Authors: Sibel Edmonds
Classified Woman (15 page)
I
n July 2002, I focused on the two lawsuits we were about to file. The FBI had thus far refused to turn over a single page of the documents we had requested under FOIA and also had refused to return my personal belongings.
We also planned to file our primary claim under the Privacy Act for violations as a result of the leak to the press: the false and wrongful disclosure of confidential information about me; under the First Amendment for FBI retaliation against me as a result of my disclosure of serious wrongdoings (whistleblowing); and under the Fifth Amendment, since the bureau violated my right to procedural due process. Defendants in my primary court case were the FBI, DOJ, Director Mueller, Thomas Frields, George Stuckenbroker and John Ashcroft.
Each claim was relevant to the others. To establish my case under the Privacy Act and First Amendment, I needed to have the requested documents released by the FBI. These documents belonged to me; they concerned my performance and included commendation letters and job evaluation. These documents showed how I went about reporting the issues and wrongdoing, the result of my polygraph test, and the status of the FBI’s so-called investigation of me.
I hoped that as my primary case proceeded in court, the serious issues—with even more serious consequences that could devastatingly compromise our national security—would surface in the glare of media scrutiny. This was the only way I could see how to draw attention to these problems. Investigating these matters internally had come to naught; the public needed to know what was being done with their money and trust. Here was an opportunity.
As we prepared for court, my attorneys and I spent considerable time going over facts and chronology. My course work was completed: I graduated with degrees in criminal justice and psychology. Prior to working with the bureau, I had planned to go to graduate school and major in national security studies. Yet, after what I had been through in the last six months, I would in no way consider anything having to do with intelligence or law enforcement. Instead, I applied for an advanced degree in public policy. My focus was so intent on Congress and its oversight function that everything I read, listened to, studied or watched had to do with Congress and the judiciary branch. If I was to be in it for the long haul, I might as well get myself the knowledge to understand and deal with it.
In early July we filed our case under the Freedom of Information Act with the U.S. District Court, District of Columbia. The case was assigned to Judge Ellen Segal Huvelle. Colapinto didn’t know much about Judge Huvelle, other than that she was appointed to the bench in 1999 and had a mixed record ruling on cases brought against the federal government.
Then, on July 22, we filed our primary case: our First Amendment–Privacy Act claim, with the same court in the District of Columbia. Our case was assigned to Judge James Robertson. Judge Robertson had been appointed U.S. District Judge in 1994 during the Clinton administration and had served as chief counsel with the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law in the State of Mississippi. My attorneys were happy with this. They knew Robertson as a fair and straightforward judge with great respect for civil liberties, and we considered ourselves lucky to have him presiding on our primary case. Four years later, Judge Robertson would be the first and only judge to resign from the highly secretive FISA court in protest of the NSA Illegal Domestic Eavesdropping scandal, subsequently confirming our high opinion of him.
During one intense session, my attorney brought to my attention an angle I had previously overlooked. “Oh, before I forget,” he said over sandwiches, “I was thinking about Major Douglas Dickerson the other day and it hit me: this guy has Top Secret Clearance and is still employed by the Department of Defense with access to sensitive and national security documents—information.”
I nodded. “Yes. And?”
“Look, the Senate is investigating this as an espionage case. The IG at the Justice Department is investigating this and the Dickersons as an espionage case. We’ve had these newspaper articles confirming that Dickerson actually worked for and associated with those thugs who were under the bureau’s counterintelligence investigations, both before her employment with the bureau and during, right?”
“Exactly. What’s your point?”
He motioned me to wait; then he turned back to his computer and typed as he talked. “So, the point is, I got curious and checked the Defense Department’s own security rules and regulations, those that deal with Top Secret Clearance holders … aaannnd …
Bingo
.”
He clicked on Print and waited for the paper to emerge. I could hardly wait.
He gathered the documents and handed them to me. “This is DOD Inspector General regulation fifty-two hundred. According to their own regulations at DOD, Major Dickerson and his wife, Melek Can Dickerson, have committed numerous violations of the U.S. Department of Defense Personnel Security Program. I believe there is credible evidence to indicate that both Major Dickerson and his wife have been subjected to improper ‘foreign influence’; indicated a ‘foreign preference’; involved themselves with ‘outside activities’ and ‘membership in organizations that could create an increased risk of unauthorized disclosure of classified information, had improper and unreported contacts with foreign officials and/or other entities under the control of foreign influence’; and both of them have engaged in other conduct that would make them untrustworthy and unreliable for the purpose of maintaining a security clearance with the United States government.” He stopped, leaned back and smiled.
I grabbed the document and began to read. The regulation essentially states that if a person’s spouse, partner, or living companion is under the influence of any foreign government or entity, or has loyalty to foreign individuals, government or organizations, then that person must undergo investigation by the DOD Inspector General’s Office and his or her clearance must be removed and put on hold until he or she is cleared.
Major Douglas Dickerson’s wife did in fact work for foreign organizations that were under FBI surveillance. She had ongoing relationships with at least two of the FBI targets, both socially and financially. Douglas Dickerson was the person who tried to recruit my husband and me into one of those foreign organizations, offering to help get Matthew in by telling that organization what I did at the FBI. Colapinto was right. Now, officially, the Dickersons were under investigation by the Senate Judiciary Committee and the Inspector General of the Justice Department. Their names had become public. How could Douglas Dickerson retain his clearance under these circumstances? How could he continue to have access to our sensitive defense intelligence and technology and be entrusted with them?
“Here is what I’m going to do,” said Colapinto. “I’m going to draft a letter to DOD-IG and the air force to ask them to open an investigation on Douglas Dickerson, and I’ll point out why. I’ll also attach the newspaper articles and the letters by Senators Grassley and Leahy to Mueller, IG, and Ashcroft. I’ll start on it right away, and should have it ready in a week or two.”
OK again. This was good strategic thinking. I started to feel a bit more optimistic about our upcoming court battles. I had confirmation by the Senate offices. And pretty soon I would have the final IG report that we so desperately needed to further vindicate me and thus proceed to court. I actually looked forward to October.
One evening toward the end of July, Matthew and I were on our way out for fresh air during a concert intermission when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my coworker from the bureau, Amerika. What a lovely surprise too that she didn’t pretend not to see me. After greeting each other warmly, we stepped aside and chatted briefly; small talk. As usual, I tried in my not so subtle way to acquire information. “What’s up with Dickerson?” I asked. “When did she leave?”
“Oh,” she said, “you haven’t heard? She took off for her maternity leave last week, but she and her husband are leaving permanently at the end of August or first week of September.”
I felt as though I’d been kicked but feigned casual. “Leaving? … Where are they going?”
“As far as I know, first they are going to Belgium, where her husband will have an assignment for a while, but then they will go to Turkey and will permanently settle there.”
So they’re running away; escaping! …
We chatted a few more minutes and then it was time to go in.
Running away …
It figured. She was under two active investigations. Along with the Dickersons, my concentration had taken flight. I didn’t register a single note of the entire second half.
By the time we got home it was too late to call Colapinto. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Insomnia had become the norm. I thought, planned, strategized, grieved, cried and agonized in the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep. Bedtime now was a never-ending episode of “This Is Your Life,” where the past was always revisited, events deconstructed, the latest gone over to the nth degree while I lay there listening to my father’s voice, imagining him comforting me.
The following morning I called Colapinto and told him about the Dickersons’ plans. He said he’d sent the letter to the Department of Defense and U.S. Air Force Office of Inspector General. Not only were there now active investigations of Dickerson by the Senate Judiciary Committee and the Justice Department’s IG, there was also a possibility of DOD starting its own separate investigation of Douglas Dickerson. Colapinto himself would check the extradition treaties between the United States and Turkey, as well as those Central Asian countries in which the Dickersons were involved. Depending on his findings, he said, he might need to petition Judge Robertson to issue an emergency subpoena for both Dickersons’ depositions before they left the country.
My attorney called later that evening; as expected, the United States did not have a sound extradition treaty with Turkey or other Central Asian countries. He would notify Judge Robertson’s court and request an emergency and expedited subpoena for the Dickersons’ depositions. We only had a month. He suggested I put together a set of relevant questions to be asked of them.
I spent several days carefully drafting questions for the Dickersons’ depositions. Matthew and I were scheduled to leave for a weeklong vacation and I wanted to get this out of the way before we took off. When finished, I had filled several pages with precise and detailed questions that I hand-delivered to my attorney’s office.
The day after our return, I received an official letter, dated August 22, 2002, from the Department of Defense Office of Inspector General: DOD had officially begun its investigation of Major Douglas Dickerson. This was a positive development. Since, according to the letter, the formal investigation was expected to take at least six months, the Dickersons were bound to stay in the country.
Colapinto shared my optimism. He told me to expect another set of interviews, this time by DOD. (Since Matthew too had been present during the home visit, he would be considered another key witness who had to be interviewed.) Colapinto assured us he would be present during all interview sessions.
The very next day, my doorbell rang. When I asked who it was, the man identified himself as an officer with the DOD Inspector General’s Office; he and his assistant needed to speak with me for a few minutes. I immediately dialed Colapinto, who was out, so I asked for his partner, Steve Kohn. When Steve’s voice came on and I told him about my visitors, he advised me not to answer any questions and instead forward them to Colapinto.
I went downstairs to let them in, asking first for identification and DOD credentials. I told them what my attorneys had instructed me to say, that they had to contact them and schedule a meeting to interview me in their presence.
“We understand, Ms. Edmonds, and we are going to contact them and schedule our formal interview. This is not an interview; we only have a few general questions in order to prepare for the intensive investigation ahead when we will interview you and all other relevant witnesses.”
He seemed very polite and respectful. I stepped aside and pointed to the family room. They walked in and took their seats on the sofa. The younger one pulled out a small notepad while the other one asked, “Is this the place where the Dickersons visited you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember the date?”
“First Sunday in December.”
“May I ask who else was present besides you and Major Dickerson?”
“His wife, Melek Can Dickerson, and my husband, Matthew Edmonds.”
“Is it true that Douglas Dickerson mentioned certain foreign organizations and individuals?”
I stood up. “I will not talk about this without my attorneys present. I believe this visit has ended.”
“Fair enough. We’ll contact your attorneys right away and will be seeing you soon.”
They respectfully shook my hand and walked to the door. I handed them two of Colapinto’s business cards, just in case. They said good-bye and left. I went upstairs and called Steve Kohn to give him a detailed account of what had occurred and exactly what was said.
On Friday, August 30, 2002, Judge James Robertson granted our request and issued an expedited subpoena to depose the Dickersons. Next, we had Kris Kolesnik (who happened to live nearby), serve both Dickersons with the subpoena.
In the meantime, Colapinto had been trying to coordinate our schedules for the requested interviews with the men from DOD’s IG office. Contrary to what those two officers assured me, no one from DOD contacted my attorney’s office and they hadn’t returned his calls. We found that peculiar. First they rush to show up at my door claiming urgency, and now they don’t even return our calls. What happened to their investigations?
On Wednesday, September 4, 2002—one day prior to the scheduled deposition for the Dickersons—Colapinto called me at home. He sounded furious. He had shocking news, he said.
“There will be no deposition tomorrow; it got canceled.”
“What?”
“Several attorneys from the Justice Department and Department of Defense appeared before the judge and successfully blocked the deposition. They persuaded the judge to have the Dickersons deposed later. They provided him with affidavits from both Dickersons stating that they promise to make themselves available for any deposition in the future. Also, the heads of both agencies, DOD and DOJ, issued affidavits stating that they would make the Dickersons available if needed in the future, that they would even pay for the Dickersons’ airplane tickets and personally escort them if necessary.”
A thousand questions entered my mind; I didn’t know where to start. “What do they mean,
if necessary
? The court had already agreed that it was necessary. What’s the difference between having them provide statements—depositions—right now and bringing them in later? Why would DOD postpone this and accept paying for travel expenses when they are here and available right now? Why—”
“I know, I know,” Colapinto cut in. “It is mind-boggling, doesn’t make any sense at all. Also, now we have DOD getting itself into this battle. I don’t know what else they may have in their hats but this stinks, big time.”
“When are they leaving the country, the Dickersons?”
“On September ninth, five days from today.”
There was a long silence. “Just like that, huh? Espionage charges, active DOJ-IG investigation, DOD-IG investigation, Senate investigation, yet they are on their way to escaping it all…. Call the press and let them know. I bet they’ll find it just as strange and peculiar!”
“I’ve already let one of our reporter contacts know. He needed more information, like airline, flight time, et cetera. We’ll see. Here is what I suggest we do: come over next week; we’ll sit and discuss strategies, okay?”
“Yeah right, strategy! The targets—the key witnesses, the
real
criminals—are flying into the sunset with DOJ and DOD’s unconditional cooperation and support. We, on the other hand, are sitting and talking about strategies.”
He sighed. “I know how this must feel for you. I’ve never seen anything like this myself. The resources they’re putting into this, bringing in all these high-powered attorneys, so many of them, from both agencies, tells me that they have something to hide, something very big.”
We set the meeting time for Wednesday the following week.
When I showed up at my attorney’s office for our lunch meeting, Colapinto was talking on the phone; he waved and smiled a bitter smile. I knew his body language by now and this didn’t bode well.
I paced his office and looked at all the files and boxes with my name on them. They were piled everywhere. I spied the list with my questions for the Dickersons’ subpoena.
So much for the depositions
. Deep in my gut, I knew they would never return to this country.
Colapinto hung up and grabbed his sport jacket. “Let’s go. I’ll give you more bad news once I let you eat.”
That was it. More bad news. As I followed him out, my mind started to race with unanswered questions.
After we were finally seated and had ordered our food, Colapinto started with small talk. He was preparing me, massaging, working up to something, which only increased my agitation. When he saw I could wait no longer, he spilled it.
“Okay … we got an official letter, faxed to us, on Douglas Dickerson’s investigation. It says they have done a thorough job investigating Dickerson and have decided that he has not engaged in any wrongdoing. Therefore, they closed the case as of yesterday.”
I almost choked on my chicken. I started to cough violently and grabbed the water glass, taking big swallows.
“What the hell is
that
supposed to mean, Dave? What investigation? They started the so-called investigation less than three weeks ago! They haven’t interviewed me, they haven’t interviewed Matthew, they haven’t asked for any documentation—they haven’t even started!”
“I know … I’m going to write a long letter and say just that. I’ll include the letters and statements by Senators Grassley and Leahy, and the major articles on the case.”
I pointed out the absurdity—these investigations were supposed to take 180 days minimum, by their own rules—and the conspicuous disappearance of the targets, how conveniently well-timed. All of which was met with promises by my attorney that something would be done.
“I know exactly why the Pentagon would want to cover this up,” I told him. “I know it too well. This will expose some of the traitors in there, those engaged in selling military intelligence and secrets—”
Colapinto cut me off. “Sibel, let’s not discuss this in here, please! We’ll talk about it in my office. Also, on the positive side, I want to talk to you about something else, a solid strategy you should consider …”
As I walked back to his office, I began to think. And the more I thought, the more overwhelmed I became. How many more blows could I take? How could I fight all these actions? Things were only getting worse. How could I even dream of taking on this leviathan, set to fight me all the way?
Back at Colapinto’s office, I was handed the one-page letter from DOD stating they’d terminated their investigation of Dickerson. I read it over three times. It was one paragraph long, less than two hundred words. Then something caught my eye: “The Air Force Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI) conducted a complete and thorough review of Major Dickerson’s relationship with
the American Turkish Council
(ATC)” (emphasis mine).
I pointed out the section to Colapinto. “I never named any targets—organizations or individuals—when their investigators came to my house. Look, they’re naming one organization that I can’t! This should make our case even stronger. They’re saying Douglas Dickerson had and has a relationship with ATC. Based on what Dennis Saccher found out, Dickerson did not mention her previous employment with these foreign organizations; neither did she disclose the fact that they had continued the relationship with these organizations and certain target individuals within. The Defense Department has gone on record naming one of the organizations in question, Dave! This letter is not classified; they cannot put the cat back in the bag. ATC’s name is fair game, as far as we’re concerned!”
This caught his attention. “Wow. That’s a very interesting point. We’ll make sure we put that in the letter to DOD. You are sure you didn’t mention ATC, right?”
“Of course I’m sure! I transcribed the entire conversation that same day and sent it to Steve. Haven’t you seen it? I could not disclose FBI targets during an unclassified meeting with these people. Even with DOJ-IG and the Congress, I only named them inside the SCIF … Have a little faith in me!”
“Okay…. Now, that brings us to what I wanted to discuss with you. Are you ready?”
I looked, waiting.
“Remember the request we got from “60 Minutes” after the
Post
article came out? Remember what you said about never being willing to go on camera or have your picture taken by the press?”
Certainly I did. Right after the series of articles on Dickerson and my case appeared in July, we had received interview requests from several TV news programs and monthly magazines. I didn’t want my face out there, so I refused every one of them—including “60 Minutes.”
“Look, you’ve done all the right things,” he continued, “have taken all the right steps. The FBI is the one who leaked the story to the media, not you. Also, now you have two senior senators who have come out publicly and confirmed your case and vouched for your credibility. They need your help in garnering public support to push this further…. Neither Ashcroft nor Mueller has even bothered responding to the numerous letters sent to them by Senators Grassley and Leahy. They will do everything they can for this case, for you, to go away. You shouldn’t let them succeed. … What I’m advising you to do is to reconsider your position on not going to the public with your case.”
“But the story is already out there.
The Washington Post, Chicago Tribune
…”
He shook his head. “That’s not the same as coming out directly from you. The public hasn’t heard from you. They want to put a face with the story. They need to hear you telling them what they’ve been putting you through, and how they—the FBI and the Justice Department—are endangering national security. The senators, the Congress, will have a greater chance of success if they’re able to have the public pushing for this. You believe in the public’s right to know, don’t you?”
Of course I did; but I had already caused so much pain for my family. This would destroy them and with it, my relationship with them. I also had to consider the danger, including the physical one, that I would be placing myself in once my face could be recognized by certain criminal targets of the FBI investigations. What would I do then, go into witness protection?
Yet, the latest developments, particularly the cover-up by DOD in their non-investigation of Douglas Dickerson, all indicated how tough this fight would be, whether in court or Congress.
“What exactly do they want, the “60 Minutes” people?”
“You won’t even come near anything classified,” he began. “We will not allow that, as you know; basically, the Dickersons—both of them; the espionage case and blocking intelligence; the disastrous translation department in the FBI and the consequences on our war against terrorism. That’s it.”
Many consider the media the fourth branch of government. When I had made the decision to proceed with my case and do whatever it takes to shine a big light on what I knew at firsthand to be genuine threats to our security and interests, I resolved to pursue all available channels. I had pursued the obvious three: the Congress, the courts, and, of course, the investigative bodies within the executive branch. The media—the fourth pillar—plays a vital role both as an independent channel and as a mechanism to bring needed pressure on elected officials, particularly those in Congress.
Before a case is pursued by the Congress, it first must become a public issue. Of the one hundred members of the Senate, I had garnered support from only two; as for the House, I had none. My last direct communication and past experience with the DOJ’s Office of Inspector General indicated enormous pressure on the investigators and dirty maneuvers by the bureau and Justice Department to steer them as far away as possible from the real issues and threats: those that affect every one of us and have the greatest potential to do us harm. Our latest legal round only reaffirmed our fear that the Justice Department would do everything in its considerable power to prevent us from utilizing the courts to bring about justice and accountability. In my case, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the rule of law had been put on hold indefinitely.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it. When can they come and conduct the on-camera interview?”
Colapinto looked pleased and a bit relieved. “ASAP. I’ll call them today and let them know. They’ll be here in a few days. I’ll be right next to you during the entire interview.”
“Okay. Now I’ll have to go and drop the bombshell at home. My mother will write me off. Permanently.”
He looked genuinely sad. “Tell her it’s already out. The warrant for your sister’s interrogation by Turkish Intelligence has already proved the fact that their safety was jeopardized when the bureau hired and took in Melek Can Dickerson. In time she’ll understand, Sibel.” He continued, “… Which brings me to my latest news.”
I was already rattled. I told him I couldn’t take any more news.
He mentioned John Roberts, director of FBI-OPR, to whom I reported my case. “Roberts has officially become our client, as of last month. We now represent his case: a new FBI whistleblower!”
“He blew the whistle? On what? Have they already retaliated against him?”
“Yes and yes. He’s been reporting wrongdoing and cover-up of OPR investigations by FBI management for a while. He’s been under retaliation for a while, long before you met him.”
Apparently, Roberts too couldn’t take any more. He’d gone to the same Inspector General and the Senate Judiciary Committee, but the case was not yet public.
“He may appear on the same “60 Minutes” show—with you.”
I didn’t know what to say. A man in his position, in charge of OPR, was being retaliated against. I thought what happened to me was largely attributable to my low position in the bureau. I was wrong. They didn’t at all mind going after bigger fish; they were determined to shoot any messenger, regardless.
By the time I got home, my head was spinning with overload and turmoil from news and developments and decision making. I couldn’t go through another trauma, not yet. I decided to wait a few days before breaking the news to my family.
I was going public.
The producers for “60 Minutes” responded as Colapinto had expected. They scheduled our filming for the following week. I had several short pre-shoot interviews with them and a dinner; they wanted me to be comfortable with them. I liked their professional yet sympathetic demeanor.
On the day of filming I took a taxi to a boutique hotel on the edge of Georgetown. CBS had reserved and set up their equipment in one of the hotel’s presidential suites. I was nervous and already sweating. By the time I arrived my attorneys were there, waiting. Ed Bradley was in the next room having his makeup applied. I’d done the best I could with my own makeup, focused mainly on hiding the dark circles under my eyes. Thank God they found it sufficient; except for a light dusting of powder, they left me and my face alone.
Ed Bradley entered the main room, where they were all set up and ready. In addition, there were the crew (at least four people), my two attorneys and Matthew. Bradley talked with me for a few minutes, light chat, what they call “icebreakers.” My anxiety was building with every passing second. The soundman threaded the cord under my jacket and secured it under my lapel. He asked me to count from one to ten so they could check the sound levels. I did as requested.
They dimmed the room and adjusted the lights to focus on me and on Bradley, sitting only a few feet away. The cameras started rolling and the interview began. Bradley led off with general questions: the importance of translations, and so on. I began to feel more comfortable a few minutes in, but my body was a few steps behind; it was still shaking inside and pouring sweat.
Toward the middle of the session, Bradley asked me about the threats from Dickerson and what it meant to my immediate family in Turkey. I froze; then, as I started to answer, I broke into a violent coughing fit—one of those dry hacking coughs that nests in your windpipe and spews every time you try to speak. They stopped the cameras and handed me water. One crew member brought a few throat lozenges. I chewed the first tablet and sucked on the second. What was happening to me? I am not by nature a shy, timid or nervous person. This was a completely new experience.
They rolled the camera and Bradley continued with other questions. I seemed to be doing just fine, at least until Bradley revisited that question. I had the same violent reaction, a coughing spasm that couldn’t be suppressed. That was it. On the deepest level, my body was responding to a suggested threat—in this case, the real one my family faced that moment in Turkey. It was not only embarrassing but also extremely upsetting, for a host of reasons. I turned around and looked at my attorneys, who seemed puzzled and concerned; then I scanned the room and found Matthew. He was standing in the corner, so saddened; he knew exactly what was wrong.
The retakes continued; we tried it several times. At last, with tablets under my tongue during the final minutes, we managed to complete the shoot. I felt so relieved when it was over; my body ceased its frenzied sweat production. I was sure I looked awful and awkward. I didn’t care anymore. Most likely, I’d blown it. Maybe they’d decide not to run it.
They asked to let them film me walking with Bradley in the hotel’s manicured garden, which we did without sound. Then, thankfully, it was over. I asked the producer when the segment was scheduled to air. He guessed either the third or fourth week in October. That was only slightly more than a month away.