The embassy had surrendered. Iranian “student” militants were now in charge of an American diplomatic facility, including the Central Intelligence Agency station. Embassy personnel were blindfolded, our hands bound, and escorted to the ambassador’s residence, where we were freed of the blindfolds and placed on chairs and sofas located on the first floor. I was situated in a comfortable oversized stuffed chair in the ballroom; the “students” had angrily ordered us to remain silent, leaving each of us to speculate in isolation about their intentions. Early in the evening we were led in small groups to the kitchen where we were fed a light meal. Shortly afterward, a young Iranian carrying a .38 revolver came into the room calling my name. I noticed that his pronunciation of my name was surprisingly good, which I thought curious. I learned later, to my disgust and anger, that the captors had received assistance from several of my colleagues in sorting out who did what in the mission, and obviously one of them had mentioned my name, giving the correct pronunciation. There was no point in hiding: I acknowledged my presence and was curtly advised, “You are wanted in your office.” Considering my true position as operations officer for the CIA, being singled out by name and separated from the others did not strike me as a particularly positive development. My bindings were checked, I was again blindfolded, and then I was led out of the residence. It was a frightening walk through a dark night made even darker by the prospect of who might want to see me—and what he might want.
Don’t worry about another embassy attack. The Iranians have already done it once so they don’t have to prove anything. Besides, the only thing that could trigger an attack would be if the shah was let into the States—and no one in this town is stupid enough to do that.
Chief, Iran Branch, Directorate of Operations, CIA Headquarters, August 1979
You’d think I would remember the exact moment in which I was offered Tehran, Iran, for my first overseas tour as a newly certified field operations officer for the Central Intelligence Agency. It was, after all, an offer that changed my career, not to mention my life, and somehow it doesn’t seem possible that this detail has fled my memory. But it has. I have no recollection today of who made the offer, although the logical person would have been the chief of the Iran Operations branch in the Agency’s Directorate of Operations (DO). I do know that I did not hesitate a second to say yes. For the most part I have not regretted that decision, although for some years afterward a certain effort was required to keep it and the events that followed in some sort of reasonable perspective. After all, it is rare, even for an organization in which risk is an everyday part of the business, that a newly minted case officer spends his first tour in jail.
It was only by happenstance that I entered the Agency in the first place. In the spring of 1978 I was in the midst of my last year of doctoral work at the Claremont Graduate School, and although graduation was only eight months away, I had given no thought to life after graduate school. My preference was for public service rather than a job in the private sector, but I wasn’t sure I could find a position in California that would allow me to utilize my education. Constitutional law and U.S. foreign policy were my majors, with a minor in U.S. government. My particular interest was the relationship between the Executive Branch and Congress, specifically in the constitutional law of foreign policy and the war powers. I had no interest in working for the State Department and even less in being a civilian employee at the Pentagon. There was always the possibility of a position on Capitol Hill, but I didn’t want to deal with the egos that invest that venue. Truth be told, I had enrolled in graduate school simply because I was interested in these subjects and still had nearly three years left on the GI Bill, and I did not really want to leave Southern California. I was content with the notion that I would not find a career in my field of expertise. Rather than dwelling on future employment, however, I was focusing on surviving the next eight months. There was coursework to finish, written and oral doctoral exams to pass, and a dissertation to polish and defend. The postgraduation future was still far away.
Nevertheless, when there came a surprise opportunity to send a résumé to the regional CIA recruiter, I didn’t pass it up. I knew what the CIA was and had a good idea of what it did, having read a number of books on espionage in general and the CIA in particular. Although I was intrigued by the work and believed the Agency was making a valuable contribution to the nation, I had never envisioned myself joining up. But if I really was going to go to Washington, this would be the organization to work for. The initial interview with the recruiter went well, and in May I was contacted by Jim, a senior officer in the DO’s Career Management Staff (CMS) in Washington, who invited me to an in-depth interview.
Jim was staying at the Marina Del Ray Hotel. I arrived at the appointed hour, unsure what to expect but dressed in a rare (and detested) coat and tie for that important first impression. Jim didn’t look like a spy, or a spymaster for that matter—although I didn’t have the slightest notion what a spy should look like—but the setting did generate a sense of the clandestine. The drapes were closed tightly, and the medium-wattage table lamp lent an air of secrecy to the affair. For most of two hours Jim asked questions and, when appropriate, provided explanations or background information. I thought I had done well, but Jim said only that he would be in touch. I left, assuming that it would be weeks, if not months, before I heard anything further.
I was not particularly concerned or anxious in any case. Summer school was coming up, and I was committed to reserve duty as the assistant officer in charge of an air traffic control unit at Marine Corps Air Station El Toro; and there was always my dissertation. Odds seemed long that the Agency would actually accept me, and it wasn’t anything I had my heart set on, anyway. To my surprise, though, Jim called the very next day and asked if I could again make the hour-long drive to Marina Del Ray, as there was one other issue he wanted to discuss. I didn’t mind the drive, but I wasn’t thrilled about hauling out the coat and tie again.
In this second interview Jim laid out the basics of a special program managed by CMS in addition to the standard Career Training (CT) program entered by the great majority of DO officers. This CMS program was designed to place a few selected first-tour officers overseas as quickly as feasible, reducing the amount of time the trainee spent in Washington, where one of the favorite pastimes among its more knowledgeable denizens is playing “spot the spook.” Participants in this special program (of which there were but one or two per class, if that) were given a more solid background, or “cover,” making it harder for observers to discern their true employment. Graduates of the program were expected to be less detectable to host government security services and hostile intelligence services operating in the same locale. The increased operational security was expected to translate into more effective recruiting and handling of sensitive sources. The program sounded fine to me, and the possibility of participating in it served to jump-start my interest in an Agency career. I had been attracted to the Marine Corps in part because of its reputation as an elite, action-oriented, can-do organization,