A Spy's Journey

by Floyd Paseman

  • Sometime in late 1985, Edward Lee Howard, former CIA officer under surveillance by the FBI, made his escape to Moscow.

  • And on December 20, Randy Miles Jeffries, a congressional courier, was arrested for espionage.

  It’s a small wonder that 1985 became known as the Year of the Spy. It put the American intelligence community in substantial turmoil. Only later did we find out that CIA officer Aldrich “Rick” Ames and FBI Agent Robert Philip Hanssen had begun their treason working for the Soviet Union that same year.

  Inside my own office, things didn’t improve for me when my boss departed on an overseas field assignment. When he left, I inherited in his stead one of the worst managers I had in all my time in the Agency. This fellow believed in the opposite of my previous chief’s policies: I was to make no decisions on my own, and he wanted us both to be in all the same meetings together.

  I complained to him that I found this a terrible waste of our time and resources. And it added two hours per day to our work time, since he also insisted on seeing every bit of paper that came into the office—but only after I had initialed that I had seen it. Fortunately, I escaped, but again, not without paying a price.

  In the meantime, I had been present as an expert on China when the DDO was hosting a lunch for the newly appointed Ambassador to China. It was a good appointment, of a senior State Department officer whom I knew, and who held the CIA in high regard. During the luncheon, the ambassador-designee asked me an operational question. Before I could respond, the DDO interjected with a patently false answer. After the luncheon, I told the DDO I objected to his lying to the ambassador, whom I felt had a statutory right to this information. “Shut up and do what you’re told,” he responded. I knew what I had to do.

  And I did it. The ambassador-designee had lined up a series of briefings prior to taking his post. Toward the end of my briefing, I gently corrected the answer the DDO had given the ambassador at lunch. He smiled and thanked me. Later, as we finished the Q & A session, he told me privately that he was concerned that his spouse didn’t really understand all the security measures that would be required once they took their post in China. He asked if there was any chance we could chat with her informally. We agreed, and arranged a lunch during which we provided her enough information about Chinese counterintelligence to let her see the seriousness of the situation. We stressed that she and her husband would be the subject of considerable attention by the Chinese internal security apparatus. Our conversation appeared to be helpful, since the ambassador later called to thank us. This is another example of the close cooperation we have with our State Department colleagues.

  It didn’t take long for the retribution from my previous assignment in Asia to filter down. Within six months, I was called in by the chief of the East Asia division and told, “Your assignment as a chief is in trouble upstairs.” It was about the senior officer I had offended with my comments about his closest friend being a horse’s ass. I didn’t take this news very well, and I was forced to consider my options, including resigning. But before I made a decision, one of the more understanding senior officers in the Directorate, a close friend to the DDO, called me in for a chat.

  “Look,” he said, “we both know your assignment as chief is finished. There is no way that the DDO is going to forgive you and let you have that assignment. However, I know you are one of our finest officers, and here is my pledge to you. I am going to succeed the current chief of East Asia. I plan to move you to a key position, but out of the line of fire. If you hang on, and do the kind of job I know you are capable of, I will guarantee you a shot in two years at another senior assignment.”

  I was impressed with this senior officer’s honest, straightforward approach. Although I didn’t know him well, he was a military-academy graduate and had a reputation in the hallways as a man of integrity. So I told him yes, I would do that, and that I appreciated his honesty.

  I made the move, but my immediate supervisor was enraged. He claimed, falsely, that I had schemed for the new assignment behind his back. I asked him whether or not the new chief of East Asia had mentioned to him his desire to move me to another assignment. He acknowledged that he had but felt I owed him my loyalty and wanted me to turn down the assignment.

  I explained that I felt the assignment was necessary to salvage my own career, but he would have none of it. “Clean out your desk and leave today,” he commanded. I could hardly believe my ears. Our secretary was beside herself and tried to intervene, pointing out to him that this was not fair. He looked at her, then at me, and told me, “I am taking a walk to get a cup of coffee. Don’t be here when I get back.” I told the secretary not to worry, that I would be out before he returned, and I moved out in one hour. I took the other job, and it turned out to have been the best thing I could have done. I felt vindicated and was active again. Moreover, once more my belief had been confirmed that the Agency would ultimately do what was right and honor those who stood up for their beliefs and told the truth, however unpalatable.

  My next great adventure took place in one of our more isolated posts in Southeast Asia. Fighting between rebels and government forces had broken out in the capital. We were considering evacuating personnel down the river that ran through the city. My mission was to go out, make an evaluation, and ensure that the appropriate evacuation plans were in place. Our facility was relatively small, but very enthusiastic. They had already been through the worst stages of occupation by another country, a small civil war, and martial law. The American embassy had already drawn down its personnel, and the ambassador had grown quite fearful of the situation. Consequently, he had ordered that no one venture around in the country, and he was also opposed to our planning an evacuation, as it would send what he felt was the wrong signal to the local government.

  Our people had done their jobs. One of our staff officers had been a Special Forces medic, and had already put together a contingency kit for the possible evacuation. He had also assisted in the acquisition of an old diesel-driven steamer of about 40 feet in length, and had hired and trained his own engine-room technician. Additionally, he had scrounged around and salvaged enough doors from old armored cars around the city to sufficiently armor the boat. And he, the engine-room technician, and our deputy had made one trial run upriver to where they would pick up personnel for evacuation, and they had made one trip downriver to an appropriate drop-off point as well.

  It was reminiscent of the movie The Sand Pebbles. They asked me if I wanted to make a trial run, and I couldn’t resist, so I agreed—even though it was obvious that everything was well planned and in place. I mentioned it to my headquarters, which advised me against making the trip. The ambassador was also opposed, insisting that my personnel and I were disobeying orders just by venturing outside. I told him that our personnel had done what they were there to do, and that I would likewise carry my responsibilities, which included going out on a test run. He suggested that he was going to report me to the Secretary of State, but I suggested to him that he didn’t want to explain why neither he nor his State Department colleagues had been unable to report accurately about the local political situation. In the end he grumbled, “Go ahead, but don’t blame me if you get shot.”

  The trip on the old diesel up and back down the river through areas that had only recently taken fire was thrilling. The crew knew where rebel troops had gun emplacements and navigated out of their range. In all, this was another great example of the Agency’s capabilities and the courage of its officers.

  Another important event occurred as I was preparing to leave the area. Our people had been instructed to do all we could to find the headquarters of the leader of the rebel government established by the invading force. No one had yet been able to locate it. One of our junior employees, a 28-year-old woman, approached me in a hallway and said, “Sir, I think I know where the hideout is located. Would you like to go see if we can find it?” I was most impressed. I questioned her and found that she had set up an operati
ons room and loaded it with equipment to intercept communications from the rebel government. She made all the calculations to triangulate the information from signal intercepts. Coupled with some coded information, she had determined that the headquarters of the rebel force was located about 25 miles outside of town. After that, I told her I would be delighted to accompany her, even though martial law was in effect. She brought around a four-wheel-drive Toyota Land Cruiser, and I hopped in. We went only six or seven blocks when she saw a roadblock just ahead.

  We were in the second vehicle, and she asked me, “Do you want to go ahead?”

  “Sure,” I told her, meaning to proceed to the roadblock only. As we watched the vehicle ahead, we saw that the roadblock was set up to search for hand grenades, many of which had exploded in the marketplace the previous day. I watched in amazement as the police searched the vehicle ahead of us and uncovered two handguns and one automatic weapon, only to give them back.

  We moved into the roadblock, and my partner asked the obvious question, “We noticed you found two handguns and one automatic weapon concealed in the car ahead of us, and yet you gave them back?”

  “Well,” responded the officer in charge, “we were only searching for grenades.”

  “We don’t have any either,” she responded and drove around the barrier and accelerated. I waited for shots to ring out, but the guards just stood around and scratched their heads. I didn’t say a word.

  We drove nearly 30 miles out of the city, into a remote jungle area, when we came upon some barbed wire emplacements and a paved road leading into a huge compound. The headquarters was within a hundred yards of where she thought it would be. We wrote down the information and returned back to the city, where we reported the location to a very satisfied headquarters. I congratulated the woman and later helped her get her choice of onward assignments. She understood that hardship was part of the business, and she treated it as routine.

  But it was also during this assignment that I begin to see the changes coming in the Agency. The one thing that stands out most is that author Tom Clancy gained access to the Agency building and to either Agency files or knowledgeable Agency personnel to write his novels. We received an administrative notice one Thursday stating: “Those personnel under cover should avoid the entryway and first floor between the hours of 0900 and 1400 on Friday, as Tom Clancy and Harrison Ford will be in the building to do research and film portions of their upcoming film.” Times were changing. That Friday, between the hours of 0900 and 1400, our secretaries were nowhere to be found. They were all down in the lobby hoping to catch a glimpse of Harrison Ford.

  ELEVEN

  OVERSEAS CHIEF

  1988–1990

  I finished the longest tour that I had ever done in headquarters. I restarted my career and was ready to move on. The chief of the East Asia Division delivered to me an assignment as chief in a major Asian country. I was delighted, and we moved out for my new post.

  The best job in intelligence is chief of a CIA facility. Nothing compares in regards to responsibility, authority, and independence. The CIA chief is not only the Director of Central Intelligence’s representative, he is also the ambassador’s right-hand man. I was well prepared to assume the job.

  On my first day, my capable deputy came to me with a significant operational proposal that was bold and risky—and if the operation failed or was uncovered in advance, it would have undoubtedly resulted in my early recall. The operation involved placing a bug into the offices of a communist bloc nation’s trade mission. A decision was needed immediately. He left the proposal on my desk, and we agreed to meet after I had a chance to study it.

  I remember reading through it, and all of a sudden it hit me—that I was the final authority in this matter for the first time in my career. It was both an elating and a sobering realization—there was no one else to make the decision. I re-read the proposal several times, called him in, and told him to proceed. We carried out the operation successfully several days later.

  I was also selected for the Senior Intelligence Service (SIS), the highest ranks within the Central Intelligence Agency, several months later. My rehabilitation was complete, and my career once again on the move.

  In most cases, our chiefs are declared to the local internal and external intelligence services—that is, the senior intelligence officials of a country are told in advance that a CIA officer will arrive to be in charge. The reason is to encourage cooperation on issues of mutual importance, such as the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction and terrorism. The Agency provides in many cases intelligence support to the local government, where appropriate and where it is in conjunction with U.S. policy objectives.

  I was declared in this case, and I had just come into country after a major flap had developed. The local government had just PNGed (expelled—persona non grata) a State Department officer for activities incompatible with his presence. Actually, the officer had been carrying out his legitimate activities under the mantle of human rights, but the local government was convinced he was a CIA officer attempting to penetrate the opposition movement. As a result, they expelled him, causing a major crisis in our relations with their government. There had even been some talk that I should not proceed to my assignment, but after consultations, the senior officers at the State Department and the CIA decided it would be best to keep the channel of communications between the CIA and the local government open during this crisis.

  But the director of the local internal service delayed my official meeting with him to teach us a lesson. Finally, I went for my first official meeting with him. He was an arrogant, bright, politically astute confidant of the prime minister. I showed up at the appointed time, and was escorted to his outer office. His secretary said he would be right with me, but I waited 30 minutes even though the secretary interrupted him several times to remind him that I was there. One of the times she popped her head in, I saw him putting a golf ball into a glass. When she told me after another 30 minutes that he would be right with me, I stood up and told her to tell her boss I had returned to my office. I told her to tell him that, should he wish to make my acquaintance, he could call me and make an appointment to come to my office—if I had the time.

  She was aghast, and urged me not to leave. But I had had enough. By the time I got to my car, a breathless aide to the director ran up and said the director requested my immediate presence, if I would be so kind. I went back up and was escorted immediately to what I can only describe as an icy reception. The director looked at me and said, “Let me give you two pieces of advice: Don’t turn right on a red light because it’s illegal here, and don’t attempt another penetration of the government.”

  I told him, “Unfortunately, you and your government had it all wrong. The officer you PNGed does not belong to me. And I will never lie to you.” I bid farewell and went back to work. We immediately nicknamed the director “Red Light” and it stuck.

  I later learned that Red Light asked his colleagues around Asia about me. He told my deputy that he believed and trusted me. In an odd turn of events, he then asked me to play golf with him. I did, and we became regular golf partners. He never really lightened up, but by the end of my tour, our joint cooperation had expanded considerably, and we accomplished a significant amount. I had also revalidated one of the rules I formulated early in my career—never lie to a friendly intelligence service. There were times that I would tell them that I simply couldn’t comment on something, but that I would never lie to them. In the shadowy business of espionage, oddly enough, reputation is very important.

  One day, an attractive female officer, whom I’ll call Marlene, came to my office and, in a very routine fashion, said she needed some advice. Flattered, I asked her to step in, and I would see what I could do to assist her.

  She told me she needed some clarification about reporting what we call close and continuing relationships. We as an Agency had put into place some stringent rules regarding ongoing relationships with foreigne
rs. If the foreigners were of operational use, they were already being reported. If they were just social contacts, they still needed to be reported once a year. Marlene had always done a great job cultivating good relationships within the mission and within the foreign community.

  I told her I would be glad to take a look at any contacts she had, and I asked her to tell me a little more about the circumstances of her request. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m screwing an Australian fellow, but I don’t really like him and so I don’t know if I have to report the relationship.” I almost fell off the chair. I swallowed hard and said in what I hoped was my best professional voice, “Well, in this case I think you report it as a close contact regardless of whether or not you like the fellow.” She thanked me for the advice, went out of the room, and wrote it up.

  One lesson I learned was to never underestimate the technical capabilities of a foreign intelligence service. We had been badgered for months by headquarters with a proposal to get our host country liaison partners to help us place some modified beaconing equipment into boxes heading for a notorious weapons proliferator’s camp. I had already rejected several proposals that, when described to me, didn’t seem sophisticated enough to avoid detection.

  I did agree to let a team come out and demonstrate to our partners that we had modified equipment that was sufficiently sophisticated to avoid detection by the proliferator. I should have seen trouble coming. The team that came out was headed by one of the most arrogant and useless officers I had ever encountered. He made the presentation, announcing, “No one besides the CIA is capable of detecting our modification.” Red Light was present for the presentation; he called one of his technical specialists in.

  “Do you mind if I ask him to find the modification?” asked Red Light.