I “handled administrative work” for the DoD, a phrase engineered to make my father’s eyes glaze before I’d finished the sentence.

We never wore the uniform where they could see it.

We never named a rank or a posting or a mission.

When they mocked the modesty of our life — and they did, gently, constantly, my father in particular fond of comparing my “little government salary” to Cato’s imaginary fortune — we let them.

That was the job too.

The cover protected operations I still can’t describe.