“Nope,” said the head of the team, “they’ll never find it.”
It took Red Light’s technician less than five minutes to uncover and unravel the modification. The operation did not proceed. I never forgot it when some of our specialists would tell me, “No one can do this but us.”
I had the opportunity to work with the host country’s Chief of the External Service quite closely on a number of important covert action projects. The chief, whom I’ll call Ethan, was a close confidant of the prime minister. Ethan was also one of the most senior intelligence officers in Asia. He had influence well beyond the borders of his own country.
And, I had the opportunity to work with two politically appointed ambassadors in this posting. The first, by his own admission, had purchased his ambassadorship. I got along well with him, although he bullied many of his own staff. We established a good relationship from the start. He asked me frequently to be his golf partner, but I tried to limit the amount of time I spent out of the office with him. He was a multimillionaire, and he was used to having his own way. He loved to bet heavily on his game. When we played as partners, any hole we lost was, in his eyes, because I didn’t play the hole properly. He was overbearing, and I managed to avoid a conflict with him, but it was hard. I learned while we played golf that he had purchased his ambassadorship by contributing $15,000 to the Republican Party coffers. He told me during one outing that he had routinely sent envelopes with $5,000 to each senator and representative of his state, just to prime the pump for an ambassadorship.
His wealth led to a funny incident. United Nations Ambassador Vernon Walters, formerly Deputy Director of Central Intelligence, came through town. The ambassador asked me to join him and Walters for lunch. Walters held court as he generally did, and it was a fascinating experience. Walters was a most gracious man, and since he and I both spoke Chinese, we talked a lot about the region in Mandarin. Walters was interested in my views of the Asia region. The ambassador bristled a little at all the attention Walters was focusing on me. When the bill arrived, the ambassador picked it up. Walters protested that since he and I were government employees, we could not allow the ambassador to pay for our lunches. The ambassador looked at Walters and said, “There’s a very good reason why I am going to buy lunch.” When Walters asked what that could possibly be, the ambassador, still with the check in his hand, said, “Because I am very rich.”
Walters looked at me and said with a grin, “I think he has a very good point, don’t you?”
As chief, I was responsible for briefing visiting congressional delegations—CODELLS as they are called. CODELLS are the responsibility of the Department of State, and cause of a lot of anxiety among the department professionals. CODELL members expect every courtesy imaginable—and some that are unimaginable.
One in particular stood out for the mean-spiritedness of the delegation leader. The delegation consisted of six or seven senators on a typical fact-finding mission. The capital city where we were located was known for good shopping. The delegation arrived on time and came into the U.S. Embassy. The country team assembled to brief the delegation. (The country team, which generally consisted of the various heads of government agencies at post, is the ambassador’s principal advisory team.) The ambassador began the briefings, and five minutes into it the delegation leader snapped, “We don’t need any briefing. What we need is to get to our hotel and get some free time.”
With that, they departed—but not until they stopped by finance first and picked up their travel and expense money.
A vice president also came to visit. If anything, their visits cause even more anxiety than the CODELLS. The only thing the vice president asked was when he could get a tee time. He was a two-handicap golfer and managed to cut short some of his official calls to get a few holes in. He greatly aggravated our local government officials in the process.
He also expected everyone to be photographed with him. I told the ambassador that I had no intention of standing in line to have my photo taken with the vice president. The ambassador asked me to do so as a favor to him, and I agreed. And it was memorable. As the photographer snapped the picture of the vice president and me, the VP yelled “Next” and shoved me out for the next victim. For some reason, my hand went behind me just as the photo was taken, and it appeared that I was hanging on to my wallet while standing next to the VP. Wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I was fortunate that a second ambassador was appointed while I was there. He was a wonderful man, very astute, pleasant, likeable, and very much devoted to doing a good job. He, too, was a dedicated Republican. He had a distinguished career as a governor, and clout in the Republican Party. One of the first dignitaries to visit him was the Chairman of the Republican Party. The ambassador held a large reception with a receiving line.
My wife and I had something in common with the ambassador. He had a male Welsh corgi named Oliver. We once had a corgi of our own and knew and loved the breed. As my wife and I passed through the reception line, Oliver appeared and stuck his nose right up my wife’s skirt. The ambassador appeared quite embarrassed and said to us, “Oh, I am so sorry. Oliver has this terrible habit of sticking his nose up women’s skirts.” I blurted out, “Don’t worry, Oliver and I have a lot in common.”
The ambassador almost came unglued and for the remainder of the reception went around saying, “Did you hear what Floyd said?” We got along terrifically.
The government there was always on a campaign of some sort—Keep the State Clean, Support Your Local Government, and so on. My favorite was War On Piss! Residents of the capital drank copious amounts of alcohol when they were out in the evenings, and as they made their way home, they did what males have done for centuries—emptied their bladders in the great outdoors. It was a real problem. Most people lived in block apartment housing (as Pete Seeger’s song stated, they all lived in “boxes, little boxes all the same”). The government investigated the problem and discovered that women were doing the same thing. The solution was to declare a war on piss, which was headlined in the press daily. When an unfortunate was caught in the act, the papers would run a column with their photo in the Photos of Shame section.
But the offenders couldn’t be beaten so easily—they would just find less conspicuous places to relieve themselves, away from the prying eyes of the authorities. And the most inconspicuous and convenient place to urinate was in the apartment blocks’ elevators. People would simply find an elevator in the nearest apartment block, empty their bladders, and leave.
Which resulted in even more government propaganda. The government even installed urine detectors in apartment-block elevators, and the detectors really worked. By trapping the culprits behind closed elevator doors and setting off an alarm, the authorities were able to apprehend a number of men and women over the next several weeks. Their photos ran on page one of the local newspaper. The war on piss was a regular issue for our country team report. I would occasionally send my deputy to attend the meetings just so I wouldn’t have to hear the latest developments.
During one country team meeting, someone asked if urine detectors were installed in our elevators. Without thinking, I said for all to hear, “I can assure you they don’t have one in our right elevator.” There was dead silence, and the ambassador, laughing, instructed the political counselor, “Don’t report that to Washington.” The ambassador told the story to every delegation that came to town.
I was promoted a second time toward the end of this tour, and I was also offered a position in the Operations, Resource, and Management Staff in the Directorate of Operations. There I would work with money, planning, conduct operational reviews, and exercise oversight over covert action. On one of my visits home, I met the chief of the unit, a very experienced and able officer, who would become my mentor. I would learn many things that I had never been exposed to before.
TWELVE
HOME AGAIN—
INTO THE SENIOR RANKS
1990–1992
When I was recruited for a position in the Operations, Resource, and Management Staff (ORMS), I didn’t know what to expect, but I wanted to learn how money was acquired for programs, how Congress fit into the equation, and how programs got reviewed and dropped. I also wanted to learn about the CIA’s most secret covert action programs.
I was selected for the job by the head of the unit, whom I’ll call Jake. Early on, he introduced me to the greatest finance officer the Agency has ever produced, a woman we called Moneypenny—after the secretary in the James Bond movies.
Moneypenny took me in and taught me everything she could about the finance end of the business; she had absolutely no guile or jealousy. I had a reputation for being exceptional at operations, and she could have resented my move into the top ranks of her office. Instead, she did everything she could to help me learn things quickly. Moneypenny briefed me on how her office and how congressional committees were run, and she taught me how to obtain funding from the comptroller’s office.
The head of the unit, Jake, was perhaps the most politically astute officer I had met in the Directorate of Operations. He instinctively knew when something was going to rile either our congressional committees or the CIA’s upper ranks, and he headed off trouble before it began. He would frequently walk by my office and say, “Get your coat, we’re going to Congress,” or “We’re going to go see the DDO.” Jake didn’t have to take me along, but he did. If we were dealing with something sensitive, he would often say, “You’re not supposed to be in this meeting, so just sit back and be quiet and learn.” And learn I did.
Jake’s savvy was legendary. Our office facility was due to move to the new CIA building. As usual, the engineers came through to divvy up office space. Jake was at the time a very senior officer, an SIS-04 (Senior Intelligence Service)—the equivalent of a full general. As the engineers laid out the boundary for his office, Jake grabbed the head engineer and told him that he would soon be promoted to an SIS-05, and would thus be entitled to a larger office. The engineer agreed and increased the size of Jake’s office.
I developed an excellent working relationship with Jake, and I accompanied him to many funding-request meetings. After a while, he’d send me to do the work. I learned quickly how to present funding proposals for operational problems and plans, and I became quite good at it. With all my experience operating overseas, I was able to put problems into perspective pretty easily. By the end of the first year, I had assisted the Agency in getting millions of extra dollars for its programs.
After another promotion, I was designated one of two Meritorious Officers of the Directorate of Operations. Moneypenny was the other. This was a clear message to the Directorate of Operations of just how important our senior resource staff jobs were.
I was moved up to deputy after my first year in ORMS. I didn’t expect any more promotions and started thinking about a new job after two years on staff. Then Jake had a family emergency and went on leave, so I was moved up to acting chief of staff for nearly the last year of my assignment. I continued to learn how to use the power of that position. As with my operational life, I always tried to be fair to everyone and do everything for the right reason.
As a Senior Intelligence Service officer, I also developed an appreciation of why the CIA does such a good job when compared with other organizations: The Agency encourages its senior officers to speak their mind. Occasionally, we’re penalized for it, but in general the Agency is terrific about encouraging people to speak up.
A good example occurred during my time as acting chief of the Operations and Resource Management Staff. Bob Gates was Director of Central Intelligence (DCI) at the time. He held a large meeting with all headquarters Senior Intelligence Service personnel to review business and do strategic planning. Perhaps a hundred of us were present, including Bob’s deputy director of central intelligence, at the time a navy vice admiral, and a newly appointed associate deputy for military support to operations, a major general.
The room was filled with huge egos, and Gates raised several controversial issues to stir the pot, foment new ideas, and generate meaningful discussions. Officers stood up in succession and bluntly told the director that they didn’t like this or that about what he was doing. This was brainstorming at its best.
I noticed our two senior military officers in heated private discussion. Finally the vice admiral stood up and lectured the rest of us because he and the major general were appalled by a perceived lack of respect from those who questioned the director’s programs and comments. In what could have been an awkward moment, Gates quickly stood up and said, “Gentlemen, hold on to your seats. You will learn that, in the CIA culture, we encourage this kind of give and take.” It was, in my mind, one of Gates’ finest moments. The conference was a success, largely due to the open and challenging nature of the meeting. And, it was quite a learning experience for the two military officers, both of whom went on to have distinguished tours at the CIA.
In this post, I spent quite a bit of time with Congress. The DDO, Tom Twetten, was a thoroughly gracious man with a difficult job. An antiquarian book collector and a Mideast specialist, Tom always looked out for his people. He never made a big thing about it, but when tragedy struck and people needed support, he was there. When a young colleague died of leukemia, Tom quietly boarded a plane to the Midwest, attended the young man’s funeral, and offered his condolences to the family. In another case, he arranged for an officer who was dying of cancer to be awarded the Distinguished Intelligence Medal at his bedside. I accompanied Tom on the trip, and I was really moved to see how much comfort the officer and his family got from the DDO personally visiting their home to award this man his well-deserved medal.
On one occasion, Tom was called to testify at an annual budget presentation. He had to testify before, among others, the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence (SSCI). Two members of the committee were real jerks. One was a senator from the Midwest who had a staffer rumored to be a disaffected case officer. During the meeting, this staffer fed information to the senator that seemed to aggravate him, but we were able to manage the situation.
Another jerk was a senator from the East Coast—a total arrogant ass. He had demanded that the DDO appear before the committee to justify several items in the intelligence budget request. Tom and I went down to the senate chamber and met with the committee members—all but the East Coast senator. We waited and waited. Finally one of the other senators, embarrassed to keep us waiting, suggested that we start. We had just gotten to the first few items when the senator showed up. He sat down in his chair, told us to continue, and said he’d catch up. He then pulled a Newsweek magazine out of his folder, sat back, and read it as the DDO testified. The DDO kept his calm and presented his testimony. I was enraged by this senator’s discourtesy.
That year’s budget contained additional money to conduct espionage. A number of senior DO officers were sitting around figuring out how to put more people on the street to conduct espionage. These would not necessarily be full-fledged case officers, but people with specialized skills whom we might utilize only once or twice. The big issue was what to call them? We couldn’t call them case officers, because they weren’t case officers. One of our senior officers made a unilateral decision that would haunt us.
As you probably know, the intelligence world employs non-official case officers (known as NOCs), who are under cover other than as U. S. government officials. Unfortunately, the officer decided to call them case officer collectors (COCs). A most unfortunate acronym. Our budget proposal went to Congress requesting monies set aside for NOCs and COCs, a term we pronounced as “knocks and cocks.” In addition to the sexual tone of COCs, we also took heat for our Dr. Seuss request. Soon several little ditties appeared about NOCs and COCs and sox. Funny, but we did get the additional funding—and changed COCs to something else.
In the early 1990s, the Agency entered what is now referred to as its touchy-feely period, which quickly got way out of hand. It was a time wh
en any CIA officer could vent their spleen against the “fighter pilots” of the Directorate of Operations—the case officers. They demanded to get promotions just as fast as case officers did, and they demanded recognition and management assignments. All this despite the fact they couldn’t compete in the spy arena with the case officers.
And they took over the whole personnel system of the CIA. People who had never taken a risk in their lives wanted—really demanded, in fact—that they get the same benefits as if they had. It was the beginning of the devaluation of the human intelligence collection system.
Then one of the great CIA tragedies struck. I was sitting in a staff meeting early on the morning of January 25, 1993, when I heard the sound of gunfire—far away, but it was gunfire for sure. My first thought was that a sniper was somewhere in the woods surrounding our headquarters. Minutes later, we all learned that Mir Aimal Kasi, an immigrant Pakistani, had walked calmly along the line of cars waiting on Highway 123 to turn into the CIA compound, killed two employees, and badly wounded a third with an automatic rifle. He then calmly walked back to his car and sped away and out of the country. It was a horrific incident and stunned many of us. And it hit close to home—one of the dead was my physician and the other was married to one of my finance officers.
Terrorism, which we had known so often overseas, had now moved into the United States—and directly in front of our high-security compound. It was sobering, and many people still bear the scars of that tragedy. As for Kasi, it took many years but he was finally apprehended due to a terrific operation involving our overseas stations, the FBI, the U.S. Marshals, and some friendly help from the Pakistanis. Kasi was brought back to stand trial and was summarily executed in 2002.
But the job dealing in resources and with Congress taught me a lot. I was briefed on virtually every classified experimental program that the CIA had. The CIA has researched, developed, and deployed many cutting-edge maritime, air, and ground vehicles, including remote unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs). At that time, these technologies were very sensitive and still in the initial stages of development. And I got some opportunities of a lifetime—to fly a modified version of a UAV to evaluate its performance and capabilities; to go out with the maritime craft; and to drive the earthbound vehicles. The Agency had modified some of the aircraft to hold two people—one to steer and one to take photographs, in order to later determine whether the craft would be manned or unmanned.
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