On Spies, Counterspies, Would-be Spies and Just Plain Losers - Part I
“The best quality of a spy is patience.”
Yakov Peters, Chairman of the Soviet Cheka
I pointed out in an earlier blog entry that one signs away a part of one's soul for life when joining the confraternity of national security. I described how I am legally bound to submit to government censors for security review all of my writings prior to publication. Technically speaking, I am required to clear all public speaking materials as well. I must submit to this restriction of my freedom of expression until the day I die. I am not an oracle of secrets. I am just one of countless former officials who are under the same restrictions. It goes with the territory. It makes one wonder, however, why bother when some jerk army private can steal and release to humanity hundreds of thousands of classified documents? But that's above my pay grade.
I served in one capacity or another in four communist countries: Vietnam, Laos, Cuba and Cambodia (before it changed political systems). Moreover, I had traveled throughout China. In each of these countries I was a target of constant surveillance and occasional harassment or recruitment by dint of being an American official. Sometimes it was scary; other times laughable; but usually it was merely annoying. Looking over my shoulder or in the rearview mirror, running surveillance detection runs, mincing my words over the phone, conversing with the radio turned up loud, and increased general reticence became second nature to me and continues with me to this day. There is much I cannot reveal. But that which I can divulge sheds some light on the world of spies, security and secrecy.
Laos in the early 1980s was a satrapy of Vietnam, a communist dictatorship overrun with all manner of East Bloc denizens. Our tiny American embassy there was our sole diplomatic post in Indochina. Our relations with Vientiane were tenuous at best. I was followed, threatened and cajoled by agents of Laos, the Soviet Union, Vietnam, East Germany and Hungary. Yevgeny, a young English-speaking Soviet KGB officer posing as a diplomat trolled the Australian Club, a popular watering hole for Westerners, for loose chatter and potential spy recruits. He attempted repeatedly to ingratiate himself with me in a variety of venues. I rebuffed him every time and warned other Westerners to avoid the smarmy creep. A KGB colleague of his had a different mission. As my network of Lao friends expanded, this bald fire plug of a thug followed me blatantly in his claptrap Lada in an effort to intimidate me. One night, as I left a party, he tailgated me and put his headlights on bright. Accepting the challenge, I took the guy on a nocturnal wild goose chase on dirt roads outside the city in my 200 hp V8 embassy Chevy Malibu. I'd speed, then slam on the brakes to kick up clouds of red dust. I did this repeatedly until he gave up (no doubt coughing his lungs out). Eat dirt and die commie bastard!
The most pathetic recruitment attempt, however, came from the Hungarians. Days after my arrival in Laos, two young Lao girls arrived at my villa and asked to come in. They told me they wanted to show me "a good time." Smelling a rat, I demanded to know who sent them. "Nobody," they replied. "Don't give me that," I shot back. "Now come on, tell me who sent you here." "The Hungarian Embassy," they giggled. "How much did they pay you?" I asked. They told me. It was my fluent Lao and sense of humor that loosened the girls up. Some dumbass Hungarian spook with too much time on his hands and too few brains attempted lure me in what the spy world calls a "honey trap." Loser.
When I moved into my residence in Hanoi with my young family in 1998, Vietnamese residents dropped by to introduce themselves to their new American neighbors. Some bore small gifts of welcome. They clearly were fascinated with Americans and adored our babies. Each morning as I left to walk to the embassy, our neighbors would wave and say good morning. Shortly afterward, it all turned cold. No more visits by our new friends. No more morning greetings. People avoided eye contact and went on their way. One, however, confided to me that the secret police had come into the quarter to warn everyone to stay away from us. I subsequently detected a 24-hour surveillance post set up in the building opposite our villa. They spent the next four years observing us changing diapers and listening to us discussing past episodes of Masterpiece Theatre. Hope our monitors got hardship pay.
By the way, guess who turned up in Hanoi like a bad kopek? My old friend, Yevgeny! Still trolling for "assets" among foreigners seventeen years after I first encountered the son of a bitch. Naturally, I went around to all Western diplomats blowing the whistle on the Big Bad Wolf Yevgeny.
The worst of the lot, however, were Cuban agents of the Ministry of Interior (MININT). On a two-week official trip through the length and breadth of the island, my U.S. Interests Section colleague and I were heavily surveilled and tailed wherever we went. MININT agents are notorious for making the lives of American diplomats as difficult as possible, including stealing clothing articles, downloading our hard drives, smearing dog feces on our door handles and slashing our car tires. I made a point of carrying with me everything I valued in a canvas attache bag wherever I went, including at the beaches. In Santa Clara, our tires were slashed. My hotel room in Santiago was equipped with listening devices and hidden cameras. The worst thing one can do is to fight back or to otherwise intimidate any nation's secret police. Usually, in fact, both sides reach a modus vivendi. They're doing their job. You're on the up-and-up (usually anyway). Let them follow you. Be civil. Do not provoke. BUT, I couldn't help jotting down verse of Dr. Seuss and Lewis Carroll, putting "CONFIDENTIAL" at the heading and leaving the papers carelessly around my hotel rooms. Now, what does "Twas brillig and the slivy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe..." mean? Must be some infernal code.
I like to incorporate such experiences in my thrillers. I went through the wringer with the government censors on my last, to-be-published book, TRIBE and was compelled to make redactions and changes. But most remained intact. PERMANENT INTERESTS (PERMANENT INTERESTS at Amazon) is chock full of insights into the Russian SVR (formerly KGB) and the world of spies. It also gives a glimpse into how my old employer, the State Department, operates. If you like thrills anchored in authenticity, give it a try! (The Kindle version costs a mere $2.99.)