lose so I headed to his office.

  As I entered the Operations Center, I could hear shouting going on. It was Major Lewis in the Colonel’s office. He was shouting at Dr. Gaye. Dr. Gaye seemed unaffected and seemed happy to let Major Lewis make a fool of himself. I could not hear very clearly, but one statement was loud and clear. It was the Colonel’s voice.

  “The decision is made, live with it.”

  The impact area was too hot. I decided against asking the Colonel and decided to submit my autobiography with my non-recommendation.

  Chapter 28

  For My Eyes Only

  5 March 1993

  It had been at least four days since the picnic at the beach and I had not seen Ayan. During that period, I studied the Somali language exhaustively and even wrote her a short letter in Arabic telling her how I felt, with the help of Yusef, one of our interpreters. When I first asked for help in composing the letter, Hassan, another interpreter offered his assistance. After it was complete, I showed it to Yusef to make sure it read right. The letter was a practical joke that professed my love for camels.

  I began to get worried and called her office numerous times a day but she would never answer the phone. I initially thought she may have left Mogadishu but Eric confirmed Ayan was still in country as Tootie’s roommate. Another strange twist developed around the same time. Eric and Tootie had become pre-engaged, whatever that meant. While my relationship with Ayan was dying a painful death, Eric and Tootie’s relationship ratcheted up. According to Eric, Tootie wanted to separate from the Air Force and live with him after her enlistment.

  Nothing made sense and I was confused. I finally ran into Ayan during a classified drop off at the University. I was so glad to see her but something was terribly wrong.

  “Ayan. Ayan,” I called out.

  She heard me but did not turn around and continued walking. I walked towards her at a very fast pace and placed my hand on her shoulder and called her name once more.

  “Ayan. What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Remove your hand, please. I never want to see you again…ever. Goodbye,” she said as she looked at me with mistrust then walked away.

  My heart was broken. She was one of my pillars of sanity in the Mog. She kept me going from day to day. I couldn’t imagine what would make her turn so cold towards me. We had such a great time at the beach and I thought we were turning the corner. Something happened to her, I just didn’t know what it was. It bothered me that I may never find out. A few minutes later, I would find out and it all made sense.

  As I headed to my vehicle to return to base, I saw Tootie leaving her office. If anyone knew the answer, Tootie would. I needed her to tell me what I did wrong.

  “Tootie!” I called out waving to her.

  She ignored me just like Ayan did. I ran in her direction and got in front of her.

  “Tootie. I don’t know what’s going on. Why is Ayan not speaking to me? What did I do?” I asked desperately.

  Tootie saw that I was desperate for answers and I was begging her. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, which I thought was odd.

  “Clay, follow me to the recreation center and we will talk there.”

  When we arrived, there were just a few Airmen milling around in the library. Tootie sat down in a chair and asked me to sit beside her.

  “Clay. It’s not what you have said or done.”

  “Then what is it then? Just tell me, I can handle it.” “It’s what you wrote.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “It’s your diary. She accidently collected it after the picnic and…”

  I immediately searched my left cargo pocket where

  I normally would keep it. It was gone. “Did she read it?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but enough to upset her.”

  I logged a journal since I was fourteen years old and every now and then, it would fall into the hands of someone I was dating. Only one relationship survived the reading of my journal but it never fully recovered. I knew what part of my journal Ayan found upsetting. It was the initial meeting we had when she shot me down in the chow tent. I approached her with a lame line that failed miserably. She put me in my place and embarrassed me. In my journal, I wrote “Who does she think she is?” I also wrote that I thought she was “stuck up and thought too highly of herself.”

  Tootie gave me a sisterly hug and told me she was sorry before she began her own line of questioning.

  “Okay. You have to tell me.” “Tell you what, Tootie?” I asked.

  “You know, the stuff you wrote about Eric. In your diary.”

  “Tootie. It’s not a diary, it’s a journal,” I replied frustrated.

  “Okay. Whatever. In your journal you wrote that you had never seen Eric so in love, ever? Is that true?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You also wrote that Eric said I was the one. Did he say that?

  “Yeah, he did. He also said something about a family, or something to that effect.”

  “Well, I’m too young to be tied down with kids but I do plan for us to be together in a couple of years
when my contract is up.”

  During my conversation with Tootie, I really wasn’t focused on her relationship with Eric. I was too busy mourning the loss of my soul mate, Ayan.

  On the return journey to camp, my world began to fall like a house of cards. My non-recommendation into counterintelligence, my lost journal and this stinking deployment. I knew I was losing control, it seemed I had very little to hang on to. I was also missing my eight-year-old son whom I had not spoken with since my arrival. My thoughts became unhealthy and gradually dark. I knew what I had to do. Later that night, I gave my 9mm pistol to Eric. He didn’t ask any questions; there were no words spoken at all. He just kept if for me.

  Chapter 29

  Court Martial on My Mind

  12-13 March 1993

  Over the next seven days, I worked extra-long hours at work to keep my mind off things. I barely saw Eric after work and I wasn’t interested in socializing with anyone after the duty day. Before bed, I did an insane number of pushups to help me decompress. I was just existing; functioning on automatic pilot. I probably lost about ten pounds in weight mainly because I had little desire for food. The only good news was JTF finally announced that Operation Restore Hope would be placed under the UN and most of us would be redeploying back home soon. Most Marines I spoke with had mixed feelings about falling under the UN. The first question raised was…

  “Do we have to wear the powder blue beret?”

  The staff officers and troops in our shop were finally given a redeployment date of 21 March, less than two weeks away. I had mixed emotions about leaving Mogadishu. Some of the proudest moments I had ever experienced as a Marine were while patrolling and engaging Aidid’s forces. I always wondered how I would respond to the stress of a full on firefight, and I did okay. The downside of the deployment was my career was constantly hanging in the balance. I was walking on eggshells every waking moment.