Our CIA Connection, According to Girl

Our CIA connection according to Girl: "Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent."


We never really met her. She spent most of her hours each day at the headquarters of the CIA. She was brilliant, like her brother Rodney. He was our good friend and weekend comrade. We enjoyed spending time with him, hearing some of the stories. While he did not have firsthand knowledge, his sister did. She shared exploits with him, and he talked to us. Spy stories and intrigue swirled around the room as we shared a gallon of wine with cheese and crackers. I don’t think he meant to embellish the stories, but he probably did, because they came across with such a "Dragnet" flair.

I felt as though I were sitting there with the famous Jack Webb, as he explained the details of finding actors, writers and production staff who could best develop the right chemistry for his dramas. Jack would tell us why he used the brass and timpani theme music, why he rode along with real patrol officers in order to fine tune his storyline, why they let him use actual crimes to share with his audience.

At first LAPD was against this idea, but with encouragement and a promise to portray police in a good light, it was agreed this could be a good thing for the department. As the popularity of the series grew from the thirty minute radio program, to a long-running TV drama series, I would listen to the famous intro, "It was Wednesday, February 8th, it was cold in Los Angeles. We were working the day watch out of the robbery division. My partner’s name is Ben Romero. The boss is Ed Backstand, Chief of Detectives. My name is Friday."

 

I would listen carefully as 300 sound effects would make the show come alive. The calculated terminology came from the squad room. The stories about real murders, missing persons and robberies kept me on the edge of my seat.

I would then imagine Agent Silver investigating assassinations and double agents, sometimes holding comrades as they died in her arms. I do have a vivid imagination.

Rodney was proud of his sister. He did not carry her picture. She had no real name and no real face. She had to blend in with the crowd. Most likely she wore drab brown, a simple ponytail, glasses and little or no makeup.

Now, forty years later, she could be sitting here next to me in this coffee shop. She could be the woman at the next table—alone, having given the best of her years to her country.

She could be the woman with an iPod earbud, with the cord draping down her back. She listens. She protects. It is in her blood. She cannot stop. Like the ringing in her ear, she is on constant alert.

At the end of the show, one glistening sweaty hand holds the stamp, while the other sweaty hand crashes down with a hammer. Two loud strikes against the metal stamp, and a "MK VII" is deeply indented on the show’s credits. Now the world will be safe again, at least until next week.