Breaking Cover Read online

  CIA officers need to be wise to the world and knowledgeable of the risk. Intelligence officers need to know how to play the game. But it should not be a self-serving exercise, nor is it about officers hiding their hand or employing their people powers in the worst possible ways. Unlike in the movies, the CIA doesn’t resort to blackmail. The agency doesn’t twist people’s arms, issue threats, or seek to intimidate anyone in order to obtain their cooperation. That kind of manipulation is out of the question. Ours is a much more subtle game.

  As the recruiters continued to talk, I conceptualized the mission and could clearly see myself being a part of it. I was all too aware of the experience of the canaries in the coal mine—the Christians of the Middle East, who had already suffered persecution at the hands of the Muslim Brotherhood, Egyptian Islamic Jihad, and al-Qa’ida. Having become intimately familiar with the nature of those attacks and the ideology behind them, I knew what was coming to the West.

  The threat emanating from terrorists in the Near East region was significant; they had already transferred their attention from local targets such as military, police, and security services to US interests at home and abroad. Al-Qa’ida had shown its global ambitions as an international terrorist organization by attacking the US embassies in Nairobi and Dar es Salaam in 1998, and the USS Cole in Yemen in 2000. We were definitely on the terrorists’ radar.

  Instead of being frightening, the idea of being part of the counterterrorism mission excited me. I have always been fiercely patriotic. And I am extremely loyal. It was clear that this would be no easy battle. Indeed, if words like manipulation scared the people in that room, then counterterrorism was far beyond the borders of what they could handle.

  Many things intimidate me, but I had no problem with any of the explanations the recruiters provided. Instead of being put off by descriptions of what CIA intelligence officers are expected to do for their country, I got more and more antsy with excitement and found it difficult to stay in my seat. The recruiters’ straight talk did not give me pause. I was all in, if they would take me—if being the key word.

  Three weeks after that informational meeting, I received an unscheduled phone call from a different recruiter. Unfortunately, the second phone interview did not go as well as the first. The interviewer asked which part of the world I knew the most about. Without hesitation, I proudly answered, “The Middle East!”

  “Great,” she said. “I’m going to ask you about Latin America.” (Uh-oh.) I hardly knew a thing about my southern neighbors. I had tried to learn by reading newspaper articles on Central and South America, but I quickly found myself bored and reverted back to pieces on Africa and the Middle East.

  The interviewer asked me the name of the person who had just been elected the president of a country in Latin America. She reminded me that it had been a landmark election. I was so embarrassed—I had no idea. I stalled. I hemmed and hawed, hoping the elusive answer would just magically pop into my head. After giving what turned out to be the wrong response, I apologized to the recruiter and said, “I don’t want you to think I’m not educated about world events. I just don’t focus very much on Latin America.”

  My performance was a total fail. I deeply regretted being so unprepared for those questions and began to beat myself up. It wasn’t even a difficult one! I should have read more newspaper articles! I should have devoured the Economist cover to cover! I shouldn’t have skipped the Latin America section! But there was nothing I could do about it now. I’d had my chance, and I blew it.

  Despite thinking that my candidacy had come to an abrupt end, a month later I received another phone call from the CIA. The purpose for this phone call shocked me—I had made it to the next level and was being asked to come in for extensive personal interviews, as well as three days of physical exams and psychological testing. I was floored. How did I make it through the sifting process when I flubbed the last phone call so badly? Well, I wasn’t about to ask. I just accepted the offer and scheduled the upcoming interview.

  A couple of weeks later, I went to a satellite CIA facility for an interview that lasted several hours. The sheer length of our conversation gave the recruitment officer plenty of time to get to know me. I discovered that it’s hard to hide our deficiencies or strange personality quirks from potential employers when we’re questioned long enough.

  Although I was nervous, I felt comfortable speaking to the officer. In fact, I prefer interviews to written application forms, as I believe they give me the best chance to express myself and to connect with potential employers. I felt confident about the expertise I had gained through all my travels and degrees, and I felt passionate about working for the US government. Like most people, I’m far more interesting in real life than I am on paper, and I wanted to show the interviewer who I really was.

  Everything was going smoothly until the woman explained that we were going to do some role-playing to see how well I could think on my feet. Knowing my specialization was the Middle East, she asked me to pick a country in that region. From out of nowhere, and for some unknown reason, I chose a place I had never been to and knew the least about in the Middle East.

  “Saudi Arabia,” I blurted out. What? What did I just say? Where did that come from?

  Naturally, out of all the countries in the world, it turns out my role-player just happened to be an expert on Saudi Arabia’s history and culture. I knew several other countries in that region like the back of my hand, but no, I chose the not-so-magical kingdom. Internally, I was kicking myself, desperately hoping that I would not reveal how little I knew about Saudi Arabia. I wondered if I was about to replay the experience of the phone interview in which my lack of knowledge of Latin America became glaringly obvious.

  Somehow, by the grace of God, the role-playing session proceeded without a hitch. I was able to react quickly, think on my feet, and handle myself with confidence and tact. Instead of being a liability, the role-play was the seal of a great interview. I left the room feeling that the interviewer had really gotten to know me as a person and had dug down to the core of who I was. I had presented myself well. As a result, the interviewer knew about my life, personality, motivation, expertise, and preferences in intimate detail, and she could make an informed decision as to whether or not I was suitable for the clandestine service. I surely had no idea, but I was hoping that she did.

  After completing several days of personality inventories and psychological testing, I was seated in front of a psychologist, who opened the conversation in a very unorthodox manner. Mind you, at the time, I considered the CIA to be an all-knowing, omnipotent giant, so I was utterly intimidated. The doctor informed me, “Michele, based on the way you answered the questions on the psych exam, we have determined that either you’re lying or you are a psychopath.”

  Huh? I swallowed hard. Oh, Lord, how do I respond to that? What should I say? Neither option he’d given me was palatable or true.

  “Um, sir, I was definitely not lying,” I countered. “I just found some of the questions hard to answer because they were unclear; I would answer them differently depending on the situation or circumstances.”

  He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. My heart was racing, and my palms were sweating. The interview never really recovered. It was a bust. I don’t remember anything else we discussed; all I remember is that I couldn’t wait to get out of that chair. I practically flew out of the psychologist’s office as soon as he released me. This time I was certain that he was drawing a big X on my recruitment file, and I was about to be kicked out the door. Even now, I don’t know if he was having an off day or if there was some method to his madness. But for whatever reason, months later, I found out I was still in the running.

  The next step was a polygraph test. I need to clarify something. To say that a polygraph is not a big deal is a big fat lie—unless you are a psychopath, which, clearly, I am not. The examiners tell you not to be nervous while they hook your body up to a strange-looking device with all man
ner of wires, finger clips, and sensors that measure your heart rate and respiration. You are told to clear your head and relax, but as the examiner asks whether you have ever lied or cheated, a movie reel of material flows through your mind—every sin you have committed in your whole life. The polygrapher reminds you that you need to clear your head and just answer the question, but all you can think of is I’m a sinful person. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life. What else am I forgetting to confess?

  It is at this point that all serious Catholics, evangelical Christians, Mormons, and other conservative people of faith completely fail the exam because we know—based on decades’ worth of preaching—that if we have even considered a sin in our hearts and minds, it’s as if we’ve committed the actual sin. We feel so guilty for our transgressions that the polygraph goes haywire, making it look as if we just tortured and killed someone in the waiting room before waltzing in for the exam. For people like us, the polygraph is akin to hell. There is no way around it. Ironically, the polygraph is a torture device that is most effective with people who have a conscience. The rest seem to get through it without a hitch.

  And yet somehow, I came out on the other end. It took me numerous sessions, but at some point the polygrapher declared that I had sufficiently passed the test. Despite a less-than-stellar phone interview, struggles getting through the polygraph, and a miserable meeting with the psychologist, I was offered a position in the CIA’s Directorate of Operations. It had finally happened. Despite the suspicion I had lugged around for years that I was less intelligent than everybody else in DC, I was exactly the way I was supposed to be! It seemed I had finally found my niche.

  Even more exciting, while I was going through all that processing, Joseph received word that he had been accepted into the Directorate of Operations and had already begun his secret agent training. Unfortunately, because I started the process later than he did, we wouldn’t be in the same training group. But we had both made it through the hiring gauntlet! Joseph and Michele Assad—secret agents in training.

  Years later I learned that the rejection I had received regarding the analyst position was a meaningless form letter. I hadn’t done anything to jeopardize my employment. The Directorate of Intelligence had simply overhired for the positions they needed to fill, assuming that some of the candidates would not make it through the background checks, polygraph, drug testing, or other aspects of the employment processing. Because my background investigation took longer than other people in line for the job, they slid into the available positions first, and I was relegated to the cutting room floor. It was maddening to realize that I had allowed myself to be weighed down by the scarlet letter of shame and rejection, only to find out that there was never anything wrong with me.

  But here’s the interesting part. Had things gone smoothly, had I actually started work as an analyst, I would not have fulfilled my calling to serve in the Directorate of Operations—a much better fit for my gifts and personality. The CIA does not want its employees to shift from one directorate to another, so once you’re in one, that’s where you stay. I could not have started out in the Directorate of Intelligence and then later moved over to become a clandestine agent. While a few people have managed to make the great leap, it is extremely difficult to do and requires the intervention of senior officers. It takes years to accomplish after you make your mark as an analyst. It is easier to come in from the cold than to transition from one directorate to another.

  Had I started work as an analyst, my life would have been very different. I wouldn’t have spent much of the next ten years of my life overseas. I wouldn’t have served on the front lines of the war on terror. I wouldn’t have been involved in intelligence collection efforts and operations that saved so many lives. I wouldn’t have become a counterterrorism or counterintelligence specialist. I wouldn’t have discovered the fullness of my gifts. I didn’t know all that, but God did. He had a much better plan for me.

  This turned out to be one of the biggest lessons of my life: When we are seeking God and trying to align ourselves with his will, we will occasionally miss the boat. We are human beings. We do this. But God doesn’t give us only one chance to get it right. He will do whatever is necessary to get us back on track. I now realize that God threw me off course to get me back on course. The whiplash I experienced from this course correction was painful and shocking. But it taught me to trust the Force greater than I.

  Joseph was midway through his training when I began mine. I was sworn in as a member of Class 10 just four months after the September 11 tragedy. Joseph was one class ahead of me. He had already completed the first half of training and, along with the rest of his class, had transitioned over to “The Farm,” a CIA covert training facility, for the second half of the program.

  While he was able to give me a vague overview of the training process, the CIA doesn’t allow trainees to share specifics with the next class. Most of the training exercises were designed to trip us up and expose potential weaknesses in our character and abilities. Therefore, it was vital that we all came in blind. Even though I had made the cut, I was still feeling a little insecure and wished that I could know the outcome ahead of time—would I be able to get through this, to pass the training and come out on the other end?

  After a few weeks of administrative processing, my group left headquarters for a secret satellite facility to begin training. Classroom instruction and discussion were followed by role-playing exercises out on the streets with a cadre of experienced intelligence agents as we learned the ins and outs of planning and executing intelligence operations. Most notably, we started learning about cover—how to be one thing while pretending to be another.

  The television show Alias was on at that time, and I thought that Sydney Bristow was the coolest character ever. Sometimes, to overcome the intense stress, I would pretend that I was training to be Sydney (of course, without the cool blue wig and hand-to-hand combat). I know—real professional. What can I say . . . sometimes you play mind games to get yourself over the hump, and this is just one of the things that worked for me.

  My training partner was a young man named Adam, a former police officer from Boston. The two of us had very similar personalities. In fact, when everyone in the class took the Myers-Briggs personality type inventory, Adam and I were an exact match. Adam was so much like me it was ridiculous. He was like a male version of myself, which I found strangely comforting as we embarked on this crazy journey to become intelligence officers.

  Our first training instructor was a guy named Jim. He was a living legend at the CIA—the kind of spy who lived and breathed operations and set the standard for all the young officers who came after him. By the time I started the training program in 2002, Jim was well past his glory days and two decades into retirement. Regardless, he was full of life and brimming with energy. He talked with great fondness of his time in the field and was eager to tell stories of his early years in the CIA. I couldn’t believe my good fortune at getting placed in his charge for the first half of training, when mentorship from your instructor is key to learning the ropes.

  While our class was much larger, mentorship sessions took place daily in a small and much more intimate group setting, which included one instructor and two students. After shaking our hands, Jim sat down to introduce himself to me and Adam. “Welcome to the CIA,” he said. “I’m here to help you get through training. Please feel free to ask me questions and let me know if you need additional explanations on the topics you will be introduced to in this course.” I nodded and smiled, hoping he’d notice that I was tracking with him.

  But within a few minutes, I noticed something odd. Instead of looking at both of us, Jim faced Adam the entire time. He talked to him in the tiny student office as if I wasn’t even in the room, pausing every so often to spit the red juices of his chewing tobacco into a Styrofoam cup. I tried to quietly scoot my chair closer to Adam’s so I’d be in Jim’s line of sight. His eyes remained locked on Adam.

&n
bsp; “One of my jobs,” Jim said, “is to help you visualize how the classroom instruction fits into real-life operations.” He told us that he’d spent most of his time in the field and was even mentioned in Ronald Kessler’s bestselling book Inside the CIA.

  Adam and I stared in awe at the legend, saying over and over, “Wow, that’s so cool, sir.”

  After Jim left the room, Adam turned to me and said, “Well, that was weird. Did he even look at you?”

  “You noticed that?” I asked.

  “Of course I did. How could I not notice?”

  This was where Jim’s age, and the fact that he was from a completely different era, became evident. As training progressed, Jim seemed shocked when I’d do well in the exercises and get positive feedback from the instructors. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that I was succeeding. I assume that in his mind, I should have been in a secretarial or support role, not collecting intelligence in the messy and dangerous world that he had dealt with in his prime. So he kept ignoring me.

  I decided not to take it personally.

  Fine, I thought. Underestimate me. But in the process, I will learn everything I can from you—even if all of your wisdom is directed at Adam over on the opposite side of the room.

  Still, it’s hard to prevent judgment like that from seeping into your subconscious. After all, the training program was designed to be extremely challenging in order to weed out anyone who wasn’t suited for the demanding life of an undercover intelligence officer. And the truth was, I had no idea if I was capable. It wasn’t like I had role models I could look up to and compare myself with. All I had seen up to that point was an instructor cadre that was mostly older, white, male retirees. The only female instructors in this part of the training program taught the report-writing modules. I had no idea if I fit the 007 mold. Was I capable of recruiting and running sources or managing counterterrorism operations? Was I supposed to be there or not?