Washington Babylon — February 27, 2009, 9:38 am

A Brief Guide to the Foggo Case Johns and Janes

Dusty Foggo, the CIA’s executive director under Porter Goss, was sentenced yesterday to more than three years in prison for funneling agency procurement contracts to an old friend and defense contractor. Court papers refer to two of Foggo’s mistresses, including one he had hired at the CIA at a six-figure salary. The papers also include affidavits from a number of unidentified John and Jane Does.

I asked a former senior CIA official for his reaction to the case (sentencing documents available here via ProPublica). His remarks have been lightly edited.

The mistress stuff is classic Dusty. There were more than the ones mentioned. Dusty was a disgusting guy, but that is the monster that is the Directorate of Administration, the most powerful part of the agency. They control money, personnel, administration, and the office of security, and have the ability to fuck over anyone, anywhere in the agency. Dusty destroyed a lot of people on his climb to the top and while he was Exdir. So many of us were floored when Goss made him Exdir.

John Doe 1 is the affidavit that counts. He was a legendary officer and great leader. A decorated veteran of Vietnam and just about every covert conflict the agency was involved in since then. He was the last true capable boss of Special Activities Division. He was genuinely trying to make long overdue changes to make the system work better and more secure and all of it was destroyed by Dusty. The culmination of which was the loss of millions of dollars in exposed and compromised assets.

Jane Doe 1 was the senior support woman he canned to make room for his squeeze. Dusty was a real class act. The lawyer he canned is a part that will likely blow up; she can sue. She was removed from her job because she told Dusty something he didn’t want to hear. Shitting on a female lawyer was over the top, but as Exdir, Dusty was untouchable. Its hard to really grasp how fucked up things got under Goss. It was a disaster, that sent the agency into a high speed dive into the abyss. They were on a slide into irrelevance before Goss arrived, but that period caused an acceleration down that has yet to stop. Criminal malfeasance.

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

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In the exam room, she perched on the table with her feet crossed at the ankles, her blond hair brushing the back of her pink hospital gown. “I don’t know what’s available for me here,” she told her doctor, Katherine Degen, who sat facing her on a stool. “I figured nothing.”

 Some names and identifying details have been changed. 

“Big, fat zero, unfortunately,” Degen said, making a 0 with her fingers. The last doctor who provided abortions in Rapid City retired in 1986, three years before Ashley was born.

The baby was due in November, when Ashley, who was a nurse, hoped to be enrolled in a graduate program to become a nurse practitioner. Getting pregnant as a teenager had forced her to put that dream on hold, but she had thought that she was finally ready; she had even submitted her application shortly before the March 15 deadline. For the first time in her adult life, Ashley felt as if her plans were coming together. Then she missed her period.

It would be too difficult to attend school as a single mother of two, Ashley knew. She had made an appointment for three weeks from now at the nearest abortion clinic, in Billings, Montana, 318 miles away. But just a week and a half ago, her husband had said he wanted to get back together and offered to raise the child as his own. Was it a sign that she was meant to continue the pregnancy? As a rule, Ashley approached her problems with resolve. She was capable and tough; she liked shooting guns and lifting weights. She kept track of her stats and checked off her goals as she achieved them one by one. Yet the dilemma before her had shaken her confidence. She leaned back and turned to watch the ultrasound screen. The black-and-white image danced. A sharp, fast thumping emerged from the machine. As Degen removed the wand, Ashley wiped the corner of her eye.

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