by M. K.
“Good thing you weren't dragged into that...”
The Station is rarely quiet, and perhaps that's why it's so popular with FBI employees who want to grab a quick beer or snack together before heading home. Here they share their daily frustrations or joys – and here I was able to try to pick up some of that, as I did that evening. The man in question, a serious-looking man in his late 50s, seemed to have asked a question, because what followed was a regrettably quiet but rather long explanation, at the end of which the man pushed back his chair and stood up. “Bullshit! I know the girl, there's nothing to it, not in a million years.”
The others were quick to say goodbye after this outburst, and I took the opportunity to sit down next to the man who remained behind, staring thoughtfully into his glass. Before I could say anything, he looked up, sized me up, and grinned. “Smell a story, lad?”
I admitted that the guy didn't beat around the bush. So I asked what it was all about; it seemed to be bothering him a lot.
He thought for a long time before finally asking me, “How do you think people form judgments about others?”
That came a little unexpectedly, and I said, “Most probably quickly.”
He snorted. "Yes, and superficially. It's more important to them to judge someone than to check their judgment. That's not right, and it's bad enough when civilians do that. But that's not how an agent should behave."
He fell silent again and brooded while I went to get him another beer. When I came back and offered him the beer, he seemed to have made a decision."I know you're keen on the story, so here's the deal. I just found out that someone is playing dirty. If you guarantee not to use any names of those involved, I'll give you the name of an agent. You try to find out as much as you can about her and form your own opinion.
We'll meet here again in two days, you'll tell me what you've concluded, and if I think you've earned the story, I'll tell you what's behind it. Deal?"
He reached for the beer with one hand and held out the other to me. I shook his hand and left the Station shortly thereafter with a small piece of paper on which a name was scribbled.
I spent the next two days reconstructing her career – exclusively using sources that were publicly available or could be accessed without any breach of confidentiality. There was only her name; I had to find out everything else myself.
The first useful starting point was the question of where she had studied. Using people databases and publicly accessible alumni directories, I finally came across an entry that matched her name: an enrollment at the University of Iowa. The date of birth and enrollment date indicated that she had begun her studies before her 18th birthday.
Her subjects were listed in the archived study records: computer science, statistics, and data analysis. Three majors in her first year—a study plan that made clear she wanted to achieve a lot in a short time. And she seemed to have succeeded: in her second year, she was already working as a research assistant on a project at the medical school.
It was led by a young scientist who was specializing in brain research. Her name appeared in his master's and doctoral theses as the person responsible for research. This surprised me, as she was apparently able to apply her analytical skills at an early stage to a very specific field about which, according to the records, she herself had no documented knowledge.
After her second year, she transferred to MIT here in Boston, which made it easier for her to continue her specialization and for me to do my research. She was enrolled in an advanced data science program. At the same time, I found references to a preparatory course offered by the FBI in cooperation with MIT—a program for students with an analytical focus.
This course marked the transition to her further path. She continued her studies and, at the same time, began training as an FBI agent. The official documents were sparse, but the sequence left little room for interpretation: in 2023, she completed both her studies and her training and joined the FBI.
In the following years, there was nothing unusual to report; she presumably worked as an analyst, at least that was the conclusion suggested by her training. It was not until five years later that I found another clue to something unusual: official investigations in Iowa. In the spring of 2028, authorities had attempted to locate the agent. The reason was the death of her father. It was the only trace of her family that could be found; there was no information about her mother.
After two days, I didn't have a personal portrait, but I did have a factual outline: very young in college, involved in technical projects early on, analytically minded, steadily moving toward data and patterns. Could I form an opinion about a person based on that?
When I arrived at the Station in the evening, he was already sitting at the same table as before and raised his hand briefly when he saw me. I sat down and began to tell him what I had found out—and what I hadn't.
He listened quietly, raising his eyebrow at one point as if I had discovered something new to him. That was encouraging, so I cautiously came to my final conclusion, hoping he would be satisfied with it.
"Early enrollment, the move to Boston, no trace back to Iowa, and years later, no one knows where she is. That says this person tried to leave her old life behind completely. When her father died, the state had to search for her. And it follows that she probably had no contact with her family. For years. And there are no other relatives.
The five years in the analyst department make sense. It's not that “she's not making progress,” but rather that “she's building stability and security in a new, self-chosen life.” This is a very clear statement about her way of life: she keeps her life functional and smooth. She lives a controlled life as a result of her past, which makes her feel safe.
I told him that all of this together did not paint a picture of impulsiveness, but of consistency. Of decisions that were neither erratic nor capricious. Of someone who takes very careful steps. There was nothing more to say, but anything less would not have done justice to the trail.
He listened, unmoved, only occasionally giving a brief nod. Finally, he raised his eyebrows slightly and took a deep breath. "I didn't know about her father. That was shortly before she moved from the analysts to us and began her training to become a special agent. It surprised me at the time; I had known her for years as an excellent analyst and couldn't explain this move. Not that she didn't have the ability, it just came quite abruptly. And we were partners for only a very short time before this strange illness took me out of action. At the time, I thought... she once told me that her father believed the world was evil and she was convinced he was wrong. And then, after his death, she wanted to become a special agent."
He took a deep sip, placed the glass down in front of him with precision, and looked me straight in the eye. “That was good work, and it tells me that I can tell what happened and expect it to be judged fairly. Not so that it will be published, she wouldn't want that, she doesn't want anyone to defend her, I'm sure of that. But because it's important to remember to look and think before you pass judgment.”
What he then told me is actually irrelevant. Suffice it to say that after everything I heard, I could only agree with his assessment. Something was going wrong at the FBI, and this agent was the victim—and perhaps not only her. Much seemed to be not as it appeared, and I can only hope that he was right in the opinion with which he took his leave: “Our boss in the department is a fair and honest man. I trust that in the end he will make a decision that proves it.”
Isn't that what it ultimately comes down to for all of us: being fair and honest and ensuring that our actions prove it?
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