The End Of Secrecy_ The Rise And Fall Of WikiLeaks Part 4

"I felt this was the biggest story on the planet"

NICK D DAVIES.

Three men were in the Belgian hotel courtyard cafe, ordering coffee after coffee. They had been arguing for hours through the summer afternoon, with a break to eat a little pasta, and evening had fallen. Eventually, the tallest of the three picked up a cheap yellow napkin, laid it on the flimsy modern cafe table and started to scribble. One of those present was Ian Traynor, the Guardian Guardian's Europe correspondent. He recalls: "Julian whipped out this mini-laptop, opened it up and did something on his computer. He picked up a napkin and said, 'OK you've got it.'

"We said: 'Got what?'

"He said: 'You've got the whole file. The pa.s.sword is this napkin.'"

Traynor went on: "I was stunned. We were expecting further very long negotiations and conditions. This was instant. It was an act of faith."

a.s.sange had insouciantly circled several words and the hotel's logo on the Hotel Leopold napkin, adding the phrase "no s.p.a.ces". This was the pa.s.sword. In the corner he scrawled three simple letters: GPG. GPG was a reference to the encryption system he was using for a temporary website. The napkin was a perfect touch, worthy of a John le Carre thriller. The two Guardian Guardian journalists were amazed. Nick Davies stuffed the napkin in his case together with his dirty shirts. Back in England, the yellow square was reverently lodged in his study, next to a pile of reporters' notepads and a jumble of books. "I'm thinking of framing it," he says. journalists were amazed. Nick Davies stuffed the napkin in his case together with his dirty shirts. Back in England, the yellow square was reverently lodged in his study, next to a pile of reporters' notepads and a jumble of books. "I'm thinking of framing it," he says.

Just a few days earlier, Davies had been sitting peacefully in that study, glancing up from his morning paper to his garden and the Suss.e.x landscape. Davies is one of the Guardian Guardian's best-known investigative journalists. In a career spanning more than three decades, he has worked on many stories exposing the dark abuses of power. His book Flat Earth News Flat Earth News was an acclaimed account of how the newspaper industry had gone badly wrong, abandoning real reporting for what he memorably dubbed "churnalism". was an acclaimed account of how the newspaper industry had gone badly wrong, abandoning real reporting for what he memorably dubbed "churnalism".

Davies was currently embroiled in a long-term investigation into a phone-hacking scandal at the News of the World News of the World during the editorship of Andy Coulson. Coulson who was as a result forced to resign in January 2011 as the public relations boss for Conservative prime minister David Cameron denied all knowledge of his staff illegally hacking the phones of celebrities and members of the royal family. during the editorship of Andy Coulson. Coulson who was as a result forced to resign in January 2011 as the public relations boss for Conservative prime minister David Cameron denied all knowledge of his staff illegally hacking the phones of celebrities and members of the royal family.

Today, however, Davies's attention was caught by the Guardian Guardian's foreign pages: "American officials are searching for Julian a.s.sange, the founder of WikiLeaks, in an attempt to pressure him not to publish thousands of confidential and potentially hugely embarra.s.sing diplomatic cables that offer unfiltered a.s.sessments of Middle East governments and leaders."

The story continued: "The Daily Beast Daily Beast, a US news reporting and opinion website, reported that Pentagon investigators are trying to track down a.s.sange an Australian citizen who moves frequently between countries after the arrest of a US soldier last week who is alleged to have given the whistleblower website a cla.s.sified video of American troops killing civilians in Baghdad. The soldier, Bradley Manning, also claimed to have given WikiLeaks 260,000 pages of confidential diplomatic cables and intelligence a.s.sessments. The US authorities fear their release could 'do serious damage to national security'."

Davies was thunderstruck. An unknown 22-year-old private had apparently downloaded the entire contents of a US cla.s.sified military database. Manning was held in prison in Kuwait. But was there any way the Guardian Guardian could lay its hands on the cables? "I felt this was the biggest story on the planet," says Davies. He searched online for "Bradley Manning", and found the transcripts published by could lay its hands on the cables? "I felt this was the biggest story on the planet," says Davies. He searched online for "Bradley Manning", and found the transcripts published by Wired.com. These detailed the conversations with former hacker Adrian Lamo, in which Manning apparently confirmed he had illicitly downloaded more than a quarter of a million cla.s.sified doc.u.ments, talked of "almost criminal political back-dealings" by the US, and said: "Hillary Clinton and several thousand diplomats around the world are going to have a heart attack."

If only a fraction of what Manning said was true, WikiLeaks was now sitting on hundreds of thousands of cables detailing dubious diplomatic operations, war crimes in Afghanistan and Iraq, and G.o.d knows what else. It was a goldmine. "There was clearly a bigger story here. It wasn't hard to see," Davies says. His reporter's radar was bleeping with excitement. But amazingly, n.o.body else on what used to be known as Fleet Street seemed to have yet worked out the ma.s.sive potential dimensions.

The key to accessing the cables and to the stories they contained had to be Julian a.s.sange. Davies himself had never met him but was aware of a.s.sange's website: he had come across WikiLeaks during the Guardian Guardian's 2009 investigation into tax evasion and Swiss banks. He wanted to get to a.s.sange fast, before the Pentagon investigators or anyone else. But where was he? The Daily Beast Daily Beast reported that a.s.sange had cancelled a US public appearance in Las Vegas due to "security concerns"; a group of former US intelligence officers had warned publicly that a.s.sange's physical safety was at risk. There were few clues. reported that a.s.sange had cancelled a US public appearance in Las Vegas due to "security concerns"; a group of former US intelligence officers had warned publicly that a.s.sange's physical safety was at risk. There were few clues.

Davies sent a series of exploratory emails to a.s.sange. He offered to a.s.sist on Manning, and to publicise the 22-year-old's plight. On 16 June, he wrote: "Hi Julian, I spent yesterday in the Guardian Guardian office arguing that Bradley Manning is currently the most important story on the planet. There is much to be done, and it will take a little time. But right now, I think the crucial thing is to track and expose the effort by the US government to suppress Bradley, you, WikiLeaks, and anything that either of you may want to put in the public domain." The email went on: "Can you communicate with me about that; or hook me up with somebody who can? Maybe one possibility might be for me to talk to any lawyer who has been helping Bradley. Good luck, Nick." office arguing that Bradley Manning is currently the most important story on the planet. There is much to be done, and it will take a little time. But right now, I think the crucial thing is to track and expose the effort by the US government to suppress Bradley, you, WikiLeaks, and anything that either of you may want to put in the public domain." The email went on: "Can you communicate with me about that; or hook me up with somebody who can? Maybe one possibility might be for me to talk to any lawyer who has been helping Bradley. Good luck, Nick."

This tentative pitch elicited a reply from a.s.sange but not a very helpful one. a.s.sange merely sent back a press release describing how WikiLeaks had persuaded Icelandic parliamentarians to build a "new media haven" in Iceland.

Davies went up to the Guardian Guardian office in London to consult David Leigh, a colleague and old friend. Leigh had met a.s.sange earlier in the year and, having failed to reach a deal over the Apache helicopter video, was sceptical. He warned Davies that the Australian was unpredictable. He doubted a.s.sange would be willing to co-operate. But, Leigh added, "You're welcome to try." office in London to consult David Leigh, a colleague and old friend. Leigh had met a.s.sange earlier in the year and, having failed to reach a deal over the Apache helicopter video, was sceptical. He warned Davies that the Australian was unpredictable. He doubted a.s.sange would be willing to co-operate. But, Leigh added, "You're welcome to try."

Davies persevered. He sent a.s.sange another email offering "to travel anywhere to meet you or anybody else, to take any of this forward". This time a.s.sange was more forthcoming. He sent back the contact name of Birgitta Jonsdottir, the Icelandic parliamentarian who had co-produced the Apache video, and whose tweets the US department of justice would later attempt to subpoena. He also mentioned Kristinn Hrafnsson, his loyal deputy. a.s.sange signed off: "I'm a bit hard to interview presently for security reasons, but send me ALL your contacts." Davies sent further emails to Jonsdottir, Hrafnsson and other WikiLeaks players, and spoke to several of them on the phone. He felt he was beginning to make progress. But he was also painfully aware that if he simply demanded that WikiLeaks share its information, a.s.sange would see him as yet another representative of the greedy, duplicitous mainstream media or MSM, as it is derisively described on much of the internet. Something more subtle was called for something that ultimately gave the Guardian Guardian access to the cables, but perhaps also offered a.s.sange a way to resolve his own problems. access to the cables, but perhaps also offered a.s.sange a way to resolve his own problems.

On the evening of Sunday 19 June, Davies received a phone call. His informant said, "Don't tell Julian I told you, but he's flying to Brussels to give a press conference tomorrow at the European parliament." Excited, Davies called Leigh, who was at home in London. Leigh was absorbed in a television detective serial, and seemed far from impressed by the development. Davies promptly dialled the editor of the Guardian Guardian, Alan Rusbridger. The pair had started on the paper together in 1979 as junior reporters, and had lived in neighbouring flats in London's Clerkenwell. Rusbridger trusted Davies completely, and had given him free rein to pursue investigative projects, believing he would always bring back something of value.

This unusual arrangement had seen Davies launch long-term investigations into a range of areas, including poverty in the UK, Britain's education system, and police corruption. Davies's challenging, in-depth journalism had made political waves and proved popular with readers.

"Alan, what do you know of this guy Bradley Manning?" Davies asked.

"Not much," Rusbridger replied.

"Well, it's the biggest story on the planet ..."

Yes, Rusbridger agreed, "Go to Brussels."

There was no transport to get Davies to Brussels in time for the press conference, however, so the editor suggested that Traynor, who was highly experienced and who was based in the city, should try to b.u.t.tonhole a.s.sange. Davies emailed Traynor that night: "Bradley Manning, aged 22, is an American intelligence a.n.a.lyst who has been working at a US base outside Baghdad, where he had access to two closed communication networks. One carried traffic from US emba.s.sies all over the world, cla.s.sified 'secret'; the other carried traffic from US intelligence agencies, cla.s.sified 'top secret'. Manning decided he didn't like what he saw and copied ma.s.ses of it on to CDs."

Davies explained his view that Manning then made a "good move and a bad move". The good decision was to approach a.s.sange; the bad one was apparently to blurt out what he had done to Lamo, "a lonesome American computer hacker".

Davies asked Traynor to get to a.s.sange's lunchtime panel debate in the parliament building. "Longer term, it's a question of trying to forge some kind of alliance so that, if and when a.s.sange releases any of the material which Manning claims to have leaked, we are involved."

Traynor successfully made contact with a.s.sange's colleague Birgitta Jonsdottir, the next day in Brussels. He spotted her in a cafe with two male companions, including "a guy wearing a large Icelandic woolly jumper". This turned out to be a.s.sange, but Traynor having never seen him before failed to recognise him. "Otherwise I would have grabbed him!" Traynor only caught up with a.s.sange himself at the European parliament event. The only other British reporter there was a junior hack from BBC radio. But the room was full, and there were a number of foreign journalists among them an Austrian television journalist who Traynor knew had a good nose for a story so the Guardian Guardian correspondent acted swiftly to get a.s.sange away from the crowd as the meeting ended. correspondent acted swiftly to get a.s.sange away from the crowd as the meeting ended.

They set off together into a warren of parliament corridors and talked privately for half an hour. Traynor thought a.s.sange quiet, cautious and inscrutable. He was impressed by his intellect and quick wit and though he sometimes found his gnomic answers evasive and hard to follow, "I liked him and I think he liked me." Traynor was pleased to hear that the WikiLeaks founder presented himself as a big fan of the Guardian Guardian. He seemed keen to engage in a collaborative project with a newspaper which had progressive credentials. a.s.sange revealed, significantly, that WikiLeaks was planning to dump "two million pages" of raw material on its website. Traynor asked what it was about. a.s.sange replied simply: "It concerns war." a.s.sange gave Traynor his local Brussels cellphone number; they agreed to meet again the next day.

Davies was meanwhile anxiously lunching with Rusbridger at the ground-floor restaurant in Kings Place, the Guardian Guardian's London headquarters, overlooking the moored houseboats on the Regent's Ca.n.a.l. In the middle of their lunch, Traynor's email arrived. It confirmed that a.s.sange was willing to meet. That night Davies didn't sleep: "I was too excited." First thing next morning he was on the high-speed train from London St Pancras station, through the Channel tunnel and on to Brussels.

As his Eurostar carriage shot through the green Kent countryside, he formulated and reformulated his pitch. As he saw it, a.s.sange was facing four separate lines of attack. The first was physical that someone would beat him up or worse. The second was legal that Washington would attempt to crush WikiLeaks in the courts. The third was technological that the US or its proxies would bring down the WikiLeaks website. The fourth and perhaps most worrisome possibility was a PR attack that a sinister propaganda campaign would be launched, accusing a.s.sange of collaborating with terrorists.

Davies also knew that a.s.sange was disappointed at the reception of his original Apache video, single-handedly released in Washington. The story should have set off a global scandal; instead the narrative had flipped, with attention focused not on the murder of innocent Iraqis but on WikiLeaks itself.

There was another important concern. If the Guardian Guardian alone were to obtain and publish the diplomatic cables, the US emba.s.sy in London might seek to injunct the paper. The UK is home to some of the world's most hostile media laws; it is regarded as something of a haven for dodgy oligarchs and other dubious "libel tourists". What was needed, Davies felt, was a multi-jurisdictional alliance between traditional media outlets and WikiLeaks, possibly encompa.s.sing non-governmental organisations and others. If the material from the cables were published simultaneously in several countries, would this get round the threat of a British injunction? Davies opened his notebook. He wrote: " alone were to obtain and publish the diplomatic cables, the US emba.s.sy in London might seek to injunct the paper. The UK is home to some of the world's most hostile media laws; it is regarded as something of a haven for dodgy oligarchs and other dubious "libel tourists". What was needed, Davies felt, was a multi-jurisdictional alliance between traditional media outlets and WikiLeaks, possibly encompa.s.sing non-governmental organisations and others. If the material from the cables were published simultaneously in several countries, would this get round the threat of a British injunction? Davies opened his notebook. He wrote: "New York Times/Washington Post/Le Monde." He added: "Politicians? NGOs? Other interested parties?" Maybe the Guardian Guardian could preview the leaked cables and select the best story angles. The could preview the leaked cables and select the best story angles. The Guardian Guardian and WikiLeaks would then pa.s.s these "media missiles" to other friendly publications. He liked that plan. But would a.s.sange buy it? and WikiLeaks would then pa.s.s these "media missiles" to other friendly publications. He liked that plan. But would a.s.sange buy it?

Over in Brussels, Traynor was discovering, as many others had, that having a.s.sange's mobile number and actually being able to get in touch with him were two very different things. Fearing that the Australian had gone awol, Traynor headed for the Hotel Leopold on the Place Luxembourg, where a.s.sange was staying, next to the European parliament. Traynor went up to his room and banged on the door. a.s.sange eventually emerged and invited Traynor in. The room resembled that of a modern monk: a.s.sange's worldly possessions apparently comprised a couple of rucksacks stuffed full of gadgets, three laptops, and a jumble of mobile phones and Sim cards. His wardrobe seemed to be a T-shirt, a jumper and a pair of jeans.

a.s.sange was in mischievous good spirits. The former hacker told Traynor: "You guys at the Guardian Guardian, you have got to do something about your security. You have got to get your email secure and encrypted."

"He knew the contents of the email I had sent to London," Traynor said, somewhat amazed. "He was showing off, but also expressing concern."

When Davies arrived in town, the two Guardian Guardian reporters repaired again to the Leopold. They dialled upstairs. a.s.sange apparently still on Australian time had crashed out again. He finally appeared 15 minutes later. The three sat in the hotel's covered courtyard cafe. It was 3.30pm; n.o.body else was around. reporters repaired again to the Leopold. They dialled upstairs. a.s.sange apparently still on Australian time had crashed out again. He finally appeared 15 minutes later. The three sat in the hotel's covered courtyard cafe. It was 3.30pm; n.o.body else was around.

What followed was a six-hour conversation. It would result in an extraordinary, if sometimes strained, partnership between a mainstream newspaper and WikiLeaks a new model of co-operation aimed at publishing the world's biggest leak. A Vanity Fair Vanity Fair feature subsequently called it a courtship between "one of the oldest newspapers in the world, with strict and established journalistic standards" and "one of the newest in a breed of online muckrakers". The article's American author, Sarah Ellison, wrote: "The feature subsequently called it a courtship between "one of the oldest newspapers in the world, with strict and established journalistic standards" and "one of the newest in a breed of online muckrakers". The article's American author, Sarah Ellison, wrote: "The Guardian Guardian, like other media outlets, would come to see a.s.sange as someone to be handled with kid gloves, or perhaps latex ones too alluring to ignore, too tainted to unequivocally embrace."

The hopes of an accord risked derailment from the outset, however. a.s.sange had already positioned himself as an ideological enemy of Davies, whose high-profile campaign to force Rupert Murdoch's tabloid the News of the World News of the World to confront and stop its phone-hacking had previously been denounced by a.s.sange as a contemptible attempt by "sanctimonious handwringing ... politicians and social elites" to claim a right to privacy. a.s.sange had accused Davies of "a lack of journalistic solidarity" for criticising the to confront and stop its phone-hacking had previously been denounced by a.s.sange as a contemptible attempt by "sanctimonious handwringing ... politicians and social elites" to claim a right to privacy. a.s.sange had accused Davies of "a lack of journalistic solidarity" for criticising the News of the World News of the World calling it merely "an opportunity to attack a journalistic and cla.s.s rival". a.s.sange now failed to disguise a faint contempt for the MSM in general. calling it merely "an opportunity to attack a journalistic and cla.s.s rival". a.s.sange now failed to disguise a faint contempt for the MSM in general.

a.s.sange nevertheless struck Davies as "very young, boyish, rather shy and perfectly easy to deal with". He drank orange juice. Delicately, Davies began setting out the options. He told a.s.sange it was improbable anybody would attack him physically; that would be a global embarra.s.sment for the US. Rather, Davies predicted, the US would launch a dirty information war, and accuse him of helping terrorists and endangering innocent lives. WikiLeaks' response had to be that the world was ent.i.tled to know the truth about the murky US-led wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

"We are going to put you on the moral high ground so high that you'll need an oxygen mask. You'll be up there with Nelson Mandela and Mother Teresa," Davies told a.s.sange. "They won't be able to arrest you. Nor can they shut down your website."

a.s.sange was receptive. This wasn't the first time WikiLeaks had worked with traditional news media, and a.s.sange had decided it might be a good idea on this occasion to do so again. Then a.s.sange revealed the scale of his cache. WikiLeaks had in fact obtained, he confided, logs detailing every single US military incident in the Afghanistan war. "Holy Moly!" remarked Davies. Not only that, a.s.sange added, the website also had similar war logs from Iraq from March 2003. "f.u.c.k!" exclaimed Davies.

But that wasn't all. WikiLeaks was indeed in possession of the secret US state department cables from American diplomatic missions around the world. Fourthly and finally, he had files from enemy combatant review tribunals held in Guantanamo Bay, the US's notorious penal colony in Cuba. In all, jaw-droppingly, there were more than a million doc.u.ments.

This was stunning stuff. Davies proposed that the Guardian Guardian should be allowed to preview all the material, bringing context to what would otherwise be an incomprehensible ma.s.s data dump. should be allowed to preview all the material, bringing context to what would otherwise be an incomprehensible ma.s.s data dump.

a.s.sange said that WikiLeaks had been ready to post all the data for the past two weeks, but he was hesitating because, although he would never reveal whether Manning was a source, he was worried about the legal implications for the young soldier. The Army had still not charged Manning; Manning would have been trained to resist interrogation, he believed, and Lamo's allegations were evidentially "not credible"; but a.s.sange was concerned that publishing the leaked material might give Pentagon investigators further evidence to work on.

Davies and a.s.sange discussed adding the New York Times New York Times as a partner. There was no way, Davies argued, that the Obama administration would attack the most powerful Democrat-leaning newspaper in the US. Any WikiLeaks stories in the paper would enjoy the protection of the free speech provisions of the first amendment to the US const.i.tution; furthermore, there was the precedent of the as a partner. There was no way, Davies argued, that the Obama administration would attack the most powerful Democrat-leaning newspaper in the US. Any WikiLeaks stories in the paper would enjoy the protection of the free speech provisions of the first amendment to the US const.i.tution; furthermore, there was the precedent of the New York Times New York Times's historic battle to gain the right to publish the Pentagon papers. The paper's domestic US status would also make it harder for the authorities to press espionage charges against Manning, which might follow from purely foreign publication. a.s.sange agreed with this.

Ian Traynor recalls: "a.s.sange knew people at the New York Times New York Times. He was concerned that the stuff should be published in the US and not only abroad. He felt he would be more vulnerable if it was only published abroad."

a.s.sange also insisted that, in any deal, the Times Times in New York should publish five minutes ahead of the in New York should publish five minutes ahead of the Guardian Guardian in London. He theorised that this would reduce the risk of Manning being indicted for breaking the Espionage Act. Traynor suggested the possibility of additionally bringing on board in London. He theorised that this would reduce the risk of Manning being indicted for breaking the Espionage Act. Traynor suggested the possibility of additionally bringing on board Der Spiegel Der Spiegel in Berlin. The German news magazine had lots of money, and Germany was itself embroiled militarily in Afghanistan, he pointed out. in Berlin. The German news magazine had lots of money, and Germany was itself embroiled militarily in Afghanistan, he pointed out.

a.s.sange said that if the Big Leak were to go ahead, he would want to control the Guardian Guardian's timing: he didn't want to publish too soon if this would damage Manning, but he was also prepared to post everything immediately if there was any kind of attack on WikiLeaks.

At one point, the would-be partners went out to refuel at an Italian restaurant. As he ate, a.s.sange scanned nervously over his shoulder to see if he was being watched. (There were no US agents there, as far as anyone could tell only the European Green leader and former student rebel Daniel Cohn-Bendit sitting just behind them.) a.s.sange cautioned that, if the deal were to go ahead, the Guardian Guardian would have to raise its game on security and adopt stringent measures. The paper had to a.s.sume phones were bugged, emails read, computers compromised, he said. "He was very, very hot on security," Davies recalled. And he seemed media-savvy, too. "He suggested that we find a suitable story to give to Fox News, so that they would be brought on side rather than becoming attack dogs. Another good idea. We were motoring." would have to raise its game on security and adopt stringent measures. The paper had to a.s.sume phones were bugged, emails read, computers compromised, he said. "He was very, very hot on security," Davies recalled. And he seemed media-savvy, too. "He suggested that we find a suitable story to give to Fox News, so that they would be brought on side rather than becoming attack dogs. Another good idea. We were motoring."

a.s.sange popped back to his room, returning with a small black laptop. He showed Davies actual samples from the Afghan database. The WikiLeaks team had examined the data, he said, encouragingly. They had discovered that the killing had gone on at a much higher rate in Iraq than in Afghanistan. But the database samples themselves seemed vast, confusing and impossible to navigate an impenetrable forest of military jargon. Davies, by this point exhausted after a long day, began to wonder whether they in fact included anything journalistically of value.

And there was another problem. How was Davies to get the Afghan material back to the Guardian Guardian in London? He could, of course, save it on a memory stick, but this ran the risk that British officials might confiscate it at customs control. a.s.sange, the hacking prodigy, offered the answer: he would transfer the material in encrypted form to a special website. The website would only exist for a short period before disappearing. in London? He could, of course, save it on a memory stick, but this ran the risk that British officials might confiscate it at customs control. a.s.sange, the hacking prodigy, offered the answer: he would transfer the material in encrypted form to a special website. The website would only exist for a short period before disappearing.

Reopening his netbook, a.s.sange typed away and then circled words on the Hotel Leopold napkin. They were the pa.s.sword to decrypt data downloadable from the temporary website he would set up, encrypted in GPG (also known by its generic name, Pretty Good Privacy or PGP). Without the pa.s.sword, the website would be virtually uncrackable unless an opponent happened to stumble on the two large prime numbers which generated the encryption. Armed with the pa.s.sword, Guardian Guardian staff would soon be able to access the first tranche of data the Afghan war logs. The three other promised "packages" were to follow. staff would soon be able to access the first tranche of data the Afghan war logs. The three other promised "packages" were to follow.

The two men agreed on other precautions: Davies would send a.s.sange an email saying that no deal had been agreed. (Written on 23 June, it read: "I'm safely back at base. Thanks for spending time with me no need to apologise for not being able to give me what I'm after.") The idea was to throw dust in the eyes of the Americans. a.s.sange and Davies parted.

Davies grabbed a pastry and a cup of railway station coffee the following dawn and took the first train back to London. In the office he b.u.mped into Rusbridger. "I'm going to tell you a secret," he said. According to Davies, the owlish Rusbridger's reaction was, as ever, understated. But he clearly appreciated the implications. By 9.30am he had agreed to ring Bill Keller, his New York Times New York Times counterpart, as soon as he woke across the Atlantic. counterpart, as soon as he woke across the Atlantic.

Heading back to his home in Suss.e.x, Davies waited for news from a.s.sange. Mid-morning on 24 June an email arrived directing Davies to the website. He downloaded the huge file, but was unable to disentangle the procedure required for GPG decryption. He phoned his local computer specialist, who was unable to help. Frustrated, Davies put the still-encrypted data on to a memory stick, and deleted a.s.sange's email. Soon afterwards the website ceased to exist. Davies traveled back up to London and handed the stick to Harold Frayman, systems editor at the Guardian Media Group. Frayman easily downloaded the contents as a decrypted spreadsheet. "It wasn't actually a terribly difficult thing to do at all. We knew what the pa.s.sword was," Frayman said calmly.

So by that evening the Guardian Guardian had the Afghan database an unprecedented hour-by-hour portrait of the real, harsh war being fought in the mountains and dusty streets of the Hindu Kush. But it didn't look like it at the time: for the first five or six days the Afghan record proved almost impossible to read. "It was a f.u.c.ker," Davies said. "The spreadsheet was terribly difficult to extract information from, slow and difficult." Nonetheless, he sent a triumphant email back to a.s.sange. It read: "The good guys have got the girls." had the Afghan database an unprecedented hour-by-hour portrait of the real, harsh war being fought in the mountains and dusty streets of the Hindu Kush. But it didn't look like it at the time: for the first five or six days the Afghan record proved almost impossible to read. "It was a f.u.c.ker," Davies said. "The spreadsheet was terribly difficult to extract information from, slow and difficult." Nonetheless, he sent a triumphant email back to a.s.sange. It read: "The good guys have got the girls."

CHAPTER 8.

In the bunker

Fourth floor, the Guardian Guardian, Kings Place, London July 2010

"It felt like being a kid in a candy shop"

DECLAN W WALSH, THE G GUARDIAN.

In the small, gla.s.s-walled office on the Guardian Guardian's fourth floor, maps of Afghan and Iraqi military districts were stuck with magnets on to a whiteboard. Alongside them, the journalists were scrawling constantly updated lists of hitherto unknown US military abbreviations. "What's EOF?" a reporter would shout? "Escalation of force!" someone would answer. HET? Human Exploitation Team. LN? Local national. EKIA was the body count: enemy killed in action. There were literally hundreds of other jargon terms: eventually the paper had to publish a lengthy glossary alongside its stories.

The discreet office, well away from the daily news operation, had become a multinational war room, with reporters flown in from Islamabad, New York, and eventually Berlin to a.n.a.lyse hundreds of thousands of leaked military field reports. They jostled with London-based computer experts and website specialists. A shredder was installed alongside the bank of six computer screens, and the air of security was intensified by the stern notice stuck on the door: "Project Room. Private & Confidential. No Unauthorised Access."

Nick Davies was so fixated by secrecy that he initially even refused to tell the Guardian Guardian's head of news, deputy editor Ian Katz, about the project. He was dismayed to discover how quickly word spread that he was involved in a top-secret story. Another colleague, Richard Norton-Taylor, the Guardian Guardian's veteran security editor, soon asked Davies about his "scoop". Davies refused to tell him. A couple of hours later Norton-Taylor encountered Davies again, and teased him gleefully: "I know all your secrets!" A newspaper office is a bad place in which to try and keep the lid on things for very long.

The paper's staff did do their best, however. Declan Walsh, the Guardian Guardian's Pakistan-based correspondent, was recalled in conditions of great secrecy. Meeting round a table in the editor's office, the Guardian Guardian's team chewed over the technical difficulties. David Leigh was cantankerous: "It's like panning for tiny grains of gold in a mountain of data," he complained. "How are we ever going to find if there are any stories in it?" The answer to that question set the Guardian Guardian's old hands on a steep learning curve as they got to grips with modern methods.

First they discovered, embarra.s.singly, that their first download, the Afghan spreadsheet, did not contain 60,000 entries, as they had spent several days believing. It contained far more. But the paper's early version of Excel software had simply stopped reading after recording 60,000 rows. The real total of hour-by-hour field reports the war logs amounted to 92,201 rows of data. The next problem was greater still. It transpired that a spreadsheet of such enormous size was impossibly slow to manipulate, although it could theoretically be sorted and filtered to yield reams of statistics and different types of military event. The Iraq war logs release dumped another 391,000 records into their laps, which quadrupled the data problems.

Harold Frayman, the technical expert, solved those problems: he improvised at speed a full-scale database. Like Google, or sophisticated news search engines such as LexisNexis, the Frayman database could be searched by date, by key word, or by any phrase put between quotation marks. Declan Walsh recalls: "When I first got access to the database, it felt like being a kid in a candy shop. My first impulse was to search for 'Osama bin Laden', the man who had started the war. Several of us furiously inputted the name to see what it would produce (not much, as it turned out)." Leigh, too, began to cheer up: "Now this data is beginning to speak to me!" he said.

Leigh was introduced to another Guardian Guardian specialist, Alastair Dant: "Alastair's our data visualiser," he was told. Leigh: "I didn't know such a job existed." He was soon brought up to speed. The WikiLeaks project was producing new types of data. Now they needed to be mined with new kinds of journalism. Dant explained that he could convert the statistics of the thousands of bomb explosions recorded in the Afghan war logs into a bespoke moving graphic display. He could use the same basic template with which the specialist, Alastair Dant: "Alastair's our data visualiser," he was told. Leigh: "I didn't know such a job existed." He was soon brought up to speed. The WikiLeaks project was producing new types of data. Now they needed to be mined with new kinds of journalism. Dant explained that he could convert the statistics of the thousands of bomb explosions recorded in the Afghan war logs into a bespoke moving graphic display. He could use the same basic template with which the Guardian Guardian had formerly developed a popular interactive map of the Glas...o...b..ry festival. That had been a nice bit of fun for music fans. The viewer had been able to move a pointer over a map of the festival field, and up came the artists playing at that spot, at that particular time. had formerly developed a popular interactive map of the Glas...o...b..ry festival. That had been a nice bit of fun for music fans. The viewer had been able to move a pointer over a map of the festival field, and up came the artists playing at that spot, at that particular time.

Now, with Afghanistan, the viewer would be able similarly to press a b.u.t.ton, but this time a much more chilling display would start to run. It would reveal, day by day and year by year, the failure of the US army to contain the insurgents in Afghanistan, as literally thousands of "improvised explosive devices" blossomed all around the country's road system. The viewer could see how the vast majority of the roadside bombs were slaughtering ordinary civilians rather than military opponents, and how the a.s.saults ebbed and flowed with changes in political developments. It was a rendering that made at least something comprehensible, in an otherwise sc.r.a.ppy and ill-reported war.

The key online expert proved to be Simon Rogers, the Guardian Guardian's data editor. "You're good with spreadsheets, aren't you?" he was asked. "This is one h.e.l.l of a spreadsheet," he said. After working on those spreadsheets, he concluded: "Sometimes people talk about the internet killing journalism. The WikiLeaks story was a combination of the two: traditional journalistic skills and the power of the technology, harnessed to tell an amazing story. In future, data journalism may not seem amazing and new; for now it is. The world has changed and it is data that has changed it."

One obvious opportunity was to obtain genuine statistics of casualties for the first time. The US military had a.s.serted, disingenuously, that at least as far as civilians and "enemies" were concerned, there were no figures available. In fact, the journalists could now see that the war logs contained highly detailed categories that were supposed to be filled in for every military event, breaking them down into US and allies, local Iraqi and Afghan forces, civilians and enemy combatants, and cla.s.sing them in each case as either killed or wounded. But it wasn't so simple. Rogers and his reporter colleagues had to grapple with the realities on the military ground: those realities made apparently enticing data sets into dirty and unreliable statistics.

At its simplest, a person listed as "wounded" at the time might have actually died later. More sweepingly, the casualty boxes were sometimes not filled in at all. The reporters felt sympathy with exhausted soldiers, after a day of fighting, being confronted with forms to input that required the filling in of no fewer than 30 fields of bureaucratic information. Some units were more meticulous than others. Early years of the wars saw sketchier information gathering than later, when systems were better organised. When there was heavy urban fighting, or when bodies were carried away, casualties were hard to count. Some units had a penchant for writing down improbably large numbers of purported "enemy killed in action". Sometimes, more sinisterly, civilians who were killed were recorded as "enemy". That avoided awkward questions for the troops. All the figures were in any event too low, because some months and years were missing. So were details from the special forces, who operated outside the normal army chains of command. And many of the clashes involving British, German and other "allies" were apparently not recorded on the US army database.

So it was a tricky task to produce statistics that could be claimed to have real value. That highlighted once again the inescapable limitations of the purist WikiLeaks ideology. The material that resided in leaked doc.u.ments, no matter how voluminous, was not "the truth". It was often just a signpost pointing to some of the truth, requiring careful interpretation.

a.s.sange himself eventually flew into London from Stockholm late one night in July 2010. He arrived in the Guardian Guardian office with nothing but his backpack and a shy smile, like one of the Lost Boys out of office with nothing but his backpack and a shy smile, like one of the Lost Boys out of Peter Pan Peter Pan. "Have you anywhere to stay?" asked Leigh. "No," he said. "Have you had anything to eat?" Again the answer was no. Leigh walked him down the road to the bra.s.serie which was still open at St Pancras station and presented him with the menu. a.s.sange ate 12 oysters and a piece of cheese, and then went to stay the night at Leigh's flat in nearby Bloomsbury.

He spent several days there, sleeping in the day and working on his laptop through the night. Then he moved to a nearby hotel, spent the World Cup final weekend at Nick Davies' Suss.e.x home (but, says Davies, "He wasn't the slightest bit interested in football") and settled for a while at the Pimlico townhouse of Gavin MacFadyen, the City University professor and journalist. a.s.sange brought with him only three pairs of socks. But he swiftly charmed the MacFadyen household, borrowed poetry books from the shelves, and patiently explained the Big Bang, complete with mathematical formulae, to some wide-eyed visiting children. The only uncomfortable moment came over a meal of risotto, cooked by Sarah Saunders, a gourmet caterer and the daughter of MacFadyen's wife, Susan. Typically, a.s.sange would tap at his laptop throughout meals; other WikiLeaks volunteers who came and went did the same thing. On this occasion Saunders told him to turn his laptop off. a.s.sange, to his credit, instantly complied.

A month later, he was provided with a bigger base for his growing organisation at the journalists' Frontline Club in west London. Something about the wandering a.s.sange made a succession of people he encountered want to look after him and protect him even if that sentiment was not always enduring.

The team flowing in and out of the Guardian Guardian war room was also growing in size. The war room was also growing in size. The Guardian Guardian's two distinguished veterans of the Iraq conflict, Jonathan Steele and James Meek, were co-opted. The executive editor of the New York Times New York Times, Bill Keller, sent over Eric Schmitt, his highly experienced war correspondent. Schmitt, whose knowledge of the military background was helpful, was able to report back that the war logs seemed authentic. He put them on a memory stick and flew home to start the process of building a database in New York.

The German contingent, too, were able to make a crucial contribution to the verification process. As the broker of the original deal with the Guardian Guardian and the and the New York Times New York Times, Nick Davies had not at first been entirely pleased with the arrival of Der Spiegel Der Spiegel a prospect that had only been tentatively mentioned at the Brussels meeting by his colleague Ian Traynor. a.s.sange told him that lunch with a prospect that had only been tentatively mentioned at the Brussels meeting by his colleague Ian Traynor. a.s.sange told him that lunch with Der Spiegel Der Spiegel was taking place in Berlin. Then, in a phone call from a man calling himself Daniel Schmitt actually a.s.sange's then No 2, Daniel Domscheit-Berg he was told not only was taking place in Berlin. Then, in a phone call from a man calling himself Daniel Schmitt actually a.s.sange's then No 2, Daniel Domscheit-Berg he was told not only Der Spiegel Der Spiegel but also a German radio station would be full "media partners" on the war logs. "I felt very confused. My first instinct was to say no," Davies recalled. "A deal is a deal. Security is very important. I felt: 'You can't come in.'" Davies eventually agreed that while German radio was out, but also a German radio station would be full "media partners" on the war logs. "I felt very confused. My first instinct was to say no," Davies recalled. "A deal is a deal. Security is very important. I felt: 'You can't come in.'" Davies eventually agreed that while German radio was out, Der Spiegel Der Spiegel could be in. Their reporters John Goetz and Marcel Rosenbach flew over to the war room. could be in. Their reporters John Goetz and Marcel Rosenbach flew over to the war room.

"They fitted in very well. We liked them as people. They had lots of background expertise on Afghanistan," Davies says. Crucially, Der Spiegel Der Spiegel sources had access to the German federal parliament's own investigation into the war in Afghanistan, including secret US military material. This proved vital in confirming that the details in the database the sources had access to the German federal parliament's own investigation into the war in Afghanistan, including secret US military material. This proved vital in confirming that the details in the database the Guardian Guardian had been given were authentic. had been given were authentic.

The papers had another headache. Normally, with a story of this magnitude, the practical thing to do was to run it over several days. This maintained reader interest and helped sell more copies. In a previous campaign, on corporate tax avoidance, the Guardian Guardian had run a story a day non-stop for two weeks. This time, such a strategy was going to be impossible. For one thing, the two dailies in London and New York were now yoked to a weekly magazine in Germany. With only one shot at it, had run a story a day non-stop for two weeks. This time, such a strategy was going to be impossible. For one thing, the two dailies in London and New York were now yoked to a weekly magazine in Germany. With only one shot at it, Der Spiegel Der Spiegel would want to get all its stories out on Day One. would want to get all its stories out on Day One.

Secondly, and more gravely, none of the editors knew whether they would be allowed a Day Two at all. The US government's response might be so explosive that they sent their lawyers in with a gag order. So it was decided that, in the Guardian Guardian's case, the paper would run everything they had over 14 pages, on the day of launch. There was, of course, a downside to the approach: although the launch of the Afghan war logs was to cause an immense uproar, it was difficult to find anyone in London the next day who had actually ploughed through all 14 pages. It was simply too much to read. For the Iraq logs, by which time it was clear the US government was not going to seek court injunctions and gag orders against the media, publication was to be more comfortably spread over a few days.

The knottiest problem surrounded redactions. The papers planned only to publish a relatively small number of significant stories, and with them the text of the handful of relevant logs. WikiLeaks, on the other hand, intended simultaneously to unleash the lot. But many of the entries, particularly the "threat reports" derived from intelligence, mentioned the names of informants or those who had collaborated with US troops. In the vicious internecine politics of Afghanistan, such people could be in danger. Declan Walsh was among the first to realise this: "I told David Leigh I was worried about the repercussions of publishing these names, who could easily be killed by the Taliban or other militant groups if identified. David agreed it was a concern and said he'd raised the issue with Julian, but he didn't seem concerned. That night, we went out to a Moorish restaurant, Moro, with the two German reporters. David broached the problem again with Julian. The response floored me. 'Well, they're informants,' he said. 'So, if they get killed, they've got it coming to them. They deserve it.' There was, for a moment, silence around the table. I think everyone was struck by what a callous thing that was to say.

"I thought about the American bases I'd visited, the Afghan characters I'd met in little villages and towns, the complex local politics that coloured everything, and the dilemmas faced by individuals during a b.l.o.o.d.y war. There was no way I'd like to put them at risk on the basis of a doc.u.ment prepared by some wet-behind-the-ears American GI, who may or may not have correctly understood the information they were receiving. The other thing that little exchange suggested to me was just how naive or arrogant Julian was when it came to the media. Apart from any moral considerations, he didn't seem to appreciate how the issue of naming informants was likely to rebound on the entire project."

Davies, too, was dismayed by the difficulty of persuading a.s.sange to make redactions. "At first, he simply didn't get it, that it's not OK to publish stuff that will get people killed," Davies said. The Guardian Guardian reporter had been studying Task Force 373, a shadowy special operations group whose job was to capture or kill high-ranking Taliban. One war log was especially troubling: it described how an unnamed informant had a close relative who lived an exact distance south-east of the named target's house and "will have eyes on target". Clearly it was possible to work out these ident.i.ties with the help of some local knowledge, and to publish the log might lead to the Taliban executing both Afghans. But a.s.sange, according to Davies, was unbothered. For all his personal liking of the WikiLeaks founder, says Davies: "The problem is he's basically a computer hacker. He comes from a simplistic ideology, or at that stage he did, that all information has to be published, that all information is good." reporter had been studying Task Force 373, a shadowy special operations group whose job was to capture or kill high-ranking Taliban. One war log was especially troubling: it described how an unnamed informant had a close relative who lived an exact distance south-east of the named target's house and "will have eyes on target". Clearly it was possible to work out these ident.i.ties with the help of some local knowledge, and to publish the log might lead to the Taliban executing both Afghans. But a.s.sange, according to Davies, was unbothered. For all his personal liking of the WikiLeaks founder, says Davies: "The problem is he's basically a computer hacker. He comes from a simplistic ideology, or at that stage he did, that all information has to be published, that all information is good."

In fairness to a.s.sange, he eventually revisited his view, despite the technical difficulties it posed for WikiLeaks. And by the time the US state department cables were published, five months later, a.s.sange had entirely embraced the logic of redaction, with his role almost that of a mainstream publisher. Short of time before the Afghan launch, he removed wholesale the 15,000 intelligence files, listed as "threat reports", which were most likely to contain identifying details. This left some ident.i.ties still discoverable in the main body of the cables, a fact which Rupert Murdoch's London Times Times published prominently. Despite their supposed disapproval of WikiLeaks, the paper had pointed to information that could have helped the Taliban to murder people. By the time the Iraq logs were launched, a.s.sange had time to construct a more sophisticated editing programme, which redacted a vast number of names. And when it came to publishing the diplomatic cables, on the face of it at least, a.s.sange had abandoned his original ambition to dump out everything. He contented himself during the course of 2010 with only publishing a small fraction of the cables those whose text had already been individually redacted by journalists from the five print media partners. published prominently. Despite their supposed disapproval of WikiLeaks, the paper had pointed to information that could have helped the Taliban to murder people. By the time the Iraq logs were launched, a.s.sange had time to construct a more sophisticated editing programme, which redacted a vast number of names. And when it came to publishing the diplomatic cables, on the face of it at least, a.s.sange had abandoned his original ambition to dump out everything. He contented himself during the course of 2010 with only publishing a small fraction of the cables those whose text had already been individually redacted by journalists from the five print media partners.

In the end, then, all these anxieties about the fate of informants remained purely theoretical. By the end of the year in which WikiLeaks published its huge dump of information, no concrete evidence whatever had surfaced that any informant had suffered actual reprisals. The only reports were of defence secretary Robert Gates telling a sailor aboard a US warship in San Diego, "We don't have specific information of an Afghan being killed yet." CNN reported on 17 October that, according to a senior Nato official in Kabul, "There has not been a single case of Afghans needing protection or to be moved because of the leak."

As Walsh had predicted, the enemies of WikiLeaks nevertheless did their worst. Admiral Mike Mullen, chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, was among the first. "The truth is they might already have on their hands the blood of some young soldier or that of an Afghan family," Mullen told a Pentagon news conference four days after the leak. This slogan "blood on their hands" was in turn perverted from a speculation into a fact, endlessly repeated, and used as a justification for bloodl.u.s.t on the part of some US politicians, who seemingly thought they might profit in votes by calling for a.s.sange himself to be murdered. Particularly repellent was hearing the phrase being used by US generals who, as the WikiLeaks doc.u.ments revealed, had gallons of genuine civilian blood on their own hands.

a.s.sange was starting to prove a volatile partner in several respects. Nick Davies was his chief contact, and the man who had reeled him in for the Guardian Guardian. So it was a jolt when the pair fell out. Davies believed he and a.s.sange had developed a rapport, cemented over dinners, jokes, late-night philosophical debates and al fresco dinners in Stockholm's island old town. "I thought he was clever and interesting and fun to hang around with. The two of us were involved in this rather exciting, very important adventure." But the day before the Afghan war logs launch, Davies' phone rang. On the other line was Stephen Grey, a freelance reporter. Grey began: "Guess what? I've just been with Julian a.s.sange." Grey explained that a.s.sange had given him an exclusive TV interview about the blockbusting Afghan war logs. He had also provided material for Channel 4's website. And there was more bad news: Grey said that a.s.sange had approached CNN and Al Jazeera offering them an interview as well. Davies was fuming. a.s.sange, however, insisted: "It was always part of our agreement that I was going to do this."

This quarrel did not bode well for the future. Nor did a.s.sange's growing friction with the New York Times New York Times. The NYT NYT were refusing to link directly to the WikiLeaks cable dump from their own website. Bill Keller played it differently to the were refusing to link directly to the WikiLeaks cable dump from their own website. Bill Keller played it differently to the Guardian Guardian and and Der Spiegel Der Spiegel, who, after some debate internally, both decided to post a link to the WikiLeaks site in the normal way. The New York Times New York Times took the equally defensible view that readers and indeed their own hostile US government would not see the paper's staff as detached reporters if they directed readers to WikiLeaks in such a purposeful manner. Keller says: "We feared rightly, as it turned out that their trove would contain the names of low-level informants and make them Taliban targets." a.s.sange was angered at what he saw as pusillanimity by the Americans. He went about declaring in his Australian tw.a.n.g, "They must be punished!" The editor of the took the equally defensible view that readers and indeed their own hostile US government would not see the paper's staff as detached reporters if they directed readers to WikiLeaks in such a purposeful manner. Keller says: "We feared rightly, as it turned out that their trove would contain the names of low-level informants and make them Taliban targets." a.s.sange was angered at what he saw as pusillanimity by the Americans. He went about declaring in his Australian tw.a.n.g, "They must be punished!" The editor of the New York Times New York Times, in turn, came to see a.s.sange as "a self-important quasi-anarchist" Keller recalls. "I talked to a.s.sange by phone a few times, and heard out his complaints. 'Where's the respect?' he demanded. 'Where's the respect?' Another time he called to tell me how much he disliked a profile we had written of Bradley Manning ... a.s.sange complained that we had 'psychologicalised' Manning and given short shrift to his 'political awakening'."

Beneath the surface, all these tensions simmered. But to the public, the launch of the first tranche of war logs about Afghanistan represented a smooth and well-orchestrated media coup. It gave the three papers ma.s.sive exposure, and turned Julian a.s.sange, for a time, into the world's most famous man. It was the biggest leak in history until it was followed by an even bolder set of disclosures about Iraq. These were the two immensely controversial wars which the United States had inflicted on the world, and now, at last, it seemed possible to lift the lid on them.