Classified Woman (9 page)

“But this was Saccher’s meeting … Without Saccher, why would we meet?”

Feghali pointed to the small conference room. “You, Kevin, Dickerson and I will meet in there, right now. Go grab your notepad.”

Poor Kevin’s apprehension was palpable; I could almost feel him shaking. “Mike,” I tried to reason, “when Saccher called to notify us about the meeting, he told Kevin and me not to have anyone but him, you, Kevin and me. He said there were certain specific issues regarding the CI project that he wanted to discuss only with the three of us.”

“I decide in here, not Saccher. This is my unit.” Feghali narrowed his eyes. “I have a feeling you initiated this meeting in the first place. Want me to tell you what I think? You went behind my back and talked with Saccher, despite my e-mail warning you specifically not to.”

“Mike,” I protested, defensive now, “I was told by Saccher to follow his instructions. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Let me tell you something,” Feghali screeched. “I’ve had it with you! Guess who is the person in charge of renewing your contract? Not Saccher! Your contract is up for renewal this month, and HQ will not renew it without my approval. You better understand where your loyalty is supposed to be placed.”

Kevin was dead silent. “Mike,” I suggested, “since Saccher is not working today and won’t make it to this meeting, I think you should either cancel and reschedule it later, or ask another senior supervisor to be present.”

Feghali took two steps forward and leaned his face into mine. “I will
not
cancel this meeting,” he said acidly. “Saccher wanted a meeting, so I’m having one. Let’s go inside the conference room”—he turned to Kevin—“
both
of you.”

I’d about had it with his bullying. “I will not go into a meeting with you without another senior supervisor present.”

As I turned to go to my desk, Feghali called out, “You ‘demand’ another supervisor? Fine. I’ll go and ask Stephanie Bryan to attend—but you’re going to regret everything. Mark my word.”

I walked away with Kevin tagging behind. He grabbed my arm. “What are we supposed to do now? Oh shit … what kind of game is this, Sibel? What are we going to do, say?”

“Shhh,” I tried to calm him. “Go and grab your notepad. We’ll go and sit there and see what he has in mind. Afterwards, we’ll inform Saccher and see where he goes with this. The reason I asked for another supervisor is so we have another witness present for whatever it is he wants to have this meeting for.”

As we entered the conference room, the first thing I saw was Melek Can Dickerson seated at the table. At one end sat Bryan, and at the other end, Feghali. Kevin and I sat together facing Dickerson, with our notepads before us.

Stephanie spoke first. “I understand there are some personal problems between the Turkish translators, Sibel, Kevin, and Jan. This is normal. Whenever you have people, you’ll have conflicts, misunderstandings and problems. These issues can be resolved through open communication; through dialogue. That’s why we’re gathered here today …”

I could tell she had no idea what this meeting was about. After all, she’d been asked to participate only minutes earlier. I remained silent. With Dickerson present I was not about to say a word.

Feghali interrupted. “First, let me begin by emphasizing the fact that I have been happily married for thirty-four years. Second, I have joined the EEOC board for the FBI-WFO and am fully aware of the implications of sexual impropriety in the workplace. No one—I mean no one—can ever accuse me of sexual misconduct here.”

Huh? Feghali must have assumed that this was to be about his behind-the-door liaisons with Dickerson. Were it not for the gravity of the situation, I would have laughed out loud.

Stephanie too seemed taken aback. To me, she added, “So what’s the personal conflict and misunderstanding we are dealing with here?”

“I have no idea what this is all about,” I told her. “As far as the original intention of the meeting goes, I was instructed by my agent, Dennis Saccher, not to talk about it under these circumstances. I don’t know of any personal conflicts.”

Kevin spoke next. “I don’t know what Feghali meant by ‘sexual’; I don’t care about people’s sexual life. Why is he talking about sex?”

Bryan, confused, closed her notepad. “Mike, I don’t even know why we’re here. I want to meet with Sibel and Kevin in my office, privately.”

During the entire session, Dickerson hadn’t said a word. She sat with her eyes narrowed, watching us. We rose and followed Stephanie into her office.

She closed the door. “So, what is this about? Because to be honest with you, I am so sick and tired of Feghali. The man was not qualified for this position, but with threats and blackmail he managed to get it. Since last May I’ve been going around and picking up all the shit he’s been creating. I’m aware of his sexual conduct; in fact, I had to move one of the translators from the unit under his supervision and assign her to me. You know her: the Vietnamese girl, Huan?”

She shook her head. “I’ve also heard about his escapades with Dickerson after hours. Look, I’ve been piling up all these incidents in my folder; I’m ready to help you guys bring a formal complaint against him. We can go downstairs to the EEO unit and do it right now. Let’s kick the bastard out of this unit!”

“Stephanie,” I began, “our case—Dennis Saccher’s case—has nothing to do with sex …”

Stephanie seemed surprised. “Oh? So then, what’s this about?”

Kevin and I exchanged a nervous look. After some hesitation, I decided to give her the general outline, briefly describing our retranslation and review task regarding Dickerson’s blocked intelligence documents.

I could see that she was in no way expecting this. As soon as I wrapped up the account, she mumbled half to herself, “My God … I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this has been going on for over a month and Feghali hasn’t said a thing …” Kevin told her how afraid he was, not only for us but for our family members in Turkey. “How many of those have you translated already?” she asked me. “I need those translations, right away.”

“There are hundreds of them. I went through the first batch, about fifty or so, and have four almost completed, verbatim.”

She nodded. “Make sure you bring me those before you leave today. Meanwhile, I want you and Kevin to continue this; review the rest and translate the crucial ones.”

I told her that Saccher had asked us to submit the translations directly to his department. “He and his boss are waiting for the first series—”

“I’ll take care of them,” she cut in. “Submit them to me directly. I’ll share those with the appropriate people: Saccher, SAC Thomas Frields and security.” She turned to Kevin. “That goes for you too. I want you to translate exactly the same communications; this way, we’ll have the two of you verifying the same blocked stuff independently. Do not discuss it with each other—that way, it will be truly independent.”

As Kevin and I headed out, Stephanie called me back. “I need to speak with you,” she began. “This is what I want to do …”

Stephanie outlined her plan. There were “too many holes in the system,” she said, fearful of repercussions to the department if word got out. “I want you to put all the memos, letters, e-mails you have sent Feghali on this case, including your verbal reports, in one comprehensive and detailed report. Prepare this memo carefully,” she told me, “and make sure you don’t leave anything out. Then, submit the memo to me; that way, I can report the case thoroughly to the rest: SAC Frields, Saccher’s unit chief …”

One more thing: I was not to use my computer at work. Rather, I should do it at home, on my home computer. “Put everything in one comprehensive memo; print the memo and also put it on a disk. Once done, put everything in a large envelope, seal it, and bring it to me.”

I told her I’d get the requested material, including the summary of what was in the blocked communications, to her by the following week.

Stephanie smiled, thanked me, and added that she was officially removing me from Feghali’s supervision. “I’ll assign you to me until this is resolved one way or another.”

I left her office relieved and very grateful. As soon as I got to my desk, I dialed Saccher’s extension. He answered on the second ring.

“What in the world happened to you?” I asked.

“What do you mean? Feghali called me as soon as you and Kevin left and said that he had to cancel the meeting and reschedule it for the following week. He had something important on a counterterrorism case involving one of his translators.”

This was unbelievable. I told Saccher what Feghali told us: that he, Saccher, had canceled the meeting for a supposedly unexpected field operation.

Before I could even finish recounting, Saccher cut me off. “This is friggin’ nuts!” He was yelling. “That bastard … that sonuvabitch! I’m going to see him in jail. Meet me at the fire exit—the secondary stairway, on the sixth floor landing.”

“What? Why there?”

“We need to talk,” he said. “I’ll see you there in three minutes sharp.” He hung up.
Why there?
I thought, baffled. I started toward the unit exit; then took the stairs two at a time, and when I got there, Saccher was waiting.

He asked me to go over the entire episode, including Dickerson’s reactions and body language during the meeting, and tell him word for word what Stephanie had instructed me to do.

“I don’t know Stephanie Bryan well,” Saccher went on to explain. “I don’t know if she’s trustworthy or competent. This is not her area. She’s only an administrator; she doesn’t know a damn thing about this area, about counterespionage investigations. She can ruin the entire case. Don’t submit the translations to her,” he added. “Drag your feet; bring it to our unit by the end of the day.”

I was exhausted, confused, and getting exasperated. “Dennis, I cannot take this anymore. As of today, she is my admin supervisor. She specifically instructed me not to submit the translation to you. She ordered me to prepare a long memo containing everything that occurred and everything I reported to Feghali in writing and verbally.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Saccher, angry now, grabbed my arm and pulled me with him inside. “We’re taking this to my boss. I’ll ask him to issue a direct order to Stephanie and whoever else in there. I’m going to tell him about this nonsense she’s pulling.”

Outside the office, Saccher motioned me to wait. “Let me go first. I’ll go talk to him; then I’ll bring you in, OK?”

I rolled my eyes, but did as I was told. I could hear shouting, a heated exchange; fifteen minutes later, I was face to face with the head of Counterintelligence for the FBI, a man in his early thirties who introduced himself as “John.” I had expected someone older, more experienced-looking. He stood up and shook my hand coolly. He didn’t ask me to sit.

“Dennis told me what went on there, downstairs. Ms. Edmonds, I have no tolerance for twisted game playing by your administrative supervisors. For years, that department, the translation division, has caused us trouble and headache.”

“Sibel is caught in the middle of this shit,” Saccher broke in. “Come on, John, it’s Feghali and Bryan you should be saying this to—”

His boss didn’t let him finish. “It’s not only that, Dennis, you know that … Ms. Edmonds, the bureau is already under pressure regarding the Turkish operations. The targets, as you are now aware, are connected to people in high places: State Department, Pentagon, White House, Congress … The activities have too many beneficiaries in this country—the CIA, weapons companies, military, lobbying firms, Congress, you name it. Now,” he continued, “on top of this pressure, we appear to have a ‘real spy’ problem, the Dickersons.

I don’t think HQ executives want to know about this; they don’t want this to explode. They have made it very clear. Saccher and I tried, but we’re being prevented from pursuing this espionage case. They didn’t say it in so many words, but I know the lingo. They want this to go away …”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even understand the meaning—the implications—of everything he was telling me.

“This is ridiculous!” Saccher was almost yelling now. “HQ’s attitude about this, the bullshit happening downstairs, Bryan asking her to keep translations out of our reach—”

“Drop it, Dennis,” John said sharply. “I have a bad feeling on this one, man; my gut feeling says this is going to be bad for all. On top of everything, I don’t want you to get dragged in the middle of the war zone in the translation department, you hear me?” He looked straight at me. “Ms. Edmonds, this is going to be a can of worms—a major disaster. I don’t want my good men, my agents, my unit caught in the middle of this shit storm.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” I meekly mumbled. “I’m being bombarded with instructions; which way do you want me to turn?”

“This is going to be a can of worms,” he repeated. “We’ll let HQ and the security division handle most of it. I’m willing to bring in Dickerson and put her under a ‘blast interrogation.’ That’s it. OK?”

I nodded, confused. Saccher looked like a bomb about to explode, jaw twitching, his face deep purple red. He shot John an angry look before escorting me out.

“So … I guess I’ll give the translations to Stephanie, right?”

Saccher shrugged morosely. “We’ll see if she keeps her word and sends them to us voluntarily.” He added that he hadn’t yet given up and that he knew who Dickerson—the spy—was working for. “Our targets are no ordinary criminals,” he explained. “These people are involved in nukes, narc, money laundering and espionage … unfortunately, some of them have their uses for the CIA jackasses …You know how they shut down our most important investigation …”