Robert Baer - The Company We Keep: A Husband-And-Wife True-Life Spy Story

More Praise for THE COMPANY WE KEEP

I learned of the legendary Bob Baer upon my arrival at the CIA in 1998, where he was much revered. This is the kind of officer you want to be, neophyte spies like me were told. This extraordinary new book , The Company We Keep , by Baer and his wife, Dayna, a CIA-trained shooter and surveillance operative, shows the Baers ultimate triumph over the isolation inherent in their professions and the banality of bureaucracy worldwide.

Will illuminate the dark world of intelligence gathering that very few people ever see . Its filled with ground truth, tradecraft, and operational details. You will not be disappointed.

A cross between voyeurism and adventure, this book takes us through the emotional, poignant, and often dangerous lives of two CIA operatives: the fear, the violence, the requisite suspicion, and the tenuous friendships. Its especially intriguing to follow a woman into dark corners, thrilling missions, and psychologically difficult moments.

Vivid and revealing A look inside the real CIA.

ALSO BY ROBERT BAER

See No Evil

Sleeping with the Devil

The Devil We Know

Copyright 2011 by Robert B. Baer and Dayna Baer

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crown Publishers, an imprint of the
Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

CROWN and the Crown colophon are registered trademarks of
Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Baer, Robert.
The company we keep / Robert and Dayna Baer.1st. ed.
p. cm.
1. Baer, Robert. 2. Baer, Dayna. 3. United States. Central Intelligence AgencyBiography. 4. Intelligence officersUnited StatesBiography. 5. SpiesUnited StatesBiography. 6. Husband and wifeUnited States I. Baer,
Dayna. II. Title.
JK468.I6.B33 2010
327.127300922dc22
[B] 2010019829

eISBN: 978-0-307-58816-6

Map by Mapping Specialists
Jacket design by Howard Grossman

v3.1

AUTHORS NOTE

All events in the story are true. However, to protect sources and methods, the names of operatives and informants have been changed, and their identities blurred beyond recognition. For instance, we describe the organization that Yuri works for as the Russian KGB, although by 1991 the KGB had been dissolved into multiple organizations. The term parabolic mic substitutes for a device that is still classified. The names of the people who helped with the adoption have been changed because they belong to Pakistans imperiled Christian minority. Special thanks goes to our editor, Rick Horgan, who first saw the possibility of this book, and whipped it into the shape it needed to be in. The CIA has reviewed the book to ensure that it contains no classified information.

The bottom line is: There arent any textbooks on spying, you have to invent as you go along .

Robert Littell , The Company: A Novel of the CIA

Contents

PROLOGUE

Split, Croatia: DAYNA

I think Bobs joking when he points at the station wagon parked out front of Split airport, the one were about to drive into Sarajevo. Its lime green with a tangerine Orangina painted down the side. Whats worse, its right-hand drive, a British Vauxhall. Bosnia, Croatiaeverywhere in the Balkansis left-hand drive. It just makes no sense to me, driving a billboard on wheels into a city the Serbs have been pounding with artillery and sniping at since the civil war started in 1992. Does he want to give them something to shoot at?

Bob catches my look and asks if its a little too early for me. I cant tell if he means it sarcastically. But its only six thirty, and I decide to keep quiet and let him think Im sleepy. Anyway theres nothing I can do now. Although I dont work for him, he outranks me. And thats not to mention that I dont have another way to get to Sarajevo.

I tell myself itll be fine. Well part ways as soon as we get to Sarajevo. But the car does break every rule in the book. From day one, they drilled into our heads never to drive a car people will remember. You drive something plain vanilla, like a dirty, dinged-up brown sedan. People forget plain and ugly things. This station wagon is definitely ugly, but its a car no one will ever forget. An ice-cream truck, bells jingling, would attract less attention.

Truth is, I think Bobs a little nutty. I met him in Sarajevo the first time when Washington cabled us to meet an operative going by the name of Harold. Harolds an alias, right? I asked Charlie, an ex-Marine pilot I work with. We both wondered whod agree to an alias like Harold. The only other thing the cable said was that hed wait for us at eleven at a fish restaurant on the Zeljeznica River, ten miles outside of town.

It was a soft spring day. Small, fluffy clouds drifted across the sky, and the leaves were just coming out. The restaurant was packed with locals drinking and chain smoking. Riley, Charlie! a voice called out. It was obviously Harold. He stood up, motioning us to come over, like he was berthing an airliner. He was at a table with a half-dozen men, talking and waving a half-defoliated cigar. Charlie and I didnt move, so Harold got up, said something to the men that made them laugh, and threaded his way through the tables to join us.

He stuck out his hand. Hi, Im Bob, he said. So much for the Harold alias. We found a free table in the corner. Washington hadnt told us what we were supposed to do for Bob, only to hear him out. Bob said we should have lunch, and recommended the grilled trout. When we told him we couldnt stay, he got right to it: headquarters had sent him to Sarajevo to go after Hizballah, the Lebanese militant group backed by Iran. It had set up in Bosnia at the beginning of the civil war to fight with the Bosnian Muslimsat the behest of Iran. Done right, well pin em down like butterflies, Bob proclaimed.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Charlie concentrating, making sure hed heard right. I was sure he was thinking the same thing I was: it was Hizballah operatives that were hunting us, rather than the other way around. Three months ago wed caught Hizballah planning to kidnap, torture, and kill a CIA operative here. We pulled him out in the middle of the night, right before Hizballahs plan was to be executed. Bottom line: we were playing in Hizballahs backyard.

Bob must have seen the expression on our faces. Invisibility, he said. We become invisible.

He talked about the stuff hed learned in Lebanon during the civil warfrom Hizballah itself, how Hizballah created their own protective covering by constantly moving between houses, changing cars and routes, staying off the telephone and radios, and never patronizing any one establishment exclusively. Why cant we do the same? he said, smiling.

Bob relit his cigar, sending up a fat column of smoke that crouched over the table. The cigar looked Cuban. I wondered where hed gotten it. Probably in Sarajevos black market, where you could find anything from machine guns to stolen cars.

That was pretty much it for the first meeting. I wouldnt see Bob again until this day: in front of Split airport, leading me toward a car you can see from the surface of the moon. I throw my bag into the back of the station wagon and climb in the passenger side. So much for being invisible, I think.