"Then come down off the plane," I told him. "And bring the ambassador with you."
Before they opened the door, Bob told me that his snipers were reporting armed men in uniform. "No sweat, boss," he told me. "They've got them in their sights."
The door opened and the pilot, followed by the "ambassador," came down the ladder. They were both very nervous, particularly the "ambassador." They got even more nervous when they saw the SEAL shooters, all in black combat gear and equipped for business.
I was very suspicious of the "ambassador." Although he was dressed in a business suit, I figured him for a general officer, perhaps from the Egyptian Intelligence Service, who had been sent along to ensure that everything went right in Tunisia.
When I met him, the "ambassador" produced an authentic-looking diplomatic passport and a letter claiming he was an authorized representative of the Egyptian government.
"My orders are to take the terrorists off the plane and fly them back to the U.S. to stand trial for killing Leon Klinghoffcr," T told him.
This seemed to make him even more nervous, and he asked if anybody had an aspirin.
"We can handle that," I said.
In the air on the way to Sigonella, I'd felt a headache coming on. By then it was October 11, and none of us had had more than a couple of hours sleep since October 7. When I'd asked our team doctor for a couple of aspirin, Darrel had stuffed what felt like a handfull of aspirin into my pocket.
I accommodated the ambassador with about half of what I had, and he gulped down several of them. He then asked for a cigarette, and one of my radio operators satisfied that request. At that point he wanted to make an urgent telephone call. I told him we would escort him over to base operations (Bill Spearman's operations center) and assist him with his call.
As he was escorted to the operations center, I sent one of my intelligence officers along with a couple of our people to tap the phone. They were to stay with him as long as necessary, and keep me posted on what they were hearing.
The person he needed to talk to so urgently, as it turned out, was Abdel Meguid, the Egyptian Foreign Minister, to whom he described the terrible situation he was in and asked for guidance.
"You'll just have to sort things out as best you can," he was told, "until a decision about what to do can be reached."
He stayed on the phone most of the day with various people back in Egypt — remaining very concerned about the uncertainty of the predicament they were in. But he was even more worried about the consequences that could result from the high-level passengers they had on board (who weren't identified at this point, but it was clear he wasn't talking about the terrorists).
The intelligence information from his conversations was relayed to me, and proved very useful later.
Once we had the pilot and the ambassador off the plane, I decided to go aboard myself, accompanied by SEAL Lieutenant Commander "Pat," and see who was on it.
Inside, the plane had been configured in a VIP executive mode, with three "working tables." At one table on the far side of the plane sat the four terrorists, unarmed and easy to identify. Three of them appeared to be in their twenties, and one looked to be a little younger. Next to them at another table sat eight to ten members of Egypt's counterterrorist force (Force 777), all of them in uniform and all armed with automatic pistols. At another table on the right sat two men in civilian clothes — evidently big shots. One was very Arab in appearance and very tough-looking. The other was younger, redheaded and freckle-faced, and resembled no ethnic group in the region that was familiar to me. There also were the copilot, the navigator, and about four other crew members.
Although they were armed, I did not consider the 777 guards to be a threat. As it happened, we had trained the 777 Force a few years back, but we knew they had not kept up their proficiency, and now they found themselves at the mercy of those who had trained them — the best in the world. And they knew it.
After we had looked around, Pat and I left the plane.
Back at my command post beneath the tail of the plane, I was joined by Colonel "Frank" and several members of the battle staff who would add their brains and experience to mine. Bob also positioned his executive officer, Commander "Tom," with "Frank." Those two were capable of handling anything.
Meanwhile, Bob was firmly in command of security. I told Frank to manage the door and keep an eye on those still inside the plane.
About fifteen minutes after we landed and took control of the plane, Italian troops of all kinds began showing up and taking up positions outside of our positions — Army troops, Carabinieri (police), and even young green conscripts with World War II weapons (the same bunch had recently been in Bill Spearman's motor pool, shooting at birds). The whole affair was kind of comical. They were showing up in anything available to carry them — pickup trucks, motor bikes, cars, and even three-wheeled construction carts with five or six guys in their dump buckets.
The sudden appearance of armed American forces taking over part of his base had so astonished Colonel Annicchiarici, that he'd decided he had to do something. He immediately ordered his own troops into action.
About the same time, a couple Italian officers showed up and tried to board the plane, to see who was on it, but were turned away by Frank and Tom.
So this was the situation not too long after midnight on Friday, October 11:
We had the plane surrounded with two rings of about eighty to ninety heavily armed shooters and snipers positioned at strategic locations. However, the outer ring of our security was now directly facing the Italians — eyeball to eyeball. Though I figured they had us outnumbered by about three to one, I wasn't worried about them taking us on. They knew better than that. However, I was concerned that something unanticipated, like a vehicle backfiring, could cause one of their young, jumpy troops to open fire. If that happened, several people would die, mainly Italians.
About this time, Bill Spearman showed up at the plane with Colonel Annicchiarici, followed soon after that by an Italian Army three-star (whose name I do not recall), who had come to officiate at the change of command. As it soon turned out, we were lucky to have the three-star there. He was friendly and intelligent, and did what he could to help the two sides — his and ours — navigate a difficult situation. Over the next twenty-four hours, the two of us came to work closely together to sort out this complex situation.
After we'd been introduced, I explained our mission and my understanding of the Italian government's position — that is, that they had agreed to turn the terrorists over to us.
"If it were up to me," he replied, "I would give them to you in a minute. But I have received no word to this effect, and you must understand where that leaves me."
"Maybe the word just hadn't gotten down to you yet," I told him. "How about you going back up the tape to check, while I check with my ambassador in Rome?"
He agreed.
I contacted my liasion officer and told him to get Ambassador Rabb on the horn. When Ambassador Rabb came on the radio five minutes later, I explained that we had forced the Egyptian airliner down at Sigonella with the four terrorists on board and that my orders were to take the terrorists and fly them back to the States to stand trial, and it was my understanding that the Italian government had agreed to turn them over to me.
"You've done what?" he blurted, taken aback. I could tell from his reaction that he didn't know anything about any part of this. But he said he
About fifteen minutes later, the Italian lieutenant general returned. "I have gone all the way back to the Minister of Defense," he said, "and no one knows about any such agreement.