The Merchant of Secrets by Caroline Lowther Page A

the home turf. I had altered my whole
life to adhere to the security demands of my country and my job, and now I was
faced with this hypocracy . I wanted to turn around,
swing the door open and run as far away as possible, but the door was closed
and there were just too many security guards outside for any expectation of
successful escape. I was weighing my options when Todd opened fire.
     
    “Caroline, you were caught red-handed at Ft. M accessing
not one, but two Top Secret databases although your security clearance is only
at the “Secret” level. You violated federal law.”  I thought at that
moment that Todd would have thrown his mother under a bus if it meant enhancing
his career.
     
     I thought to myself
silently, “raping children is fine, human rights abuses on a massive scale,
and  running a heroin racket while on the payroll of the US government is
fine, but an innocent mistake with no harm to national security  is
suddenly a criminal act worthy of this?”  He was standing by the goalposts
of righteousness and moving them to fit angle of whatever ball was in the air.
I could barely maintain my composure as he continued.
     
    “I let you slide on that one…,” he said.
    “You didn’t let me slide, Todd. I out-maneuvered you by
taking it out of your jurisdiction and under the IRS’s authority.”
     
    Todd rolled on “but this clearly is a significant issue
and we can no longer ignore your transgressions. I don’t know what you have
against Mr. Jones here, or his friend Mr. Valdez for that matter, but it’s got
to stop. Mr. Jones has kindly agreed to waive legal action provided that you  obey his right to privacy and that means that you
are prohibited from accessing his files, you are not to  try to
 contact him, and you are required  seek help for whatever issues
you’re dealing with. It will probably come as no surprise to you that your
security clearance is suspended,” he proclaimed.
     
    I fought hard to suppress the impulse to strangle him; it
was just like Todd to delight in causing people misery. That’s what he had in
common with Jones; he liked to inflict pain. He rambled on about giving me a
break and a second chance and a lot of other garbage.
     
    “But if you don’t do as I tell you, I can assure you Mr.
Jones will precede with legal action against you.” It was no use; I was already
numb, stricken with disbelief that something like this could happen to a devout
American like me. I wanted out, out of it all. I wanted to unload my burden,
break out of this cage and go out and have fun like normal people do. I wanted
to wander through a mall and not think about the explosives that might be
hidden in trash containers, or to a movie theatre without thinking about
Abraham Lincoln’s last moments and wondering if my colleagues and I would end
up like that.  I wanted to go on a vacation wherever I wanted, without
first submitting my travel plans detailing  every restaurant where I might
eat, every person I would meet, every museum I would visit so that security
could review it and give it their approval. I wanted to go home at night and
know that I wouldn’t be awakened at one o’clock in the morning with a crisis on
my hands because some idiot clicked on a link to a phony website and invited a
group of hackers from the Ukraine to take a virtual tour through an electronic
file room of our top secret government files. I wanted basic freedoms that the
other American had.
     
     Then he gave me the name of the shrink I was
ordered to see to get my job back and I went.
     
     Sometime between the mob scene in the conference
room and my first appointment with the shrink, I realized that even with the
gates flung wide open I still couldn’t leave. I was branded at birth with the
idealisms of God and Country and no matter what happened at the office I
couldn’t walk away from who I was bred to be. Like most the people in the
intelligence community I was raised to believe that