Spycraft - Melton [231]
Concealment techs understood that if there were an intuitive or obvious means of opening the host device, the CD would not meet the level of security required for its clandestine use. Therefore, they pursued a continuing search for a “hidden catch” or an inventive new way to keep something hidden from anyone other than the intended user. Catches and latches became the stock-in-trade of concealment specialists, since if the compartment could be opened by anyone, it was not an acceptable CD. Hinges, magnets, pins, slides, pneumatic tubes, and even old-fashioned pull bolts were used to create an array of concealed openings. Generally, to open a CD required twists, turns, or pulls in a precise combination that functioned as a form of mechanical code that had to be performed before gaining access.
The techs recognized that concealments in everyday items had to look normal, yet be easily opened by those who knew the “code.” An OTS concealment tech in the 1970s remembers designing and building a concealment that required normal manual dexterity to open the device. However, word later came back to the tech that the device, though perfect in every other aspect, was not usable because the agent had nonfunctional arthritic thumbs. The case officer had not previously provided this information about the agent’s limitations, and the tech never thought to ask for it. It was a lesson long remembered. Only by observing and asking probing questions during the design process could the techs devise a concealment that made the agent feel as if the device had always been part of him. The successful concealments matched the CD to the person and the CD became second nature when used and operated.
Every CD was designed to meet an anticipated level of threat. A low-threat CD for the home of a case officer might be adequate for hiding his office attaché case, which itself was a CD. At the other extreme were CDs used to transport sensitive materials across international borders where they were subjected to x-ray and magnetometer readings as well as physical examinations.
Sometimes a perfect-looking dead drop CD was not enough; it also had to pass the “smell test.” In the late 1970s, the KGB determined that some of the OTS dead drop concealments made from wood to resemble tree limbs had been assembled using a type of epoxy whose odor was detectable by specially trained KGB dogs. The unfortunate success of the KGB in discovering some containers led the lab to identify the flaw in their production process and replace the epoxy with a nonscented adhesive.
The techs were ever conscious that an agent’s life often depended on the skill and ingenuity they used to fabricate the CD. If spy gear inside a CD was discovered, it became prima facie evidence of espionage. Such a compromise would not only seal the fate of the agent, but could result in the detection of other agents using similar equipment and lead to the arrest of the handler.
The craftsmen of high-threat CDs worked under dual requirements that the host could always be subjected to physical search and an item’s design had to fit with the agent’s lifestyle and cover. When completed, the host would look and function exactly as expected in the agent’s environment and the concealment cavity be inaccessible to anyone unaware of the mechanical cipher.
Detailed drawings of the concealment host and thorough documentation of concealment issuances were maintained. These records became invaluable should a CD be lost or compromised. If other CDs like it had been issued in the same country, they might need to be recalled and replaced. Once hostile counterintelligence officers learned of a CD, and how it was manipulated and opened, they could be expected to be on the lookout for similar pieces.
OTS concealment makers were masters of craft and illusion. Whimsy, smoke, and mirrors were as much the materials of CDs as wood