Page 139 - Gobierno ivisible

Date: 4/5/2011 Page: 139 of 237

out the buildings as "the CIA," he had the printing-office sign taken down and one that said "Central Intelligence
Agency" put up.

When the CIA moved across the Potomac to its Langley home in 1961, the matter of secrecy still proved
bothersome. Large green and white signs pointed the way to the CIA from the George Washington Memorial
Parkway, which had been extended to the new headquarters at a cost of $8,500,000. Originally, the signs were
erected to guide workmen to the site during construction. After the CIA moved into the building, some of its
officials felt there was no need to leave them up. As one put it: "We knew where it was."

But the signs stayed up -- for a while. As he drove to and from work each day, Robert Kennedy, who lived in
nearby McLean, Virginia, would pass the signs that trumpeted the way to the CIA. One day they abruptly
disappeared. In their place, there was only a small green and white marker reading "Parkway," with an arrow
pointing along the highway, and "B.P.R.," with an arrow pointing to the CIA turn-off. *

The lack of signs causes scant inconvenience. No outsiders venture into the CIA anyhow unless they are on
official business. No social visiting is allowed. A CIA employee cannot tell his wife or mother-in-law to drop in
on him.

Another example of the now-you-see-it-now-you-don't atmosphere surrounding the building is the way the CIA
answers the telephone. Other government-agency switchboards answer with the name of their department.
Although the CIA is listed in two places in the Washington telephone book, * a call to the number, 351-1100, is
answered by a switchboard girl who says simply, "Three five one, one one hundred." Only a few officials can be
reached by name; for most, the caller must ask for the extension he wants.

Despite the atmosphere of secrecy which surrounds the building, a KGB agent trying to find the CIA headquarters
would have no difficulty. He could drive to the nearest Amoco station and ask for a map of Washington, which
(like most other maps) clearly identifies the CIA site at Langley. On the other hand, the Russian spy would not
have to drive; he could get to the CIA from downtown Washington by taxi for $4.50. Or he could make the trip
for forty-four cents on a public-transit bus, as do hundreds of the CIA's regular employees. (An enterprising few
have commuted across the Potomac by canoe.)

A caller who asked the transit company for the schedule to Langley received this reply:

"Going to CIA? Buses leave at 7:12 A.M., 7:46 A.M. and 8:16 A.M., and arrive at CIA thirty-four minutes later.
Returning in the evening at 4:38 P.M., 5:08 P.M. and 5:40. Have a nice trip."

If the Soviet spy were a top "illegal," as the Russians call their agents who have no embassy cover, he could check
the Washington Post for a suitable location. In March, 1963, for instance, the paper carried a large advertisement
for the Broadfalls Apartments in Falls Church, Virginia. Not only did the building advertise a Kelvinator
refrigerator and tiled baths in every apartment, but it also headlined: "Convenient to CIA-Dulles Airport-
Pentagon." And below the inviting headline, leaving nothing to chance, there appeared a map showing exactly
how to get from the apartment house to the CIA.

There is such a thing as an apartment house becoming too convenient to the CIA. Early in 1963, an enterprising
realtor, who owned thirteen acres adjacent to the CIA, applied to the local zoning board for permission to build
apartment houses on his land. It was with a sense of growing horror that the CIA learned that from the fourth or
fifth floor, residents would be able, with a spyglass, to look right into McCone's picture window and read his
classified documents. Secretly, the CIA ordered the government's General Services Administration to buy up the
land in the area forthwith.