State Department Counterintelligence: Leaks, Spies, and Lies

by Robert David Booth

  At this point in the investigation, I did not know any specifics, only that the FBI was gaining no traction in the “202” case. SA Bill Stowell, DS/CI’s liaison officer to the FBI, had provided me some background information in order to help him research old files, but it was nothing of real significance. SA Stowell was a talented and aggressive new addition to the office, and we had worked on several counterintelligence issues. I liked his investigative style, but in this case, he was hamstrung by the IC rules.

  One day Kate called Bill and me into her small office in DS/CI, closed the door, and asked us to have a seat. She got right to the point.

  “I have a case that you need to be aware of,” she said, “but some IC rules prohibit you from seeing specific information.”

  Bill and I remained quiet, stared at her, and waited for her to continue.

  “The FBI is going nowhere fast on a very old case because DS/CI has not been properly brought into the case. You need to look at some code word data that only the two of you can properly analyze and determine if it implicates a department employee,” Kate said. “If you agree, I want to bring you over to headquarters where I want you both to sit down, read some papers, and talk with the FBI Cuban analysts. OK?”

  “Affirmative,” we replied.

  Despite our immediate consent, there were significant problems to contend with. At this stage, I was a mere consultant instead of a direct-hire employee (strike one), one who had never submitted to a polygraph exam (strike two), and one who did not plan to take the exam this late in life (strike three). But those things did not dissuade SA Alleman, who had worked with me when I was the deputy chief of DS/CI. At the time, her superb investigative contributions resulted in the arrest and 1998 conviction of East German clandestine intelligence agents James Michael Clark, Kurt Allen Stand, and Theresa Marie Squillacote, American citizens all. Two department Foreign Service Officers (FSOs) were implicated in this case for having provided classified information to Michael Clark but were not brought to trial because the Department of Justice determined that there would be no “jury appeal” in their prosecution. As a direct result of SA Alleman’s management of the investigation, I interviewed Michael Clark and both department employees following Clark’s conviction, and I have a very different opinion than that of DOJ.

  Off-and-on over the past fifteen years, Kate and I had collaborated in examining hundreds of FBI counterintelligence leads that hinted at a State Department angle. Now after thirty-plus years with the department, I knew where pertinent files and skeletons were kept, had a good understanding of the unique culture of the Foreign Service, and knew who to interview to get answers. Personal relationships and trust still remained critical ties that bound counterintelligence officers. Kate was frustrated with the current situation and ready to move forward.

  In the early morning of May 3, 2007, Bill and I were ushered into a windowless office deep in the innards of the J. Edgar Hoover (JEH) building. Completed in 1975 at a cost of $126 million, this eleven-story concrete edifice occupies two city blocks on Pennsylvania Avenue in downtown Washington, DC. The General Services Administration describes it as “dated” and “overcrowded,” and indeed it looks more like a Maginot Line bunker than a government building. It is scheduled to be torn down in the near future.

  Minutes before we entered the office, we underwent one final scrutiny by a startled FBI supervisor who, at the eleventh hour, still had doubts about the propriety of having a non-cleared department special agent and investigative specialist briefed on code word “top secret” information developed via sensitive technical means. Fortunately the FBI supervisor and I had worked together on several counterintelligence inquiries in the recent past. When he asked Kate if the upcoming meeting was “approved,” Kate simply smiled. The FBI supervisor rolled his eyes, looked up at the ceiling, and then at Kate, before glancing back at the papers on his desk. This was one of those “silence gives consent” moments. His trust in Kate and me provided access to the “black” world of ultra-sensitive sources and methods.

  Once inside the FBI’s sanctum, FBI analysts “Rachel,”* “Donna,”* and “Monk”* smiled and gestured toward empty chairs arranged in a semicircle. We quickly sat and began examining the collected data that had previously been denied us.

  Donna took the lead and explained why she had concluded the suspected Cuban penetration agent was probably a State Department officer. She had prepared a short briefing paper for the meeting and handed Bill and me two copies of her notes for a quick review. As we studied the notes, I recognized a unique department acronym on the third page. I immediately blurted out what an incredible clue I thought it was, and after reading further, I loudly announced my interpretations to the group.

  Kate, sitting to my left and accustomed to my conference room antics, started to laugh and commented that I had a particularly noisy mind. More reserved, Bill carefully read his copy. At least one of us had to maintain professional decorum, and I was never good at such things.

  I finished the last page with many thoughts racing through my head. “If this information is correct,” I exclaimed, “and agent ‘202’ is a State Department official, he or she works exclusively or in combination with the department’s Foreign Service Institute (FSI), Bureau of Intelligence and Research (INR), or the Cuban desk.” The analysts did not say a word, so I pressed on. “Do you have some more clues to share with me?”

  “Here’s our penetration agent matrix,” Donna offered, “with nine personal characteristics we have developed from information decrypted from the ‘Spanish numbers.’”

  I reviewed the document, and we talked for over an hour, slowly analyzing each of the nine characteristics. After some debate, I agreed that seven were probably germane if the Cuban penetration agent was a department employee and added two characteristics of my own based on my interpretation of the data.

  As we concluded the meeting, I said, “If this information is correct, we’ll identify this guy.” It was a gutsy and rather foolish claim.

  The team notified us that our Cuban penetration agent had been assigned the codename “Vision Quest” by the FBI. Immediately following our meeting, I was driven to the FBI’s WFO, an eight-story postmodern building in Judiciary Square. I was introduced to special agent “Matt,” who was responsible for the overall management of the case.

  “Welcome to the ‘Vision Quest’ investigation,” Matt said as he shook my hand. He asked for my government classified Secure Internet Protocol Router (SIPR net) e-mail address. “I’ll start forwarding you additional information.”

  My office was located on the nineteenth floor of a modern, steel and glass, twenty-four-story building in Rosslyn, Virginia. Access to my ten-by-eight cubicle was controlled by a reinforced entry door that was activated by a Department of State–issued ID card equipped with an encrypted chip. All visitors required escorts. Cubicle 19106, defined by three six-foot-tall beige panels, was crammed with a black chair and horseshoe desk that supported one push-button telephone and two monitors—one for classified (SIPR net) traffic, the other for unclassified information. The carpet was gray with a trace of green and the occasional Lavazza coffee stain. I plopped into my chair, whose right arm had been “repaired” with black electrical tape, and turned on my unclassified computer. After a cursory examination of certain DS records, I was suddenly not so confident in my parting, boastful prediction to my new FBI colleagues.

  The department maintained voluminous files on its current and former employees, but they were stored separately in medical, security, human resources, bureau, and finance offices located throughout the HST, and they were guarded jealously against external review for a variety of administrative, Privacy Act, and internal reasons. If we suddenly started to review hundreds of name-specific files, we would draw unwanted attention to the investigation and effectively announce that a counter-espionage hunt was underway.

  However, there was one significant database that could be researched without arousing suspicions
or compromising the investigation’s confidentiality. The department’s Office of Human Resources (HR) annually prepares, in CD format, a list that includes the name and limited personal data of every department employee. Some of the data on this “Alpha list” could be compared against the “Vision Quest” matrix for purposes of elimination.

  Great idea, but the immediate technical challenge was how to upload the “Alpha list” onto DS/CI’s stand-alone computer system, format the HR data for manipulation, reduce the voluminous information to a spreadsheet, and install profile/matrix filters to the program. The “Alpha list” contained the names of over sixteen thousand individuals and hundreds of thousands of corresponding pieces of data, all of which needed to be electronically crunched for searching. I had zero computer skills besides a typing course forced on me by my beloved mother, Maria, when we lived in Rome, Italy, from1965–1966.

  Who was going to convert the “Alpha list” to a user-friendly, hunt-for-the penetration agent computer program? I was now confronted by the same administrative “need-to-know” dictum that had restricted dissemination of the “Vision Quest” matrix for years. I made a tactical decision to consult with a DS/CI agent whose ten-by-eight cubicle was located about fifteen feet from mine.

  DS special agent Karin Terry was a young but experienced new arrival in the office. She had previously worked for the FBI and was a well-respected officer known for her outstanding computer skills. A few days after my meeting at FBI headquarters, SA Terry and I walked into the DS/CI office’s conference room, where I closed the door and began the conversation just as SA Alleman had done a few days before.

  “Karin, I have been read in on a very sensitive case, which I am not allowed to discuss with individuals who have no need to know.”

  SA Terry looked at me in the same way that SA Stowell and I had reacted to SA Alleman five days earlier.

  “But I need your computer skills to go forward with this case,” I said. “I was wondering if you would be willing to help, even without knowing the specifics of the cases.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

  “Well, then, I need you to search surreptitiously through a specific department database called the ‘Alpha list’ on the unclassified computer system, trying to identify nine personal characteristics.”

  “When do we start?”

  “You can actually access the ‘Alpha list’ on your unclassified computer because of your clearances, and we can start whenever you’re ready.”

  I followed her into her cubicle, where she patiently tried to explain how she would convert the “Alpha list” to an Excel spreadsheet. I was already lost. She indicated how electronic filters would be attached to the program that would mysteriously identify department personnel matching the nine “Vision Quest” profiles. I had no clue about what she was saying.

  “Robert, this may take some time to run preliminary tests and a search program, but I’m confident I can get you the information you are looking for in a couple of work days.” The last part I fully understood. I needed to be patient and wait for the results.

  When I returned to work the next day, SA Terry leaned her head into my cubicle and beckoned me to follow her to the DS/CI conference room. Once inside, she closed the door.

  “Just after you left the office for the day,” she said, “I converted the personal information on the ‘Alpha list’ into an electronic data sheet that I created.”

  “How did you do that?” I knew there were hundreds of thousands of pieces of data.

  “Never mind, it’s not complicated. What is important is that the sheer volume of data being crunched caused my server to crash.”

  Oh, no, I thought. Caught in the act.

  “The crash caused the information technology folks monitoring such things on the floors below ours to call me immediately and ask what the hell I was doing.”

  Well, this is bad, I moaned inwardly.

  “That was great,” she announced gleefully, “because I simply told them I was trying something new and experimental, and the IT specialists volunteered to help me create a special user-friendly program to get your results. I don’t think I raised any suspicions because all the information being sorted was unclassified. I should have the information for you soon.”

  A few days later, she made good on her promise. On May 8, SA Terry poked her head into my cubicle and handed me a list containing the names of twenty-seven State Department employees. “I don’t know why you are looking for this person, but if the profile is correct, there’s a strong chance your suspect is among this group of names.”

  Maybe I should have shed my Luddite insecurities earlier in my career and gotten aboard the technology bandwagon. Now I had a list of twenty-seven department employees who had been electronically flagged by the two department-specific and seven FBI-specific characteristics for “Vision Quest.” There was only one place in the department that would have the documentation to confirm and narrow down my findings—DS’s very own Personnel Security and Suitability (PSS) division. It controlled the security files (referred to as SY Files) of every former and current department employee.

  The SY Files were a virtual treasure trove of biographical information: background investigations, security clearance updates, promotions, transfers, overseas postings, commendations, foreign language proficiencies, and disciplinary actions. Access was highly restricted. Over my lengthy tenure, I had reviewed many hundreds of such files, and although I was authorized to see the files in my current capacity as an investigative specialist, I didn’t want to draw undue attention. Carelessly requesting files would have been tantamount to announcing that DS/CI was on another quest to identify a run-of-the mill miscreant or, worse, a spy and traitor. Either speculation would have had department tongues endlessly wagging. Foreign policy and security concerns came in a distant second to juicy office gossip at Mother State.

  As luck would have it, Barbara Shields, a senior management officer in PSS, was a dear friend of over twenty-five years with whom I had worked in the 1980s while assigned to the Special Investigations Branch. I trusted her in the same way that SA Kate Alleman had trusted me. We scheduled a quiet sit-down that same day.

  “Barbara, I can’t give you details about my request,” I said, “but here are the names of twenty-seven current department employees. I cannot tell you why I am interested in these good people, but you know what office I work in, and I need complete secrecy about working together on this search.”

  “Sure, Robert,” Barbara said. “What do you need?”

  “I need you to request in your name the twenty-seven SY Files to be sent to your office, disguising or hiding any DS/CI interest in these individuals, and then keep the files on this floor for review in one of your PSS unoccupied offices that has a door but no window.”

  “Sounds easy enough.” She laughed. “I thought you might have had something difficult for me.”

  The following morning I received a phone message announcing that a number of SY Files awaited my review. A large cup of coffee in hand, I greeted a smiling Barbara, who escorted me to a closet-sized office to confront a stack of files over three feet high. I sat at the white table, grabbed the top SY File off the pile, and opened the yellowing outer folder. The papers were over a quarter of a century old. I would need a second cup of coffee and a few solitary walks around the office block to get through just two of the files by the end of the first day.

  Each SY File contained upward of three to five hundred sheets of paper that documented the employee’s biographic information, the results of the initial and follow-up background investigations, the security adjudicator’s summary and decision, oaths of loyalty, and a host of other documents. I spent three to four hours on each file, carefully analyzing every sheet of paper for clues and verifying data regarding the department’s and FBI’s matrix points. The papers were never in chronological order, and there were always ten copies of everything.

  Two files per day, one week later, with only
half of the files reviewed, I was getting migraines and feeling dejected. I regretted being so cocky about identifying “202” back at FBI Central. My credibility with my counterintelligence colleagues might be taking a disastrous downturn, which would not bode well for my already dubious reputation or that of DS’s within the IC.

  A review of the first thirteen SY Files revealed absolutely no person with obvious Cuban connections, no links to INR or FSI, and certainly no one with a background or familiarity with Morse code or high-frequency radio transmissions. Growing worried, I thought that the IC analysts must have developed an erroneous profile. Had I missed something? Where could we go next?

  Then, discouraged and exhausted, I flipped open the file for suspect number 14. It was quite thick; the stapled and paper-clipped documents, slightly stained, some discolored or creased at corners, were affixed to both sides of the folder by a metal clip, and I slowly began reading its contents late on the morning of June 7. The file contained information on Walter Kendall Myers Jr., and I soon discovered connections that were too significant to ignore.

  I would later confirm what I quickly began to suspect—I had found the Cuban penetration agent.

  * In several places, fictional names are used in response to FBI or State Department requirements that the actual names of the persons be redacted.

  Chapter Two

  Walter Kendall Myers Jr. was born in Washington, DC, on April 15, 1937. The eldest of five children, he preferred his middle name, Kendall, and dropped the “Jr.” following his father’s death. His mother was the granddaughter of telephone inventor Alexander Graham Bell, and his father was a respected cardiologist. Ironically one of his father’s patients was a State Department official named Alger Hiss—Russia’s third State Department spy in the 1940s.