Alan B. Trabue - A Life of Lies and Spies: Tales of a CIA Covert Ops Polygraph Interrogator

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Fictitious names are used in this book to conceal true identities.

All statements of fact, opinion, or analysis expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official positions or views of the CIA or any other U.S. government agency. Nothing in the contents should be construed as asserting or implying U.S. government authentication of information or Agency endorsement of the authors views. This material has been reviewed by the CIA to prevent the disclosure of classified information.

A significant portion of my life has been spent gallivanting around the world for the CIA. Unfortunately, a lifetime of travel caused me to miss many of lifes wonderful moments with my wife and daughtermoments that will be lost forever. I was away on almost every kind of holiday, birthday, and anniversary celebrated by my family. Lengthy absences from home forced me to burden my wife, Sharon, with many of lifes miseries that we should have tackled together. Without her love and support, my nomadic lifestyle would not have been possible. My career path would have been quite different, and I would have had far fewer adventures. I am a romantic who was lucky enough to find the love of his life early in life. Sharon is incredibly supportive and understanding. More importantly, she gives meaning to Marilyn Monroes words, A career is wonderful, but you cant curl up with it on a cold night. She is my island of tranquility in the storm of life, and I will be eternally grateful for her partnership in the exceptionally bizarre way I chose to make a living. This book is dedicated to my wife, Sharon.

I would like to acknowledge several people for their help during the writing of A Life of Lies and Spies . What began as a solitary experience eventually turned into a team effort. I would like to thank my literary agent, Greg Aunapu, of the Salkind Literary Agency. His enthusiastic review and generous feedback were greatly appreciated, and I will forever remember when he said, Its a real honor to have ones career monumentalized as a book.

Editor Rob Kirkpatrick, assistant Jennifer Letwack, and copy editor David Stanford Burr of Thomas Dunne Books deserve special thanks for their expertise in polishing my manuscript.

Obligated by a CIA secrecy agreement, I am grateful for the prompt and judicious review of my manuscript by the CIA Publications Review Board.

Friends and family merit special mention. My training trip partner and friend of forty years deserves special acknowledgment for being the role model that set me on the right path in our profession. To all my friends and colleagues, I sincerely welcomed your kind words and support during the writing of my memoir. Finally, I cannot find the words to adequately express my appreciation for the love and support of my wife, Sharon, and our daughter, Lisa.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,

When first we practice to deceive!

S IR W ALTER S COTT

The day was supposed to be a routine travel day between CIA offices, a simple one-hour flight from the international airport in a Southeast Asian capital city to another city up-country. It was 1976, and as a CIA covert ops polygraph examiner, I had made hundreds of similar trips in the past without incident. By midmorning, it had gone terribly wrong.

The day started off as planned. After an hour-long taxi ride to the airport, I checked in at the airline counter and made my way to the departure lounge carrying my briefcase. I didnt normally carry my briefcase, because it really wasnt a briefcase. It was a polygraph instrument built into a briefcase. A casual observer would never know what was inside. Up to that point, my day had gone as expected. I busied myself people-watching in the departure lounge while waiting for the boarding announcement. However, as I watched with disbelieving eyes, soldiers entered the lounge carrying two things that made my heart sink: submachine guns and a table. Terrifying visions of being handcuffed and carried off to jail by armed soldiers filled my mind. I knew my polygraph instrument was very incriminating evidence of espionage, and I didnt have any credentials that would protect me.

The table was set up near the exit door and an announcement followed that passengers would have to submit to a bag search before boarding the airplane. I couldnt believe my bad luck. Should I try to escape by leaving the departure lounge or would that raise their suspicions? That course of action seemed uncomfortably similar to a car approaching a roadblock and turning around to avoid the police. That never has a good outcome. Should I try to bluster my way through as a pompous, overbearing, ugly American? Should I refuse to open my briefcase? All options seemed to lead to the same disastrous conclusion. I decided to cooperate as best I could. Realizing the uproar that would surely ensue when I opened the briefcase, I thought it best to be the last one in line. I wanted as small an audience as possible. So, while other passengers rushed to form some semblance of a line, I hung back and waited. My mind raced, but I was unable to figure out how to escape the terrible predicament. I had no choice but to comply with the security check. One by one, the passengers were screened and allowed to walk out onto the tarmac to climb the steps to the airplane. When I was the last passenger in the departure lounge, I could wait no longer. Walking up to the flimsy table, I put the heavy briefcase down. It caught the immediate attention of a soldier. He motioned for me to open the case. I unsnapped the latches holding the lid closed and spread the briefcase wide open. Looking down, he gasped for air, stepped back, and tightened his grip on the submachine gun. Pointing it straight at my chest, he screamed for help. Terrified, he gripped his weapon so tightly his knuckles turned white. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and fear widened his eyes. He was one finger twitch away from cutting me in half.

* * *

A mere twenty-four hours before, I had taken every step to ensure that this very event would not take place. This was not supposed to be happening. The main office had an urgent need to have an agent polygraphed at one of its smaller offices up-country. Since there was no polygraph instrument stored at the office and insufficient time to send one through official channels, I knew I would have to take an instrument with me on the flight. In the 1970s, a rash of airplane hijackings resulted in passenger and baggage security checks at many international airports. At first, they concentrated on international flights. Few airports were performing security checks on domestic flights. Since my flight was going to be a short domestic flight, I knew that I could either hand-carry the polygraph instrument on the airplane or pack it in a larger suitcase and send it through as checked baggage. Everything depended on whether the airport had instituted security checks for domestic flights.