Copyright (c) 2014 Phyllis Zimbler Miller
All rights reserved.
For the third time in a week, U.S. bombers strike at enemy positions inside North Vietnam. - September 6, 1971
"Counterintelligence: In today's spy-conscious world, each side tries to make the opponent's acquisition of intelligence as difficult as possible by taking 'security measures' in order to protect classified information, vital installations, and personnel from enemy penetration." The Craft of Intelligence by Allen Dulles, 1963
"We have a situation," my civilian boss said when I entered the section of the 66th Military Intelligence Group that dealt with counterintelligence. It took me a moment to process this information, especially as I had just come from the trolley after spending all morning downtown at the main Civilian Personnel Office filling out and signing employment papers.
My boss was a GS-12, a civilian and the highest-ranking person in this six-person unit - the other five were warrant officers - and there was an enlisted man in charge of the section's safes.
When this man interviewed me after my security clearance finally came through, he appeared to not want me for his section's GS-3 secretarial position. Yet I had been given the job and today was my first day of work.
Now he jingled the coins in his pants pocket. "A soldier has gone over." Then seeing my puzzled look, he added, "To the Russians."
I sat down at the desk he indicated and waited as he handled the phone calls in and out. After a few minutes I figured out that an American serviceman - a cipher clerk with a security clearance stationed on the border with East Germany -- had defected to the Russians.
Apparently the intelligence czars of USAEUR (United States Army Europe) were now trying to assess what "secrets" the serviceman may have revealed to the enemy.
For a moment I thought of the "classic pickup" Russian attempt in Copenhagen that Mitch and I had experienced. I couldn't imagine that such a clumsy attempt would have worked on any American military personnel.
My boss glanced over at me. "Go home today," he said. "I'll explain your duties tomorrow."
I walked down the interior staircase of headquarters and out past the duty officer. Mitch had the car so I would have a hefty hike back to the housing area. But I couldn't complain - I had worked towards getting this job for the last year, ever since I got to Europe.
Tonight Mitchand I would celebrate our second wedding anniversary. Mitch had gotten the best champagne that he could from the army Class 6 store. And we had dinner reservations at the Walterspiel, the elegant restaurant in the Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel near the opera house in downtown Munich at which we'd previously eaten with my parents, sister and youngest brother.
My eyes strayed over the other army buildings surrounding the headquarters building. This kaserne represented safety. It was Mitch's next duty station that represented danger.
That evening, seated in the Walterspiel, Mitch and I watched our steaks being prepared at our table.
On the drive to the restaurant I had asked Mitch to clarify why a defecting serviceman was the responsibility of the unit where I now worked. I knew better than to discuss this either at our apartment where there might be a "bug" or in a public place where there might be "listeners."
Mitch had explained that my unit was supposed to prevent these kinds of occurrences as well as identify foreign "assets" - people - who might be able to supply the Americans with intelligence about the Russians.
