Four days ago he had been waiting when she returned to her college apartment after her graduation dinner with her parents with the letter from the CIA, telling her she was in. Since then, she had moved to DC. It felt like a whirlwind, but he had anchored her throughout it with a stream of jokes and, yes, hot sex.
She wasn’t sure what they had, but she intended to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. Preston was a spy with the CIA: he spent a lot of time out of the country conducting ops. He had to report in a few hours earlier than she did for some meeting she didn’t have the clearance to know anything about, so she had to take a car to CIA headquarters. It was too bad; it would’ve been nice if he could’ve driven with her to Langley. Oh well. This was part of working for the CIA, she guessed: doing things alone.
The sun burned with more heat than Elle was used to for early May; it wasn’t the bright but weak Midwestern sun she had grown up with. The air held a hint of moisture, but the humidity wasn’t bad: it was a gorgeous day. Despite the humidity not being bad, she could feel herself sweating a little. It wasn’t all the coffee, either. Who wouldn’t be nervous for their first day of work, no matter where it was? The fact that she was heading to the CIA just magnified everything. By a hundred.
Elle kept an eye out for a dark sedan that pulled up in front of the hotel. When the driver stepped out, she approached.
“Ms. Paquet?” he asked.
Elle nodded as she hurried over. She had offered to drive, but the human resources person she spoke with on the phone said she was not yet cleared to drive her own car onto the Headquarter grounds, so the agency would send a car instead. The general public wasn’t allowed inside CIA headquarters for obvious reasons. Elle had been there once before, when she was applying for a job with the agency.
Now she was going to go there on a daily basis. The idea sent a little thrill through her. She had been looking forward to being an independent adult since before she was even a teenager, but she had never dreamed that would include working for the CIA. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning, but luckily the driver seemed focused on the road ahead and didn’t notice her smiling like an idiot.
Elle was an Information Scientist by training. As she explained to people, it was the 21st century version of Library Science. Librarians today had to do far more than organize and shelve books and other reference materials. The internet created massive amounts of data, as well as provided the means to share data, which had to be organized if people were going to use it effectively. That was what Elle specialized in: making sense out of massive datasets with mathematical models. She also knew about things like human-computer interaction: informatics was the broad term for it.
Espionage entailed collecting information, and the CIA needed people to organize that information. That was where Elle was needed. It may not be as exciting as traveling around the world and stealing intel while dodging bullets, but it was every bit as important. And after Elle’s run-in with some terrorists who were after her master’s thesis, she realized it was possible to have too much excitement. Being an analyst was a perfect fit.
The driver drove along Route 123, lined with little besides trees. The deep blue of the sky made the green of the trees pop. Elle had gone on this drive before, but it was no less amazing the second time. In the distance, the CIA headquarters weren’t even detectable. Then some shapes became visible in the distance, just gray dots. As the car approached, buildings could be seen but what caught the eye were the watchful towers with cameras mounted on all sides.
A tall, barbed wire fence stretched out behind the towers. Men with large rifles and dogs walked in the grass outside the fence. The fence was only broken by a couple of booths with a gate. Officers stood at the gate. Even if people didn’t know what was behind the towers and the fence and the armed men with dogs, it was clear that this was an invitation-only place. And Elle had an invitation.
Elle and the driver had to show their IDs at the checkpoint outside of the gates that surrounded the CIA. The guard studied the IDs closely, reviewed something on his handheld device, and finally waved them through. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she let it out as they drove on. How embarrassing would it have been if she hadn’t been on the list? She shook the thought out of her head. She was in, as Preston had told her when he handed her the envelope with the letter offering her a position as an analyst. After the many interviews and testing- even psychological testing- she had endured, she was in.
The driver pulled up to the main doors, and Elle got out, not even waiting for him to come around to open her door. She felt a little sweaty. Between the heat and the coffee, it made sense that she was hot. She felt a little jittery too. Maybe caffeine hadn’t been such a great idea. It wasn’t like she needed help with being alert today. Elle took a deep breath as she surveyed the building.
The steps leading up to the entrance were a plain cream, nothing remarkable. Yet with each step, she felt as if she was making the most important walk of her life. Amazing things happened inside these walls, even if the general public didn’t know about them. Elle was about to become part of it. She may be a newbie at the CIA, but she knew plenty about Information Science and Informatics. Her thesis had helped foil a worldwide terrorist plot. She could do this.
The cool air from the air conditioning settled on her as soon as she stepped inside. Her heels sounded loud on the pale gray and dark blue-gray checked marble floor, but there were plenty of other people heading in, so at least the noise didn’t echo. Elle stopped to look at the CIA emblem of the bald eagle and sixteen point shield on the floor. She had seen this logo- this floor- on TV and in the movies. Now she would see it every day when she came to work. How many people could say that? Elle bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from grinning again even as her coffee rumbled in her stomach. She didn’t need to advertise her newness. People in suits strode past her, walking over the emblem without breaking their stride, as they pulled out their IDs for the upcoming security checkpoint.
“Eleanor Paquet?” A rather short man in a dark suit stepped forward.
Elle smiled at him and held out her hand. At least it wouldn’t look odd if she smiled now. “Yes, that’s me.”
He shook her hand and gave her a polite nod although he didn’t return her smile. “I’m Mason Charleston; please come with me.”
Elle was surprised it wasn’t either Jack or Henry, the two CIA agents who had recruited her and worked with her and Preston over the past few months, greeting her, but she hoped her surprise didn’t show. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Mason handed her an ID that read: “Visitor” at the top and “Eleanor Paquet.” “Please put this on, and make sure you’re wearing it at all times while inside the agency.” As Elle pinned it to the lapel of her blazer, he added, “Make sure you return it to the front desk before leaving.”
Elle had heard that spiel before when she came down for her interview. Her employment paperwork wasn’t complete yet: she would likely be assigned her permanent CIA-issued ID then. Preston had told her HR would take all day. Once she had her badge securely pinned to her blazer, Mason led her through security. They each flashed their ID before he led her to the elevators.
Elle was struck by how few women she saw among all the men in suits, just as she had been when she came to interview. She’d taken some women studies courses in college that talked about gender discrimination and the marginalization of women in the workplace, but this was the first time she really felt like she stood out as a woman. It didn’t just happen in the textbooks. Well, she had graduated from one of the top Information Science programs in the world: she could do the work.
Mason led her to a small and spartan office, settling himself behind his desk while she sat in a chair. Her chair was lower than his, she noticed. Was the difference in the height of their chairs on purpose? She had heard of power play strategies like this, but it was her first time experiencing it. Elle faced Mason’s gaze directly. Bring on the games.<
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“So,” Mason began, “you are interested in working for the Central Intelligence Agency.”
Interested in working for the Central Intelligence Agency? She agreed to work for the CIA when she accepted the offer, so her interest should be obvious, right? Was this a trick question? Elle figured a simple answer was for the best while she tried to figure out what he was playing at. “Yes.” When he continued to eye her, she added, “Yes, I am.”
Mason continued to eye her as if his brain was part x-ray machine, enabling him to see inside of her. Preston had a similar probing stare. Did the CIA teach that or something? “Why is that, Ms. Paquet?”
Elle felt like she was being interviewed again. Before she was offered the job with the CIA, she had read a couple of books on good interviewing techniques. She remembered one tip: try to forge a personal connection with the interviewer right away. “Please, call me Elle.”
Mason simply continued to look at her. After a beat that felt like an hour, Elle said, “I find the opportunities at the CIA interesting.”
Several more minutes passed, heavy with the silence as he just eyed her. She swallowed and spoke again. “They’re unlike anything I could do- or would be asked to do- anywhere else in the world.” She didn’t like this game.
When he still just kept looking at her, Elle opened her mouth and started talking again. “I- I enjoy Information Science. I like Informatics. I’m trained in data analysis and management as well as program development and human computer interaction.” How did he just sit there without even blinking? Had he fallen asleep with his eyes open or something? “I enjoy developing mathematical models - and statistical ones, I like statistics too- to better understand how datasets are organized-”
“You have excellent training, Ms. Paquet,” Mason broke in, talking right over her. “Your test scores are excellent, and your work on your master’s thesis was exemplary.” He glanced down at the sole folder on his desk. For some reason, seeing her name on the label made her sweat that much more.
“I- I want the unique opportunities that are offered here- at the CIA. Please, call me Elle.”
Mason leaned forward, resting his hands on her folder. He didn’t even need to open it. “Ms. Paquet, what I’m asking is: why are you interested in the ‘unique opportunities’ offered here at the Agency?”
Had she given the wrong answer or something? Elle tried to think if there was something else she was supposed to say. “Well- because they’re unique.” That answer didn’t get any kind of reaction out of him, so she continued. “They’re interesting. A challenge.” Nothing. She thought of something. “I enjoyed working on my master’s thesis. I figured… if I enjoyed that, I would enjoy working for the Agency.”
Mason sat back in his chair again. At least the man moved occasionally. “Working at the Agency requires more than just interest and ability.”
He paused. Elle decided not to say anything, since she had no idea what to say. Her interviewing books all talked about showing how her skills would be an asset to the company. Mason continued. “The Central Intelligence Agency is in the business of keeping the President of the United States, as well as other government leaders, informed of what’s occurring around the world so they can make the best decisions possible to further our nation’s interest. We have a singular goal: to maintain the dominance of the United States of America throughout the world.”
Wow. Mason wasn’t saying anything Elle didn’t know, but his serious tone imbued the words with a gravitas that made her sit up straighter. “Of course.”
“Every single operation we undertake is with this goal in mind,” Mason said. “We may not understand what we’re asked to do. We may not like it. But it isn’t our place to question or judge orders: our job is to execute them.”
Elle nodded. Her throat felt a little dry. On one hand, it was too bad she finished her coffee in the car, but on the other hand, any more caffeine would probably have her squirming in her chair. Who knew how Mason would interpret her squirming? Nodding was probably the safest response.
“Executing orders without question is not easy. The Central Intelligence Agency doesn’t hire mindless people who just do as they’re told. Your intellectual abilities as well as your loyalty are crucial to our agency and the operations we execute. It often requires personal sacrifice.”
It was good to hear that intellect was valued, because if there was one thing Elle was not, it was mindless. She hadn’t enlisted in the military, after all. She still didn’t know what to say, however, so she nodded again, hoping that was a sufficient response. It seemed to be: he spoke again.
“This means every single member of the Central Intelligence Agency- of the intelligence community- needs genuine, unwavering dedication to maintaining the United States’ superiority throughout the world.” If possible, his gaze seemed to grow even more piercing as he spoke. “We can’t just be interested. We have to be committed.”
Elle had never thought of it that way, but it made sense. What else could the CIA want? “I understand that-” Her throat was so dry her voice was hoarse. She tried to clear it with minimal success. “I am dedicated to the continued-” slight cough “-dominance of the United States of America.” Dammit, was her hoarseness making her sound suspect? That was the last thing she needed on her first day on the job. She swallowed hard and spoke again. “I am committed to my country.” Her voice was firmer there.
Mason remained immobile. What, was she not convincing enough? Elle had never really thought of herself as a die-hard patriot, but she was a citizen of the United States. She didn’t want to see her country falter, and in these days, with all the terrorism in the world, it made sense that intelligence was crucial. Elle thought back to the interview manuals she had read and remembered the advice about explaining how her skills could help her potential employer.
“I think my training will help the Central Intelligence Agency maintain the United States’ dominant position as a world superpower.” When Mason just stared at her again, Elle decided to try to be a little more personable. A career counselor had told her she needed to work on being more personable rather than “academic,” and this conversation/interview/whatever it was wasn’t feeling so personable, so she tried again. “I want the United States to be dominant.” She gave a thumbs-up sign. “As a superpower, I mean.”
Not a muscle in Mason’s face twitched. His face looked so hard, a rock could’ve been broken on it. Had she seriously just given him the thumbs-up sign? And why did “dominant” sound different when she said it? He was probably ready to burn her visitor’s badge after hustling her out to the car.
At least his lips moved when he spoke. “Before your employment with the Agency can be made official, we have one final interview.”
Elle fought not to jump out of her chair. “Made official?” She had already withdrawn her applications from the other places she had applied. Her letter specifically said she was being offered a position with the Central Intelligence Agency. What the hell was this?
If he sensed her alarm, he didn’t react to it. He opened up her file and handed her a sheet. “This is a consent form.”
Elle tried to make sense of the nearly microscopic print. She could feel the weight of her glasses on her nose. “A consent form?” Something had to be up with this interview if she had to sign a consent form. What the hell could this interview entail?
“The interview is like an advanced polygraph test.” Mason held out a pen for her. “We’ll have you hooked up to a variety of machines to record all aspects of your responses.”
“Will you be testing my skills… or…” Elle didn’t know what else they could want to know. She had gone through weeks of testing, including a polygraph- a regular one- and even a physical exam, before being invited out to interview. She even had to get a letter from an old family therapist she had seen years ago. What more could they want to know?
“We know about your skills. This test is about your fitness to work in the Agency, with
in the intelligence community.” He held out the pen again.
If Elle wanted this job, she was going to have to sign this consent form. She took the pen from him and tried to keep her hand steady as she signed. “What- how many people, um, don’t… don’t pass this test?” She wanted to sound nonchalant, but even she could hear the note of worry in her own voice.
“Every case is unique.” Mason put the signed form in her folder. He rose and motioned towards the door. Elle rose to follow him, trying to stay calm. She should’ve bought the cheap cup of coffee after all.
Chapter Three
Before Elle knew it, she was sitting in a straight-backed chair with electrodes attached to her forehead and even to her chest, underneath her shirt. At least Mason had let her go into a restroom right off of the room to attach those electrodes, since she had to unbutton her blouse to put them on. There were several blank TV monitors behind her; they were reflected in the dark glass in front of her.
After she sat down, Mason turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the dim light from a lamp for illumination. It reminded her of the soft glow of candlelight, but there was nothing romantic about this room. Mason sat down in a chair facing her, on the other side of the table. He hit a remote control, and Elle saw the monitors come to life in the dark glass behind Mason.
She could also see herself. Elle was pretty sure she was sitting in front of a two-way mirror. She swallowed so hard she gulped, which made her blush. Dammit, she already looked guilty of something. Were Jack and Henry back there? They were the two agents from the CIA who recruited her, but since receiving the letter, Elle hadn’t had any contact with them, just Human Resources, and now Mason.
Mason glanced down at the EEG and EKG machines on the table, which were already producing output in the form of squiggly lines. “This is standard procedure,” he told her. Like that was reassuring.
Covert Interview Page 2
