As mentioned in Chapter 2, Tariq’s close protection work was not all about wielding weapons and driving assault vehicles. It involved communicating effectively, coordinating with a team, and working to de-escalate conflicts before they blew up into violence. Possibly his most important skill was the ability to pay keener-than-normal attention to his environment. A sample bodyguard training exercise to illustrate: walk slowly past a long table of random objects. Then leave the room and describe every item in detail—its size, function, color, etc. The idea is that a single object seen, remembered vividly, and reacted to correctly may save lives, the protectee’s and even your own.
From the week after his graduation from training, Tariq was taking part in life-threatening missions. He accepted the dangers; he had knowingly signed up for them. And in marrying him, Amna had agreed, however reluctantly, to live with the daily fear that her husband might not come home.
Regular bodyguards can work in several different positions on a mission: driver, right rear, or left rear. But there were a few of us who were always shift leaders due to our excellent English language skills. A shift leader is responsible for all locations, communications, coordination with technical operations—everything. On one mission I was the shift leader responsible for a motorcade. We were picking up an American V.I.P. from his appointment at a local government office. Before we arrived, unknown to us, fighting had started between two factions of the government. As we drove up, militants jumped out of their cars and started shooting in the air. I jumped from my car, ran to get the protectee at the entrance, and shielded him as I got him back to the vehicle. We drove off, pushed through the gunfire, and got to safety.
In a recent letter of recommendation, Tariq’s former department head wrote:
Tariq provided outstanding support and liaison…during a number of Official VIP visits...Thanks to his assistance these trips were conducted safely and without any issues. There are no words that can express the massive debt of gratitude that [his protectees] and the U.S. owe Tariq.
At one point, the situation in another region of Tariq’s homeland deteriorated alarmingly. His team geared up on short notice and stood ready to deploy, but at the highest point of crisis, they were told to stand down. Some of his colleagues felt angry to have been excluded: they were sure that they could have made a difference and saved lives. However, when the situation became clearer, they realized that even if they had been there, the protectees still would be dead, and most likely, so would Tariq and his team. Though grieving many losses, they were thankful to be alive.
Tariq never speculates aloud about his employer’s decisions or U.S. policies: neither allocation of resources nor choice of allies in his native land. As an American, I can’t hear about deadly apparent blunders by my country and not ask in outrage, Why?! But Tariq simply replies:
I think it’s not my business. The main purpose of my story is to share the challenges that I faced with my family and raise awareness about immigration laws, especially on behalf of others who risk their lives working for the U.S. abroad.
It’s good to be reminded why we’re doing this—why Tariq has willingly invited the recurrence of his nightmares by telling his story. Once again, he is trying to save lives. He and his wife and children barely escaped with theirs, and he wants other families in their position to have more support if and when their work for the U.S. burns their bridges to their homelands.
Rollercoaster tracks with missing slats and half-built bridges on fire: these images are the best I can conjure to evoke the experiences of foreign nationals who risk their lives for American interests. Whatever I may feel as the receiver of Tariq’s story, there is no outrage or blame in his voice when he tells it. There is only a driving desire to advocate for strengthening our immigration structures to bear the weight of vulnerable lives and carry them to safety.
War after war had destabilized Tariq’s country. Men’s struggles for power had made it a place known not for its ancient history, stunning architecture, and breathtaking landscapes, but for its frequent eruptions of violence. In this new Dangerland, each major faction had foreign backing; thus the internal wars were also proxy wars on the world stage. Some of the most brutal extremists were also in tacit alliance with local authorities. Some were ostensibly friendly to the U.S. while despising its influence.
Tariq felt proud of protecting lives. Nevertheless, as conditions worsened in Dangerland, he had to think of his family’s safety. He took the step of applying for a less hazardous job, one that would involve monitoring security conditions and handling logistics from a distance.
While that application was still in process, Tariq got called to duty for what would be his last mission.
We each live within social structures that tell us whom to trust: family, colleagues, tribe (whatever that means to us), and nation. But what if our inner alarm bell sounds about a person who is supposed to be a friend? Moreover, what if they are above us in a strict hierarchy and have the right to direct our actions?
Imagine it’s you in this situation:
With the weight of lives on your shoulders—including those of people you love—you’ve managed to keep a low profile in your war-torn city with its constantly shifting center of power. Your neighbors have only the vaguest notion of what you do for work, and the monsters don’t yet know your face and name.
But your work eventually requires you to step out into the open. A journalist has been captured and detained by a militant group. What’s required now is not force behind a shield of body armor but careful, canny diplomacy. Holding the keys of nationality and language, you mediate between your employer and your government to help negotiate the reporter’s release.
You and your team successfully secure the journalist’s freedom. In the process, however, you draw the notice of the monsters.
For months you’ve had a sense of foreboding that seems to hit you at odd times, when you’re drinking coffee or playing with your kids. You had a warning dream that you can’t shake off. Trusting your intuition and knowing the lay of the land, you’ve prepared for the worst. You’ve mapped the route to flee with your family on short notice. You have emergency bags, cash, and other necessary tools ready to go.
However, you have no idea what to do with your bad feeling about one of your colleagues, a fellow countryman who handles the logistics of missions. He is a controlling egotist—arrogant, boastful, and easily threatened by others’ skills. You know who he is and how he thinks because, like all egotists, he can’t stop talking about himself. You also know he has ties to powerful local officials whose interests run counter to your mission objectives. But this man is supposed to be on the same side as you, and you have no evidence of wrongdoing. Unlike him, you keep your feelings close to the chest unless you’re sure.
This last mission has a second part: get the journalist safely onto a plane out of the country. For this operation, the man you mistrust will be right beside you, calling the shots.
In a stable country in peacetime, “taking someone to the airport” is the simplest of activities: you park, walk with them as far as the security gate, smile, laugh, shake hands or hug if you’re close, and snap a picture with your camera as they wave goodbye. In Dangerland, any part of this journey could turn to terror.
You and your team drive the journalist to the airport and see him through security. Under the suspicious stares of airport guards, a few of you stay to watch him board the plane. The mission is over; you have done everything you needed to do.
Then the Egotist makes a shocking demand, claiming (falsely, you will later learn) it has come down to him from his superiors.
“No, sir,” says one of your teammates.
“No way,” says another.
You have all "read the room.” You know you must not, under any circumstances, do anything to attract the attention of the guards.
The Egotist then turns to you. “Just do it. It will be fine.”
“I can’t,” you say with growing alarm.
But he won’t let it go. You’re caught between your screaming instincts and your respect for the chain of command.
What would you do?
I’ve just realized that’s the wrong question. What would you do? places the burden of responsibility on the person "between a rock and a hard place." The pivotal action isn’t following or not following a reckless order, but the order itself—the betrayal of trust by a colleague in a position of power.
The key question is, Why? Later events may help to answer it.
As for what the order was, I can’t share it here, but trust me, it doesn’t really matter. Just know it was something that would seem trivial and harmless in most other places and times. Like me, you probably would react first with disbelief: That’s what upended a family’s lives? That little thing?
In the end, Tariq followed orders.
Airport police quickly surrounded him.
If not for this disastrous turn of events, he would have been interviewing later in the day for that safer job.