The Unexpected Spy

by Tracy Walder

  That week, I wrote down my thoughts so I could clarify to myself what I wished to accomplish with my teaching. I decided that I wanted my students to fully grasp American politics and policies from a global perspective. I wanted them to understand the interconnectedness of the world—why a boy in Yemen who had only seen American soldiers once in his town at night might have ideas about Americans that could lead to destruction. I wanted them to understand how and where systems and policies work, and how, why, and where they don’t work. I wanted to show the girls that the skills, intelligence, and perspective they have to offer as women are desperately needed in places like the FBI, the CIA, the State Department, the Senate, and the White House. I wanted to inspire as many of them as possible to go out into the world and occupy positions of power so they could help shape and influence policy and action. And I wanted the results of their work, the aim of their work, not to be for the greater good of a few men, but for the greater good of humankind.

  It seemed a lot to ask from my position as upper-school history teacher. And then I realized two things:

  I could show them and tell them about my life before teaching. And,

  I could teach a class that would specifically inspire them to pursue careers that would help change the tilt of the world, that would shut down hatred and crank up compassion.

  Yeah, I had big goals. But I’m not afraid of big goals.

  * * *

  After class, I turn up the lights and remind the girls to get their tweets out this week. Another requirement for Spycraft is that they read the news every day from a major American newspaper and tweet one story a week that is of great interest to them. At the start of each class, we pull up the tweets that have been hashtagged for Spycraft and the tweeters explain the essence of the news they sent out. This Twitter thread is now a serious newsfeed that links former students, future students, and present students. It is a chain of relevant information collected, curated, and critiqued by women of all ages.

  As they leave the room, the girls continue a raucous debate between those who think all hate crimes are forms of terror and those who think only hate groups that commit murder can be called terrorists. That alone, that the subject didn’t immediately change to what’s on TV or what they did over the weekend, gives me a flush across my skin that I can only describe as pride. One girl, Anna, has stayed in the room as she’s in my next class, too. Anna goes to a desk, opens her computer, and starts typing. I toss pillows and blankets into one corner of the room.

  Within a few minutes, the girls in my next class, Advanced Placement U.S. History, enter in pairs or alone. Some are talking, animated. Some appear to be lost in their thoughts. A couple of girls open their notebooks and start doing homework from their previous class. Anna is so caught up in whatever she’s writing that she hasn’t appeared to notice that her two best friends are sitting beside her with a third girl, braiding each other’s hair. I walk behind Anna, glance over her shoulder, and see that she’s working on her paper for Spycraft. From what I’ve seen in her this semester, she is as obsessed with politics and current events as I was at her age.

  A few girls congregate in the corner of the room where snacks are kept. There are Cheez-Its, York Peppermint Patties, gummy things, pretzels, and granola bars. There’s a carton of goldfish crackers bigger than a gallon jug of milk. A girl named Ava picks up the goldfish crackers and pours them directly into her mouth. I shoot her a look and she stops. They know I hate when they do that.

  I return to my desk, where I keep framed photos of my young daughter and my husband. On a shelf near my desk are photos of me with some well-known politicians and me on the job in the CIA and the FBI. My t-shirts and baseball caps from the CIA and the FBI are hanging on the walls of the room. I put them up the semester I started teaching Spycraft. Also hanging on the wall is an American flag that has written in the stripes the names of every person killed on September 11.

  A girl named Ellie runs into the room.

  “You’re not late,” I say.

  “I’m not?” She’s so happy she runs to the corner and jumps into the giant pink pillow. It is an act that is familiar to me, as I remember throwing myself around like that. In fact, everything in this room is familiar; it’s all a version of me. The pink cushions remind me of my pink beanbag chair in the Delta Gamma house. The snacks are like the snacks I hoarded in my drawer at Langley. And the t-shirts and photos are visual representations of everything that came out of that time.

  “Mrs. Walder?” Anna says, and I look at her so she’ll continue. “Can I ask you something not school related?”

  “Of course,” I say. The girls often ask about non-school-related things. They want to know if I wore disguises when I was undercover, if I’ve ever shot anyone, ever feared for my life, or ever seen a bomb go off.

  “So, I’m thinking that when I’m done with college, I’ll join the CIA. And, like, is there ever fun in the CIA? I mean, are people just dead serious all the time?”

  “It’s a serious job, and it’s hard work, but there are smart people there, and many of them are loads of fun. I mean, you could work as a clown in the circus and not be a fun person, right?”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Anna says.

  Anna’s best friend, Bella, speaks up. “She wants to be just like you, Mrs. Walder.”

  “Don’t tell her that!” Anna’s embarrassed.

  “But it’s true,” Bella says.

  “You’ll all be amazing going out and being yourselves,” I say. And then I wonder, What does it mean to be like me? What does someone like Anna think of when she says she wants to be like me?

  Late that afternoon I pick up my daughter from nursery school and turn all my focus on her. She is a small miracle, having started off as the single survivor from a crop of 13 embryos created by my husband and me. I had been on a run, clearing my mind from the stress of trying to make a baby after having had a hysterectomy, when the doctor called to say there was only one embryo that could be implanted in the surrogate. My first thought was, I really hope this is a girl because she is already showing how tough, strong, and determined she can be.

  After a few minutes in the car, my daughter tunes me out, decides she will no longer answer my questions, and starts singing. Her voice is warbly and birdlike, sweet as sugar. I’m a little teapot, short and stout …

  She sings the song over and over again until my thoughts drift back to my day at school, what went down, and what I need to prepare for tomorrow. And then I remember Anna, working on her Spycraft paper from the moment it was assigned. Anna, who imagines she wants to be like me. I wonder, if she had seen me dealing with my daughter’s temper tantrum last night, or picking up after the dog who ate a shish kebab off the counter and got ill from it this morning, or using five minutes between classes to try and call the credit-card company but getting caught in the abyss of a robot telling me to press numbers, or grading papers today while shoving room-temperature pasta in my mouth in the faculty lunchroom, would she still want to be like me?

  My daughter starts up once more, I’m a little teapot … I think about all the people I’ve been. There has always been me inside, but there have been different ways in which the inside me has come out. I was the floppy baby. The bullied girl. The reluctant Homecoming princess. All those selves are true and real, but I have rejected them as my identity.

  My daughter sings louder, When I get all steamed up, hear me shout! Tip me over and pour me out! I glance at her in the rearview mirror and decide that I will choose to see myself, what I’ve done, and what I’m doing today through the most powerful lens, that of the young women who might want to follow in my place.

  I am a Delta Gamma girl who joined the CIA, hunted down terrorists, and stopped WMD plots before they could kill. I am a California girl who joined the FBI and helped catch foreign spies on American soil. I am a teacher at an all-girls school, a woman who is daring to try to change the world.

  I am armed with students.

 
I am armed with a daughter.

  This is my revolution.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing a book like this took more than just digging deep into my memory, journals, and datebooks. It took the kindness, understanding, generosity, and support of dozens of people.

  My parents, Steve and Judy Schandler, have applauded everything from my first steps to my daughter’s first steps. I want to thank them for this and for simply having the faith in my strength. Thank you to Bunny and Howard Walder, David and Rebekah Walder, Matt and Kat Schandler for your enduring love and support. My cousins Karen Glassman and Dina Litt have been my cheerleaders throughout this process; I know we will be cheering each other on for life.

  Alexis and Kazzye are brilliant women without whom I could not have made it through some very difficult times. Everyone needs friends with whom she can feel safe, and Lisa Moloshok, Laura Hodge, and Alexis Willis have been that for me for many, many years.

  For having the courage to go out and meet Osama bin Laden, I’d like to thank Peter Bergen. He inspired me to take on the fight against terrorism, and I imagine many others have been inspired as well. Thank you to Sarah Carlson for paving the way for me in the publication process and giving me such sound advice.

  There are many people in the CIA who believed in my strengths when I was only learning to use them. These people can’t be named for obvious reasons, but I hope they know who they are and know the depth of my gratitude.

  The people of Macmillan and St. Martin’s Press have worked so hard on this book with unending generosity and almost-unimaginable detail. I had no idea how much incredible work goes into actually making a book until I encountered Alan Bradshaw, Rima Weinberg, Meryl Levavi, Karen Lumley, Kevin Gilligan, Mark Lerner, Sara Beth Haring, Laura Clark, Rebecca Lang, Kathryn Hough, and Olga Grlic.

  And I owe huge thanks in particular to Elisabeth Dyssegaard, who showed her faith in this book when it was nothing more than a proposal.

  Laura Holstein, Ellen Pompeo, and all the creative powerhouses at Calamity Jane Productions, as well as Katie DiMento and Sarah Timberman of Timberman/Beverly Productions and Elizabeth Newman of CAA, must be thanked for their patience, faith, and endurance as they have waited for this book.

  None of this would have been possible without my brilliant literary agent, Gail Hochman.

  Huge thanks to Cheryl Hogue Smith, Ron Tanner, Geoff Becker, and Michael Downs for their insightful and wise feedback.

  My students at the Hockaday School have taught me more than I ever could have imagined about hope, resilience, hard work, and the power to be a woman in a man’s world. I hope this book makes them proud. You ladies inspire me every single day.

  Thank you also to the History Department at the Hockaday School for being by my side throughout this process.

  The Delta Gamma sorority is a place where I was able to find my power, and figure out who I am in this world. I will always be grateful for what my time in the sorority taught me.

  Thank you also to the University of Southern California and Chapman University for giving me both an education and the resources to make good on that education.

  None of this would have been possible without the creativity, support, love, and brilliance of Jessica Anya Blau. I believe I have a friend for life in you.

  My grandparents are not around to read these pages, but I’d still like to thank them all for letting me know how loved I was. I’d especially like to thank my grandparents Jack and Gerry Davis, who never once doubted that I’d be the best “snoop” in the world.

  Last, though certainly not least, I’d like to thank my husband, Ben Walder, who first suggested that I write this book. Instead of being intimidated by me, he is impressed. Instead of feeling diminished by my powers, he is emblazoned by them. He stood by my side and picked up the slack when I was absent in mind, body, and spirit while working on these pages. I will always be indebted to him for giving me the emotional space to embark on this intense and rewarding task.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tracy Walder is a former Staff Operations Officer (SOO) at the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center and a former Special Agent at the FBI’s Los Angeles Field Office specializing in Chinese counterintelligence operations. Walder currently teaches high school history and government courses at Hockaday School in Dallas, Texas. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

    1.  War Zone

    2.  The Sorority Life

    3.  The Turning Point

    4.  The Vault

    5.  Poison School

    6.  Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride

    7.  One World

    8.  Crash and Bang

    9.  Truth and Consequences

  10.  Malibu Barbie

  11.  Bang, Bang, BOOM!

  12.  Trojans Rule!

  13.  Trigger Alert

  14.  The Girl

  Epilogue: The Revolution Is Now

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Press, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

  THE UNEXPECTED SPY. Copyright © 2020 by Tracy Walder. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.

  www.stmartins.com

  Covert design: Olga Grlic

  Cover photograph: woman © Mark Owen/Plain Picture

  The Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-250-23098-0 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-250-23099-7 (ebook)

  e-ISBN 9781250230997

  Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at

  MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  First Edition: February 2020