REAL HOUSEWIVES OF THE CIA 151slippery, gooey icy substance that seemed to cover all roads and sidewalks.
After a few months in-country, all of our clothing turned as gray as the
Belgrade sky. Our sweet second baby girl was later diagnosed with asthma,
and I’m convinced it’s because we subjected her to Belgrade air for the first
two years of her life.
While I was out doing God’s work (as we sometimes jokingly called
it), Stacy was left to deal with our two daughters and this challenging way
of life. A wonderful Filipina nanny helped out with our little ones, but
she also hung out at the local Philippines embassy, which per a reliable
source was staffed in large part by Communist New People’s Army (NPA)
members and sympathizers. NPA was a State Department designated ter-
rorist organization, and at the time, they were actively targeting and killing
Americans, possibly including SERE course creator Colonel Nick Rowe.
Needless to say, knowing that our nanny might inadvertently facilitate our
premature deaths added to Stacy’s stress level, as did reported Iraqi surveil-
lance of our older daughter’s International Nursery School bus during the
first Gulf War.
But not all was dark and depressing. Stacy and I and the girls would
often fly, drive, or take a car train to Croatia, Slovenia, or out of Yugoslavia
altogether. We enjoyed many brief but relaxing (and microphone-free) stays
in Austria, Germany, Italy, and France. We even took a wonderful “special
R and R” ski trip to St. Moritz, Switzerland, where we exchanged our gray
“Balkan refugee” clothing for something with a little more color. Stacy and
the girls also visited Dubrovnik, a magical place on the Dalmatian Coast
I would not see with my own eyes until one year into the Croatian war.
Oftentimes we would travel as a family from Belgrade to another European
city, ostensibly on vacation. Upon arrival in Frankfurt, or wherever, I would
change identities and travel on alias documentation to a third country for
agent meetings, while Stacy and the girls enjoyed a respite outside of Bel-
grade. We also once drove nine hours through the deadly, garbage-strewn
roads of Serbia and Macedonia to the Halkidiki region of Greece for a
nice seaside vacation. The trip felt longer than it actually was, since we
had to repeatedly listen to the only cassette tape we remembered to bring
along, Best of Raffi.
As in Latin America, Stacy and I enjoyed a good social life with fellow
American colleagues in Belgrade, although my job always seemed to