by Dan Bongino
Unfortunately, the trend line is moving in the opposite direction as nearly a fifth of federal law-enforcement personnel are now located within smaller agencies with limited investigative authority, such as the Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. How does Congress continue to justify the criminalization and subsequent investigations of American citizens for minor infractions falling under these agencies’ limited purviews when we continue to miss the signs laid bare for us in the Boston terror attack investigation? We have roughly 138,000 federal law-enforcement personnel. Think of the possibilities if we reallocated agents involved in the now-infamous Fish and Wildlife Service raids on the Gibson guitar company to interviewing potential terrorists such as the Tsarnaev brothers responsible for the Boston bombing?
15
GIVING BACK THE GUN AND SHIELD
AFTER MY NEARLY FIVE YEARS of service on the PPD, it was time to move on to the next stage of my career. There are no good-bye parties when an agent departs from the PPD. You are asked to report to the administrative section to hand in your White House pass and your key to the White House grounds, and that is the extent of the “ceremony.” Its banality is the very definition of the term “anticlimactic.” As a courtesy from the Executive Office of the President, they offer the opportunity to join the president in the Oval Office for a series of departure photos with you and your family. I gladly took the opportunity to take the photo and was honored to be a part of it. Although my political differences with President Obama were substantial, he and his family always treated me with dignity and respect. He was one of a group of men I would have gladly sacrificed my life for. Despite the rather inglorious nature of an agent’s departure from the PPD, they typically did their best to accommodate departing agents’ post-PPD assignment requests, and I was grateful to be granted assignment to the Baltimore field office, located off Pratt Street in the inner harbor area of the city.
For years on the PPD I dreamt of a manageable work schedule in balance with my family life. One would think that after nearly five years of overseas travel, terrible airplane food, an entirely unpredictable schedule, exotic illnesses, and a level of fatigue that penetrates to the core, a nine-to-five position in an office would be a welcome change. Sadly, it was not.
After only a few days of settling in the Baltimore field office, I began to miss the White House’s organized chaos, high-stress environment, and even the food in the White House Mess (the food service area run by the US Navy).
The Secret Service is a compartmentalized agency and when you leave one section for another, you are completely shut out of your previous division. I was the lead advance agent for the president of the United States in Afghanistan just a week prior and had left the PPD with a perfect evaluation score. I was proud of what we had accomplished during my time there. Now, I could no longer enter the White House grounds without a guest pass. It was a tough transition to handle and, although the workload in my previous position on the PPD was strenuous, it was also incredibly rewarding. I was proud of the complex security plans I successfully implemented and didn’t realize how much I would miss it until I was stuck behind a desk.
I enjoyed the criminal investigative casework early in my career, but once you get a taste of protection work, there is no turning back. Having a front-row seat to the world’s most important events is like an intoxicating drug. I thought back to the moment President George W. Bush spoke from the Oval Office and how I stood just feet behind the camera at the Oval Office door watching it live, and how when Bear Stearns collapsed and the gravity of the financial crisis became apparent, I was in the limo with President Bush listening to his perspective on the issue. I thought about standing in the private reading room of the Oval Office as President Bush was on the White House patio sprinting on his exercise bike at a breakneck pace and looking around at all the mementos he collected as president: a brick from the home of the spiritual head of the Taliban, Mullah Omar; the Glock pistol Saddam Hussein was carrying when he was taken into custody; and many others. This was now all part of my personal history, and they were memories that could not be forgotten and were tough to leave behind.
I knew that to keep myself from reminiscing endlessly about yesterday’s accomplishments, I needed to start fresh and to find a criminal to catch. Complex criminal investigations within the federal system have a way of keeping the mind distracted and I was determined to take advantage of this. It was not long before I received a call from an agent in our Chicago field office about a fraud scheme involving apartments and rental cars. I began to investigate, and eventually uncovered what was to become one of the largest fraud schemes in Maryland’s history. The case was complicated and involved a skilled con artist who manipulated low-income individuals who were down on their luck and desperately needed a car so they could get to work or a place to live. What made the case particularly egregious in my eyes was his complete lack of compassion for the victims, many of whom gave him their last dollar. When we finally arrested him in the early hours of the morning, months after the investigation began, he tried to deflect any blame and focused on the naiveté of the many victims rather than his own malice.
The case served to temporarily distract me from the nostalgia I was feeling since I left the White House, but it was only a brief respite. The local media covered the case extensively and it was featured on the front page of the Baltimore Sun. I was proud to have played a part in helping struggling Marylanders escape from the depravity of this con man. My first appearance on live radio was at WBAL (a radio station that later covered my campaign extensively) to discuss the case. I was nervous about the appearance because the Secret Service had a very detailed media policy and was restrictive about what could be revealed about a case and our tactics. Despite my apprehension, the appearance was enjoyable and it gave me a taste of what being in the media spotlight was all about.
With the investigative portion of the case coming to a close and the prosecution phase beginning, my job was mostly done. The fraud case was satisfying, but it was not enough to quench my desire to do something bigger. Seeing the political transformation as we moved from one administration to the next from inside the White House made the experience that much more painful for me. It seemed to me that the Obama White House staff lived in a utopian bubble devoid of any acknowledgment of real-world consequences. They spoke of policies in an idealistic way, rather than how to apply legislative solutions to the real world. When a policy not only failed to produce the desired result but in some cases produced the exact opposite result, it was ignored.
The Obamacare legislation is an obvious example. Despite the administration’s stated claims about expanding health care and lowering its costs, the results have been the exact opposite. As health care costs continue to rise in excess of inflation and more and more doctors leave the field of medicine or refuse to take on any more government-sponsored cases, the administration looks on with a blind eye, seemingly proud of its good intentions yet complete lack of results. The administration persists, despite the angry town hall meetings, the poor results, and the abysmal polling, because they are insulated within the walls of the White House. The president has surrounded himself with acolytes who rarely speak truth to power. The people closest to him politically are also those he has personal relationships with, and this approach is bound to create a conflict between the real world and the artificial world of the presidency.
Having worked behind the curtain and witnessed what it is like to live “inside the bubble” of the presidency, I have seen the transformation. When you are the president of the United States, your entire life is scripted. It is almost as if you are an actor in a theatrical play about the presidency that you assumed was “real life.” The president rarely drives in traffic, he never walks through airport security or waits on a tarmac, he never interacts with anyone who has not been screened by staff and law enforcement, and when he attends “public” events outside the White House, the staff scr
een the “public” to ensure that they fit the script. This is important because many of the bureaucrats and staffers within the Washington, DC, bubble who had a role in the design of Obamacare legislation were well aware of the media reports about the unpopularity of this legislation, and in an effort to save their careers, they relayed a completely different message to the president. Presidents are consistently surrounded by “yes men” who tell them what they want to hear, not what they need to hear.
While I was assigned to the PPD, the workload was so heavy that I rarely had time to think about my role and potential impact on the political environment. During my assignment to the Baltimore field office, I began to burn with a desire to stop watching from the front row and instead get involved in the political fight. It was at this point that I began to recall the details of my inspirational Youngstown conversation with Ken, and I began a conversation with my wife regarding a potential run for political office. We started talking seriously about the possibility of leaving the Secret Service to challenge incumbent Senator Ben Cardin in the 2012 Maryland Senate race.
Paula was adamantly opposed to a run, as was just about every other friend and family member I confided in. Respecting her wishes, I continued to drive into the Baltimore field office each day, suffering inside knowing that I could make a real difference by challenging the growing sentiment that the Democratic Party was “in it for the little guy” and Republicans were not. My own life experiences were a clear and compelling refutation of the idea that our government, although a support for some with no other options, is not the great provider of an escape route from poverty.
It took some time for my wife to warm to the idea of a campaign, but at a neighbor’s party in May of 2011 she had a change of heart. The conversation turned to the path the country was on and what we were doing about it. At that moment I think she realized that running for the Senate was the perfect opportunity for me to take my political passion to the next level and use it to shake up a political process infamous for its humdrum nature. That day she affirmed her support for my decision to resign from the Secret Service and pursue Maryland’s US Senate seat, and our lives would never be the same.
Although the route to work had not changed, this commute was different. I drove to the Secret Service’s Baltimore field office for the last time and the decision, along with the serious consequences of failure, weighed heavily on me. I had been a Secret Service agent for twelve years. I loved my job and everything the agency stood for. The job was a lifestyle, not just a paycheck, and it was a big part of my identity. No one joins the Secret Service to become wealthy, and it is one of the few jobs in the world whose mission is clear and simple: this president will not die today, and if he is attacked, we will die first. There is a striking nobility in that clear, simple mission. Leaving that behind for what even the most optimistic observer would call a political long shot was hands down the toughest decision I ever made.
My main concern was for my wife and daughter having to live through a campaign and a potential loss. If I stayed with the Secret Service, life would remain relatively stable. All of the trips to various countries, the coworkers I now called friends, the elation of a successfully implemented security plan, and the stress of the job’s demands were all coursing through my mind. I was well aware that when I signed the paperwork declaring my intent to resign my commission as a special agent that I could not turn back. This was permanent.
The stress of the decision-making process made the short commute from my home in Severna Park to the Baltimore field office appear longer than usual. Although my wife and I were committed to the plan, I kept second-guessing and recalculating.
My phone rang during the drive and I considered ignoring it but noticed it was Paula. She had been feeling ill for a few days but we didn’t think it was anything to be too concerned about. When I answered the phone she immediately said, “I’m pregnant.”
The decision to resign now had ramifications for me, Paula, my daughter Isabel, and my unborn daughter Amelia. My head was in turmoil. After all, the life of a special agent is a stressful one in terms of job expectations, but not in terms of job security. I could retire in just over twelve years at the age of forty-nine with a secure pension, a lifetime guarantee of health insurance benefits, and financial stability.
“So, what do you want to do?” Paula asked me.
It seemed an unfair question. We had taken nearly five months to arrive at the decision to resign and now the circumstances were completely different. I knew if I allowed it, faith would lead me to the correct decision. I told her I would think about it over the short time remaining before I arrived at the office and would call her back.
During my twelve years in the Secret Service I met a number of exceptional people, yet one always stood above the rest. Steve, the lead advance in Trinidad, was an introspective, layered thinker and always seemed to know what was on your mind before you had the chance to tell him. When I found out that Paula was pregnant I thought of Steve’s words of wisdom. He always said, “The heavens have a way of pricing things.”
With that in mind, I knew the decision to take this enormous risk in resigning was the right one. I felt that if I turned back now, I would forever question what could have been. I always asked myself, “What can you live without?” My answer was that I could live without twelve more years in the Secret Service, albeit painfully, but I could not live without taking on an out-of-control government that I felt so passionately about challenging.
I drove into the field office garage, tapped the security code into the touchpad, and called Paula. “I think this is the right decision,” I said.
She replied, “Me too.”
With that, I parked and walked to the elevator. My supervisor, Tim, was a good man who had lost family in the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center. He was the first person I was going to tell, and it was going to be tough. He allowed his agents the leeway to succeed and I was determined to never let him down. I knew he would be disappointed in my decision to resign, but I hoped he would understand.
His office shared a wall with mine, and after dropping my equipment I knocked on his door. When I sat down in his office I had a hard time getting the words out. Tim was shocked, but in a refreshing break from the pessimistic responses I received from some of my friends and family, he said, “If it was anyone but you I would say this is impossible.”
We talked further about the risk in leaving my job in such a terrible employment market should the campaign not succeed. My stress level was approaching critical mass when Tim made it clear to me that there would be no coming back to the Secret Service, no second chances. Running as a Republican in a blue state against an incumbent Democratic United States senator on a platform that opposed a sitting president I had protected as a Secret Service agent would effectively shut the Secret Service door forever.
I walked back to my office and sat down with the pile of administrative departure documents, and a steady stream of coworkers came into my office shocked to hear the news. Each time I told the story I began to question if it was really the right decision. Even though it has offices all over the globe, the Secret Service is a small community and as the word spread through the e-mail system like a virus, my phone began to ring. I sped up the paperwork process, unloaded my gun, and placed all of my equipment and documents in a brown paper “burn bag,” a bag strictly for burning sensitive documents. I dropped it on Tim’s desk, said my final good-byes, and rushed out of the office to avoid having to tell the story again. As I walked out of the field office for the last time, the sound of the thick, steel security door slamming behind me echoed through the hallway and still echoes through my mind when I think back to that day.
16
FROM BEHIND THE CAMERA TO THE FRONT
MY DECISION TO LEAVE the Secret Service and run for the United States Senate was not taken seriously by most, including many within Secret Service management. When I awoke that first Monday morning after resigning and for
the first time in nearly twenty years had no assignment, I realized it was best to wait a couple of weeks before notifying the press that I was going to pursue a seat in the Senate.
On Tuesday, May 31, 2011, I was prepared to release the official announcement that I was running for the Maryland Senate seat. That morning I called one of the Secret Service deputy assistant directors and left a detailed message but received no call back. They knew that I was planning on running for the Senate but I don’t believe they understood the gravity of my intentions. I was intently focused on changing the political environment in what I perceived to be a winnable race, and I was not going to be stopped. No one from the Secret Service ever bothered to call me to discuss the decision and the possible ramifications for the agency.
Before pressing the “send” button on the press release e-mail, I looked at my wife and said, “Here we go.”
She appeared calm, nodded, and we let the e-mail permeate cyberspace.
I had prepared myself for releasing the decision to the press but was clearly naïve as to how much media steam the story was going to garner. Almost immediately the telephone began to ring. The shock of a Secret Service agent, largely associated with a Democratic administration, resigning to take on the Democratic Party machine in Maryland was a shock to many. I had clearly taken the local political pundits by surprise, and the requests for media appearances were seemingly endless.
My first live interview was scheduled during the afternoon drive-time radio hour with Shari Elliker of WBAL radio. Having been on a live radio program only once, discussing the fraud case with WBAL, I knew this was going to be a trial by fire. I nervously paced and quietly prayed that the appearance would be positive and allow me to build on the attention the announcement had garnered. Shari was known to give fair interviews and asked the basic questions I would hear again and again for the next two years: Why the Senate? Why not a more local office? What in your experience leads you to believe that you can perform the job of a US senator? Why resign from the Secret Service to run as a Republican in an overwhelmingly Democratic state?