Get the Truth: Former CIA Officers Teach You How to Persuade Anyone to Tell All (3 page)

Reacting to Mary’s startling revelation in a harsh or adversarial manner, Phil well knew, would thwart his chances of getting that information, since it would almost certainly cause Mary to throw up her defenses, or even to shut down. The stakes were too high. Mary could easily have said something she shouldn’t have said in an intimate moment, and Phil needed Mary to be willing to open up to him.

“Mary, let’s not lose sight of what we’re dealing with here,” Phil said, as you may recall. “It’s not like you’re a spy. It’s not like you gave him everything. If there was some pillow talk, we just need to talk about it so we can clear this up.”

You may also recall Mary’s response: “Phil, you don’t understand. I
did
give him everything.”

Call it providential. Call it sheer luck. Whatever it was, it was very, very fortunate. Because the route Phil was taking could easily have ended in a catastrophic derailment.

What if Mary had heard what Phil said, and had the presence of mind to capitalize on it? Suppose that instead of the way it actually went, it had gone something like this:

“When you said that, Phil, it made me think. Could I have said something at some point when we were lounging in bed with a bottle of wine? We did talk about our workdays in very general terms sometimes, just things like how crazy the day was, or that I had to work later than usual. I honestly don’t think I ever said anything to him that mattered, Phil. I hope to God I never said anything that mattered.”

No doubt, Phil could have worked with that response, and ultimately might well have gotten to the same place: an admission from Mary that she had given Charmer everything. But he might have been beaten. And if he had been, despite giving it his best shot, the reason would have been readily apparent: When it really counted, his aim was way too low.

To understand the target, think of a continuum that represents Mary’s actions. On one end of the continuum is the best-case scenario; on the other, the worst-case scenario. In Phil’s interview with Mary, the best-case scenario was probably that she was guilty of some serious indiscretions and that she had violated a trust by knowingly engaging in a relationship with a foreign intelligence officer, but no classified information had been compromised. The worst-case scenario was that she had been recruited by a foreign intelligence service, and that she had actively engaged in espionage against the United States.

When Mary admitted to Phil that she had been in a romantic relationship with Charmer, Phil’s assumption was that this lonely woman had simply allowed her heart to rule her head—that she had exercised exceedingly poor judgment, but with no real intent to cause any harm. Still, recognizing that people let their guard down and become more open in such circumstances, Phil was well aware of the urgency of the matter. He saw the immediate task at hand as determining what Mary might have said to Charmer in those unguarded moments.

Phil had pegged Mary’s activity very close to the “best-case” end of the continuum, without sufficient evidence to do so. That misreading led to the “pillow talk” question.

Mary’s confession would ultimately pinpoint where she really was on the continuum—as it turned out, she was squarely on the opposite end. Phil had missed it by a mile.

He vowed to never let that happen again.

* * *

At an overseas location about a year later, Phil was studiously reviewing a case file. He had been dispatched to the region to conduct security interviews with several foreign assets—individuals who had been recruited to serve as intelligence operatives. It was a routine procedure that these operatives were required to undergo on a fairly regular basis, just as Agency employees themselves underwent periodic security reinvestigations. The case Phil was reviewing was that of a foreign asset we’ll call “Omar,” a high-value, trusted local who had served the Agency well over the course of twenty years since he had been recruited. Omar’s record was impressive. Phil had reviewed the case files of dozens of assets all over the world, and it was easy to see why this guy stood out as an especially highly prized source. Beyond all that, no areas of concern had arisen in Omar’s previous security interviews. So when Phil closed the file and left his secure location for the meeting, he was confident this one would be a breeze. Two hours, tops, and then he’d be able to meet up with a coworker to get some dinner.

The prearranged meeting place was a high-rise hotel in the center of the city. A suite on one of the higher floors had been secured for the interview, and when Omar showed up, Phil’s colleagues confirmed that the hookup had gone as planned—no signs of any surveillance. Phil greeted Omar with a friendly handshake, and the two exchanged a few pleasantries. Thankfully, Omar’s English was strong—there would be no need for an interpreter, which was always a welcome discovery. Interviewing an asset through a third party was certainly doable—we do it all the time—but it was suboptimal, at best. Too many times, we’ll ask a question during an interview of a non-English speaker, he’ll respond with what sounds like a lengthy diatribe, and the interpreter will turn to us and say something like, “Not really.” Determining what was lost in translation is always an adventure.

Phil and Omar made themselves comfortable in the sitting area of the suite. Phil got straight to work, methodically covering the prepared list of standard questions. It was all going as painlessly as Phil expected it would. And then he got to the question about whether Omar had ever worked for a foreign intelligence service.

“Omar, you’ve worked with us for years,” Phil said. “Have you ever worked with anybody else?”

There was a pause. Omar seemed to be gathering his thoughts as he shifted in his seat. He finally voiced his response.

“Can I pray?”

Another pause.
Can you pray? What on earth do you mean, can you pray?
Phil was scrambling to figure out what to make of the request. He was determined not to let his bewilderment show.

“Sure, no problem,” Phil said matter-of-factly, as if a prayer break was a typical element of his interviews. With instinctive reverence, given his Catholic upbringing, Phil found himself lowering his head slightly, but with his eyes squarely on Omar. He expected to see Omar bowing his head in prayer. Instead, he saw Omar rise from his chair and walk into the bathroom.

A moment later, Omar emerged with a towel, and walked toward the window in the sitting area. If he didn’t know better, Phil would have thought his colleagues from the local operation were pranking him. He was struggling to make some sense of Omar’s actions, but to no avail.

What is this guy doing?
Phil’s mind was racing.
Is he going to try to signal somebody with the towel? How bad is this going to get?

As Omar unfolded the towel and gazed out the window, Phil suddenly remembered. Omar, a Muslim, was getting his bearings so he could face Mecca as he prayed. He spread the towel on the floor and prostrated himself on it. After about ten minutes of silent prayer, Omar arose, returned to his seat, and thanked Phil for accommodating his request.

“Of course,” Phil said. He asked Omar if he was ready to resume. Omar nodded.

“Okay,” Phil said. “Omar, have you ever worked for any other intelligence service?” Phil’s voice was just as relaxed as it had been earlier, perhaps just a bit quieter.

Omar looked at Phil. Again, he appeared to be conducting a mental search. Shifting his feet uneasily and dabbing the perspiration from his brow, he responded.

“Sir, why are you asking me this? Is there a concern?”

* * *

If ever there was a loaded word in the English language, it’s
interrogation
. It’s a word that stirs emotions and creates uneasiness. And for good reason. In the contexts that we most commonly hear and read it, the word evokes images of intense verbal abuse, even physical violence. It’s understood as being harsh, intimidating, often threatening. Consequently, we’ve found that in our discussion of the topic, we need to precede the word with a modifier to identify the form of interrogation to which we subscribe, the one that is most likely to result in a successful outcome:
noncoercive
. We should point out, moreover, that we use the word
elicitation
interchangeably with
interrogation
. All of this begs an obvious question: Regardless of what you call it, what is it?

The idea is pretty simple: Think of it as a process that’s designed to influence or persuade an individual to reveal information that he has reason to want to conceal. So what’s the difference between that and interviewing? Interviewing is a means of collecting from a person information that he has no reason to want to withhold. There’s another distinction that may not be as readily comprehensible: An interview is a dialogue. An interrogation, counterintuitive as it may seem, is a monologue.

As distinct as the two processes are, shifting from interview mode to interrogation mode needs to be accomplished seamlessly, imperceptibly. No doubt, Omar never recognized the switch.

Up until the point just after Omar paused to pray, when Phil repeated the question about whether Omar had ever worked for another intelligence service, Phil was squarely in interview mode. He had no reason up to that point to believe there was anything Omar felt compelled to conceal. That changed the moment Phil heard Omar’s response:

“Sir, why are you asking me this? Is there a concern?”

That behavior told Phil that Omar had a problem with the question—that there was something on his mind that he didn’t want to disclose. Phil’s task was to find out what that something was. Time to retrieve the best-case/worst-case continuum.

The best-case scenario, as Phil saw it, was that the question caused something relatively innocuous to pop into Omar’s mind. Perhaps he had been approached by someone he suspected of working for a foreign intelligence service, but failed to report it. Perhaps he had a friend or a relative with connections to a foreign intelligence service, and he never disclosed it. The worst-case scenario was chilling, given the ramifications: Omar was a double agent, and was actively engaged in espionage against the United States.

So where on the continuum did Omar’s problematic information likely lie? What facts did Phil have at his disposal upon which to base a decision? He knew that Omar had been a highly regarded asset for two decades, one upon whom Phil’s in-country colleagues had relied heavily in developing and executing key intelligence operations. He knew that Omar had undergone security reviews just like this one at regular intervals over the years, and that he had passed every one with flying colors. Phil had every reason to peg Omar on the best-case end of the continuum, did he not?

Perhaps he did. But as Phil sat in that hotel suite looking at Omar and assimilating his response, the memory of how he had been burned in Mary’s case flashed before him.

Never again.

“Omar, there’s clearly something here that you’re not telling me, that we need to talk about,” Phil said, his voice unrushed, his tone unruffled. Omar said nothing. Phil continued.

“Listen, I know how loyal you’ve been to us. We all know that, Omar. Our guys here talk about you with genuine admiration because of the help you’ve provided all these years. One guy told me he trusts you like he trusts his own family.
Like his own family.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone I’ve worked with say that about anybody else. It’s a remarkable thing. So please don’t think I’m not fully aware of what you mean to this operation. I am. But I also know that sometimes things just happen, Omar. They just happen. Everybody’s in that boat. It’s just the way life is. And everybody knows that, Omar. You’re one of the good guys, but stuff happens to good guys, too. So whatever it is you’re worried about, we just need to talk about it so we can fix it and move on. There’s too much important work to do to get bogged down in something that’s not necessarily anybody’s fault. Whatever it is that you’re concerned about telling me is fixable. What is it, Omar?”

By that point, the interview was entering its third hour. Phil remained patient. Omar stared distantly, as if trying to recall something. He shook his head, not in denial, but as if he was unable to remember. He looked at Phil.

“I don’t know,” Omar said, still appearing to be deep in thought. “I don’t know anyone who works for another intelligence service.”

It was an interesting response—interesting for its specificity. Phil hadn’t asked Omar whether he knew anyone who worked for another intelligence service. He simply asked what it was that Omar was concerned about telling him. It got more interesting. Much more interesting.

“Okay,” Phil said. Omar continued to shake his head, his expression pensive.

Then, it happened. Omar made a mistake. Without realizing it, he betrayed himself.

“No,” Omar said, sounding more decisive. “No, I don’t know any Menacians.” (
Authors’ note: Due to the sensitivity of the matter, the foreign country involved can’t be disclosed. We’ll refer to it here by the fictitious name,
Menacia,
and to its citizens as
Menacians.)

Bingo. The statement created an odd mix of exhilaration and apprehension within Phil. On the one hand, in hearing those words, he knew he had made a quantum leap in getting to the truth. On the other, the truth was looking manifestly ominous. Omar had just conveyed a quintessential example of what we call an “unintended message,” or what we sometimes refer to as “truth in the lie.” We’ve seen it time and time again: Without realizing it, deceptive people often convey a revealing message in the words they choose to articulate the lie. And the message in this case was sobering: This longtime, trusted asset at minimum had a Menacian connection.

Phil didn’t miss a beat. He resumed his monologue, but with a subtle shift. His general, “there’s something we need to talk about” approach needed to be narrowed.

“I understand, Omar. In this job, we meet so many people from so many different backgrounds, under so many different kinds of circumstances, that sometimes it’s really difficult to keep track of who’s who. My wife will tell you, I’ll meet one of her friends one week, and the next week she’ll mention the friend, and I’ll have no idea who she’s talking about. Okay, shame on me, but my wife doesn’t realize how many people we meet in this line of work.”