Body of Secrets: Anatomy of the Ultra-Secret National Security Agency (80 page)

In 1996
agency artists put a grim-faced Cal Ripken, Jr., on a poster. Knees flexed and
glove at the ready, the Baltimore Orioles player stood below a lime-green
banner that read, "Security. Our Best Defense." Unfortunately, no one
had asked Ripken's permission, which provoked a protest by his business
management firm. "If Cal's identified, they need our permission,"
complained Ira Rainess, general counsel of the Tufton Group. "His
publicity right is violated if they use any elements of Cal's persona without consent.
Even if they are just using it promotionally, they are deriving some value from
using Cal's image."

In a
basement beneath OPS 2A, behind the door to Room 2A0114, is the security
command post for Crypto City. The Support Services Operations Center (SSOC) is
dominated by a tall, curved console consisting of banks of computer screens and
secure television and telephone equipment. In operation twenty-four hours a
day, the Center oversees security throughout the city. It also serves as the
city's crisis hub through its Emergency Management Center. Officers handle more
than 1,500 calls a day—lockouts, requests for assistance, trespass alarms, and
radio dispatch instructions. The hundreds of closed-circuit television cameras
that peer down from the city's rooftops and line its hallways are also
monitored here—as are the cameras that keep the director's house under constant
surveillance.

Whenever
someone in Crypto City dials 911, the call is answered in the SSOC. Security
officers can immediately determine the exact location of the telephone. The
Center handles an average of forty emergency calls each month. It is also
responsible for tracking NSA couriers and locating missing employees. When a
danger to the city—a bomb threat or a terrorist attack, for instance—arises,
the SSOC has authority to undertake "hostile emergency action plans."

Hidden far
from the spotlight, the agency has seen few external assaults; when one is
detected, no matter how minor, NSA immediately goes to battle stations. On July
3, 1996, for example, both the SSOC and the National Security Operations
Center, the focal point of NSA's worldwide eavesdropping network, were tipped
off about a planned demonstration at the agency. The group sponsoring the
demonstration was identified as the Baltimore Emergency Response Network
(BERN), a small, nonviolent organization that promotes peaceful solutions to
conflicts rather than armed intervention. Its leader was Philip Berrigan, a
longtime veteran of peaceful demonstrations.

The
protest was scheduled for the following day, the July Fourth holiday. At NSA,
the director and his senior staff were immediately notified. The FBI and other
government agencies were quickly asked to provide background information on
BERN. "Members of the SSOC, Facilities Security, Public and Media Affairs,
and Protective Services convened to enact an NSA Emergency Management Plan to
address the threat," said an internal document. "Protective Services
activated their Special Operations Unit." They then notified the military
police at Fort Meade, "who mobilized a contingent to augment the
Protective Service Officers' force."

Prepared
for anything except all-out nuclear war, the agency must have been
disappointed. About 10:30 A.M. a motley group of about thirty late-sleeping
activists arrived at the outer fence, carrying a few placards protesting
illegal NSA operations. They then began to read Scripture. Next someone recited
a "Declaration of Independence from the National Security Agency,"
which was mounted on a large placard for presentation to the director,
Lieutenant General Kenneth A. Minihan. After a few hours in the warm sun, the
group headed back to Baltimore.

Pleased
that the agency had once again been saved from imminent peril, the author of a
classified internal document declared the operation "an unequivocal
success. The orchestration of a multitude of NSA and non-NSA emergency response
resources proved extremely effective." Even Philip Berrigan was impressed.
"Very efficient," he said, "very sterile."

After
leaving the SSOC, the visitor walks down a passageway and enters the $56.3
million OPS 2B Building, a rectangle of black glass, and is immediately
impressed by the large polished wall of black granite. Carved in the structure,
twelve feet wide and eight feet high, is a triangle containing the NSA seal.
Above, inlaid in gold, are the words "They Served in Silence." And
below, in eight columns, are the names of 152 military and civilian
cryptologists, intercept operators, and analysts who have given their lives in
the line of duty. Among those listed on the National Cryptologic Memorial Wall,
which was dedicated in February 1996, is Army Specialist James T. Davis, the
first American soldier killed in Vietnam. Also listed on the wall are the
seventeen airmen who died when their C-130 ferret was shot down over Soviet
Armenia in 1958 and the thirty-four crewmembers of the USS
Liberty
who
died when it was attacked by Israel.

The highly
polished black granite was designed to allow workers viewing the memorial to
see their own reflections and thus remind them that they, too, serve in silence
and support the cause for which those honored gave their lives.

Nearby is
the Canine Suite, named after the first director. It is often used to host
visiting VIPs.

Up on the
eighth floor of OPS 2B, the mayor of Crypto City, Air Force Lieutenant General
Michael V. Hayden, has his suite of offices. On a typical day, Hayden's alarm
wakes him up about 5:45 A.M. but he stays in bed, eyes closed, listening to
National Public Radio's six o'clock news summary. After a quick shower, he
climbs into his Volvo and drives the three miles to the NSA. "I drive
myself, or my son or wife will drop me off if they need the car," he says,
"and more often than not they will drop me off."

Arriving
about 6:50, Hayden enters the lobby, inserts his badge into the CONFIRM reader,
and pushes through the turnstile. If he is in a hurry, he can slip a key into
his small private elevator, off to the right. But on most days he simply crowds
with the other early-morning arrivals into one of the large employee elevators.

On the
eighth floor, he walks to the end of the hallway and enters the executive
suite, which includes the offices of the director, deputy director, and chief
of staff. The suite was once referred to as Mahogany Row, but today there is no
mahogany. Instead, past the receptionist, the walls are covered with large
framed pictures of NSA's largest listening posts, including Menwith Hill
Station with its dozens of eavesdropping antennas hidden under radomes. Hayden
takes a left through an unmarked wooden door and enters his corner office.

Standing
at the eavesdropping-proof windows he can look out on his burgeoning empire,
stretching far into the distance. Against a beige wall is a large bookcase
containing mementos from his hometown football and baseball teams, the
Pittsburgh Steelers and Pirates. On another wall is a framed, yellowing
newspaper article from October 1941 announcing that his father, Harry V.
Hayden, Jr., has been inducted into the service as a private and has arrived in
Northern Ireland. In the center of the large office is a dark conference table
surrounded by eight green chairs; a couch with a gold print design stands off
to the side. There is also a lectern, so the director can work standing up.

Hayden
sits in a green high-back chair. Nearby is a small space heater to keep out the
winter chill. On his walnut desk rests a pen holder from his days as the number
two commander in Korea, a notepad printed with the word "DIRECTOR,"
and a Brookstone world clock. On a table behind him, next to his NSA flag, are
three computers—one for classified work, another for unclassified work, and a
secure laptop linking him with members of his NSA Advisory Board, a small group
of outside consultants. There are also several telephones on the table. One is
for secure internal calls; another is a secure STU-III for secret external
calls; and a "red line" with buttons that can put him through
instantly to the secretary of defense, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff, and other senior officials.

No phones,
however, connect the director to the White House; indeed, during Hayden's first
year in office, he never once spoke directly to President Clinton. "When
I've talked to the people who've been in the chair before," he said,
"it seems to me that it's been pretty distant in the past that the
director of NSA has had routine contact with the president. My routine contact
has been—I've met with Jim Steinberg, who's the deputy national security
adviser, I
wouldn't say 'routinely,' but the fact is if I picked the
phone up I could talk to Jim if I wanted to. John Hamry, the deputy secretary
of defense, although routinely I talk to Art Money, his assistant secretary. At
the CIA it's both [Director George] Tenet and [Deputy Director Lieutenant
General John A.] Gordon routinely on anything that comes to mind."

To the
side of his desk are two Sony television sets, one connected to the outside
world with the Weather Channel muted, and the other connected to Crypto City's
own secret television network. Over that set, every Monday, Wednesday, and
Friday at 7:15 A.M., Hayden gets a private intelligence briefing from an NSOC
official.

Next, on
those same days, is an early morning briefing by his staff. "I'll have a
stand-up meeting in here with just my personal staff," said Hayden,
"public affairs, inspector general, lawyers, each of the key components
represented. It's real quick. Literally a stand-up, everyone's standing,
including me. The room is about a third full. We'll go quickly around—hot news
of the day."

On
Tuesdays and Thursdays, Hayden walks down to the NSOC for an 8:00 A.M. meeting
with all his senior officials. "It's something I started here because I
wanted the seniors to get a sense of the ops tempo. And so we'll get a briefing
in the NSOC from the ops officer, right there—about five to seven minutes, and
I keep beating them to keep it shorter. And then we'll retire to a little room
privately next door and have a quick staff meeting. . . . By eight or
eight-thirty we've kind of gotten the burst communications and now you're into
your work schedule."

Next comes
a round of meetings and phone calls. Monday, January 31, 2000, for example, was
spent cleaning up from the massive computer crash a week before. Hayden's
morning meetings centered on NSA's Information Technology Backbone program; he
spoke on the phone with Arthur L. Money, the assistant secretary of defense for
Command, Control, Communications and Intelligence, and with Charles E. Allen,
the CIA's assistant director for collection. He also talked with Judith A.
Emmel, the chief of public affairs, about a candidate for
the job of legislative affairs officer.

Lunch also
varies depending on the day. "Today [February 2, 2000] I had lunch with
the [NSA] Advisory Board," said Hayden. "Yesterday I had lunch with
four randomly selected employees up here. The day before I had lunch in the
cafeteria. Every now and again we'll have a visitor. Tomorrow Chris Mellon [the
principal deputy assistant secretary of defense for intelligence] . . . will be
here and we'll have a formal lunch. I have a little dining room off to the side
here, seats eight comfortably."

After
lunch there are more meetings, often out of the building. Much of Hayden's time
is spent being driven to and from Washington in his official black Ford Grand
Marquis, "going to [CIA headquarters at] Langley [Virginia], over to the
Pentagon. And so frankly that's the reflective time, that's when I can work the
telephones, that's when I can get a little reading done. It's sort of a
chockablock day of going from meeting to meeting to meeting."

Hayden
tries to leave by around 5:50 P.M., but he frequently brings home a briefcase
packed with secrets for late-night homework. "I've got secure comms
[communications] at home. I bring work home. I have a vault at home where I can
keep materials," he said. "And the big thing I do the night before is
this: my to-do list for the day, people I want to call, hot things, long-term
things." When Hayden isn't working, he enjoys going to movies and reading
about the Civil War. "I'm really a fan of the Civil War," said
Hayden. "I hate to be called a buff, but in my darker moments my kids would
call me that. I like battlefields. My wife and I love movies, we see a lot of
movies. All kinds of movies—you'd be surprised."

An inner
door in Hayden's office, past his private bathroom labeled WATERCLOSET and a
framed picture of the Pittsburgh Steelers, connects him to his deputy director
next door. That office, about half the size of the director's, had a French
provincial motif while Barbara McNamara occupied it and southwestern after her
successor, William Black, moved in. A few steps away, behind the door to Room 2B8020,
is the Director's Large Conference Room—a circular, futuristic center where
high-level briefings are conducted. At the center is a wooden, doughnut-shaped
conference table with twenty-four rose-colored padded chairs. Behind, like a
mini-theater, are another sixty-six seats, and on the opposite wall are three
large, silvery multimedia screens. During Operation Desert Storm the room was
turned into a crisis center, and it was also here where many of the crisis
meetings were held during the U.S. air attacks on Kosovo.

Also
nearby is Barbara G. Fast, an Army brigadier general, who is deputy chief of
the little-known Central Security Service (CSS). In addition to being the
director of NSA, Hayden also commands the CSS, NSA's own army, navy, and air
force. In that second universe, he is responsible for operational control of
all signals intelligence collection, "in consonance" with the
commanders of the individual security services— Naval Security Group Command,
Army Intelligence and Security Command, and Air Force Intelligence Agency. As
deputy chief of CSS, Fast helps manage NSA's vast network of worldwide
listening posts.