Within Arm's Length: A Secret Service Agent's Definitive Inside Account of Protecting the President by Dan Emmett Page B
Authors: Dan Emmett
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almost expected someone to say, “Dead man walking.” All the faces of my peer group were filled with survivor’s guilt and fear. Each was sorry I was going to New York, but all were glad it was not them, and all were now terrified it would be them next time around. For more than one colleague, it would be.
For better or for worse, I was a career agent, and, while I never had any intention of resigning, I put off signing my paperwork as long as possible, since it would officially launch me to the New York office. I suppose the deliberate avoidance of signing my orders was a quiet rebellion on my part, although a bit immature and certainly futile. Each day, my first-level supervisor would call me into his office, where my transfer papers sat on the desk awaiting my signature. Each day, I told him I had not yet decided whether I was going or not and then left his office without signing.
All of the other agents in the office were becoming more and more uncomfortable over the whole thing, including the SAIC. Everyone was nervous because if I did not go, someone else would have to.
Finally, on the last day possible before being threatened with disciplinary action, I signed the papers, an act that began the countdown for my transfer to the office of investigations, New York. As I signed the piece of paper acknowledging my receipt of orders, I did not realize that while the New York experience would do absolutely nothing for my career, contrary to the assertions of the SAIC, it would become one of the many defining points in my life.
CHAPTER 7
The New York Field Office
New York Field Office: a bottomless black hole of despair that knows no limits.
—AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Upon receiving a T-number, or transfer number, an agent who has been selected to relocate to another assignment in a different geographical area is entitled to a ten-day house-hunting trip to the new region.
After overcoming the initial shock of receiving orders to New York rather than CAT, I began to get my affairs in order, including planning my house-hunting trip. The Charlotte assistant to the special agent in charge, who had served on PPD, was very clear about it. He said to me one day, “Dan, they screwed you, so screw them back.” What he meant was that I should do whatever I wanted to do in preparation for my move and not worry about my casework. I was not so interested in screwing the Secret Service but was in a bit of a panic about where I was going to live in the New York area on my salary.
Therein lay the worst part of an agent’s being transferred to New York. It wasn’t so much the city and the surroundings but rather the cost of living. If the government had paid agents enough to live in New York proper, things would have been much better. As it was, most agents were forced to live in New Jersey or even Pennsylvania. This made for one of the worst commutes in America.
One June day in 1986, I boarded an airplane bound for Newark, New Jersey, and my house-hunting trip, where I would search for an apartment to live in for the foreseeable future. Upon landing in Newark, I picked up my rental car and headed south to the town of Plainsboro, New Jersey, where I knew other agents lived.
Upon arriving in Plainsboro I selected an apartment on the top floor of a building overlooking the first fairway of a golf course, paid my first month’s and last month’s rent as a deposit, and went on my way. I decided that the following morning I would, just for fun, drive into New York to try to find the field office. Having never driven into New York City, I was expecting an exciting adventure and was not disappointed.
After arriving in New York I spent the day touring the field office and exploring the vast World Trade Center complex. It was like a city within a city, much of it underground. There were restaurants, banks, bars, stores, and PATH tubes—subwaylike trains that ran under the Hudson River and came out on the other side in Jersey City.
The
For better or for worse, I was a career agent, and, while I never had any intention of resigning, I put off signing my paperwork as long as possible, since it would officially launch me to the New York office. I suppose the deliberate avoidance of signing my orders was a quiet rebellion on my part, although a bit immature and certainly futile. Each day, my first-level supervisor would call me into his office, where my transfer papers sat on the desk awaiting my signature. Each day, I told him I had not yet decided whether I was going or not and then left his office without signing.
All of the other agents in the office were becoming more and more uncomfortable over the whole thing, including the SAIC. Everyone was nervous because if I did not go, someone else would have to.
Finally, on the last day possible before being threatened with disciplinary action, I signed the papers, an act that began the countdown for my transfer to the office of investigations, New York. As I signed the piece of paper acknowledging my receipt of orders, I did not realize that while the New York experience would do absolutely nothing for my career, contrary to the assertions of the SAIC, it would become one of the many defining points in my life.
CHAPTER 7
The New York Field Office
New York Field Office: a bottomless black hole of despair that knows no limits.
—AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Upon receiving a T-number, or transfer number, an agent who has been selected to relocate to another assignment in a different geographical area is entitled to a ten-day house-hunting trip to the new region.
After overcoming the initial shock of receiving orders to New York rather than CAT, I began to get my affairs in order, including planning my house-hunting trip. The Charlotte assistant to the special agent in charge, who had served on PPD, was very clear about it. He said to me one day, “Dan, they screwed you, so screw them back.” What he meant was that I should do whatever I wanted to do in preparation for my move and not worry about my casework. I was not so interested in screwing the Secret Service but was in a bit of a panic about where I was going to live in the New York area on my salary.
Therein lay the worst part of an agent’s being transferred to New York. It wasn’t so much the city and the surroundings but rather the cost of living. If the government had paid agents enough to live in New York proper, things would have been much better. As it was, most agents were forced to live in New Jersey or even Pennsylvania. This made for one of the worst commutes in America.
One June day in 1986, I boarded an airplane bound for Newark, New Jersey, and my house-hunting trip, where I would search for an apartment to live in for the foreseeable future. Upon landing in Newark, I picked up my rental car and headed south to the town of Plainsboro, New Jersey, where I knew other agents lived.
Upon arriving in Plainsboro I selected an apartment on the top floor of a building overlooking the first fairway of a golf course, paid my first month’s and last month’s rent as a deposit, and went on my way. I decided that the following morning I would, just for fun, drive into New York to try to find the field office. Having never driven into New York City, I was expecting an exciting adventure and was not disappointed.
After arriving in New York I spent the day touring the field office and exploring the vast World Trade Center complex. It was like a city within a city, much of it underground. There were restaurants, banks, bars, stores, and PATH tubes—subwaylike trains that ran under the Hudson River and came out on the other side in Jersey City.
The
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