Breaking Cover Page 8

  Although the whole weekend was a wash, we had high hopes for our first day at work. Even if living conditions were difficult and the threat situation was heightened, at least we could find purpose and meaning in the workplace.

  A fellow officer picked us up at the hotel to take us to the compound for our first day of work. After flashing our new passports and making our way through the multiple layers of security, we finally entered the facility. It was secure, but the space was small and cramped.

  Joseph and I made the rounds, meeting our new colleagues before being led into the boss’s office. Instead of getting up to welcome us as we walked through the door, he remained seated at his desk. He ignored us, tapping away at the keys on his computer for what felt like an eternity.

  Without looking up, he said, “Have a seat.”

  We sat down, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, wondering how long this was going to go on. Being a student of human behavior, I realized that he was trying to send us a message. And it was something to the effect of “I hope you feel as unimportant and inconsequential as I think you are.”

  When he finally looked up, he had a harsh look in his eyes that made my heart drop. With a complete lack of warmth and an anger that seethed right below the surface, he welcomed us to █████ by saying, “I inherited a broken station. I am trying to put it back together again. It has not been easy, but I’m determined to get things up and running. I expect you to do your jobs and not give me a hard time. Do not mess this up. Do you understand?”

  Completely freaked out, we nodded and managed to mutter, “Yes, sir.”

  Thoughts were swirling inside my head. What is wrong with him? Why is he angry at us? What in the world have we just walked into?

  Then our new boss summarily dismissed us, saying, “You can go now.”

  He didn’t speak to us for the next three months. The leadership—or lack thereof—was astounding. And it wasn’t like I never saw him. We’d pass each other in the hallway, though he would not acknowledge me. I decided to be the bigger person, so every single time I squeezed by, I would address him directly, saying, “Good morning, sir,” with all the positivity and respect I could muster. And I kept doing it, even though he pretended like he didn’t hear me and acted as if I didn’t exist.

  In fact, sometimes, I felt as though I literally didn’t exist at the CIA. No matter how qualified I was, it became clear early on that there would always be one thing working against me—I was a woman.

  Joseph seemed to earn people’s respect immediately. They just automatically assumed he knew what he was doing. But when it came to me, there was always a certain air of skepticism—almost as though they questioned why I would even want to do this job.

  After my first several weeks in the field as a collection management officer (CMO), I asked my boss, “Will I ever get to handle or recruit any sources?”

  “Why would you want to do that?” he asked incredulously.

  I paused for a moment. Is he kidding? Is he really asking me this question? I gulped hard and then explained, “Because that’s what the agency just spent the entire last year training me to do.”

  “Well, we don’t need you to do that. It’s better if you stay in the office and do the work here.”

  Seriously?

  When I asked someone in HR about this misunderstanding, I was told, “Women seem to work better in the role of collection management officers versus operations officers, who are mostly out on the street recruiting and handling sources. Your husband should take that job, and you should be a CMO. Women don’t know how to deal with Arabs.”

  Again I thought, Seriously?

  I was crushed. All the officers in my class had been told by trainers that, like operations officers, CMOs would recruit and handle sources (though we’d also have other work), but apparently the field managers never got that memo.

  The reality was that HR officers and field staff funneled women into one role and men into another with complete disregard to experience, cultural understanding, and linguistic skills.

  Once I realized this, I was completely deflated. Maybe I was better behind a desk than in front of a source. After all, they would know, right?

  Meanwhile, any chance of improving the status quo was undermined by a couple of female officers who were still mired in the mentality of high school gossips. They created an atmosphere of backbiting and distrust, spoiling any remaining opportunities for a collegial workplace.

  It was incredibly frustrating. God has brought us so far, I thought, and this is where we landed? It made no sense. How could a workplace be so cold and unsupportive? How was this situation acceptable in light of the fact that we had given up everything to come here? We’d sold our car and our home in Alexandria, packed up everything we owned, uprooted our lives, and moved halfway around the world to a place nobody wanted to live or work. We were willing to sacrifice a great deal in the service of our country, but this . . . this is not what we anticipated. This was not the reception we’d expected to receive from our colleagues.

  Despite the hostile work environment, I remained committed to my job. I made a lot of mistakes, but I kept bungling along, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing. I really needed guidance on how to make the transition from training scenarios to the real world, but from the looks of it, I was going to have to slog through and figure it out on my own.

  It took a good six to eight months, but I finally started to catch on, and after seeing our work firsthand, the boss eventually warmed up to Joseph and me. We actually became friends.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. When our first boss finished his tour, he was replaced by Bad Boss 2. This gentleman didn’t get the job because he was a good leader or was particularly knowledgeable. Rather, he’d just hung around long enough and knew the right people. He couldn’t run an operation to save his life and was keenly aware of this fact, so he masked his insecurities by hiding from everyone. Holed up in his office, he emerged only to berate someone or to use the bathroom. I think he was terrified we would see through his facade, which we did. What made it worse was that he was spiteful and vindictive toward his officers. I didn’t know whether to dislike him or feel really sorry for him. In the end, I think I did both.

  While I don’t enjoy delving into details regarding the negative aspects of my agency experience, I think it’s important to understand that although the job was supremely cool, it wasn’t all smiley faces and unicorns. I had more than my fair share of bad managers and uncomfortable situations at the agency, but through them all, I learned so much—primarily to put my head down and just do the work. It takes time, but eventually people will recognize your substance and your spirit and respect that.

  In the meantime, I trusted that God had a plan—he always does. It might not be clear as day, but it’s always there, preparing us for what’s to come. Case in point: Though this obviously wasn’t intentional, Jim’s early reluctance to engage with me during my training helped prepare me for the cold shoulders I got from Bosses 1 and 2. Had Jim been warm and welcoming, the reception we received in █████ would have been even more jarring. And compared to what lay ahead, navigating office politics was like a walk in the park.

  As far as the CIA was concerned, having a husband-and-wife team at their disposal was quite the coup. Not only were we willing and able to go places most other agents weren’t, but because we were married, we were something of a “buy one, get one free,” if you will. Even though we both received salaries and danger pay, we required only one set of housing-related expenses, which included rent, furniture, utilities, water delivery, appliances, a twenty-four-hour guard force, etc. Simply put, we were a bargain.

  Of course there were advantages for us as well. For one, we provided each other with invaluable emotional support. Who are we kidding—ours was a weird job, and not one that a lot of people could relate to. Being able to share that experience with your spouse—to have someone who understands everything you’re goi
ng through because he or she is going through it right alongside you—is priceless.

  And unlike many agents, we always had someone to lean on when times got tough and the pressure of living in war zones and other dangerous places started to get the best of us. We were able to spend birthdays, holidays, and weekends together—even if some of those were spent in the office. And we always had the comfort of knowing that wherever we went, there was an extra set of hypercommitted eyes watching our backs and scouting for danger on our behalf.

  Most important, we carried the burden of living undercover together—equally. This is hard to do when one spouse isn’t a CIA officer because he or she is always on the outside, doing everything possible to be supportive, but never fully understanding the burdens of this crazy life.

  Still, when we were working with sources, we never let on that Joseph and I were anything more than colleagues. After all, why give the enemy a potential advantage? To this end, we tried hard not to let our nonverbal behavior give away our real-life status. Of course, the effort to keep this personal information under wraps made for some interesting and humorous situations, despite our best efforts.

  Once, for example, we were debriefing a midlevel Sunni insurgent who was very close to insurgent leadership. Joseph had talked him into cooperating with the US government and—quite miraculously—agreeing to stop carrying out attacks on Coalition Forces. At one point, Joseph invited me to debrief Khalid directly to acquire information in one of my areas of expertise.

  Khalid was an egocentric, street-smart Iraqi with a dangerous ideology: By his own admission, he was a Salafist, meaning that he belonged to an ultraconservative form of Islam that gets much of its support from Saudi Arabia. Some Salafists are jihadists, and Khalid was in that category. He espoused offensive jihad (i.e., proactive violence) against those deemed to be enemies of Islam.

  Not just any case officer could handle a source like Khalid. It had to be someone who knew how to interact with a tough jihadist and ultimately talk in a way that would resonate with him. This was not difficult for Joseph. His high school was full of kids whose parents were members of the Egyptian Islamic Jihad. And a few of those students became founding members of al-Qa’ida. Joseph saw them in action every day and was familiar with their mentality and behavior. Given these unique experiences living (and defending himself) in the lions’ den, Joseph could walk the walk and talk the talk when needed.

  Knowing Khalid’s assumptions and hang-ups enabled Joseph to reframe the debate. He explained that the United States was not the enemy. Instead of achieving their objective of expelling Coalition Forces from Iraq, the insurgents were achieving the opposite: More and more troops were being sent in to restabilize the mess we had made when we removed Saddam Hussein from power and dissolved the military and police forces.

  Meanwhile, al-Qa’ida was growing like a cancer, taking control of large swaths of Sunni territory. Tribal leaders and insurgent groups needed to focus on wider issues of governance and control versus worrying about Coalition Forces. The quicker the insurgents backed down, the quicker the Coalition could withdraw its troops and leave the country.

  Khalid was a smart guy. As soon as the situation was presented to him in this manner, from a more strategic perspective, he got it. And he was surprisingly able to influence the positions of other insurgents and help them understand this new equation. The time Joseph spent with Khalid was very valuable. He proved to be an exceptional source, getting the insurgents to cool down as well as to act as a bulwark against al-Qa’ida.

  In order to make Khalid more open to engagement, Joseph never told him he was a Christian. Khalid assumed Joseph was a Muslim, and Joseph did not disabuse him of this. To support this facade, Joseph had to take on a different persona, which involved a different name (Jamal), a slight vocabulary change, and attention to his behavior. For example, there are certain phrases that Muslims will use and Christians will avoid, such as bismillah (“in the name of God”). Some Muslims use this phrase when they are about to begin a new task, such as eating, driving, or even searching the Internet. Joseph also had to be aware of simple behaviors like knowing who should stand to the right or the left when entering or exiting a room together. These were nuances that Joseph had to follow to keep up the ruse.

  The other tradition quite pertinent to this story is that most Salafist men don’t wear gold rings. They follow fatwas (Islamic judgments) based on the hadith that say it is permissible for a man to wear a ring as adornment, but it must be silver. Women may wear gold rings and other gold jewelry, but it is generally understood in conservative circles that men should not. (Hadith are historical collections of the sayings and actions of Muhammad that Muslims use to further illuminate the teachings of the Qur’an.) Aware of this stricture, Joseph removed his gold wedding band prior to meetings with Khalid.

  As a Salafist, Khalid supported a strict interpretation of Shari’a law that segregates men and women and teaches that a woman’s place is in the home. Therefore, I was not sure how amenable he was to being debriefed by me, a foreign (and non-Muslim) woman of childbearing age. When interacting with men like this, I’ve encountered a variety of responses. On one end of the spectrum is total avoidance; some men eschew eye contact or touch of any kind, including a handshake. The next option is polite engagement. And on the other end of the spectrum are those excited to interact with a woman, who use every opportunity to touch or get close to me.

  From the moment I walked in the door, Khalid was extremely friendly. Joseph introduced me as “Sarah,” a colleague specializing in counterterrorism issues. I had not yet spoken any Arabic, so Khalid assumed that I didn’t know any. He looked over at “Jamal” and committed one of the Middle East’s most unforgivable sins. Having no idea he was commenting on Jamal’s wife, Khalid said, “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone like her to the meeting! Wallahi [‘I swear to God’], if you had brought ten women that looked like her, you would have won the war. We would have all surrendered.”

  Having a difficult time with the Iraqi dialect, I couldn’t catch exactly what he was saying, but I did realize one thing: it was highly inappropriate, and there was a sexual vibe to it. Joseph tried to laugh at Khalid’s joke but was obviously extremely uncomfortable. He had to play along, but having an insurgent hit on his wife, especially in a place where making inappropriate comments about someone’s spouse could get you killed, was a strange experience. Khalid was trying to be lighthearted and witty (many Arabs love joking around), but he was unknowingly pushing all the wrong buttons. If he’d had any idea what he was doing, he would have been mortified.

  Embarrassed by Khalid’s lack of decorum, I walked over to the corner of the room to get a bottle of water out of the mini refrigerator. As I bent down to retrieve the water, Joseph came up beside me and whispered, “Take your ring off.”

  The distinctive gold wedding ring, which I normally took off before meetings, was shining brightly in the fluorescent lights. I glanced over and realized that Joseph was wearing his matching band (the two rings were identical). He’d forgotten to take his off too. After slipping the band off my finger, I stood up and shoved it into the front pocket of my pants, hoping that Khalid wasn’t watching me. With his back to Khalid, Joseph slid the ring off his finger, holding it in his hand to conceal it from Khalid’s view.

  We walked back to the center of the room and sat down around the glass coffee table. We made some small talk before Joseph launched into business. (Joseph acted as the translator for this meeting, enabling Khalid and me to communicate, and carefully hiding the fact that I had some knowledge of Arabic.) He explained that I was there to ask Khalid some important questions and requested that Khalid give me his utmost attention. As I started to explain my purpose for coming to the meeting, Joseph somehow lost his grip on the gold band, and it fell out of his hand. Instead of merely landing on the table, it slowly and majestically bounced—in slow motion . . . ding! ding! ding!—across the glass table until it landed right smack i
n front of Khalid. Smooth.

  Joseph quickly reached over and scooped it up, hoping Khalid hadn’t had time to process what had just happened. Trying to deflect attention away from the bouncing gold ring, I launched into my portion of the debrief. Khalid looked slightly puzzled, but apparently wanting to keep up with the conversation, he moved on.

  In times like this, Joseph and I looked less like Mr. and Mrs. Smith and a lot more like Inspector Clouseau. It would have been a difficult life if we had done it alone. But working together made all the difference.

  On one rare occasion, we even found ourselves working against another husband-and-wife team—and the outcome was not at all what we anticipated.

  Thanks to Hollywood, most people have a very glamorous impression of the CIA. But the cold hard truth is, officers spend a lot more time prepping for meetings and writing up results than actually executing an operation. This is the side of intelligence work the public doesn’t see but that requires a great deal of effort.

  The other time-consuming activity is developing targets—people officers pursue a friendship with, in the hope that they will eventually decide to work with the CIA. In intelligence parlance, this is called a recruitment. But getting someone to the point where they are willing to risk their lives to do this is no easy task. Joseph and I had to systematically build a solid foundation of friendship and trust, the hallmarks of every successful recruitment. If we were developing a nice person, then this could be a real treat. But many of the targets we were trying to recruit were not the most upstanding human beings.

  That was the case with Sayf. He worked for a government whose relationship with the United States was highly antagonistic. His government had sponsored numerous terrorist attacks against US targets, so our countries weren’t exactly friends. Sayf was definitely of interest to the CIA.