Within Arm's Length: A Secret Service Agent's Definitive Inside Account of Protecting the President by Dan Emmett Page A
Authors: Dan Emmett
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forgery case, the SAIC came in and said he wanted to see me in his office. I knew this was either very good or very bad, as SAICs do not normally seek out GS-9s and invite them into their office.
Upon entering his office, I sat down in the same chair I had sat in three years earlier on my first day as a Secret Service agent. The SAIC sat behind his desk, appearing almost to take cover there, and wasted no time in stating his purpose. He said, “Dan, you are being transferred, but it is unfortunately not to CAT.” He looked down at his desk with his hands folded, seemingly unable or unwilling to look me in the eye.
I asked, “Okay, where to, then?”
Without looking up, he said, “The New York field office.”
Being transferred to New York was the ultimate nightmare come true for any agent, young or old, and it took a few seconds for the words to sink in. I was well aware, from previous trips to New York on temporary assignments, that it was a large, dirty, noisy, and above all highly expensive place to live. This did not play into my career plans, and I had absolutely no interest in being transferred there.
My first visit to New York had been in 1984, when I had been assigned to Indian head of state Rajiv Gandhi. His mother, the former prime minister of India, had recently been assassinated and he had subsequently been targeted. In 1992 he would meet the same fate. I was on the midnight shift and we were required to wear our ballistic vests, which was very uncommon. We worked with Indian security but did not dare turn our backs on them and trusted none of them. We were working and staying in the Waldorf Astoria, a hotel that would play a part in my life many times over the next twenty-five years. After getting off one morning I ventured out into the streets of New York for the first time. I was there for no more than five minutes before beating a retreat back to the hotel. I had never witnessed such chaos, with people moving in great insectlike swarms to God knows where. The assignment ended in a couple of days and I headed back to Charlotte with the intent to never visit again.
After regaining my internal composure in the SAIC’s office, I asked, “What has changed so dramatically that I am being pulled from CAT and sent to New York?”
Without really answering the question, he stated that Secret Service headquarters had selected me for the assignment, and that while it was not what I wanted, it would be good for my career. As he finished delivering his news, he looked up at me, seeming to expect a response of some sort, and asked if I had any questions. I asked if being assigned to a large office had helped his career. He stated that he had never actually served in a large office but that career paths were different today and again asked if I had any questions.
I answered no and asked if that would be all. He said it was for now, and as I stood to leave, I said, “It might be a good idea to get someone else on deck; I am not at all certain I will take the transfer.” I saw the confusion and near panic on his face. I suppose he expected me to respond to the news in any number of ways, but not to threaten resignation.
An agent had balked at orders recently. Mike, my best friend in the Service and old FLETC roommate, had been given the same treatment a few weeks earlier. His fate was to be Los Angeles, but, to the horror of the SAIC, Mike, rather than take the transfer, resigned. For another agent to resign from Charlotte over a transfer would not be good for the SAIC. As with all SAICs, his headquarters image was all-important to him. For two young agents to walk off the job would suggest weak leadership. It would be assumed that the SAIC had in some way failed to properly motivate and indoctrinate the youth in his office to happily accept transfers to large offices.
I walked into the hallway, which was lined with coworkers looking at me as if I had been on death row and was walking toward the gas chamber. I
Upon entering his office, I sat down in the same chair I had sat in three years earlier on my first day as a Secret Service agent. The SAIC sat behind his desk, appearing almost to take cover there, and wasted no time in stating his purpose. He said, “Dan, you are being transferred, but it is unfortunately not to CAT.” He looked down at his desk with his hands folded, seemingly unable or unwilling to look me in the eye.
I asked, “Okay, where to, then?”
Without looking up, he said, “The New York field office.”
Being transferred to New York was the ultimate nightmare come true for any agent, young or old, and it took a few seconds for the words to sink in. I was well aware, from previous trips to New York on temporary assignments, that it was a large, dirty, noisy, and above all highly expensive place to live. This did not play into my career plans, and I had absolutely no interest in being transferred there.
My first visit to New York had been in 1984, when I had been assigned to Indian head of state Rajiv Gandhi. His mother, the former prime minister of India, had recently been assassinated and he had subsequently been targeted. In 1992 he would meet the same fate. I was on the midnight shift and we were required to wear our ballistic vests, which was very uncommon. We worked with Indian security but did not dare turn our backs on them and trusted none of them. We were working and staying in the Waldorf Astoria, a hotel that would play a part in my life many times over the next twenty-five years. After getting off one morning I ventured out into the streets of New York for the first time. I was there for no more than five minutes before beating a retreat back to the hotel. I had never witnessed such chaos, with people moving in great insectlike swarms to God knows where. The assignment ended in a couple of days and I headed back to Charlotte with the intent to never visit again.
After regaining my internal composure in the SAIC’s office, I asked, “What has changed so dramatically that I am being pulled from CAT and sent to New York?”
Without really answering the question, he stated that Secret Service headquarters had selected me for the assignment, and that while it was not what I wanted, it would be good for my career. As he finished delivering his news, he looked up at me, seeming to expect a response of some sort, and asked if I had any questions. I asked if being assigned to a large office had helped his career. He stated that he had never actually served in a large office but that career paths were different today and again asked if I had any questions.
I answered no and asked if that would be all. He said it was for now, and as I stood to leave, I said, “It might be a good idea to get someone else on deck; I am not at all certain I will take the transfer.” I saw the confusion and near panic on his face. I suppose he expected me to respond to the news in any number of ways, but not to threaten resignation.
An agent had balked at orders recently. Mike, my best friend in the Service and old FLETC roommate, had been given the same treatment a few weeks earlier. His fate was to be Los Angeles, but, to the horror of the SAIC, Mike, rather than take the transfer, resigned. For another agent to resign from Charlotte over a transfer would not be good for the SAIC. As with all SAICs, his headquarters image was all-important to him. For two young agents to walk off the job would suggest weak leadership. It would be assumed that the SAIC had in some way failed to properly motivate and indoctrinate the youth in his office to happily accept transfers to large offices.
I walked into the hallway, which was lined with coworkers looking at me as if I had been on death row and was walking toward the gas chamber. I
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