Read Online See No Evil: The True Story of a Ground Soldier in the CIA's War on Terrorism by Robert Baer - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Baer
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the agency denied ever having heard of the case officer.
As the policeman pulled out another set of handcuffs, the case officer decided if there was any time to break cover, this was it. The policeman allowed him one call to the CIA.
‘We cannot confirm the employment of CIA officers,’ the CIA security duty officer dutifully told the policeman. At that point the case officer, an ex-marine, took back the phone and screamed into it,’ You S. O. B. , if you don’t look up my name on your goddamned computer and confirm I work there, I’m going to break your neck as soon as I get out of jail.’
A few more phone calls cleared up the problem, but most case officers spent their careers in perpetual fear that their cover wouldn’t hold up at a crucial moment. In the US , a blown cover might mean a night in jail. Overseas, it could be a lot worse.
After the Central Cover people left Hank and me, two men in black showed up from the Office of Security, a component of the CIA that I would come to know very well over the next twenty-one years. Security took care of everything from the polygraph and security clearances to monitoring internal telephones and making sure safes were closed at night at Langley. Security even had a specialist whose only duty was to fire people: the hatchet man. While he delivered the bad news, a couple of security goons would rifle through the safe of the fallen employee, examine his computer’s hard drive, and check any belongings he had in or on his desk, even such seemingly innocuous items as family photos. After that, a security team would escort him to the door.
The security officers pulled a foot-high stack of forms from their briefcases for Hank and me to read and sign. The first was a secrecy agreement stipulating that in return for a paycheck every two weeks, we agreed not to write a book, magazine article, movie script, or to go on television without clearance from the CIA. True, it covered only subjects related to the CIA and intelligence, but if you spent your life in the agency, that pretty much included anything you might consider writing or saying.
Another agreement we signed was never to admit to anyone we worked for the CIA, including mothers, spouses, and even the cop who might stop you for running a red light out of CIA headquarters. It didn’t matter if he had seen you with his own eyes passing through the gates, you still had to deny any connection to the CIA. When DO officers threw around the cliché ‘Admit nothing, deny everything, and make counteraccusations,’ they meant it. Although some case officers actually attempted to hide from their spouses where they worked, I found out later that most didn’t. It was too hard to cover for all those late nights meeting other agents.
We also signed an agreement not to disclose anything related to ‘code-word’ intelligence - like intercepts, satellite photography, or nuclear bombs. Access to code-word intelligence requires a top-secret security clearance, which has its own stringent criteria.
I was reading some of the fine print about top-secret clearances when I came across the word ‘satyriasis’ It was one of the things you couldn’t engage in and at the same time keep a top-secret security clearance. I had no idea what it meant. ‘Satyriasis?’ I asked.
One of the security officers dropped his voice conspiratorially. ‘A satyrist is someone who likes to have a lot of women. And regulations say if we catch you screwing a lot of women, we gotta lift your TS clearance.’ It all seems comical now, but sex was one of management’s biggest headaches. It boiled down to the fact that the CIA did not want its employees indiscriminately cavorting with the enemy. Because all foreigners were considered enemies of the state until proven otherwise, security strictly enforced a rule that employees must report any ‘close and continuing contact’ with a foreign national. The problem was, no one was sure what ‘close and
As the policeman pulled out another set of handcuffs, the case officer decided if there was any time to break cover, this was it. The policeman allowed him one call to the CIA.
‘We cannot confirm the employment of CIA officers,’ the CIA security duty officer dutifully told the policeman. At that point the case officer, an ex-marine, took back the phone and screamed into it,’ You S. O. B. , if you don’t look up my name on your goddamned computer and confirm I work there, I’m going to break your neck as soon as I get out of jail.’
A few more phone calls cleared up the problem, but most case officers spent their careers in perpetual fear that their cover wouldn’t hold up at a crucial moment. In the US , a blown cover might mean a night in jail. Overseas, it could be a lot worse.
After the Central Cover people left Hank and me, two men in black showed up from the Office of Security, a component of the CIA that I would come to know very well over the next twenty-one years. Security took care of everything from the polygraph and security clearances to monitoring internal telephones and making sure safes were closed at night at Langley. Security even had a specialist whose only duty was to fire people: the hatchet man. While he delivered the bad news, a couple of security goons would rifle through the safe of the fallen employee, examine his computer’s hard drive, and check any belongings he had in or on his desk, even such seemingly innocuous items as family photos. After that, a security team would escort him to the door.
The security officers pulled a foot-high stack of forms from their briefcases for Hank and me to read and sign. The first was a secrecy agreement stipulating that in return for a paycheck every two weeks, we agreed not to write a book, magazine article, movie script, or to go on television without clearance from the CIA. True, it covered only subjects related to the CIA and intelligence, but if you spent your life in the agency, that pretty much included anything you might consider writing or saying.
Another agreement we signed was never to admit to anyone we worked for the CIA, including mothers, spouses, and even the cop who might stop you for running a red light out of CIA headquarters. It didn’t matter if he had seen you with his own eyes passing through the gates, you still had to deny any connection to the CIA. When DO officers threw around the cliché ‘Admit nothing, deny everything, and make counteraccusations,’ they meant it. Although some case officers actually attempted to hide from their spouses where they worked, I found out later that most didn’t. It was too hard to cover for all those late nights meeting other agents.
We also signed an agreement not to disclose anything related to ‘code-word’ intelligence - like intercepts, satellite photography, or nuclear bombs. Access to code-word intelligence requires a top-secret security clearance, which has its own stringent criteria.
I was reading some of the fine print about top-secret clearances when I came across the word ‘satyriasis’ It was one of the things you couldn’t engage in and at the same time keep a top-secret security clearance. I had no idea what it meant. ‘Satyriasis?’ I asked.
One of the security officers dropped his voice conspiratorially. ‘A satyrist is someone who likes to have a lot of women. And regulations say if we catch you screwing a lot of women, we gotta lift your TS clearance.’ It all seems comical now, but sex was one of management’s biggest headaches. It boiled down to the fact that the CIA did not want its employees indiscriminately cavorting with the enemy. Because all foreigners were considered enemies of the state until proven otherwise, security strictly enforced a rule that employees must report any ‘close and continuing contact’ with a foreign national. The problem was, no one was sure what ‘close and
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