The Anvil of the Craftsman (Jon's Trilogy) Read online

  “Is it, sir?” Colby wondered aloud. “It’s all the same world. Diplomacy can be war in slow motion. War is the most aggressive form of negotiation. Politics may be the thousand-foot view of both.”

  The Ambassador raised his glass. “Tom, you understand Iraq better all the time.”

  The team spent the first short week of March 2006 settling into its new environment. By the Friday starting Baghdad's weekend, which US government employees also kept for the sake of workflow with locals, they had their network connections and workspaces allocated in the Embassy. By the end of Sunday, the stacks of supporting documents and scribbled plans representing the beginning of Colby’s initiative started to form as electronic documents in the shared State Department network folders to which his people held exclusive access.

  On the fifth floor of the Al Rasheed, their accommodations were less than five stars but comfortable. Some rooms, however, were worse for wear after several rotations of use as alternative barracks. Access to US-government-installed communications upgrades in the hotel made it possible for them to use the State VPN connections and work even there when they so chose. It was also possible to walk between the hotel and the Embassy though most preferred to catch a ride if they could. The Green Zone was secure enough to permit free movement, and even jogging was safe enough with morning runners being common on the most popular routes.

  Colby looked over the evening report from Schuster from the previous workday. Envoys—trusted local contacts—had begun to circulate among the sheiks in Anbar, making it known that the Americans were looking for their input into decision making that would influence local policies. Schuster had coordinated the few suggestions that had come in through informal networking, documented them in a database set up by region, and routed the requests appropriately. Afterward, each suggestion was flagged for follow-up. Once acted upon, he and his people would again flag them for follow-through; the same liaisons would report to the tribal leadership any change that their opinions had generated.

  Schuster had designed a self-perpetuating system of positive reinforcement, and it was already having the desired effect. Though this had been the first round, already another sheik in Al Anbar, seeing the influence that his fellows had amassed in Baghdad, chose to participate by suggesting a site for a potential Iraqi Police recruitment station. It was a beginning. Colby tossed the folder back to his desk, well-satisfied.

  At the Embassy soiree, he had met a number of military commanders who each had concerns in Anbar. Fallujah was still clearing rubble although about thirty percent of its antebellum residents had returned. Marine and Army forces that rotated through Ramadi still took regular casualties in contacts with insurgent forces and more often gave better than they got. The percentage of foreign fighters in the insurgency, the commanders had confided to him, was considerable. Such a wealth of information had given Colby additional motivation to pursue his outreach. Returning to a ground-level view of Iraq was for him reinforcing rather than eroding the logical framework of his initiative.

  He had Jon Anthony scheduled to circulate through the staff planning sessions. They would eventually prepare the outline of the presentation he would make to the provincial influence holders. It was not established, however, this early in the game when, where or to whom the team would have access.

  Anthony was proving invaluable, already acting as a sensitivity coach, a historian and an Islamic psychologist. He had a firm grasp of the relational threads that tied the Iraqi mindset and culture to its past and was able to work well with every team member Colby paired to him.

  Colby felt like a sales manager laying out a new territory. Ideas, it occurred to him, could be the toughest sell of all. He would not see his results in the number of units moved or cash flow, or the buildup and depletion of inventory. He would instead see it during the course of a forming nation, and he wondered how long the process would go on.

  Humankind had been active here in the Fertile Crescent for fifty centuries if he remembered his history correctly. In that time countless plans had succeeded and failed. While there were people to live here, they would be going forward from the past to try and make a future. He wanted to see those Iraqi futures brighten; he wanted to know that he had been part of the reason that the events here had unfolded as they did. His sales force, his product, his pitch and his close all had to stand ready when their time came.

  Colby heard the meeting reminder pop up on his IBM laptop and rose to refasten his shirt’s top button and draw his tie back into place. It was time for selling to higher-ups in State; to the military command structure here he wanted to emphasize the contributions diplomacy brought to nation building. They would know, he remembered McAllen warning him. Colby wondered how many of them were here in the Green Zone. How many more were in the Truman Building? This morning’s meeting would answer the part of the question.

  Décor in the Embassy’s meeting room still bore a touch of excess from the days when Saddam presided here, Colby thought, and the Islamic architectural detailing reminded visitors that they were in Baghdad. The atmosphere was less psychotic than in those days though. The eyes of the men here now turned toward the door as he entered; they spoke of minds well-used to the exercise of power, of decisiveness and of contest. Rising, the Ambassador and his aide beckoned him to a chair at their end of the table for his introductions. The placement farthest from the door told Colby that they wanted their military guests feeling comfortable instead of trapped between the presenters and the exit.

  State regularly invited a rotating set of representatives from the various members of the Multi-National Force – Iraq, most often referred to as MNF–I. Largely, executive officers attended although now and again a unit commanding officer would appear. These men kept their jobs by speaking well for their CO, knowing what his position would be on any subject, and acting as an extension of his will in a secondary location. Though properly policed, their level of dress varied with some sporting camouflage BDUs and others wearing their executive Class As. The only two words that came to the front of Colby’s mind as the chatter ended were Tough Room.

  For twenty minutes Colby projected attentiveness to a variety of subjects, a conversation covering topics of which he had little knowledge and no involvement whatsoever. Nodding and swiveling his head toward the speaker of the moment, he focused just as much on his own body language and eye contact. By the time he sensed the Ambassador skillfully segue into the portion of the meeting that he would helm, he was a comfortable presence in the room. He hoped he was someone to whom the military attendees would turn their own polite attention.

  “And now, gentlemen, Mr. Colby will present an overview of an initiative to Al Anbar by the team he is leading here. You’ve been here how long now, Tom?”

  “It’s coming up on a week, sir,” Colby answered with a positive tone to his voice.

  “Yes, and with some good progress to report already. Please proceed if you would.”

  Colby cleared his throat quietly, opening a leather binder that held his outline and spreading a few documents. “Gentlemen, I hardly need to tell you of the challenges to be faced in Al Anbar. The contact frequency and casualty rates and the amount of real estate dominated by the insurgency all speak to that well. The Assistant Secretary—my boss—feels that we in State have a chance to contribute to the overall effort in the Province by cultivating a relational inclusiveness with the tribal leadership, the elders and the sheiks that steer the sentiment of opinion within their spheres of influence. We have people constructing a strategy for dialogue taking into account the primary regional perspectives.”

  One of the officers slipped expertly into the pause in his presentation, seeking a clarification that the others were interested in as well. “A dialogue you say, Mr. Colby? In what setting, if we may ask?”

  “It will be a local setting, sir. This initiative is an outreach.” Colby saw a flicker of surprise in more than one pair of eyes. “We are already acting through locals to buil
d rapport with the provincial leadership incrementally by acting on their policy decision input, however small. We intend to build those relationships to a dialogue, with the goal of bringing them into support of the national government.”

  An older officer cut in just as neatly as his younger counterpart had. “You spoke of their primary perspective, sir. Their primary perspective is Islamic, Mr. Colby. Sharia law and democracy are viewed by many as fundamentally incompatible.”

  “My expert on the subject would disagree to an extent, Colonel,” Colby countered. “The Sunnis in particular view the consensus of the community as the deciding factor in public policy. There are fine points of discussion like this one which lead us to believe that we can have a role to play in influencing the psychological disposition of the provincial leadership.”

  The same officer, a member of the US Army contingent, cocked his head slightly at that. “So it is a psychological initiative?”

  Colby’s voice had a curious tone as well. “No, sir. As I said, this is a diplomatic outreach to local leadership.”

  “That has the purpose of influencing the direction of thought.”

  “The primary objective is the participation of the Province in the constitutional processes. If their present attention is drawn elsewhere, yes, we’d like to swing them in our direction.” Colby was unsure of the Colonel’s point but sensed the Ambassador was becoming concerned.

  The Colonel focused on the Ambassador. “Sir, you are aware of the National Security Council guidelines in this area, of course.”

  Colby glanced at his diplomatic elder. As cool as ever, the Ambassador replied, “I hardly think that the NSC guidelines apply to this initiative, sir.”

  The Colonel shook his head. “NSC Fifty-nine-one-ten, Ambassador, delegates control of the execution of psychological operations to the Department of Defense, not the Department of State, sir. Al Anbar is still a theater of military operations.”

  “Correct, Colonel, but as Mr. Colby said, the psychological implications are secondary. This is primarily an effort in establishing relations.”

  Colby sensed an impasse forming and made a mental note of the Colonel’s objection. “We seek a conversation, sir. The provincial leadership will need to gain a trust in the constitutional processes should our Coalition efforts succeed. We want to take the lead in the conversation. State has skill sets that make conversations, such as those we envision, align with our government’s goals. We want to aid the military’s effort by reducing the level of local resistance.”

  Another officer, a Marine, spoke up. “Have you considered the level of support that you’ll need out in Anbar, Mr. Colby? Which units you’ll draw on for escort? Coordination with concurrent operations? There’s considerable provisioning needed well ahead of time. The units will come from somewhere, and others may be stretched thin in their areas of responsibility as a result.”

  The first officer to launch a question agreed. “Yes, Mr. Colby. That would be our concern as well. We have a huge effort under way in addressing the President’s concerns with engaging the insurgency.”

  Colby felt an involuntary tic in his eyelid. “As I was saying, gentlemen, our efforts at this point are still preliminary. Once we are moving closer to any excursions to the Province, of course, we will be seeking military advice in those matters, but we’re not there yet and may not be for some time.”

  The Ambassador cleared his throat and glanced at the wall clock. “Yes, gentleman, our intention today is merely to inform you of the nature of Mr. Colby’s initiative. There will be more, much more to come, and we will certainly be seeking your advice and coordination in those efforts. Our other business today ….”

  Having just felt an invisible hook drag him offstage, Colby mentally exited the meeting though he maintained the requisite level of overt attention as before. Players defended their political turf as vigorously as anyone’s chunk of desert, just as they would elsewhere. His mind’s eye drifted back to the conference room. Saddam once had meetings in this room; a tyrant certainly employed more direct means of dealing with dissent than any of the present occupants would ever consider. The yearning for power and control still resided here. MNF–I may have expunged his evil, but not his power. Power had divided and transferred but not disappeared, Colby realized, because human nature also abhors a vacuum. Everyone in the meeting wanted his due portion. It was a lesson that he resolved to remember.

  Colby finished his workday with a compress over his eyes, tilted back in his manager’s chair, trying to make the headache go away. Schuster was there with his daily report and had listened to Colby’s dejected delivery of a condensed version of the Ambassador’s briefing. He got coffee and aspirin halfway through to share with his boss.

  “Well, shit, Tom. At least they weren’t laughing,” Schuster offered.

  Colby made an agreeable noise. “Oh yeah, they are taking us seriously: as a serious pain in the ass.”

  Schuster stared into his cup, swirling. “They have a point, though, about security.”

  Colby removed the comforting cloth covering his eyes and sat up. Schuster’s home remedy had the desired effect. “I don’t see us building a rapport if we have to do it by herding Anbaris inside a ring of Abrams tanks for a chat. There has to be a better way.”

  “Make it Bradleys.” Schuster saw the look he got for that one. “Well, what then? Goddammit, Tom, do you want to star in Zarqawi’s next Internet video?”

  Colby conceded the discussion. It would not help to second-guess himself. The Ambassador had not anticipated the direction that the meeting would go any more than he had. It had been a damned blowout and probably had as much to do with the temperament and disposition of those who had attended as anything. The thought, though, illuminated Colby.

  “Bernie, that database you’re putting together, let’s start including personality profiles of the contacts. Type them by a rating system maybe? See who would play well together and with us. It might be useful information later.”

  Schuster nodded. “I can see that coming in handy.”

  “It’ll come together, Bernie. You’ve been around the block enough times to know how much needs to happen first.”

  “It will if they want it to.” Schuster shrugged. “Al Anbar might be full of people who want to be let alone, just to live their lives autonomously, who don’t give a pile of camel shit about national unity or parliamentary government or anything else that we think is important. It’s another world out there, Tom. Sometimes it seems like another planet.”

  Colby frowned and finished the last of his coffee, setting the cup down harder than he meant to. “Al Qaeda won’t leave them alone. Iran sure as hell isn’t going to leave them alone, Bern. We need to set up shop before someone else does.” Schuster looked contrite.

  Raising his hands in regret, Colby spoke before Schuster could. “Damn it, I’m sorry. You know what this is all about as well as I do. We don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Everybody’s got choices, Tom. The Anbaris have choices too. All I’m trying to say is it’s something that we also have to consider. Winners play smart. Optimists never see it coming.”

  Colby had to admit that Schuster’s glum outlook had an essential utilitarianism at its core. Challenges and opportunities existed at this point in the mission profile to fuel either outlook. That was the advantage of a balanced team: the totality of perspective made the best decisions possible. He still had not hit a stopping point, he told himself, just some hills. The top of a hill had the best view.

  Colby spent the next couple of days watching the presentation come together, wishing that he had prepared a more detailed outline for the Ambassador’s briefing. The old man had brushed off his concerns afterward, having taken the long view of almost every issue that State encountered here. Diplomacy was the niche that the patient members of government settled into, he had said. Colby was trying.

  The volume of his precedent static notwithstanding, Schuster had followed up on Colby
’s suggestions as the man always did. The data set on the provincial leadership was growing daily, and now the transcriptionists supplemented it with personality profiles. Schuster provided a five-point rating system for approachability, involvement and input; each characteristic had an accompanying action plan suggested by Anthony that the envoys could use in attempting to raise the rating of a low scoring individual.

  At his desk, Colby kept himself motivated by concentrating on responses from the Province through Schuster’s updates. Some sheiks, out of foresight or ambition, wanted more than most to participate in dialogue. Perhaps they had concluded that relations with the West were inevitable, and that those leading developing alliances would benefit more than those who straggled. Colby could not fault the reasoning and had Schuster doing what he could to encourage that mode of thinking among the contacts.

  One individual impressed Colby, a man already lobbying for an early face-to-face meeting. He insisted on bringing a security force, which precluded receiving him inside the Green Zone. He had an established record of resisting the influx of foreign fighters and had already survived an assassination attempt as a result; it was the primary reason that he had organized a moderately effective local militia. If a Marine Colonel presented as a reference spoke highly of the man, Colby thought, he was someone whom they needed to accommodate. He picked up the Embassy IP phone and punched the button for Schuster.

  “Schuster—hey, Tom,” Colby heard him answer. The sound came a moment later of his XO settling into his chair for a moment off his feet.

  “Bernie, this guy, the eager beaver, what’s his name?”

  “You must be looking at Muhammad Zola al-Dulaimi. I thought he’d get your attention,” Schuster chuckled.

  Colby scanned Schuster’s profiling document. “It’d be a mistake to blow this guy off. He’s got references from the Marine Corps for God’s sake.”

  “I totally agree. But what do we do with him?”