Every Dec. 25, the West pauses, be it for faith or cultural reasons, to keep Christmas traditions. Ever wondered how this plays out at CIA headquarters or among its officers abroad? Pull a stool up to the hearth and let me regale you with tales of the Spy of Christmas Past, for espionage and Noël share more in common than surreptitious entries. [Lays finger aside nose, eyes twinkling, winks.]
Let’s begin at Langley. Entering the white marble foyer of the original headquarters building’s main entrance, stepping over the great compass rose seal in the floor and passing the wall of stars commemorating our fallen (both often depicted in movies), you observe wreaths on the columns, poinsettias on the floor, and Christmas trees. (In this decked hall, you also find engraved on the stone wall a quote from the manger-born himself, “And ye shall know the truth and the truth will make you free.”— John 8:32)
As you journey deeper into the corridors, you encounter doors to restricted areas decorated with Christmas wrapping, bows, ornaments and all manner of 3D holiday-themed crafts. (One sporting a scene of the Grinch, hand-painted by a group chief, still lingers in my mind.) Door-decorating contests are a tradition in many CIA divisions.
Individual officers contribute other festive touches. I once donated to my division’s front office an electric-powered, inflatable Frosty the Snowman lawn ornament, which it displayed in a hallway to cheer the burdened souls of the covert operators tethered by duty to lurk the halls away from family during all hours of this otherwise festive time, to include Christmas Eve and Day themselves. (The agency never sleeps.)
Headquarters office parties are common, but funded by employees (a federal regulation, which also prohibits Christmas bonuses). Victuals abound, libations flow, and white elephant gift exchanges are common. Corridors echo with music, from Bing Crosby’s Mele Kalikimaka to Run DMC’s Christmas in Hollis. You may see a Santa hat bobbing down a hallway. Common, too, are parties at homes of coworkers, your second family in the Clandestine Service.
One seasonal fixture at Langley is the U.S. Postal Service’s Operation Santa collection boxes — gifts for the needy. The Agency Gift Shop (indeed, there is such a thing) displays a selection of espionage-themed tree ornaments, ties and other goodies (for overt staff, retirees whose cover was lifted, and officers needing gifts for partners in other U.S. government agencies and in foreign intel services in South America, Africa, Europe and Asia).
What about the field, you ask? To be honest, it could be surreal. Good examples are found in my first post abroad, in Asia, wife and small children in tow.
One year, the holiday party at our facility had a DEA agent costumed as Kris Kringle and the host country’s paramilitary border security agency on patrol with automatic weapons. (This was just prior to 9-11. The intelligence community knew something big was coming, but not the timing or location. Worldwide, we were all on high alert.)
Another year, on Christmas Eve, I oversaw an operation to track down and apprehend an individual seen casing our facility. An unusually cold night in an otherwise tropical locale, my wife and I dipped into our personal wardrobes to outfit the surveillance teams of the local security service with sweaters and sweatshirts.
During our house party, I was in our upstairs bedroom juggling telephones to coordinate the actions of the surveillants, a European partner (the target’s country of citizenship), a nearby CIA station, and CIA headquarters. Meanwhile, my pregnant wife entertained guests from the local community and our own coworkers who came to feast on turkey, drink mulled wine, and listen to Christmas classics. (The man was apprehended before the party’s end.)
Encroachment of work into personal life is part of a CIA career; holidays are not exempt.
So … this season, as you enjoy the Nutcracker Suite and fruitcake and caroling, raise a glass of egg nog to the shadow civil servants out there watching over the nation’s security, some missing their kids’ Christmas morning gift-opening to execute an emergency clandestine dead drop involving something other than candy canes.
And … as the wee fellow said, “May God bless us, everyone.”
J.P. Atwell is a former senior CIA operations officer. His two-decade career began as an intelligence analyst and took him to every continent, save Antarctica. He now calls Hawaii Island home. He welcomes your comments at island.intelligencer@gmail.com.
