Classified Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

confused. “If we don’t have money, they—the government—will assign a government attorney for us; but that doesn’t make sense! If they are government attorneys, they will always represent the government and try to set us up and screw us over! Is this a trap?”
    I understood only too well. In countries like Turkey, Miranda rights, due process, or court-appointed attorneys at no cost simply don’t exist. This was a thought-provoking dilemma, similar to a “diminished capacity” or “mental defect” case: having grown up with oppression and become accustomed to it, they could not comprehend or believe the rights being explained to them. In this case, the two waived their rights for exactly this reason.
    Almost three hours later, after the session was over, the agent in charge suggested to the others that they have a briefing session with me and discuss my impression and analysis based on the cultural, geographical and education background of these detainees. All agreed.
    I then went over each of the three detainees, describing the environment each grew up in, that area’s culture and religious outlook, level of education based on language skills and degree of articulation, and anything else to help these agents assess the level of risk.
    At first it felt preposterous for me, a novice, to be providing these experts with my analysis, yet within minutes their willingness to truly listen, their eagerness to find out, and their subsequent to-the-point questions put me at ease. I was impressed with these field agents.
    When I finished in Philadelphia it was almost four o’clock. Once on the highway I called Feghali’s office, telling him I was on my way back.
    “What!” he screamed. “No—turn around and go back!”
    “What? Why? I’m finished.”
    He replied without a pause, “Because we already approved the hotel and meal budget for your trip until Sunday—go back, check into a hotel, order yourself a nice dinner, sleep late and drive back tomorrow. Then of course send us the bill.”
    I tried to reason with him. The job was over; I could be home by eight. Why waste the money?
    He continued in a more irritated tone. “Don’t you understand? Each supervisor has a budget for his translators, for his unit. The larger that budget the more important the unit. I want you to spend your budget: hotel, meals, and everything. Consider it your mini rest day; we are not in the business of saving the FBI money, my friend. The motto here is, the more your department spends, the more your department is loved.”
    I was getting really annoyed. “Well, I’m halfway there already. I have a paper due on Monday. I’m heading back. I’ll see you next week.” With that I hung up.
    This budget quota business didn’t make sense; in fact I hated the whole idea. I told myself to stop thinking about Feghali and be happy for a job well done. Soon I would be home.

    The following week, on my first day at work since the trip to Wilmington and Philadelphia, Feghali told me to call Special Agent Dennis Saccher, to whom I now was formally assigned. I could detect coolness toward me; Feghali was still upset with me for not staying the extra night.
    I called Saccher’s extension and was asked to go up one floor. Saccher, in his late thirties, stood around five foot ten, stocky but not fat, light brown hair and fair complexion. After shaking hands, we walked through a maze of halls to his cubicle.
    Saccher was friendly but to the point. After chatting a few minutes, we talked about political and other important aspects in the target country. He was surprised by how up to date I was. We discussed major criminal activities and entities within and outside Turkey, and their overlapping partnerships with other foreign criminal networks.
    He covered the importance of counterintelligence and his areas of investigation. He went over what was considered significant: exchange of money; information exchange involving intelligence, technology and