{"product_id":"first-in-isbn-9780891418757","title":"First In","description":"While America held its breath in the days immediately following 9\/11, a small but determined group of CIA agents covertly began to change history. This is the riveting first-person account of the treacherous top-secret mission inside Afghanistan to set the stage for the defeat of the Taliban and launch the war on terror.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs thrilling as any novel, \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eFirst In\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e is a uniquely intimate look at a mission that began the U.S. retaliation against terrorism–and reclaimed the country of Afghanistan for its people.Advance praise for First In\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A real-life ground-truth account of CIA human intelligence operations that were incredibly successful. The country owes Gary and his comrades, who almost single-handedly won the first phase of the war in Afghanistan. Told with the nitty-gritty detail by the leader who was there\u003cb\u003e–\u003c\/b\u003ereal and compelling.”\u003cbr\u003e–Bob Woodward, author of Bush at War and Plan of Attack\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“First In adds yet another enthralling chapter to the endless martial history of Afghanistan. My old colleague Gary Schroen tells his forceful story with the sharpened senses that come only from years of living in the long shadows of the Khyber Pass. You can almost smell the cordite and the chapattis! A terrific yarn about a sad and storied land.”\u003cbr\u003e–Milt Bearden, author of The Black Tulip and co-author of The Main Enemy\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I have read books by army officers who fought in wars past, but never one so true and thorough from a frontline intelligence officer, especially one involved in such an important episode in American history. This is really a grand achievement.”\u003cbr\u003e–Steve Coll, author of Ghost WarsGARY C. SCHROEN has served in the CIA for thirty-five years, much of his career focusing on the Middle East, including Iran, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and Afghanistan. His honors include the Intelligence Cross, the highest award given by the CIA. He lives in Reno, Nevada, with his wife, Betsy.CHAPTER ONE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In northern Virginia, the morning of 11 September 2001 was beautiful,  with clear blue skies and mild temperatures that gave just a hint of fall. That morning  I left my home in Alexandria, Virginia, an hour later than my past routine had called  for, having entered into the CIA’s ninety-day Retirement Transition Program just  eleven days earlier. I had spent the time since then cleaning up loose ends at the  office, preparing a resume covering my thirty-five-year career in the most exciting,  challenging, and—not infrequently—dangerous job within the CIA. Retirement was going  to be a dramatic shift for me, and, quite frankly, it was a stretch to say that I  was looking forward to it. The Retirement Transition Program is designed to help  ease employees into retirement and alleviate, as much as possible, the inevitable  career-change angst. The three-month period I would spend in the transition program  with others facing their own retirement—many with excited anticipation, I’m sure—would  help us in our respective searches for “life after the CIA.” Although I was interested  in exploring employment opportunities in the private sector, I had no idea exactly  what I wanted to do. I was hopeful that the transition program would provide the  time and the insights to allow me to develop a clear plan for the next several years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was anxious to reach the office, because I had received bad news late the previous  day that Ahmad Shah Masood, the charismatic Tajik leader of the Afghan Northern Alliance,  with whom I had a long professional relationship, had been killed in a suicide bomb  attack at his headquarters in the Panjshir Valley. Worse for me was the news that  Masood’s senior political adviser, Masood Khalili, had been seriously injured in  the blast and might not survive. Khalili and I were professional colleagues and close  personal friends. I felt saddened and helpless at the news of his condition. The  assassins were identified as  two “Arab journalists” representing some, as yet, unidentified  Islamic organization based in Europe. This was disturbing news. The Arab angle immediately  pointed to the possibility that Usama bin Ladin  and his al-Qa’ida organization were  responsible for the attack. Bin Ladin, hosted by Mullah Omar, leader of the Taliban,  was hiding in Afghanistan, and the U.S. government was applying all the pressure  it could muster to force the Taliban to remove bin Ladin from their country.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The  Taliban had grown from a handful of refugee Afghan religious students in the radical  madrasses (religious schools) of northern  Pakistan in early 1994 to a force now  controlling three-fourths of Afghanistan. The only serious military opposition to  the Taliban rested in Ahmad Shah Masood and his Northern Alliance forces, which controlled  the rugged, mountainous northeast corner of Afghanistan. Masood’s absence would seriously  weaken the Northern Alliance, a shaky collection of regional warlords held together  primarily by their charismatic leader. Killing Mullah Omar’s last major opponent  seemed a sure way for bin Ladin to gain continued acceptance as the Taliban leader’ s favored guest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When I arrived at the CIA compound in Langley, Virginia, I drove  past the Old Headquarters Building, passing my former parking spot located just fifty  yards from the front entrance of the building. The spots in the immediate front of  the building are reserved for senior officers in management positions; as deputy  chief of the Near East and South Asia Division of the Directorate of Operations (DO),  I had been part of that rather small group. Now I was relegated to parking in the  West Parking Lot, the lot farthest from the building, and I would join the morning  scramble to park there, then face the ten- to twelve-minute walk back to the building.  A little thing, to be sure, but it was a clear daily reminder of my changed status.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was in the Near East Division (NE) front office suite, down the hall from where  I had sat for the last two years. It was a comfortable office, and I was near my  friends and colleagues, at least for a few more days. Once I finished the remaining  administrative tasks facing me, I would stop coming into the office on a daily basis.  I reached the office this morning only to find that there was no further news from  Afghanistan concerning the fate of Khalili or the status of the Northern Alliance  leadership in the aftermath of what should have been a serious, perhaps crippling  blow to them. I slipped into my morning routine of getting on the secure computer  system, checking e-mail, and reviewing the work I would focus on that day; then I  wandered toward the area in front of the division chief’s office to get a cup of  coffee.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At least five or six people were standing there, including Chief NE, Jim  H., and the television set was on. This was unusual, because the morning is a busy  time at the DO. Our stations overseas are open while Washington sleeps, and when  we arrive in the morning we have a full dump of incoming traffic from the field to  review, organize, and respond to. I joined the group and I too stood transfixed by  the images on the television screen. The first tower of the World Trade Center poured  a billowing cloud of black smoke from its wounded side, staining the clear blue September  sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There was confusion within the group watching the TV, and people spoke softly  with an ear to the commentary. A small plane had hit the building. No, it was an  airliner. How could this have happened? How badly was the tower damaged? I recalled  that a B-25 bomber had struck the Empire State Building on a foggy morning in late  1944, and although there had been extensive damage, the building itself withstood  the explosion and fire. Surely the World Trade Center buildings were equally well  constructed. Someone reminded the group that one of the towers had withstood a terrorist  attack in the early 1990s when a truck filled with explosives was detonated in its  underground parking garage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then, as we watched, a second aircraft flashed into  the picture and penetrated the second tower. The scene rocked the room. We all recognized  that this was no tragic accident unfolding before us; it was  a deliberate, planned  attack. Word soon came from friends in the Counterterrorist Center (CTC) that perhaps  as many as six commercial airliners had been hijacked that morning. More attacks  were to come. The group standing before the television set grew and changed as people  joined the crowd and others wandered off, dazed and shaken. Then we watched the screen—as  did millions of Americans—in disbelief and horror as the first tower collapsed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I am not sure of the sequence of events after that. I was too shocked by the unbelievable  scenes playing out in real time before us. There was a telephone call at my secretary’ s desk, and she picked up and listened carefully. I recall a hush beginning to settle  on the group around her, and she looked up and said, “The Pentagon was just struck  by an airliner. It crashed right into the building, at the side just next to  Route  395.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was reeling. My son, Christopher, worked at the Pentagon. Was he hurt? Was  he dead? What was going on? I could not recall what area of the Pentagon he worked  in, and I prayed that he was safe. I called my daughter Jenny, who is a State Department  officer in the East Asia Bureau. She came on the phone choked with emotion, having  also heard the news about the Pentagon. She had immediately tried to call Chris on  his cell phone, but the cell network was overloaded with calls and she could not  get through. I asked about Kate, my other daughter, and Jenny said she had gotten  through to her at her office in Rosslyn, Virginia, and she was fine. Kate said she’ d remain at her office until she knew what was going on. I said good-bye to Jenny  with a large lump in my throat; it seemed to me that the State Department complex  would be an attractive target.[quote]--The Washington Post National bestseller","brand":"Presidio Press","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299967750373,"sku":"NP9780891418757","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780891418757.jpg?v=1767727384","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/first-in-isbn-9780891418757","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}