Good Hunting: An American Spymaster's Story

by Jack Devine

  The arrival of a new director at Langley is always met with trepidation. Although for the most part it does not create sleepless nights for the rank and file, for many employees it is still a moment to consider what direction their work may take in the months and years ahead. For the most senior officers, the stakes are higher. For us, a new director could mean reassignment or early departure from the service. As such, we approached our new director with a great deal of caution.

  The head of the Directorate of Operations at the time was Ted Price, an experienced China hand who spoke Mandarin and who had taken a nontraditional path to the top. He and I had been friends over our long careers and worked well together, albeit with different styles and backgrounds. Price already had a positive relationship with Deutch, who at the time was his neighbor. After Clinton tapped Deutch to head the CIA, they had met at Deutch’s home, and Price came away from the meeting believing he had reached an “understanding” with Deutch that he would stay on as head of the DO. Around that time, Price also brought Tenet down to the Farm in Virginia, where new recruits receive their spy training. Price thought he and Tenet shared a view about the future, and that they would be working together in the years ahead. Shortly thereafter, however, at his Senate confirmation hearings, Deutch announced that, in the wake of the Ames case, the Guatemala scandal involving Colonel Alpirez, and various other small scandals and controversies, he would replace the DO’s senior leadership as he moved to rid the Agency of its Cold War spy mentality. Supposedly, there had been a private meeting of the new leadership at which members of the Deutch team decided, unanimously, that Ted Price had to go.

  Soon after seeing Deutch’s statements to Congress on television, Price turned in his badge and left, leaving a long and distinguished career behind him.

  Before the confirmation hearings, I had been more relaxed about Deutch than I should have been, because Price had shared with me his impression that he had an arrangement with the new director. The minute Price walked out the door, I was left to pick up the pieces and run the DO, but with a very uncertain future myself. Deutch’s announcement to the world that there would be a shakeup at the top of the Directorate of Operations looked like it would mark the beginning of the end of my tenure there, and because of this concern, I put the job of station chief in a major European country in my inside pocket as insurance. But I was not about to quit cold turkey. Price and I could not both leave, and I did not feel like quitting, especially since I had seen the bureaucratic ball bounce around in strange and unexpected ways in the past.

  With my position considerably more precarious than normal, I wasn’t sure what I would face when I met the new DCI once he moved into his office at headquarters. Fortunately, I got a lucky break the first time I met him officially, which made it much easier to deal with him than I had anticipated.

  Early in Deutch’s tenure, his secretary called to notify me that he would like to chat. The staff had prepared me well for this briefing, and I had all the key data at my fingertips. But Deutch had a quick and fertile mind, and his questions could be quite penetrating and detail-oriented. A great deal was riding on this meeting, and I knew that first impressions were critical in such situations.

  In recent years, I had been in the director’s office numerous times and felt at home. The DCI’s office is well-appointed but far from opulent when compared to those of other department heads and cabinet members. It has a broad window spanning its length and looking out, from its seventh-floor perch, onto a densely wooded area. It is not much larger or more decorative than my office, just fifty feet away, and we shared essentially the same panoramic view. My office, however, had a regular visitor, a large hawk that perched on the windowsill for hours on end and added a little mystery.

  Despite my comfort being in the DCI’s office, I was thrown off balance when I was escorted into the room by the secretary only to find Director Deutch sitting in his underwear in a leather chair with his leg propped up and a huge ice pack pressed against an injured knee. In a split second he went from Mr. Director to a mortal human being. We laughed about it before getting down to business. From that point on, I always had a very comfortable relationship with Deutch, one in which I felt I could be candid and open with him. We often kidded each other good-naturedly. He was self-confident and very smart, and did not feel insecure dealing in frank discourse; in fact, he valued it. Not all directors did.

  In the small dining room just off his office, Deutch had hung a painting of former director James Schlesinger. I wondered if he realized that Schlesinger was held in low esteem at Langley because of his handling of a reduction in force during the Carter years. He oversaw the unseemly firing of a few hundred experienced officers. He also had a bird-watching hobby that left him wandering around the wooded areas near the Agency; it did not go over well. Tenet later had the portrait replaced with a picture of Richard Helms.

  In early May, once he had officially taken over, Deutch had a town hall meeting with Agency employees in which he said he had formed a committee to recommend candidates to replace Price. “That process will take some time,” he said. “During that time, I intend to rely on Jack Devine as the acting deputy director for operations, and to work very closely with every individual in the DO at a time when I know there is a lot of lack of knowledge—and a lot of unjust criticism—about what that group has done.”

  I was interviewed for the DDO job by John McMahon, the former CIA deputy director who was ostensibly heading Deutch’s search committee, but in fact Nora Slatkin, the executive director, was calling the shots at the DCI’s behest. Of course, I wanted to stay on to finish the job I had started, and I was committed to doing so if at all possible, but the odds were very slim that the DCI could back away from his public pronouncements about seeking a new DDO. Nevertheless, I was somewhat surprised that Deutch and I developed a positive relationship. He seemed to value my opinion as he and his administration tried to get their sea legs and eventually pursued their own agenda.

  From where I sat, I had two tasks in front of me: one was to preserve the integrity of the directorate from any whimsical actions; the other was to help the new DCI become grounded in the DO. It was a balancing act. He clearly saw that I was trying to be helpful, which in fact is the responsibility of all deputy directors. He did not see as clearly my efforts to protect the directorate, but it truly was in everyone’s interest to ensure that there weren’t any missteps in the early days of his administration. Trust between the new DCI and the DDO had to be built before new initiatives could be pressed on the directorate, no matter how worthwhile. Deutch instinctively seemed to understand this, and gave me free rein during my stint as acting DDO.

  Once, during this leadership transition, I was over at the Pentagon with Deutch for a briefing when a secretary came huffing and puffing into the room. “Senator Warner wants to speak with Mr. Devine immediately,” she said. Deutch was on my right, and everyone else in the room, all military flag-rank officers, were looking at me in dismay. Despite the senator’s gentlemanly manners, they were fearful of the Virginia Republican and former navy secretary who had served on both the Intelligence and the Armed Services Committees. They thought that I might have a particularly close relationship with him, and I was not eager to dispel this notion. I quickly got up and followed the secretary to the phone. The Pentagon being what it is, I must have walked for five minutes. Finally, we got back to the secretary’s office and I picked up the phone while she got the senator on the line.

  A few days earlier, I had briefed the Senate Intelligence Committee on our ongoing covert actions. During my testimony, Warner, who normally was very genteel in his demeanor, started needling me. It became so obvious that eventually the majority chairman, Senator DeConcini, leaned over and whispered to Warner, “He’s a good guy. Go light.” DeConcini remembered me from the trip we had taken together to Latin America several years earlier. The microphone was still on, and it was easy to ascertain what was being said. When the hearing was over, War
ner came quickly around the table to me and said, “You know, I had you confused with a person I didn’t like.”

  “Senator,” I said, “no problem. Ask away.”

  “Sir, what can I do for you?” I asked when Senator Warner eventually joined me on the phone in the Pentagon. In a most pleasant manner, he said, “I’m just checking to see if you’re okay.” I quickly assured him I was doing just fine and thanked him for his concern. And that was the end of the discussion. The consummate southern gentleman, he apparently was still feeling bad about having needled me during the hearing a few days before.

  I deliberately took my time walking back to the meeting. It seemed as though I had been gone about a half hour by the time I sat back down in the briefing room. Nobody asked me why Warner had called, since it would have appeared to be intruding on a possibly sensitive topic, so I let it just sit in the air. I’m sure Deutch was wondering what the senator had wanted to talk to me about, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. On purpose, I didn’t comment about it and let the mystery of the call linger to my advantage, partly for fun and partly for ulterior motives.

  I learned quickly that Deutch’s decisiveness could pose challenges for me. Not long after he took over as director, President Clinton and the First Lady paid a call to Langley. This was not a regular event for sure. Presidents rarely visit CIA headquarters. In fact, it seldom occurs more than once or twice in each administration. But Deutch knew the president well and pressed him to make a visit, which is always a morale boost for the troops. A full program was put together for the president and First Lady, along with several briefings on key topics, including one on terrorism that was particularly well done.

  The DCI and I sat across from the president and Mrs. Clinton while the briefing was conducted. Near the end of it, the DCI slipped me a note asking about the briefer: “What grade is she?” I took a stab at it and responded, “Probably a GS-13.” His note came back saying, “Promote her.” I sent back a note, “Can’t do it. It would circumvent the process and raise hell with her peers.” One terrific briefing does not warrant a promotion at the CIA. The bar is set high for promotions, and the competition is stiff. It was an impressive and high-quality briefing, but most of us expect to see that kind of performance from our top briefers on a regular basis. It would have been a disappointment to many analysts to have one of their peers leapfrog the review process on the strength of a single briefing, no matter how good it was. It likely also would have caused problems for her with the employees in her own office, who undoubtedly would have seen the promotion as favoritism and resented her for it. Deutch didn’t like my response but did not press the matter further. I often wondered if the president saw the exchange of notes. If so, he probably assumed it was related to a serious operational or intelligence issue rather than a personnel matter.

  Deutch’s strongest hour came after a European service shared with us an explosive report about an Iranian terrorist threat. When they sent the report over, Deutch made it clear that he needed to know the source before he would take the report to the White House, which the content required in this case. When informed that he was insisting they identify their agent, the service exploded. They refused to give up his name, even to the director of the CIA and the president of the United States. After Deutch was told of their adamant refusal, he picked up a secure direct line to the head of the service who had been installed at headquarters at their insistence, and made it clear that he needed the name of the source—and this wasn’t negotiable. Whatever he said to make his case, in the end they relented. This incident did not go down well in the service, and it certainly did not help Deutch’s relationship with them. However, it was an important point. When top secret intelligence required significant policy action, the director has to be willing to say, “You have to verify this and put it on the table.”

  As time marched on and as I developed a closer working relationship with Deutch, I suspected he was becoming uneasy about how long I could continue to operate in an “acting” capacity before he would have to bite the bullet and cut me loose, even though, by then, he realized how well I understood the culture and the DO’s capability and appreciated the need for reform. In July 1995, after a detailed briefing on the DO strategic plan, it became clear that we had reached the Rubicon, and he asked that we chat following the briefing. I understood what was coming.

  “I have to make the changes I promised,” he said.

  “John, I understood that when you came in,” I responded.

  Referring to my next assignment, he said, “You can have anything you want.” Then he proceeded to organize a bittersweet seventh-floor farewell event for me in an upscale Georgetown restaurant with the Agency’s top officers. Pat, loyal as ever, could not forgive Deutch for denying me the opportunity to continue running the DO. She refused to meet or even speak to him.

  A few days after the farewell dinner, I started to prepare myself to depart the seventh floor and begin my new assignment, which would require me to begin spending a considerable amount of time abroad. Despite the hectic pace of the office, moments of peace crept into my last days that allowed me to reflect on my long career and the unique view I had had from the top of the Clandestine Service. This produced a mixture of emotions, which I’m sure many of my predecessors also experienced.

  On the one hand, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride and good fortune in having served at the highest level of the CIA, where I had daily influence over world events, oftentimes over issues of life and death. In that context, I had looked forward every day I walked into my office to the high-stakes challenges that came from working on America’s key foreign policy issues with the best and most important players in Washington. The environment forced us all to adapt constantly to the subtlest shifts in the political and operational landscape, which made for exhilarating and intense mental gymnastics. And above all, I was honored to have been given the opportunity to lead a very special and elite group of professionals in a highly complex mission in defense of America’s national security interests.

  But by the same token, as I headed out the door to serve abroad once again, I experienced an unsettling feeling of frustration. So much still needed to be done—operations half-completed, personnel problems unresolved, professional relationships underdeveloped. Under these conditions, I had a deep-seated desire to continue indefinitely in this unique job. But everyone has to move on, and so did I.

  In the following days, I wrapped up my work on the seventh floor and left, savoring the joy of personal accomplishment and the sadness of unfulfilled goals.

  TWELVE

  Undisclosed

  1995–98

  Tom Polgar, the legendary Saigon station chief, told me early in my career that when I got to be a senior-level Agency official, I would have to speak up and be counted. I couldn’t imagine, as a young case officer, that I would ever run the Directorate of Operations. But I never forgot Polgar’s counsel. For that reason, I felt compelled to speak candidly to Woolsey, Deutch, and Tenet when they headed the Agency. I tried consistently to speak truth to power, although not all directors wanted that.

  Deutch was among the most receptive to this candor, and whenever we met I told him what I thought. Deutch also delivered on his promise—he had given me “whatever you want.” The job I chose was a traditional Agency career capstone. It was prestigious and, in its own way, highly sensitive, the equivalent of a combat general serving a final tour at NATO. I would encounter one amazing figure after another, some of them secret intelligence officers, others conspicuously on the world stage. I would get a glimpse of what was coming in Iraq. And I continued to share my views regularly with Deutch, giving me input at the highest level of the U.S. intelligence community.

  Because the Agency views information about this assignment and my activities there as potentially causing “serious damage to the national security,” I cannot write about it. So be it.

  Early on, from this new perch, I’d had a chat with Fred Hitz, th
e Agency’s inspector general, when I bumped into him in the basement executive parking lot. I had just finishing reading a draft of his report on the Guatemala controversy involving Terry Ward and Frederick Brugger. I asked what he thought of the review. “There’s no hanging offense,” he said. Hitz was a pretty tough inspector general, but his assessment agreed with what I had thought all along. Whatever Ward and Brugger had not told Congress was inadvertent. There indeed was no hanging offense; there was no firing offense; there was not even a major disciplinary offense. Ward and Brugger seemed to be out of the woods, but that certainly did not turn out to be the last word on the incident, as I would learn soon enough.

  I was taken completely by surprise when Deutch fired Ward and Brugger for failing to brief Congress on the intelligence report about Colonel Alpirez in Guatemala. Leo Hazlewood, who was then the Agency’s executive director, reportedly told a group of station chiefs that it was “a political firing,” which greatly upset the employees of the Directorate of Operations and lost the director a tremendous amount of support among the rank and file. Word of all this spread like wildfire through the building and eventually overseas. I explained all of this to Deutch. He was accompanied by his aide, Marine major general Mike Hagee, who later became the commandant of the Marine Corps. Hagee likely hadn’t expected such a frank discussion. It was an emotional issue for me because Ward, a longtime colleague, had been devoted to his work and had accumulated a very impressive track record. Even though we had never served together, he represented the best of the service and had put his career on the line in support of our country abroad.

  In a voice that was probably too loud, I told Deutch that his decision to fire Terry and Fred could cost him the directorate’s support. I have always felt in the intelligence business that there should be no room for a political firing. The CIA simply cannot put people on the line, risking their lives and their families, and then have the Agency say, “It’s politically necessary: you’re fired.” It breaks the fundamental social contract between the institution and its people—namely, if you take the risks, we will stand behind you. It’s the wrong business for politically based personnel decisions. Most important, there wasn’t anything in the inspector general’s report, in my opinion, that warranted a firing, as the IG himself had remarked weeks earlier to me in the CIA garage.