How an Iraqi Spy Went Inside ISIS to Foil Terrorists
the agency, members of Captain Sudani’s unit and its commander, his friends and family members, and a review of transcripts and video of operations, and text messages to and from Captain Sudani.
The Falcons have placed a handful of spies inside the ranks of the Islamic State. Its intelligence helped oust the extremists from their last urban strongholds last year and now aids the hunt for the group’s leaders, like Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. Iraqi officials say the Falcons have foiled hundreds of attacks on Baghdad, making the capital the safest it has been in 15 years.
Mr. Basri credits the group’s undercover work. “A drone can tell you who has entered a building but it can’t tell you what is being said in the room where the men have gathered,” he said. “We can.”
Not many people in Mr. Sudani’s life credited him with the ability to be a spy. Not his father, Abid al- Sudani, a disciplinarian who demanded obedience from his eldest son. Not his professors at Baghdad University, who flunked him out. Intoxicated by the freedoms of student life, he ruined a coveted opportunity, neglecting his studies and chasing women. His father gave him an ultimatum — get serious or be kicked out of the family home.
“It was a decisive moment for him,” said his youngest brother, Munther. Mr. Sudani settled into an arranged marriage and returned to school, studying English and later, Russian. He took a job monitoring surveillance systems for Iraq’s oil infrastructure.
At the same time, terrorist attacks were tearing Iraq apart. As the government and the American occupation forces struggled to stem the insurgency, Mr. Basri, then the intelligence director in the prime minister’s office, created a special unit to target terrorist leadership. In 2006, he recruited 16 men from Iraq’s elite military units and police academies. He called his new unit Al Suquor, or the Falcons.
Another of Mr. Sudani’s brothers, Munaf, was an early recruit. While Harith was bored with his job, Munaf came home brimming with enthusiasm. Munaf urged his brother to apply, saying his computer and language skills made him an attractive recruit. Harith did, and in 2013 was offered a job.
“He was enthusiastic about his life for the first time in a long time,” said Munther. “He was happy. We all could see it.”
In the summer of 2014, a jihadist group calling itself the Islamic State seized large swaths of Iraq and Syria, declaring it a Muslim caliphate. The Falcons took on a new mission: penetrating the group. Mr. Sudani volunteered. His commanding officer, General Saad al-Falih, said he was motivated by photos of children killed. “He was a father himself,” General Falih said.
Mr. Sudani was promoted to captain and began training to pass as a jihadist. When he was young, his family had lived in Ramadi, in Iraq’s Sunni Muslim heartland. The Sunni minority had ruled Iraq under Saddam Hussein. After the Americans ousted him in 2003, extremists exploited their anger to build the insurgency that would become the Islamic State. His ability to adopt the Ramadi accent would help. But as a Shiite, he was unfamiliar with Sunni rituals. So he pored over the Quran, memorizing verses favored by jihadists. He would become Abu Suhaib, an unemployed man from Baghdad, and infiltrate an Islamic State lair in Tarmiya, near two highways used by suicide bombers heading to the capital.
Captain Sudani walked into a mosque in Tarmiya that the local Islamic State cell used for meetings. He stayed inside all day. Munaf, who was part of the team monitoring him, was certain that something had gone wrong. Around dusk, he recognized his brother’s silhouette coming to the prearranged exfiltration spot. Captain Sudani reported a success — the cell had welcomed Abu Suhaib. He was going back to live with them in Tarmiya.
His first days with the Islamic State were filled with training. A few weeks later, a senior Islamic State official in Mosul called. He assigned Captain Sudani a part in the logistics chain for suicide bomb missions in Baghdad. Believing him to be a Baghdad native, the group wanted him to get bombers past checkpoints.
In weekly phone calls, Mosul would order Captain Sudani to meet suicide bombers, or to pick up a vehicle bomb. Each time, he would alert the Falcons, who would intercept him before he reached Baghdad. A chase car would follow Captain Sudani as he drove, using jamming equipment to block the signal to the bomb’s detonator, which is usually set off by cellphone. His comrades would direct him to a place where they could disable the bomb. If he was transporting a bomber, they would lure him out of the car to be arrested or killed. Then the Falcons would stage fake explosions and issue fake news releases, sometimes claiming large casualties — part of the effort to keep Captain Sudani’s cover intact.
The pressure took a toll on his health. He complained of chest pains, which he thought were anxiety attacks.
“Imagine being the driver of a truck filled with 300 kilograms of explosives,” Munaf said. “You are thinking you could die at any moment. He did this over and over again.”
Captain Sudani’s long absences from home raised tensions within the family. Only his father and Munther knew about his secret life. His wife, Raghad Chaloob, thought he was neglecting her and their three children. “I regret that he didn’t tell me,” she said later. “I guess he knew I would be worried if I knew the truth.”
The longer Captain Sudani worked undercover, the greater his risk of exposure. But General Falih said Captain Sudani told him that he had finally found a purpose in life. The Falcons were crucial in turning the momentum of the American-led coalition’s battle against the Islamic State.
Captain Sudani’s handlers in Mosul had increased his duties, asking him to scout for targets in Baghdad. On one such mission, he tried to sneak in a visit home. His Islamic State commander called, demanding to know where he was. Captain Sudani said he was at the target neighborhood. The commander told him he was lying, citing his phone’s GPS coordinates.
Munaf told his brother that it was time to end his mission. Captain Sudani refused.
The Islamic State was losing ground. Its response was to carry out more terrorist attacks. On December 31, the Mosul commander told Captain Sudani he would take part in a New Year’s Eve attack, a series of coordinated bombings around the world. Captain Sudani picked up the white Kia in eastern Baghdad. As usual, he phoned the Falcons to discuss where they would intercept him.
The plan began to unravel as soon as he veered off the highway toward the Falcons’ safe house. His phone rang. It was Mosul, asking his location. Captain Sudani assured the caller that he was en route to the target. The handler said he was lying. Captain Sudani said he must have made a wrong turn. Then he called the Falcons, telling them they needed a rendezvous closer to the attack site. He turned the truck back on the road to Baghdad al Jdeidah. Munaf, who was part of the chase team, used hand signals to direct him to the new meeting point.
Eight agents dismantled the bomb. In minutes, Captain Sudani was back on the road to the market and parking the pickup at its intended location.
Just before midnight on New Year’s Eve, Arabic media, citing Iraqi security officials, reported a white truck had exploded in Baghdad al Jdeidah.
What Captain Sudani didn’t know was that the Islamic State had planted two bugs in the truck, allowing the extremists to hear his conversation with the Falcons.
In early January 2017, the Islamic State called Captain Sudani for another mission. It would be his last. He was sent to a farmhouse outside Tarmiya. It was too remote to monitor and had no easy escape route. Munaf told him not to risk it, saying the change of procedure was suspicious. Captain Sudani decided to go.
On the morning of January 17, he entered the farmhouse. Just after sunset, the Falcons team alerted General Falih that something was wrong.
Munaf called their father, who broke down. “I had never seen him cry before,” Munaf said. “He kept pleading with me to save his son, but there was nothing I could do.”
Because Tarmiya was an Islamic State stronghold, it took three days to plan and mount a raid on the farmhouse. One Iraqi officer was killed. There was no sign of Captain Sudani.
For six months, the Falcons gathered evidence. They discovered the bugs in the truck. Informers suggested that Captain Sudani had been taken to Qaim, an Iraqi town controlled by the Islamic State. In August, the militants released a video showing the execution of blindfolded prisoners. The Falcons were certain that Captain Sudani was one. Munaf said, “I don’t need to see his face to know my brother.”
Captain Sudani has achieved a level of fame unusual in the world of spies. Iraq’s joint operations command issued a statement about his sacrifice. The Falcons published an ode to his bravery. In front of his father’s house, a pair of giant posters lauding him adorn the courtyard wall. But the Sudani family is still struggling to get what they consider proper respect. Because they do not have a body, they have been unable to obtain a death certificate, a prerequisite to receive benefits due to fallen servicemen.
“I have a wound on my heart,” said the father, Abid. “He lived and died for his country. The nation should cherish him the way I do.”