A Hero's Unwelcome

By Jill Smolowe

As he paced in his room in Washington's Hyatt Regency Hotel last Monday, Adnan Awad felt both exhilaration and melancholy. A long, unhappy chapter of his life was about to end, but it would not be sealed by the recognition Awad knew he had earned. For 10 years, the Palestinian businessman had helped U.S. officials to track down and prosecute Mohammed Rashid, a notorious Palestinian terrorist. In all that time, Awad felt, the U.S. had treated him shabbily. While he had been hailed by a Senate panel as "a hero for the American people," Washington had taken seven years to issue him a green card -- and still would not honor his request for citizenship and a passport. Moreover, payment of his reward money had been stalled after Rashid's murder conviction in 1992, then again a year later when the verdict was upheld. Now, finally, a check for $750,000 was going to be placed in his hands. But he had given up hoping for the presidential handshake he had been promised long ago.

At 1 p.m., the knock came. First, two FBI agents entered Awad's room, then two State Department officials. After some chatter and praise, Awad was handed his check. Then one of the officials picked up the telephone, dialed and handed Awad the receiver. At the other end was retired airline captain Ron Hawk, the pilot of a Pan Am passenger jet on which a bomb had exploded en route to Hawaii in August 1982, killing a teenage passenger. Hawk extended warm thanks to Awad for his role in convicting Rashid for that murder. All told, the event lasted 45 minutes. Admitted a U.S. official: "It was kind of the Motel 6 version of a ceremony."

Awad's send-off and his long-delayed payoff are an apt reflection of the insensitive treatment too often meted out to foreign informants. Officials involved in Awad's case warn that if the U.S. fails to devise a coordinated approach for fostering informants during the long years of a terrorist prosecution, the trickle of foreign informants will dry up. That would be a situation the U.S. could ill afford. Typically, terrorist groups comprise people bound by geography, political injury, even bloodlines. Since U.S. agencies find it almost impossible to penetrate such tight-knit networks, they must rely on defectors for the information they need to help pre-empt attacks and prosecute known terrorists.

The U.S. intelligence community is already struggling to regain its standing abroad. The February arrest of CIA officer Aldrich Ames was an enormous embarrassment. Last week Ames pled guilty to spying for Moscow since 1985 and agreed to help authorities assess the damage. In the case of Awad, damaging publicity about his mishandling threatens to impede overseas operations by giving the U.S. a reputation for running a bait-and-switch program. "We promise ((informants)) the moon in the beginning," says FBI special agent Frank Scafidi. "But when they come through for us, there's not much there. If the government doesn't hold up its end of the bargain, people are not going to come forward."

Awad's case began on Aug. 30, 1982, when he walked into the U.S. embassy in Bern, Switzerland. He claimed he was a prosperous Baghdad-based businessman whom Rashid had coerced, by blackmailing Awad's business, to blow up Geneva's Noga Hilton. The story sounded farfetched, but when Swiss police went to the Noga Hilton, they found a bomb-rigged suitcase in Awad's room. As Awad volunteered more detail about Rashid's modus operandi, U.S. officials began to detect a link between the bomb in Awad's suitcase and the one that had blown a hole in the Pan Am jet three weeks earlier. But U.S. policy did not yet support a pursuit of Rashid. So Awad stayed where he was, content with the passport, BMW and $1,750-a-month salary offered by the grateful Swiss.

Two years later, Awad was approached by a U.S. prosecutor. Would he enter the Witness Protection Program and testify against Rashid? Awad was told the Rashid case would be wrapped up in two years, after which he could receive a State Department reward of as much as $500,000. More interested in the prospect of U.S. citizenship than in a hefty reward, Awad asked only that he be able to live as well as he had in Switzerland.

But after Awad moved to America, he was shunted from city to city. Little effort was made to help him learn English or start a new life. In 1986 he quit the witness program and opened a convenience store. After Rashid was arrested in Greece in 1988, Awad was persuaded to return to the witness program. While Athens and Washington wrangled over Rashid's extradition for the next three years, Awad was refused a passport and permission to visit his relatives abroad. He grew so depressed that he threatened to kill himself.

When the trial began in Athens in 1991, Awad was flown to Greece on a military plane and housed on a U.S. military base in Crete. Despite the dangers implied by such heavy security, Awad did not flinch. His detailed testimony about Rashid helped put the terrorist away for 18 years. For his pains, Awad was told his reward would be delayed until after he testified again during Rashid's appeal. Even after that, the check was withheld for another eight months while government departments bickered over the amount. State officials backed the FBI's recommendation for a $1 million payment, but the bureau's overseers at Justice insisted that the sum was excessive and that Awad should get only $750,000.

Finally, last December, Awad's patience ran out. He filed a $15 million lawsuit, complaining that his rights had been violated and demanding a passport. "I came to America because I love this country," he told TIME several weeks ago. "They took my freedom and put my life in danger. Everything put in front of me was like a mirage." A Justice official then tried to kill the reward altogether, arguing that Awad would use the money to finance his suit against the government. That proposal ignited yet more bureaucratic wrangling.

In the end, it was largely the determined campaign of Bradley Smith, the head of the State Department's reward program, that secured Awad his payment. For the neglected Awad, Smith's efforts represented the dose of appreciation and human kindness that had been missing all along. Last week when Awad was finally given his long-awaited check, he seemed less interested in the record- breaking payment than in the presence of Smith at the paltry ceremony. "He took my heart," Awad said. "I know he did everything he could." Later that afternoon, Awad announced he would advise his lawyers to drop his suit.

Awad is now living under a new name somewhere in the U.S. -- and still dreaming of citizenship.

With reporting by Jay Peterzell/Washington