1. An American Swallow


    Date: 8/27/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: VirgoGo, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    They called us “Honeypots.” Our counterparts at the KGB were “Swallows.” It was unclear if the Russians meant the noun or the verb. Outwardly, the CIA said that sexual entrapment wasn’t an American intelligence tactic. After a series of embarrassing lapses, some felt it was time to reconsider. ~ Last year, when I was completing my degree in Russian Studies at Wellesley, Irvin Scarbeck was arrested by the FBI. Two years earlier, in 1959, while working at the US Embassy in Warsaw, Irvin had taken up with a Polish floozy. His life became a cliché. He rented an apartment where the ravenous Urszula showed him some compelling new vices. Warsaw is a grim, tough place, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when the Polish Secret Service popped out of a closet brandishing a camera. Utter professionals, they captured him in flagrante. For two years, Irvin fed secret information to the Poles who gave it to the Soviets. In June of 1961, the FBI finally caught up with Irvin. I was at home in Georgetown when the arrest occurred, and it rippled through my family. My father is Marshall Williams, the Associate Deputy Director of the CIA. While it sounds like a second tier job, it isn’t. He’s responsible for the day to day management of a very complicated workplace. The CIA is filled with scheming sociopaths and my father is their Alpha. He can out-spook the spooks. Dad’s operational and political skills were honed over decades. He first joined the Agency when it was led by William Donovan. ...
    “Wild Bill’ taught my father that protecting the nation’s security demands cunning and sacrifice; enemies exist where you least expect them, and there is a tension between threat and opportunity. As a result, nothing happens at the Agency without dad’s knowledge. That summer, I quarreled with my mother and disappointed my father. My parents had learned of an affair with my political science professor. The relationship was of no consequence to me. I had been seeking serious conversation and he had been seeking frisky company. I would sneak out of my dorm, no easy feat given the tight supervision and early curfew, and bicycle into town. Having to employ a little tradecraft only added to my enjoyment. For two terms, Walter and I would spend evenings drinking, fucking, and speculating about Khrushchev. What would happen with Berlin? Did he really pound his shoe at the UN? Unfortunately, Walter didn’t realize I wasn’t one of those “ring by spring” girls. Without my knowledge, Walter had traveled to Georgetown to ask for my hand. My father was neither impressed by Walter’s initiative nor surprised that yet another man had presented himself as a serious suitor. My mother, however, thought Walter was perfectly adequate. I was aghast. There was no way I was going to marry Walter, or anyone…at least not for a few years. I had no interest in matching my mother’s trajectory. She had married my father only days after graduating from Bryn Mawr; she then embraced the roles of wife and mother ...
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