Three Minutes to Doomsday
An Agent, a Traitor, and the Worst Espionage Breach in U.S. History
(Sprache: Englisch)
This edge-of-your-seat memoir from former FBI agent Joe Navarro reveals the shocking inside details of how he spearheaded a 1980's investigation into a colossal espionage breach that would have left the US defenceless in a Soviet nuclear attack...
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This edge-of-your-seat memoir from former FBI agent Joe Navarro reveals the shocking inside details of how he spearheaded a 1980's investigation into a colossal espionage breach that would have left the US defenceless in a Soviet nuclear attack...
Klappentext zu „Three Minutes to Doomsday “
An intense cat-and-mouse game played between two brilliant men in the last days of the Cold War, this shocking insider's story shows how a massive giveaway of secret war plans and nuclear secrets threatened America with annihilation.In 1988 Joe Navarro, one of the youngest agents ever hired by the FBI, was dividing his time between SWAT assignments, flying air reconnaissance, and working counter-intelligence. But his real expertise was "reading" body language. He possessed an uncanny ability to glean the thoughts of those he interrogated.
So it was that, on a routine assignment to interview a "person of interest"-a former American soldier named Rod Ramsay-Navarro noticed his interviewee's hand trembling slightly when he was asked about another soldier who had recently been arrested in Germany on suspicion of espionage. That thin lead was enough for the FBI agent to insist to his bosses that an investigation be opened.
What followed is unique in the annals of espionage detection-a two-year-long battle of wits. The dueling antagonists: an FBI agent who couldn't overtly tip to his target that he suspected him of wrongdoing lest he clam up, and a traitor whose weakness was the enjoyment he derived from sparring with his inquisitor. Navarro's job was made even more difficult by his adversary's brilliance: not only did Ramsay possess an authentic photographic memory as well as the second highest IQ ever recorded by the US Army, he was bored by people who couldn't match his erudition. To ensure that the information flow would continue, Navarro had to pre-choreograph every interview, becoming a chess master plotting twenty moves in advance.
And the backdrop to this mental tug of war was the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the very real possibility that its leaders, in a last bid to alter the course of history, might launch a devastating attack. If they did, they would have Ramsay to thank, because as Navarro would learn over the course of
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forty-two mind-bending interviews, Ramsay had, by his stunning intelligence giveaways, handed the Soviets the ability to utterly destroy the US.
The story of a determined hero who pushed himself to jaw-dropping levels of exhaustion and who rallied his team to expose undreamed of vulnerabilities in America's defense, Three Minutes to Doomsday will leave the reader with disturbing thoughts of the risks the country takes even today with its most protected national secrets.
The story of a determined hero who pushed himself to jaw-dropping levels of exhaustion and who rallied his team to expose undreamed of vulnerabilities in America's defense, Three Minutes to Doomsday will leave the reader with disturbing thoughts of the risks the country takes even today with its most protected national secrets.
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Three Minutes to Doomsday 1 "SUBJECT RAMSAY WAS NAKED . . . " August 23, 1988
I'm thirty-five now, and I've been working for the FBI most of my adult life, since I was twenty-three years old. My recruiter told me back when I joined up that I was the second youngest person ever offered a position with the Bureau. I don't know about that, but strangely enough-since I can never play football competitively again-the sport is what landed me on the FBI radar screen, at least in a roundabout way.
While I lay in that hospital in Miami, watching my senior high-school year drift away, thirty-one of my thirty-two athletic scholarship offers disappeared. A single one survived, from Brigham Young University. LaVell Edwards, BYU's coach, called one afternoon to say that he still liked me, that I was big and fast. Why not give it a try? I did just that, for three days, by which time the arm I'd nearly lost a few months earlier was swollen to three times normal size and the docs were talking blood clots and possible nerve damage.
That was the official dead end of my dreams of gridiron glory, but I stayed on at BYU, supporting myself with a mix of scholarship money, loans, and odd jobs, including one as a campus policeman, at the suggestion of my criminology professor. And thus when the NSA, the CIA, and the FBI came recruiting at BYU, as they always do in abundance at Mormon-dominated schools, my background seemed particularly apt: campus cop, graduate of the Utah Police Academy, a devout anti-Communist in general and a Cuban émigré stridently opposed to Fidel Castro in particular, and ardently in love with America. Maybe I really was the second-youngest recruit. What better combination of traits could the Bureau have been looking for?
As for me, I was so desperate for paying work that I said yes on the spot, really without giving it another thought.
* * *
ONE THING I SOON learned: There are no normal hours in the FBI. Contractually, I work ten and a half
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hours per day, but I'm constantly being asked to do more and more with less and less. It's not just my own cases that eat away time. There's always some new shortage, always "the needs of the Bureau"-a term that pecks at me every time I think I'm going to have a weekend off and instead have to cancel family time once again.
While I'm stationed in Puerto Rico, they need SWAT operators to work on terrorism cases, so I get volunteered by my supervisor-"volunteered" as in one day I see my name on a list to attend Basic-SWAT for four weeks and that's that. Not that I mind all that much. The training is fun, and really, who doesn't want to have an MP-5 Heckler & Koch suppressed submachine gun in the trunk of his car? But suddenly, every few weeks, on top of my regular work, there are the SWAT operations, and some of those last days. They can involve anything from an airplane hijacking to a takedown of the Machetero terrorist group (macheteros means "machete wielders," but these guys were good with guns, rifles, and bombs, too).
But what really eats up my spare time is the flying. In researching my background, the Bureau learns that I received my pilot's license in high school. Once I come on board, it isn't long before I start getting calls to help with aerial surveillance. Do I complain? Not really. Going from the bare-bones Cessna 150 I'd trained in to a Cessna 182 with retractable gears and air-conditioning is a huge step up, and this time I'm being paid to fly, not the other way around. But the hours are killers. Often, I work a regular shift, then pilot 6 p.m. till midnight-a great time to fly because the air is generally calm at night-but add it all together and I'm putting in way
While I'm stationed in Puerto Rico, they need SWAT operators to work on terrorism cases, so I get volunteered by my supervisor-"volunteered" as in one day I see my name on a list to attend Basic-SWAT for four weeks and that's that. Not that I mind all that much. The training is fun, and really, who doesn't want to have an MP-5 Heckler & Koch suppressed submachine gun in the trunk of his car? But suddenly, every few weeks, on top of my regular work, there are the SWAT operations, and some of those last days. They can involve anything from an airplane hijacking to a takedown of the Machetero terrorist group (macheteros means "machete wielders," but these guys were good with guns, rifles, and bombs, too).
But what really eats up my spare time is the flying. In researching my background, the Bureau learns that I received my pilot's license in high school. Once I come on board, it isn't long before I start getting calls to help with aerial surveillance. Do I complain? Not really. Going from the bare-bones Cessna 150 I'd trained in to a Cessna 182 with retractable gears and air-conditioning is a huge step up, and this time I'm being paid to fly, not the other way around. But the hours are killers. Often, I work a regular shift, then pilot 6 p.m. till midnight-a great time to fly because the air is generally calm at night-but add it all together and I'm putting in way
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Autoren-Porträt von Joe Navarro
For twenty-five years Joe Navarro was a Special Agent with the FBI in the area of counterintelligence, and he was a founding member of the FBI's elite National Security Division Behavioral Analysis Program, which focused on the behavior of spies, terrorists, and criminal behavior. Since retiring, Navarro has lectured widely on nonverbal communication and has been featured in major media outlets throughout the world. He is the author of Three Minutes to Doomsday and the international bestseller What Every BODY Is Saying. You can find him at JNForensics.com.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Joe Navarro
- 2017, 368 Seiten, Masse: 15,6 x 23,6 cm, Gebunden, Englisch
- Verlag: Scribner
- ISBN-10: 1501128272
- ISBN-13: 9781501128271
- Erscheinungsdatum: 10.04.2017
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"Riveting ... A founding member of the FBI's National Security Division Behavioral Analysis Program recounts his dogged efforts to court and prosecute a bedraggled but brilliant young spy ... A fascinating account of counterintelligence in the pre-cyber era and a reminder of how an astute interviewer can be an invaluable asset to law enforcement."-Kirkus Reviews
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