DON'T GET ME STARTED 69I researched the CIA as much as was possible in those pre-internet
days, by speaking with people in the government who knew something of
the CIA and by reading books about the agency. I read several sources of
information describing what CIA training at “the Farm” entailed. I con-
cluded that serving my country, living a life of intrigue in foreign lands, and
getting paid for it were preferable to working as a lawyer in an office.
But first I had to figure out how to contact the CIA. The days of your
English professor serving as a CIA “spotter” on campus, quietly suggesting
you meet his friend from the government, were long past. I could not apply
online like applicants do today. I must have looked up the CIA’s number
in the phone book because I got the process started, and shortly thereafter
received a brief typewritten letter in the mail with no return address. The
letter directed me to show up on a certain date and time at an address in
nearby Rosslyn (Arlington), Virginia. The address turned out to be that of
a CIA recruitment office, although there were no outward indications that
it was the CIA. It was a nondescript office with a phony name, in an unre-
markable office building near the Rosslyn Metro stop.
After that initial contact, I received subsequent letters in the mail, all
with no return address and with instructions for the next meeting. Some-
times we’d meet in a hotel room, other times in office buildings in nearby
Ballston (Arlington).
After about six months of interviews, and intelligence, language apti-
tude, foreign language, and psychological testing, I was scheduled for the
dreaded polygraph exam at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. I had
nothing to hide, but by nature and upbringing I was a guilt-ridden Catholic
boy. (My next book will be entitled Guilt without Sex.) I was pretty sure that
once I was strapped in and started answering questions, the machine would
violently squirt ink all over the polygraph operator’s white shirt. Much to
my relief, there was “no deception indicated” to any of my responses to the
series of yes or no questions. I had been successfully “boxed” (polygraphed)
and could move onto the psychiatric evaluation.
Ironically, the longer you work for the CIA, the tougher it is to pass the
polygraph exam, in part because of the company you necessarily keep in
foreign lands.
Polygraph operator: “Have you ever had secret contact with an agent
of a hostile foreign intelligence service?”