The Wronged Man

They point to Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice's statement that if there were injustices in these programs, they can be remedied in U.S. courts.

They point to the testimony of Schily before the German Parliament just last week in which he said that then-U.S. Ambassador Daniel R. Coats had told him that the CIA had mistakenly imprisoned Masri and offered an apology -- not to Masri, but to the German government. They point to reams and reams of official German evidence.

The CIA and Justice Department lawyers strongly disagree. They argue that allowing a case to go forward could lead to a "cascading" of disclosures, many unforeseen, and that foreign governments would refuse to work in secret with the CIA for fear they could end up in court.

"Just because some facts are in the public domain doesn't eliminate the need to keep others secret," Justice Department attorney Gregory Katsas argued Tuesday. The president's announcement, he added, has "zero overlap" with Masri's allegations. "Even disclosures to judges carry risks," he reminded them.

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Before all this happened, "I was a very simple person with not many problems," Masri says, straining and pausing to find words, or gather his thoughts. "I had lots of friends. My head was not burdened with so many things. I felt more safe."

Today's Masri "has less freedom. . . . This Khaled stays mostly at home. There's too much stress. And my interests have changed. I am reading a lot now, about politics and prisoners."

He has testified before government panels in Spain, Germany and to the European Parliament investigating the CIA's covert activities. He is in the news constantly, often with allegations of alleged ties to terrorist groups. Still unemployed and reconciled with his wife, he hates the limelight. He hates the stares on the streets and the Germans who call out to him, as one did recently in the supermarket: "You are a bad man!"

He has flashbacks, too. And his mood turns bad whenever he sees war news, especially from the recent war in Lebanon, where he still has family. "I get in a bad mood and just want to be left alone in my room," he says, "to withdraw."

Today, 10 cameras are waiting for him to finish his omelet and coffee and walk into the courthouse. "I am very nervous inside," he says.

The last time Masri tried to come to the United States to listen to his court case, he and his attorney had walked off the plane in Atlanta and found 20 security guards waiting for them, both men said. He didn't have a visa because German citizens don't need visas to enter the United States. Instead of letting him in, one of officers drew his gun and threatened to shoot the lawyer if he did not put away his cellphone.

Flying back to the United States this week, Masri expected another hostile airport scene: "I had a funny feeling. I always thought they would take me and send me back to somewhere other than home."

This time immigration authorities were polite, looked through his luggage, asked him some questions, even spoke a little German. Eventually, one of them said "Welcome to America" and let him pass to the other side.

"I think it's really good I've gotten this far," he says with a slight smile.

Asked how he feels toward the United States after all this, he shrugs.

"I never thought badly of the United States. I do think badly of the foreign policy aspects and the sitting government."

Nudge a little further and he'll say he'd like "an America without Bush."

And a little further:

"I'd like to drive with the top down in a fancy car through New York City and to look up at all the tall buildings," he laughs, looking up to the ceiling and throwing open his arms. "You've got a real view of the whole thing from a car without a top."