156 AMERICAN SPYpsychological testing was inside the headquarters building. We were at a stand-
still. We explained our dilemma to the security officers, who were sympathetic
but not in a position to help. Eventually, our petition for baby access made its
way up the chain of command to Burton Gerber himself, who signed off on
a waiver allowing our daughter to accompany us during the psych exams. (I
can just picture him shaking his head in disbelief as he processed this unusual
request.) Our baby girl was then issued an “escort required” visitor’s badge,
which we clipped to her clothing. It was almost as big as she was.
After the three of us were badged through security, we paused for a
moment at the white marble CIA Memorial Wall on the right-hand side
of the main entrance. Every star etched into the wall represents a CIA
life lost in the line of duty. At the time of our visit, they had just added a
fifty-first star, in remembrance of former Beirut COS William Buckley,
who was savagely killed by Iranian-backed Hezbollah terrorists a few years
earlier. The inscription reads, “In honor of those members of the Central
Intelligence Agency who gave their lives in the service of their country.”^1
Every year there is a private memorial ceremony in which the names of
all who lost their lives are read aloud, including the names of undercover
officers whose CIA affiliation will never be made public. As of the time of
this writing, there are 129 stars on the Memorial Wall. I am grateful that I
am not represented there by a star and that my name is not read every year
during the ceremony. I am equally and eternally thankful for the ultimate
sacrifice made by my fallen colleagues and their families in service to our
nation. Experiencing the wall never fails to move me.
After paying our respects at the Memorial Wall, I carried our daughter
as we walked the short distance down the hall to the Office of Medical Ser-
vices for our psychological evaluations. I wasn’t prepared for the reception
our cheerful six-month-old would receive. Her presence created quite a
stir. I will never forget the way CIA employees—men and women alike—
reacted upon seeing this fun-size, visitor-badged human as we made our
way down the corridor. You’d think a winged unicorn was loose in the
building. Most who saw her were ecstatic. A few even approached us, pre-
sumably to see for themselves if it was a real baby or maybe something
Tony Mendez had cooked up in his lab for some sensitive op. I assured
those few who raised an eyebrow that she’d been fully vetted, with no
deception indicated during her most recent polygraph exam.