Reading the autobiography of classical Shakespearian performer Sir Patrick Stewart (perhaps known to you as Captain Picard of “Star Trek” or the wheelchair-bound Dr. Xavier of Marvel’s “X-Men” movies) reaffirmed my longstanding canned response to people who ask, “What is being a spy really like?”
Sometimes, it’s like being an actor. Let me explain.
Theater experience, including as an operetta’s lead, accustomed me to playing roles and using costumes, wigs, prosthetics, makeup and props. Overcoming stage fright, memorizing lines, following scripts, hitting marks, responding to cues, rehearsing and stepping out of one’s comfort zone were routine. Occasionally, I “broke the fourth wall” (addressed the audience, drew them in, incorporated them into the show).
Spycraft shares these elements, most under different names — cover, roleplaying, disguise, props, sangfroid, jitters, chunking, signals, ops meeting planning sessions, recruiting the agent.
Indeed, entering operational scenarios is akin to stepping onto a stage, butterflies included, with more improv.
Like an actor, an officer operating under another persona draws from personal experience to get into character. Example? Headquarters once tasked me to assess for recruitment as a clandestine agent a biological weapons target. I established a bond by exploiting a mutual interest and experience in beekeeping.
(Closer to home, consider Japanese Noh performers. Ops officers, too, wear masks — figuratively, as they assume identities, and for real (check out former CIA technical officer Antonio Mendez’s classic book “The Master of Disguise”).
As a senior ops manager — including talent scouting for our employee recruitment center — I developed an appreciation for applicants and newbies who could summon the Muses, irrespective of college alma mater, military service, business chops, foreign languages. On the street, I more often needed a subordinate with thespian skills matching the range and intensity of Gary Oldman than someone who could handle a weapon or spout poli-sci theory.
Consider the versatility of the person who can seamlessly and believably step out of the door as a nondescript U.S. official, a businessman in fully backstopped alias, or a formidable CIA agent handler in disguise, as needed. Relatedly, some famous actors — Cary Grant included — have dabbled as spies, and the longstanding CIA-Hollywood relationship is well-documented (check out Ben Affleck’s film “Argo).
Starkly different between the theater and cloak-and-dagger world (aside from the stakes) is recognition. No standing ovation for the spy. No media coverage (unless something goes off script). Lack of recognition is recognition (that one has performed a clandestine act and gotten away). Awards are sometimes granted in small, private ceremonies including only the performer, director and producer (immediate chain of command).
A final example. During an operation against a strategic adversary nation’s assets located in a developing Asian country, I oversaw a small team of technical officers — the wizards of Langley, gadget builders — packed in a van that was outfitted with electronic signal intercept gear. The automobile’s interior looked like the Space Shuttle’s cockpit (hard to explain, if caught driving through the countryside).
While pulled onto the road’s shoulder to fine tune the equipment, two official looking vehicles with roof-mounted lights pulled in behind us. As the uniformed, armed personnel stepped out of their cruisers and cautiously approached — body language reflecting tension — I knew I could not allow them to get close enough to the vehicle to inspect the drape-covered windows, open doors, or ask passengers to step out. Showtime.
Closed eyes and a deep belly breath helped center my thoughts, calm my nerves, as I channeled the persona of a distraught, lost holiday-goer. I grabbed a prop (a messily opened tourist map), emerged from the driver’s seat, and briskly walked to head off the approaching officers while conveying agitation, confusion and a sense of relief at my “saviors’” arrival.
Seeing a flustered Westerner in tourist garb, the officers immediately relaxed and transformed from investigators to aid-providers. After a few minutes of discussing directions, they bid me adieu, reentered their vehicles and disappeared. My one-act, one-man show’s close saw no applause, no bow, and — thank God — no encore.
Don’t get me wrong. Successful ops officers must posses skills beyond acting, and they see more desk work than theatrics (topics for another day). For now, I will simply exit, stage right.
Curtains!
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.
