😢Afghan Ally’s Dark Past: Shooter Tied to CIA’s Brutal Strike Squad

The faint rustle of fallen leaves in Farragut Square on the afternoon of November 26, 2025, masked the sudden terror that unfolded when Rahmanullah Lakanwal, a 29-year-old Afghan immigrant who had once fought alongside American forces, allegedly turned his weapon on three National Guard troops enjoying a brief lunch break. The square, a serene downtown oasis just blocks from the White House, erupted in gunfire as Lakanwal approached from behind a bench, his .357 Magnum revolver discharging four rounds that struck Sgt. Michael Harlan, 28, fatally in the chest and Staff Sgt. Elena Vasquez, 32, in the upper body. Specialist Sarah Beckstrom, 20, took bullets to the abdomen and shoulder, her dropped sidearm seized by Lakanwal as he advanced yelling “Allahu akbar.” In a heartbeat of heroism, a nearby Guard major lunged with a pocket knife to stab him during a reload, allowing Sgt. Marcus Hale from Virginia to fire disabling shots into Lakanwal’s legs and buttocks. Harlan and Vasquez succumbed en route to hospitals, while Beckstrom fought for 28 hours before passing on November 27, her death the third heartbreak from an attack now under federal terrorism probe. Lakanwal, who entered the U.S. in September 2021 via the Special Immigrant Visa after aiding U.S. counterterrorism in Afghanistan, faces first-degree murder charges, his arrest unmasking ties to a CIA-recruited unit notorious for extrajudicial killings and operations beyond official command—a revelation that has left grieving families, former allies, and a stunned nation questioning the fragile trust forged in war’s aftermath.

Sarah Beckstrom’s story, one of youthful promise cut tragically short, had always been a quiet celebration of service and simplicity, rooted in the Appalachian hollows of Beckley, West Virginia, where family dinners meant cornbread and stories of grandfathers who mined the hills. Born in 2005, Sarah grew up helping her father Gary fix cars in the driveway, her hands smudged with grease as she dreamed of nursing school and a life mending more than engines. Enlisting in the National Guard at 18 in 2023, she balanced weekend drills with classes at Bluefield State, her aspiration to become a medic sparked by her grandmother’s tales of tending injured miners. “Sarah was the spark—always packing extra granola bars for the platoon, turning long marches into storytelling sessions,” her captain, Rebecca Thorne, recalled through tears at a vigil outside MedStar Washington Hospital Center on November 27, where 500 supporters braved the November chill with candles flickering against the dusk. Beckstrom’s deployment to D.C., starting mid-October as part of the 1,200-troop rotation for federal support, was a selfless act—she volunteered for the Thanksgiving shift to let comrades head home, FaceTiming Gary with jokes about the “giant Lincoln staring down at us” and promising pie upon return.

The ambush that silenced those promises erupted at 2:20 p.m., a 60-second horror in a square known for lunchtime tranquility. Lakanwal, who had driven 3,000 miles from Bellingham, Washington, in a rented van over 40 hours, staked out the Metro entrance, firing four rounds that felled Harlan and Vasquez; Beckstrom’s wounds proved mortal after 12 hours of surgery. A bystander’s 911 call and the major’s knife strike halted him, but the damage was done—three lives forever altered in a place meant for pause. Gary Beckstrom, 52, a Beckley mechanic who raced to her side on a chartered flight, held vigil until her passing on November 27, his voice breaking as he confirmed the news to reporters. “She squeezed my hand this morning—fought like hell. But it’s a mortal wound; she’s at peace now,” Gary said, his hand never leaving hers as Lisa, Sarah’s mother, prayed over speakerphone from home with their other children, their voices mingling in a plea for one more miracle.

Lakanwal’s background, now under intense scrutiny, reveals a path from U.S. ally to accused killer, his role in Afghanistan’s shadows casting long doubts on the immigration process that brought him stateside. Arriving in 2021 via the Special Immigrant Visa after nine years as a security contractor in Kandahar—mapping routes and calling airstrikes for CIA-backed NDS-03 units—Lakanwal resettled in Bellingham with his wife and five children, taking warehouse jobs and coaching youth soccer. The NDS-03, part of the National Directorate of Security’s “Zero Units,” was recruited and trained by the CIA for high-value target raids, its 3,000 members credited with 1,200 Taliban arrests but criticized for brutality: Extrajudicial executions, warrantless home invasions, and civilian casualties in operations outside Afghan command structures, as detailed in a 2022 Human Rights Watch report. “He was good at his job—kept us alive under fire. War twists people; you never know the scars,” a former handler told Reuters, the betrayal a quiet gut punch for those who vouched for his SIV. Lakanwal’s visa, granted amid the 2021 withdrawal frenzy, bypassed full vetting due to urgency, a gap flagged in the June 2025 Justice Department report on Operation Allies Welcome. His green card lapsed in 2024 amid backlogs, and FBI raids on his Anacostia apartment uncovered a journal with White House sketches labeled “symbols of oppression” and encrypted files hinting at radical forums, though no group ties have emerged. Stabilized after surgery at GWU Hospital, he remains silent under guard, his 3,000-mile drive traced by agents through gas receipts and cams.

The unit’s reputation, a double-edged sword in the war on terror, adds layers to the tragedy. The Zero Units, comprising about 3,000 Afghans by 2020, were hailed by U.S. commanders for dismantling al-Qaeda cells but drew quiet criticism for excesses—alleged killings without trial, operations beyond oversight, and a culture of impunity that alienated locals, per Amnesty International’s 2021 findings. Lakanwal’s cousin, speaking anonymously to AP, described his ascent: “He started guarding gates, then led teams—GPS routes, airstrike calls. The Taliban wanted him dead.” For Lisa Harlan, Michael’s widow, the revelation deepens the wound: “He helped save lives—translated under fire. This betrayal… it’s a scar on everyone who served.” Vigils swelled: In Beckley, 1,500 lit candles at the armory, singing “God Bless America”; in Charleston, Luca placed a drawing of his mom with wings at a memorial. GoFundMe topped $2.1 million, from Guardsmen to Brad Paisley, who tweeted, “For Sarah, Michael, Elena—heroes who made us proud.” Social media, under #JusticeForGuardsmen, trended with 6.2 million posts—photos of Beckstrom’s nursing cap, Harlan’s sketches, Vasquez’s application.

Trump’s response, framing Lakanwal as having “gone cuckoo,” came during a Mar-a-Lago Thanksgiving presser, his words blunt when pressed on the SIV grant under his administration. “He went nuts—it happens too often with these people,” Trump said, calling the reporter “a stupid person” for the question, his candor drawing cheers from aides but gasps from critics. The exchange, viewed 10 million times, highlighted the administration’s pivot: USCIS pause on Afghan visas, review of 76,000 green cards, 500 additional troops to D.C. “These heroes stood for us—now we stand for them,” Trump said, his voice softening for the families.

As November 28 dawned, with troops patrolling under streetlights, the families’ grief became America’s—a call to cherish service’s cost. For Gary, planning Sarah’s return to Beckley, and Lisa reading to Michael’s urn, the unit’s legacy and Lakanwal’s silence underscore war’s echoes. In a season of thanks, Sarah’s story reminds us heroes like her deserve every prayer, every goodbye.