Sex, Lies, and Masking Tape: a Night with the CIA

"I'm not a CIA recruiter," said Lance ("my last name is an alias") Romney at The World Affairs Council's Young Professionals CIA recruitment event last Thursday night. (He later handed me a business card with the inscription: Lance Romney, Recruiter.)

"But are you interested in joining?" he asked, as he took a swig off of a complimentary microbrew.

That was the question for the 32 attendees who gathered on the 19^th floor of Portland, Oregon's Fox Tower, considering a plunge into what Lance calls the "most arcane, abstract, bizarre profession out there."

For Romney, the CIA all started in an outhouse. A former arctic anthropologist with a PhD from Washington State University, this silver-haired clandestine service officer was on a research expedition in the Yukon when he found a newspaper ad for the CIA on the icy floor of a remote outhouse.

"Those old newspapers were meant for toilet paper," he said, "but I packed [the ad] up and applied for the CIA." He flashed a toothy grin (a grin reminiscent of a used-car selsman), adding, "It was a whimsical experience."

Nearly twenty years later, Lance is trying to rub off some of that whimsy onto some fresh young blood as part of an "unprecedented push for new recruits" that began with a 2004 mandate set by President Bush to increase the agency's workforce by 50%. Why Portland? Lance says he's not sure. How many operatives are currently employed? The CIA says that information is top secret.

Like many of his answers, most of Romney's career is vague and "top secret." Lance wouldn't go into any detail about the methods and tactics employed by CIA operatives, other than saying "It's fascinating work, like what you see in James Bond films. Except we never work alone. We're basically white-collared spies who engage in a lot of adventurous and exotic stuff."

(Speaking of exotic, when a female attendee asked if women go under cover as strippers, Lance responded, "There are no stripper covers. But if you feel qualified, stick around and I'll talk to you.")

When the event was over, I wandered around in search of someone seduced into signing up for the CIA. After a round of resounding "no's," I mingled my way to the young man who had asked more questions than anyone during the event, and inquired if he was convinced. "I'm already in the CIA," he replied. When I asked him his name, he said, "That's not really pertinent information."

Apparently, you never know who's a spy in this secretive brotherhood. But one thing appears certain: they never do work alone.