A Spy's Journey Read online

  A SPY’S

  JOURNEY

  A CIA MEMOIR

  FLOYD L. PASEMAN

  “What does he next prepare?

  When will he move to attack?—

  By water, earth, or air?

  How can we head him back?

  Shall we starve him out if we burn

  Or bury his food supply?

  Slip through his lines and learn—

  That is work for a spy!

  (Drums)—Get to your business, spy!

  —from “The Spies’ March,” Rudyard Kipling

  To my family, Jill, Ashley, Adam, my grandson Brett,

  and to Dulcinea, Hamlet, Elliot, and Cleopatra.

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  PROLOGUE

  1 IN THE BEGINNING 1963–1967

  2 TRAINING TO BE A SPY 1967–1969

  3 JUNGGWO HWA—LEARNING CHINESE 1969–1971

  4 AN APPRENTICE SPY 1971–1974

  5 STILL LEARNING THE CRAFT 1974–1977

  6 JOURNEYMAN SPY 1977–1979

  7 BACK HOME IN EAST ASIA 1979–1980

  8 A CHANGE OF VENUE 1980–1983

  9 INTO MANAGEMENT 1983–1985

  10 HOME AGAIN—EAST ASIA 1985–1988

  11 OVERSEAS CHIEF 1988–1990

  12 HOME AGAIN—INTO THE SENIOR RANKS 1990–1992

  13 CHIEF, EAST ASIA—ONE OF THE “BARONS” 1992–1994

  14 GERMANY—BACK INTO THE FRAY 1994–1998

  15 OFFICER IN RESIDENCE—A SCHOLAR 1998–2001

  16 RETIREMENT, OR LIFE AFTER DEATH 2001–

  17 MANAGING THE AMBASSADOR AND THE INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY

  18 THE DIRECTORS OF CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE 1967–2004

  19 PRESIDENTS AND INTELLIGENCE

  20 THE BAND: AN OPERATIONAL TOOL

  21 WHAT’S WRONG AND WHAT’S RIGHT WITH THE CIA

  22 PASEMAN’S TEN AXIOMS OF SPYING

  23 9/11

  EPILOGUE

  GLOSSARY

  RECOMMENDED READING

  PREFACE

  Why this book at this time? I felt that my reflections after one of the longest careers in U.S. intelligence history—and after more than a decade at the tops ranks of the Central Intelligence Agency—would be of general interest and would help shed some much-needed light on what intelligence really does do, really does not do, and how fragile the whole process of human intelligence really is. I decided to proceed with a memoir with the encouragement of one of the best intelligence historians in the United States, Dr. Ralph Weber, who repeatedly reminded me, “You are the only one who can tell your story.” This, and a belief that the readers of history deserve a recounting of history as it really was, led me to this work.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to acknowledge the significant help from several sources: First, Dr. Ralph Weber of Marquette University, who was responsible not only for my entry into academia, but who also urged me to do my memoirs while my memory was still fresh; second, Dr. John Krugler, also of Marquette University, who was one of the first professors to recognize what we as CIA officers had to offer, and whose critical look at intelligence issues contributed greatly to my doing the same thing; and Dr. Terry Roehrig, of Cardinal Stritch University, who also saw the value of a practitioner’s point of view to his political science and history department and whose counsel was also of great assistance.

  I also wish to thank the Center for the Study of Intelligence, whose director at the time, Dr. Brian Latell, was very enthusiastic about my participating in the Officer in Residence program and without whose support I could not have participated in this most important program. I also wish to thank the Center’s History Department, in particular Dr. Michael Warner and Dr. Kevin Ruffner, both of whom took extra time to provide me with valuable materials for my teaching.

  I could not have maneuvered through the book publishing process without MBI Publishing Company. Working with Steve Gansen, one of their premier editors, was a pleasure. Richard Kane’s encouragement kept me going as well. Richard was patient with all my status notes and worked hard to bring this book to publication. These gentlemen made the process easy and enjoyable. They are true professionals.

  Lastly, I would like to thank Dr. Scott Koch and Mr. Bruce Wells of the CIA Publication Review Board, without whose help I would have been unable to navigate the incredibly arcane twists laid out by my own Directorate of Operations.

  In the end, any errors are of my own making. However, as they used to say in the television drama Dragnet, “The story you are about to hear is true.” All of it.

  INTRODUCTION

  It is important to state at the outset that, in the tradition of intelligence memoirs, the names, places, dates, and targets in this book have been changed to protect the identities of agents and the operations in which I participated. There are two exceptions, in which times and events were in the public record: my time as chief of the East Asia division, and my time as Chief of the CIA, Germany. Even in these cases, out of necessity, I have altered an occasional name or place to protect agents and operations. And, of course, there are many more stories of success that I cannot go into, since many of the players in these successful operations are still alive and thus, at risk. Nonetheless, all the accounts are real and the events took place exactly as described. Events occurring during and after my overt assignment as an Officer in Residence in 1998 are accurate as written.

  PROLOGUE

  In 1994, the U.S. media reported on the difficulties of being the Central Intelligence Agency Chief in Germany. They noted that CIA chiefs there usually had a difficult time carrying out their tasks and that there was unanimous agreement within the CIA Directorate of Operations (DO) that Bonn was a damn hard posting. They had that right!

  My selection as CIA Chief, Germany, had progressed in fits and starts—an indication, perhaps, that few in the clandestine service are inclined to deal with the headaches and challenges of the German job. I guess I should have been forewarned. When I took the personal phone call from the Deputy Director for Operations (DDO) congratulating me on my new assignment as CIA Chief, Germany, I might have dickered in advance for a promotion that never came, even though I served longer in this thankless job than any chief in memory. The irony is that I took that call as two other senior posts in Europe were offered to me at the same time—neither of them Bonn. However, I am getting ahead of myself.

  ONE

  IN THE BEGINNING

  1963–1967

  It was a sorority woman who first drew my attention to the CIA. Early in the spring of 1963, a high-achieving fellow student at the University of Oregon and member of the Alpha Gamma Delta sorority approached me and told me that she had applied for, and been accepted by, the Central Intelligence Agency. She suggested that I should apply, considering I had garnered academic honors. She provided me with the sterile address the CIA used for applicants, and, curious more than anything else, I sent a short note off asking about the possibilities of employment. Several weeks later, I received an envelope addressed to me with no return address. The letter inside was folded so the CIA emblem was not visible until the letter was unfolded. “We are pleased to hear of your interest in the CIA. Someone will be contacting you.” So much for that, I thought.

  I had missed the normal summer ROTC camp to work on a National Science Foundation grant I had earned, and thus had to wait until December 1963 to graduate and be commissioned a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army. Then, one day at my apartment I received a telephone call from a man who identified himself only as a CIA recruiter. He told me he would be in town one week hence and set up an appointment for me to come to his motel room for an interview and formal application. H
e gave me the number of the room where I was to meet him and admonished me not to tell anyone I was applying to the Agency. He did not give me his name.

  That was secret enough to ensure I showed up at the prescribed time and place. At the appointed hour, I timidly knocked on the door of the designated room. A tall, balding middle-aged man opened the door, confirmed I was who I said I was, and said to me, “Can you wait just a minute—I am on the phone to Washington.” I certainly was not going to interrupt his call, so I waited nervously outside for about five minutes before he again opened the door, invited me in, and introduced himself. I had just been lured into the shadowy world of espionage by one of the great CIA recruiters, Tom Culhane.

  Tom Culhane, as I would learn, was legendary as a recruiter for the CIA in the Pacific Northwest. He was a handsome man, urbane, eloquent, and friendly, with an easy manner to him. He also, I was to learn, had a flair for theatrics; he drew all those he interviewed into wanting to join the ranks of the clandestine service even though we had scant idea of what that really meant.

  Culhane had done his homework on both my academic and work past. He knew I had come from a working-class family with little income. He knew what honors I had collected in high school and college, and had a familiarity with the fact I had worked my entire time in college just to get though financially. He administered a standard Agency aptitude test, which took several hours. In the end, he told me I was attractive as an applicant, but that the Agency would want me to go ahead and spend my time first in the military and then confirm my continuing interest. He asked me a host of questions (“What would your reaction to danger be?” “Would gunfire scare you?” “Can you keep a secret?” “Can you live and work without recognition?”). In the end, I assured him none of the above would be a problem, and he told me, “Someone will contact you in two years as you end your military service.” He also told me to keep our meeting secret, noting that the CIA did not want its applicants to reveal their employment in case they went into the clandestine arm of the Agency. I assured him I would keep his confidence and departed. I was later to learn that Culhane was considered among the best, if not the best, recruiter for the CIA. He had been a case officer himself, and had served in the troublesome Mideast where he distinguished himself. I was also to learn that he had recruited probably one-third of my classmates when I entered the CIA. Over the years, he became so good and well known as a recruiter that the Washington Post ran an article about him.

  I thought little or nothing about this for the next two-plus years. I enjoyed the Army immensely and extended my time. I got a good amount of intelligence-related work in the Army. I went first to Armored Basic Training at Fort Knox, Kentucky; then I was selected for Communications School at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where I spent a good deal of time working with cryptographic and classified coding systems. I finally wound up in Bad Hertzfeld, Germany, where I was immediately assigned as squadron (battalion) communications officer. I was responsible for the secure communications systems and equipment for the Fourteenth Armored Cavalry Squadron. It was terrific experience that was to be useful in my later CIA career.

  As part of my duties, I was also assigned to be in charge of our Radar Platoon, which did the outpost work on the East German border and was very much a reconnaissance operation. During this time, I learned why we were there. The East Germans, under the direction of the Soviet Union, had a nasty habit of coming across the border and actually kidnapping West German citizens. They would use them for propaganda purposes and later release them. Our mission was to prevent this. We would ride the border area in a jeep, with a West German military officer and usually with a trained German shepherd dog. It was great, rewarding duty, and it was fascinating to watch the dogs work. I learned the value of these fine animals, trained to go through gunfire, fire, and to climb obstacles 10 feet high to get to their prey. And, I also learned how much the Germans really like and admire Americans. When we would go into a local gasthaus (tavern) to warm up, it would be impossible for us to pay for our meals. They wanted us on the border so badly they simply would not accept our payment, no matter how hard we would try. In the evenings, if we were staying overnight, we would enjoy the Germans’ company over a brew or two as well.

  Later, I was sent to a school for reconnaissance platoon leaders, and learned more yet about intelligence, particularly about debriefing the sources that came across the border. I worked with the local military intelligence personnel, most of whom were undercover, and learned a good deal from them as well. This school also continued to feed my interest in intelligence in general. I acquired a number of skills there, such as escape and evasion, demolitions, advanced map work, and foreign-made arms and weapons that proved useful in the future.

  It is easy to understand why the CIA wanted us to have military experience before hiring us. First, it gave us good working experience, responsibility, and a chance to mature a little before taking on the awesome responsibilities given to officers at a relatively young age in the CIA. And some decided not to enter the Agency after military service. The Agency, likewise, got a chance to decide if they were interested in the individual before making a commitment of substantial time and money. Military service worked to everyone’s benefit.

  Finally, however, I decided to leave the military in the fall of 1966, though I had considered a military career. Things had gone very well for me, and in early 1966 I was rewarded with the command of a tank company, even though I was only a first lieutenant at the time and there were other officers in Europe senior to me waiting for just such an opportunity. I ended my service there by being awarded the Army Commendation Medal for my work. It was indeed hard to leave, but I had decided I simply could not make a career of the Army, as much as I liked it. I simply have always had trouble taking orders without knowing why. I knew that sooner or later that would be a stumbling block to further advancement in the Army. But I made great friends there. I decided to continue my time in the U.S. Army Reserve, which would prove valuable in my CIA career by keeping me in touch with the U.S. Military and up to date on their needs, and gave me the credentials to deal with the military in a closer relationship than I would otherwise have had.

  I returned to Oregon and began the process of seeking employment. I didn’t try to contact the CIA and just assumed that, since they had not contacted me in the Army, they had no further interest in recruiting me. It turns out that nothing could have been further from the truth.

  I finally landed a terrific and well-paying job with a marketing research company in the Midwest. I went through their training school and graduated at the top of the class of new marketing-research employees. The company rewarded me by sending me to work in the San Fernando Valley—one of its largest markets—with my headquarters in Los Angeles. My job was to travel the length of the valley and stop in at food stores and pharmacies and do audits on merchandise sales. It was traditional marketing research. I worked hard there and got to be very close friends with one of the top officers, who took me under his wing. Ultimately, however, this fine officer lost out in gaining a top position in the region to one of the company founder’s nephews. This was my first lesson in the politics of private industry. Shortly afterward, the father of one of my college roommates who lived in Los Angeles—a very well known and respected hydraulic engineer for a major aircraft manufacturer—was summarily fired from his job due to the fact that his salary had gotten too large.

  Having witnessed private industry firsthand, I received a phone call from Washington, D.C., asking me if I could fly there for three days of further interviews with the CIA, and I was inclined to do so. I did tell the person on the other end of the telephone that I would have to let someone in my company know what I was doing since I would miss several days of work. They agreed to tell my colleague what was going on and to ask him to keep it to himself.

  I was very pleasantly surprised that my friend was enthusiastic and agreed to take my route over himself for three days so I could fly back for the in
terviews. He told me that, if he were younger and had the same opportunity, he would take the offer and give up his current career. Armed with this, I flew back to Washington.

  The interviews went very well, with the exception of a long and grueling time on the polygraph. The operator was thrilled to discover that I was a twin. “I’ve never done a twin before,” he exclaimed gleefully. Everything was going OK on that damned instrument until the operator asked me if my twin brother and I had ever engaged in any homosexual activity. I told him no, and the instrument, according to him, confirmed this. He, however, postulated that the machine doesn’t catch everything and went through the lame drill of leaving the room and returning to ask me if I had reconsidered my answer to that question. I told him the only thing I was reconsidering was why the hell I was putting up with this nonsense. After a few more attempts, he lamely told me that everything looked OK but that we might have to revisit the issue. I left and flew back to Los Angeles later that week. Shortly thereafter, I received another telephone call telling me I would be hired if I agreed to accept the salary of a GS-07 ($7,000 in those days). I accepted. This was a major mistake. I could have asked for—and received—a lot more.

  TWO

  TRAINING TO BE A SPY

  1967–1969

  In March 1967, I entered the Central Intelligence Agency with a large group of classmates—over 100 new career trainees (CTs) as we were called. The CIA was in its biggest buildup since the Korean War. The class was one of three that were being assembled that year. The increase in number and size of classes had to do with the expansion of the Agency as well as the other U.S. Government agencies that needed to deal with the Vietnam War. It did make for a most interesting class. I was one of the few who did not have an advanced degree (thus, the Agency’s belief that they could hire me cheaper, although I had military experience many of my classmates were missing). We had a former marine embassy guard, a former city policeman, and lawyers by the dozen, including practicing lawyers from around the country, and a woman who had been a judge. Also in my class were an executive from a major automobile manufacturer, a golf pro, five former Special Forces non-commissioned officers, and three women who had just graduated and were starting their first job. One of the other more interesting classmates had been channeled into the career program after nearly four years working in the “secret war” in Laos. He had been a “kicker”—one of the incredibly brave individuals who dropped supplies out of the back of the Agency C-47s to the Laotian Montagnards who were our surrogates in the war.