Field Notes: The Art of Waiting
When people picture FBI surveillance, they usually think of car chases, wiretaps, or the big “gotcha” moment. The truth? Most of it is waiting. Endless waiting. Hours parked on a city street, watching a door that never opens, pounding energy drinks to stay awake, trying not to fog up the windows.
The Assignment
One of my first cases in the Russian counterintelligence unit in New York was exactly that. Our subject was the son of a high-profile Russian businessman with ties to a paramilitary company. He was attending Columbia University, and based on intelligence, we thought he might be open to recruitment.
He was disenchanted with Russia, wanted to stay in the U.S., and did not have much of a relationship with his family. In other words, there was potential. But before any kind of recruitment, you need to build a full picture: pattern of life, daily routine, social circles, places he spends time, possible bump locations. Which meant long days and nights following him around and, more often than not, doing nothing.
The Boring Part
Surveillance is an exercise in patience. You spend hours watching people do absolutely nothing interesting. Walking to class, stopping at a deli, scrolling their phone in a coffee shop. The trick is to pay attention anyway, because sometimes the boring stuff is what gives you the openings.
Thinking on My Feet
At one point I needed to confirm some details inside his apartment building. Walking in blind was not an option, and I did not want to draw attention to myself. Then I saw a bike messenger wheel past the building and it clicked. That was my opening.
At the time, I had been decorating my cubicle with vintage Soviet propaganda posters. Partly for the humor, partly because it felt right for the work I was doing. Because of that, I had a couple of cardboard tubes lying around from a recent order. I grabbed one and my laptop and mocked up a label for a fictitious messenger company.
I kept it simple. A generic logo, a tracking number that looked like a tracking number, and a return address one block over from the actual building. The idea was that if anyone stopped me, I could play dumb: “Oh, wrong street, sorry about that.”
I walked in behind someone, did the recon I needed, and started to leave. The superintendent stopped me, looked at the tube, and said, “Right building, wrong street.” We both laughed, I thanked him, and walked out with what I came for. No drama, no clever lines, just a little improvisation that worked.
The Lesson
We never pursued recruitment with that student, but the memory stuck. Surveillance is mostly boring and awkward. It is hours of waiting, jotting notes that feel meaningless in the moment, and then every once in a while, you get a chance to improvise. Sometimes it is a small detail, like a cardboard tube and a fake label, that makes the difference.
That is what I carried forward. You learn to be patient, because most of the time nothing happens. But you also learn to be ready, because when something does happen, you usually only get one chance to act.
It is the same in private investigations. Watching a house, vetting a candidate, trying to put together a timeline, most of it feels uneventful. But every so often there is a window, an opening you did not see coming. And if you are ready, if you trust your instincts, that is when you get the piece that matters.
