It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon in downtown Saint Petersburg, Florida, just after 2pm. The sidewalks along Central Avenue are crowded with shoppers and tourists. The aroma of fresh pizza mingles together with the pungent odor of diesel from a passing city bus. A derelict in a faded green army jacket sits with his back against the wall of a record shop. One arthritic claw holds out a dented tin cup.
everyday espionage
I ignore him and scan the faces of the crowd. I’m looking for anyone out of place, anyone who doesn’t belong, anyone paying me a little too much attention. I know there is a surveillance team in the area. And I know they’re looking for me. They could be anybody, anywhere. Suddenly everybody is suspicious. Every pair of eyes is a potential threat. I glance back over my shoulder at the bum. Out of work vet or carefully crafted disguise of an enemy agent? There’s no way to know for sure. Is he watching me? I feel his eyes on my back as I continue up sidewalk.
everyday espionage
Normally I’d run an SDR (Surveillance Detection Route) but there’s no time. This operation was laid in last minute. No time to plan. No time to set up counter-surveillance. I’m on my own. My contact’s codename is Archer. That’s all I’ve got, his codename and a grainy black and white photograph. I try to keep the faded picture in my mind as I make my way along Central. I’m scheduled to meet Archer at 2:15pm at a café in the 600 block.
As I scan the crowd, I’m trying to keep the prearranged signals in my head. The operational code word is Central Avenue. The response is Beach Drive. In the real world spies don’t use obscure code phrases like, The chair is against the wall or the hawk flies at midnight. Not even the ever popular Hollywood inspired, Got a lighter? Followed by,I always use matches.In the real world of espionage, it’s a single word or phrase casually inserted into a sentence. In this case, I have to put Central Avenueinto the very first sentence out of my mouth. That’s the only way to establish my bone fides. If Archer replies with a sentence containing the words Beach Drive, I’ll know it’s him.
everyday espionage
Sweat gathers on my forehead and pastes my polo shirt to my back, and it’s got nothing to do with the Florida heat. My heart is beating out a steady rhythm as I watch for enemy surveillance and struggle to keep all the information straight in my head. One wrong move, one slip of the tongue, and this clandestine meeting goes to pieces. Archer will vanish and take any mission critical info with him. Everything is riding on me.
***
Is this the beginning of my next Jake Noble adventure? Not even close. This is real life. I’m engaged in a covert operation run by a CIA field officer. The stakes couldn’t be higher.
I first met my handler (we’ll call him Andy B) back in July. We were introduced in an art gallery called Studio 620. I mentioned I wrote spy thrillers and Andy insinuated he knew a thing or two about the spy world. Not the Hollywood make believe, the real thing. Needless to say, I was intrigued.
We hit it off and Andy took me under his wing. Over the course of eight weeks he schooled me in the history of covert operations, counterintelligence, tradecraft, and the psychology of spy work. It was intense. I felt a little like Alice falling through the looking glass. From Andy, I learned asset management, bump protocol, signaling, dead drops, and how to elicit information from an unsuspecting target. He also taught me how to apply all those lessons to my everyday life.Today’s operation is the culmination of everything I learned. I’m in downtown Saint Pete to meet with a confidential informant who has information on a global terror group. When I first met Andy, I was just collecting information for my next book. I had no idea I would soon be the point man on an actual operation.
Welcome to the Thunderdome.
***
I spot Archer at a sidewalk table under the shade of an umbrella. He’s middle age, medium build, casually dressed; indistinguishable in almost every way. You’d pass him on the street without looking twice. There’s a cup of coffee on the table in front of him and a book of crossword puzzles. He’s holding a stub of pencil and wearing a slight frown.
I’ve got bills folded in my pocket. Archer isn’t trading information for anything so noble as God or country. He’s in it for the money. I’ll have to pay him off if I want the info, but I can’t exactly hand him a wad of cash in broad daylight. I glimpse a newspaper stand stuffed with copies of Creative Loafing, a free local paper. That will have to do. I haul open the spring loaded door, grab one of the papers, and scan the sidewalk in both directions before covertly slipping the cash between the pages.
In the process, I glance at my watch and realize I’m early. It’s only 2:05pm. If I approach now, I’ll blow the op. Clandestine meetings run on strict timetables. I’ve got a narrow two minute window in which to approach my target. Anything outside that time frame and Archer has been instructed to get up and walk away.
I redirect my steps into the nearest shop. It’s a woman’s clothing boutique. I should have found something a little more appropriate. Too late now. I’ve got to make the best of it. I’ve got ten minutes to burn up. Waiting is the hardest part. The information I need is just outside, less than seven meters away. I amble through the shop, looking at the dresses and touching the fabric. When the girl behind the counter smiles at me, I remark about looking for something for my girlfriend. It’s as good an excuse as any. I check my watch. It’s 2:07. I make a circuit of the store and check my watch again. It’s still 2:07.
Take a breath. I tell myself. Don’t let the enemy force you to move faster than you can think.
I take another circuit of the shop, going slower this time. I ask the sales girl if she has a certain shirt in a small. She does. It’s on sale. I tell her I’ll have to come back with my girlfriend. She puts it behind the counter for me.
After what feels like an eternity, I glance at my wrist and find it’s 2:13.
Game time.
I step back out into the blazing Florida sun and make my way over to Archer’s table. I hitch a smile on my face to hide my nerves. “Central Avenue is the best for coffee and people watching.”
He looks up at me, his eyes narrowed against the heat bouncing off the sidewalk in waves. For a split second I fear I approached the wrong guy. Maybe this isn’t Archer at all, just some random guy who happened to look like me. Or worse, a substitute planted there by an enemy intelligence service.
He opens his mouth and says, “I was just over on Beach Drive…”
I miss everything else in the flood of relief. He’s talking about Saint Pete. I hear something about a crazy town and then something else about the weather. Archer is nervous too. He’s got beads of sweat the size of bullets trailing down his cheeks and his eyes never stop moving. He’s watching the sidewalk, the shops, the people passing by. Seeing how nervous he is, recalls everything I learned about asset management. Archer has a lot to lose. He could be arrested, imprisoned, even worse. It’s my job to keep him calm, let him know everything is going to be okay, and assure him I’m the real deal.
I mutter something about an article I was just reading as I plop down next to him on a stool and open the paper. The fold of bills is trapped under my thumb. Archer clears his throat, glances around, and then swipes the cash. He makes the money disappear like a magician’s trick and a torrent of words spills from his mouth.
Andy warned me Archer is a talker, but I haven’t got time for chit-chat. I need to get the information and disappear back into the crowd before the enemy surveillance captures my face on camera. I don’t wait for him to pause. I jump in and ask what he knows about terror group. Mr. Talkative suddenly clams up.
“This is why we’re here,” I assure him. “This is what you’re getting paid for.”
With another nervous glance, Archer starts talking. I whip out my pen and start scribbling as fast as I can into the margins of the Creative Loafing.All the info in the world is no good if you can’t remember it, and I don’t trust myself to keep it all in my head. We need this data. I probe, trying to wring every last drop of information I can from Archer in just a few minutes. He wanders off topic, repeats things, the way people do, and I have to pull him back on subject. As I interrogate Archer, I’m keeping an eye on my surroundings, looking for anyone out of the ordinary. I’ve pulled everything I think I’m going to get from Archer. He’s given up the name of the organization and even told me what their end game is. I’ve almost made up my mind to end the meeting when I happen to glance over my shoulder and see him. He’s a surveillance operative. There’s no one thing that tips me off, it’s more of a gut instinct.
Time to go.
I tell Archer to be careful as I slip off the stool. The paper gets folded under my arm and I start off down the sidewalk. I have to shake the tail before handing over the information. I cross street against traffic. Horns bleat. On the other side of the street, I change directions and duck down the first side street I come across. It’s a cramped lane for delivery trucks. I pick up the pace, my heart drumming the wall of my chest, as I race back up the block and then two streets over. I’m checking my six the whole way. It takes an extra fifteen minutes but I make it back to the rendezvous and hand the paper over to my team. They’ve been waiting for me and they’re eager to know how it went. I give them a brief rundown. There’s no time for anything else. We’ve got another objective six blocks away and less than twenty minutes to complete it.
***
By eight o’clock that evening, we’re lounging on sofas in a posh downtown club, sipping wine and watching a slide show of our adventures. There are nearly twenty of us in all. Archer is there as well. His real name isn’t Archer, of course. He’s a local actor, hired by Andy B to play a part in our espionage game titled; Streetcraft. In addition to Archer, the enemy surveillance team is also present. Andy B is on stage giving pointers, telling us what we did right, and what we did wrong. He breaks down some of our victories as well as some of our defeats. It’s been a long day and I’ve learned an incredible amount about the world of espionage, and even more about myself. And it all started with Andy’s 8 week lecture series called Everyday Espionage.
Everyday Espionage uses modern-day headlines and historical events to demonstrate how espionage shapes your daily life by teaching you the pattern, process, and principles of spying. Success in espionage requires dynamic thinking, creative problem solving, active collaboration, and superior interpersonal skills. Spies are trained to neutralize threats, predict human behavior, and control their environment to achieve operational success. The same tools which shift international power can shape the future of business, education, relationships, and more.
The developer of Everyday Espionage, a former CIA field officer named Andrew Bustamante, gave his first series of public lectures at Studio 620 in downtown Saint Petersburg and I was fortunate enough to be present. What I learned changed the way I view the world, so when Andy announced his next project—a one day event that would allow participants to take on the role of a spy—I was one of the first to sign up.
Streetcraft was a blast. For one afternoon, I got to be Jake Noble. I learned the basics of tradecraft, crafted a fake identity—no, not Jake Noble—and I carried out missions in the field while trying to evade surveillance.
everyday espionage
Now Andrew is working on a new project and I’m proud to be a sponsor.
Introducing: The Everyday Espionage Podcast:
You don’t have to travel to Florida to experience Everyday Espionage. Everyday Espionage is coming to you! Scheduled for release in November 2018, Andrew Bustamante will present a new espionage concept and real-world application each week for listeners to practice and apply on their own. Tune in and discover a world most people only dream of! Who knows… Maybe you’ll be the next Jake Noble.
