Free See No Evil: The True Story of a Ground Soldier in the CIA's War on Terrorism by Robert Baer Page A

blur. The teams covering us were good. Sometimes they used what’s called ‘dolphin surveillance’ - now you see us, now you don’t. For two or three days they’d be all over us; we couldn’t miss them. And then the next day we wouldn’t see anyone. After a while, we would start to see ghosts.
    Other times they employed what’s called ‘waterfall surveillance,’ in which the team walks directly at you rather than following from behind. A good waterfall surveillance requires hundreds of people and cars. As soon as a surveillant passes his target (called the ‘rabbit’), he turns down the first cross street, walks to a parallel street, and catches a van that drives him ahead of the rabbit so he can rejoin the flow, often wearing a change of clothes.
    This went on for day after day without letup. Teams and techniques were switched at random. The objective was to wear us out and force mistakes. Just when we thought we couldn’t take any more, they would turn up the heat. One night when I’d pushed it to the limit, a team picked the lock on my car and stole my notes. Sure enough, a surveillance team was waiting for me at the next drop site. It was a mistake I would never make again.
    The course did more than teach us to detect surveillance, though - it also taught us to beat it. Anytime you’re in motion, whether walking around a city or driving in the country, there comes a point where you’re out of sight. And it is during that moment, whether it’s a dip in a country road or a blind spot between buildings, that you do whatever you need to do. Chances are, you’ll have only a split second. Preparation is everything.
    Toward the end of the course at the Farm, it was pretty clear who would pass and who wouldn’t. Lynch loosened up and joined us one night at the student bar.
    ‘I know it’s been five months of hell. Do you think any of you are ready for the field?’
    No one said anything.
    ‘I’m happy you’ve figured at least that much out down here,’ Lynch said. ‘You’ve just scratched the surface when it comes to this profession.
    ‘If there is one thing you should have learned, it’s that the opposition is out to get you. It has the resources and patience, too. I don’t care if it’s in Moscow or Paris. Wherever you end up, there will be a million pairs of eyes watching and waiting for you to make a mistake.
    ‘You know what I do first thing every morning when I wake up overseas? I go through my pockets. I fan the pages of the book I was reading the night before. I check my briefcase. I look under the bed. I’m a man obsessed, looking for that telltale scrap of paper with the agent’s name on it, his telephone number or address - anything that could possibly compromise him. I just have to assume that the moment I leave my house or hotel the opposition will show up to rifle through my things.’
    Lynch ordered another pitcher of beer. A couple more students pulled up chairs to listen.
    ‘But let me tell you something else. It’s not just discipline. If you slavishly follow the rule book, you’ll fail. Let’s say it’s one-thirty in the morning and you’re finishing up with your agent. You’re dead tired, and the only thing you can think about is climbing into bed. You’re about ready to stop and drop off the agent when you see a pair of lights in the rearview mirror. Until then there’s been almost no cars on the road. A coincidence? You can’t know for sure. Another ten minutes and the lights are still there. What would you do?’
    ‘Keep driving around until you’re clean,’ one of the students offered.
    ‘Maybe. But driving around aimlessly late at night is likely to tell surveillance you’re operational. Red meat to the jackals. They’d flood the streets with surveillance. Now is the time for our case officer to think out of the box - break the rules.’
    ‘I know what I’d do,’ I interrupted. ‘I’d put the agent on the floor of the car, drive home, let him out in