Марта, русская

You'd think I could get my head around Russian issues, now that I'm living here. I'm a translator at TASS, and have been for about six years - survived the dissolution of the USSR to work for the Russian Federation version of this, the official news agency.

Considering that from 1973 to 1983, I'd also been the secretary to the Director of Counter Intelligence in the FBI, you'd also think I would be able to pick up on all things Russian. Perhaps not the Russian language - that didn't come until I was sent here. It was a good three years after that, that I was able to get by. Stop crying.

Adopting my daughter in that time was a great asset. But I will not be saying much about her, if anything. I truly wish to spare her the scrutiny I assume I'm getting back home…. er, back in the USA, as well as any suspicion here in Moscow.

Scrutiny here in post-Soviet times means being questioned periodically by the Federal Security Service, the FSB. After one such interrogation, my SVR pension was actually increased! I think I've proven to them that I'm very white-bread, vanilla. As far as I know my daughter hasn't a clue that I've been looked into - but she does know I am from the States. How could she not? I speak Russian now with a very thick American accent.

FBI COLORADO

Russia at least pays lip service to the equality of women. More so than 1973 USA. In 1963 they had put the first woman into space, Valentina Tereshkova. (My daughter is now old enough to remind me, that that is something that 'we' did, not 'they'.)

It was a different world in 1973. It was still Hoover's FBI, even though he'd died the year before. Hoover had a template for 'Special Agent', including expectations on their clothing. Women and minorities were an afterthought.

Me, I had only been in Washington for two years. I had lucked into the FBI office pool within weeks, meaning that I'd passed a security check. Mom and dad told me of the visit by FBI agents from the Denver office, guys who'd also visited my high school as well as community college. They'd harassed Lynnette. But I'd finished first in the class in secretarial and office skills, so I passed muster.

I found out later that mom was scared out of her wits, that they'd uncover the abortion I'd had. I really don't want to write about that, either. The whole thing had been the result of my high-school boyfriend, who proceeded to dump me at the news. As far as either mom or I knew, dad never knew about the pregnancy. For friendship consumption, it had been a miscarriage.

The only reason to mention that, was that abortion was illegal in Colorado back then. That was before Colorado legalized the procedure in 1967 for a narrow set of circumstances, none of which applied to me. Mom knew a doctor, we went away for what dad thought was a 'girls trip', and that was that.

Ok, enough of that. By 1971 I had put Colorado behind me. Mom and dad didn't approve of the move, my one concession was that I would attend a local Lutheran church regularly. As mom said, "That's where you'll meet a nice Lutheran boy." I'd say back to her that this was Washington!

FBI COUNTERINTELLIGENCE

I was a temp in the office pool. I got more work than I really needed, but I also wasn't dating or anything. I think in those first two years I had ended up temp'ing in every FBI department or division. People said I was 'personable', someone with a real interest in the human side of the job. As such I not only learned about the job I was temp'ing for, but I also learned what those around me did and how the divisions related (or competed!).

I had temp'ed for the Director of Counter Intelligence twice. The first time was for a girl who'd got pregnant, and Hoover's FBI looked unkindly on that. I never made an issue of it, but Counter Intelligence those days was a cesspool of sexism.

No one ever tried anything with me, but secretaries often complained about being groped or having to endure vulgar jokes or the like.

Eventually, I got sent back down. That first time, the Director had reached over to the State Department to fill the position for a woman he'd previously known. I'd only temp'ed for a week, and he assured me that I would be successful in just about any permanent position I would apply for, given that I'd seamlessly slipped in for those 5 days.

In 1973, the woman from State resigned. It was under a cloud of some sort, I never learned why. I was applying within The Bureau for permanent things and had been promised better positions. Every time I was turned down, it was with the message that advancement would happen for me, soon.

Then the old Director called for me personally. At that time, it was still as only a temp, the second time I would fill in for the duration, when he could find someone else.

That is until he invited me into the Vault. It had just been built for the Agents and secure conversations, that was the first and last time I had been in there. He sat me down and started quizzing me about Colorado. I was panicked that he was going to ask about the abortion I'd had, but that did not come up.

When he asked about my observations about 'security' in the Counter Intelligence office, I was blunt. I said, "Sir, people pull files, then they leave them out. Last time I was here, I'd come in early the next day, and a file would have sat 'open' on an agent's desk all night. Cleaning people are in and out of here." I concluded a long harangue with, "Quite frankly, sir, all of it is on your desk. You're ultimately responsible for this Division."

I thought I'd soiled my nest with him. Badly. Next day I was back in the office pool, waiting for a new temporary assignment.

The Director of CI, he'd called down personally. I was to start permanent the next Monday. His only marching orders were, "I'm trusting that you will keep me on the straight and narrow?"

Which is something I tried to do. People forget, that still was only a year after Director Hoover's death. A culture of fear still dominated the building. No less than former President Truman had called the FBI 'Hoover's personal Gestapo'. Me, I'd been in most of the divisions in those two short years, and saw what Mr. Truman had been talking about.

It's not accurate to say that when Frank Gaad took over Counter Intelligence, that things were 'relaxed' in the Bureau. That's not it. By then, I was a fixture.

But for me, in my now entrenched position as the Director's secretary, I had a bird's-eye view on it all.

TWO THINGS

Maybe more.

First, I was surprised that when Frank Gaad had been appointed to head the Division, that he didn't replace me with someone else. The old director said that he and I had worked hand-in-glove. I had not been aware that I'd bailed out my old boss on many an occasion, but that's what he said. He said I had the knack for showing up with exactly the right file, just when he needed it.

Mr. Gaad was nice enough. He was rather sardonic, much like mom and dad's Lutheran minister back home. But he also had a temper. When he called me into his office that first week (note: not the Vault), I was sure I was going to be replaced. I'd even looked at the vacancy list that the office pool kept. There were no equivalent positions within the Bureau for me to slide into, so I envisioned myself over at State, or (heavens) even the CIA or NSA.

But Mr. Gaad was kind. Like my old boss, he asked for my views on the Division. "If you could clean up one thing, Martha, one thing that is pulling down our ability to be effective, what would that be?"

I told him what I'd told his predecessor. "Sir, you have to clamp down on security within the department. Files are left all over the place. I used to spend a half-hour before going home, going from desk to desk collecting files, ones with all sorts of security clearances attached to them. I would pile them on this desk," pointing to the Director's desk, "but he never really got a handle on it."

Agent Gaad sat silently, then said, "Martha, I expect you to ride herd on me, like you did on the last guy. Me, I'm a copy-counter. I expect signatures opposite each photocopier use. That's just the start."

I regarded Agent Gaad with high hopes.

The other thing that he was deficient in, was that the male agents in the office had no right to declare open season on the females - meaning, me. Chris Amador was the worst - a nice guy, but not my type. Certainly not the type I would ever risk being open with. None of those macho 'Special Agents' in the 1980s Bureau, were my type. None of them showed the kind of vulnerability that only of few of the guys back home had displayed.

Especially the guy who dumped me. The guy who is probably responsible for me being way out here in Washington to begin with.

AND SECONDLY

Second. I'd promised two things, maybe more. So here it goes.

Second was Clark Westerfeld. I will leave what I now know about Clark for later.

Clark was a bolt out of the blue. From this vantage point, exactly what I needed, when I needed it.

He showed up at my apartment door on a late Saturday morning, a lazy morning at that. Ronald Reagan had just been sworn in as President, and Counter Intelligence found new support. And resources. With Reagan's antagonism toward the Soviet Union, Mr. Gaad especially saw the Cold War heated up, and Mr. Gaad relished the fight.

So, there he was at my door. Clark.

Any reader of this must be taken with the monumental gullibility I had had that day. Clark Westerfeld, not exactly bristling with confidence - from the Department of Justice's Office of Professional Responsibly. Him doing a confidential 'audit' of the FBI's security features in their various offices.

Finally. Someone had taken notice. Maybe even Agent Gaad himself had taken my concerns and had kicked them upstairs. But seeing Clark there, I almost pulled him into my suite - this was my one opportunity to talk someone's ear off on the very things I'd been yelling about since I had stepped into the Counter intelligence world back in '73.

Clark had an answer for everything. I'd originally asked, "Doesn't the OPR only investigate Department of Justice lawyers?" He said that in this case, those investigations into DoJ lawyers had opened doors into potential security leaks in the various divisions, mainly in the FBI. With a significant number of allegations being made about the Counter Intelligence Division specifically.

It might sound corny to admit it, but having someone in authority 'sing my song', I not only wanted to cooperate fully with Clark Westerfeld, but I was the one who asked him if we could meet again.

That is when his 'excuses' became hard-baked into our yet-pending relationship.

He said, "Miss Hanson, my job takes me all over the country. I have a small apartment here in D.C., but I spend so much time in hotels across the country…. well, let me just say - yes, I will be back." He handed me a card, "Here's a number to call, but I'll be honest. You'll have to leave a message, and it may be days or up to a week before I can respond."

I took the card and said, "Ya, but what if I have something to tell you from a specific day, and there's no time to wait?" My motives for asking that may have been the first I thought that I was becoming less than professional with this guy.

"Miss Hanson," he concluded, before getting up and leaving. "You wouldn't believe the issues OPR deals with, issues that make anything from Counter Intelligence look minor."

That, as they say, was that.

Me, I was wondering how to leverage Clark Westerfeld. I told myself I was doing it to 'clean up CI.' But to be honest, it was far more than that.