162 AMERICAN SPY
way. Keep it in the family, so to speak. Sure, we are allowed to sleep with State
Department employees, but let’s be honest: who’d want to? And technically, we
can sleep with our allies. Inspiring others to follow the rules as she always did,
a bombastic blond colleague of mine regularly showed up at official overseas
parties, wearing a T-shirt that read, “SLEEP NATO.”
During training, CTs were all stuck together in stressful conditions on
remote, secret bases for months on end. Things happened. Our class’s theme
song was “Let’s Get It On.” I never passed judgment on the extracurricular
activities of some of my classmates, but I always questioned their dedication
to sound tradecraft practices and wondered if there shouldn’t be a separate
graded category for that particular skill set. If they can’t pull off a simple
adulterous affair on friendly soil without half of us knowing exactly what’s
going on, how can they expect to run clandestine operations overseas? If and
when I’m ever an instructor at the Farm, you can bet your ass (so to speak)
that I will grade students on their ability to keep their secret liaisons secret.
In fairness—and by now, you know I’m nothing if not fair—some of
these “relationships” were no more than stormy one-night hookups, fueled
by alcohol and the pheromone-like scent of recently exploded det cord.
Understandably, not a lot of effort was put into keeping these kinds of flings
private, and these brief encounters were often between two unmarried, con-
senting adults. Some just happen to be more memorable than others.
After spending two glorious weeks eating scrapple, making IEDs,
yelling the phrase “Fire in the hole,” and blowing things up on a secret
CIA base somewhere on the Eastern Seaboard, my fellow CTs and I were
treated to a farewell bash our final night. Unlimited alcohol was provided
free of charge, and we were kept away from the explosives.
One of our lead instructors during the two-week demolitions program
was a good-looking former surfer dude from California who prided himself
on “bagging” one female trainee from each class. Fair-haired “Lance” had
his eye on a lovely blond colleague of mine whom we shall call “Heather.”
That final evening, as we happily and loudly congregated in various groups
throughout the dining and rec areas, some of us unwound by watching a
Mad Max movie while drinking too much, and others, like Lance, remained
focused on the mission while drinking too much. Lance’s mission being
Heather. I’ll cut to the chase. Lance and Heather got drunk and began to
make out right there on the floor, as people in that situation are wont to do.