On Monday morning, I awoke with a sense of relief mingled with trepidation—similar to the way I usually felt when I was about to embark on a new mission. However, unlike most of my operations, my Agency debriefing should only take a couple of days—depending on who was on the debriefing team and how they were interpreting my narrative.
When I thought about who might be assigned to my debriefing team, I decided it was time to shave off my beard. I also decided, after studying my face in the bathroom mirror, that Terry Howard was wrong; I didn’t look that bad. Granted, I wasn’t George Clooney handsome, but who was?
Years ago, someone had told me I was a pretty good-looking guy. Since then, no one had told me otherwise.
My trainers at The Farm had described my face as one that “blended.” They considered that a good thing. Put me in a restaurant, a bus station, a mosque, and I blended right in. I didn’t draw attention.
Only, as it turned out in Tehran, one time I did.
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