[News] Nicola said, 'You are free. Come with me.' Then they shot him

[News at freedomarchives.org]

Italian hostage: Nicola said, 'You are free. Come with me.' Then they shot him

http://news.independent.co.uk/low_res/story.jsp?story=619537&host=3&dir=73


Giuliana Sgrena, the Italian journalist held hostage in Iraq for a month, 
lies today in Rome's Celio military hospital recovering from the wounds she 
received when US troops fired into the car carrying her and her secret 
service liberator, Nicola Calipari, to Baghdad airport. In that short 
drive, Calipari died as he flung himself across her, saving her life for 
the second time that day. Here, for the first time in a British newspaper, 
she tells her full story in her own words



13 March 2005

I was lying on the bed as usual, and I noticed my two guards were not 
wearing their usual long shirts. They were looking almost elegant in 
tailored shirts and trousers. I said to them jokingly, "What's up, are you 
going to a wedding?" They replied, "Congratulations, you are going to Rome. 
Where are your things?" They were in a great hurry. They kept asking me: 
"Are you ready? Are you sure?" They wanted to alert me, they told me. 
"Look, it's going to be complicated. If something goes wrong, they will 
kill us all. If we are stopped by either the Americans or Iraqi police, 
don't make any gesture; don't tell them that you are a Westerner."

I put on the black tracksuit top with the zip, black jeans and on top my 
very anonymous hooded jacket, which is just what you want in an Arab 
country. They gave me back my stuff, but not everything. They gave me back 
my press accreditation, my documents, nearly all the money. I had $1,000 
and they gave me back $800, a significant gesture. They did not return my 
notebooks, the mobile phones, the digital camera. Before leaving the house 
the made me put padding under my sun glasses; for all I knew it could have 
been broad daylight or night time.

They made me get in the car, and they got in too. Although I could hardly 
see I realised there was a third man driving. They spoke on their mobiles; 
maybe there were others in front of us and behind us. I can't be sure. We 
drove for about 20 minutes. At last we stopped - I've no idea where, as I 
was blindfolded. They told me to wait. I stayed where I was, I was terribly 
scared. I didn't move from the car. I was there on my own, in terror. I 
understood that this was a moment of passage; I was going to be handed 
over. There were cars stopping. I asked myself, "Is this the one?" At a 
certain point excited voices were coming from outside. All of this lasted 
no longer than half an hour. I felt agitated but it was no longer than half 
an hour.

I could hear police sirens and an American helicopter flying above me. When 
one of my guards came back, he told me, "Ten minutes." I started counting. 
I told myself when I count up to 60 it will be a minute. I counted up to 
600 which surely took less than 10 minutes. In the meantime I knew I could 
have ended up in the hands of another [terrorist] group.

Then Nicola Calipari arrived. He opened the door on the right - I was 
seated on the opposite side. He said, "I am a friend of Pier's and 
Gabriele's [Pier Scolari, her partner, and Gabriele Polo, editor of Il 
Manifesto]. You are safe. You are free. Come with me." I didn't take my 
sunglasses off. I didn't even think about it. "Don't worry, come with me," 
Nicola told me.

Their own car must have been right there; we reached it in no time. "I'll 
sit next to you," Nicola said. A colleague of his was driving, the seat 
next to him was empty. I was still blindfolded; after a few seconds Nicola 
told me, "You can take your blindfold off." The first thing I saw was a 
street on Baghdad's outskirts but I didn't pay much attention in that 
moment of joy. It was not like when I was kidnapped when I would stare at 
things trying to retain every detail. Then Nicola said, "They told me not 
to come back without Giuliana." At that point I understood I was free. I 
felt as if I'd been reborn.

When I took the bandage off, the driver made a phone call, I guess to 
somewhere in Baghdad. "There are three of us. We are arriving," he said. I 
guessed that someone was waiting for us at the airport, maybe a colleague 
of theirs. In the meantime Nicola told me, "Now we'll call Rome." But he 
couldn't make the call because he couldn't find his glasses. He tossed one 
of the mobile phones on the front seat as it was not working. With the 
other phone he was able to call the chief of SISMI [Servizio per 
l'Informazione e la Sicurezza Militare, Italy's military security service] 
in Rome. He put me on to him, I can remember I told him "Thank you". Then 
Nicola told him: "I will call you back." I know it did not feel like an 
emergency situation. The same thing goes for when the driver said: "From 
here it is 700 metres to the airport." He said it in a normal tone of voice.

I did not see any check points. I was looking at Nicola. I was euphoric. He 
and his colleague turned on the light in the car, maybe to make the phone 
calls, maybe for security reasons, because the first rule is show your 
face. The journey lasted for 20 minutes, half an hour, no longer. I 
remember an underpass, but I didn't pay attention to the road. After that 
another 700 metres, and then the shots.

The gunfire came from the right-hand side, the side where Nicola was 
sitting. I did not see any beam of light. I only heard the burst of 
gunfire. The major who was driving saw it, but the shots arrived at the 
same time as the light, against all the rules. It was fired on the car and 
not at the engine. I know that the shots reached the car immediately; no 
one shot in the air.

The officer who was driving got out of the car shouting: "We are Italians!" 
But Nicola did not say another word. He had thrown himself on me while I 
was trying to slide down between the two seats, as far as I could go. He 
saved my life.

The driver had got out of the car. I couldn't believe the Americans were 
attacking us. I stayed in the car. The Americans illuminated the area with 
their headlights and I saw a tank about 10 metres from the road, on the 
right-hand side. How the thing happened made one think it was an ambush - 
what else could one think? The officer had stepped out of the car, and made 
a phone call, I think, to Rome: "Nicola is dead. She is out of it but her 
eyes are open ..."

I could feel Nicola on top of me. I tried to move him but I couldn't manage 
it. In that moment the soldiers approached, seven or eight of them. They 
opened the car door on the right-hand side; they understood that Nicola was 
dead and they picked him up. They looked dumbfounded. I think one of them 
said, "Oh shit," then he called out: "One of them is dead." Then they came 
round my side, on the left. They opened the door. But I was blocked in. On 
the seat I could feel a mountain of bullets, and what I had in my shoulder 
was more than just glass splinters.

I am still alive, I thought. I could feel the wound in my shoulder. The 
soldiers managed to get me out, I remained lying on the ground while one of 
them cut through my clothes. Another one tried to put me on a drip. I don't 
know what happened to the driver, I stayed with the soldiers, they took me 
to the hospital in the tank. They were all young Americans. I couldn't 
breathe, my lungs were tightening up, I was constantly asking for water. 
Only then did they ask my name and nationality. Then whispering in my ear, 
one of them asked me: "Are you the journalist that was kidnapped?"

Translation by Alessandra Maggiorani and Peter Popham


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