In Search of Enemies - A CIA Story - John Stockwell

(110] IN SEARCH OF ENEMIES
tion to attend those parties, laughing at any who protested that their
covers would be blown.
Like most young officers who had learned by the book, I was
rudely awakened to the operational realities of the field. My predecessor
in one post had handled five clandestine agents. Three of them
communicated through post office boxes; to deliver a written report
and pick up money, they would call the European receptionist at the
embassy, who was neither cleared for CIA activities nor completely
loyal to the Americans. She would in turn relay the messages, advising
the chief of station something to the effect that, "Your friend
from Fada called. He has a shipment of skins and needs eight thousand
bananas." The CIA station secretary would then drive to the
post office and service the appropriate box. She did this so regularly
that the beggars on the steps of the post office, in an effort to be
helpful, would call out as she parked the car, "Non, Mademoiselle,
he did not come yet," or "Oui, Mademoiselle, it is ready."
Once or twice a month, in this tiny fishbowl of a town, the case
officer would meet each agent a block from the embassy in a safehouse
which was "covered" as an embassy guest apartment. After
parking in the lot behind, the case officer would take the back stairs
to the third floor, while the agents came up the front. Three of the
five agents were introduced to me in that apartment, two during the
same morning. The fifth I met in the living room of the case officer's
house. Later, I discovered that the servant in the apartment below
the safehouse was the brother of the servant in my predecessor's
house. He knew exactly what was going on and could identify all the
agents. So could the Greek couple that ran a little grocery store on
the ground floor. As I made friends through sports and chess, I began
to receive well-meant suggestions. "M. David [my predecessor four
generations before] used to live in my cousin's house. He said it was
very good for his activities." Or, "M. Jacques used to pick up the
Lebanese gentleman in the alley behind my store ... It's a safe spot
and no one can see, except from my balcony." Such conversations
also occurred in my other posts, where other American embassy
personnel and people in the official community had gossiped freely
about their "spooks."
In Burundi a succession of case officers had written numerous
intelligence reports from information gathered by their agents,
mostly about the Congolese rebels across Lake Tanganyika. These