Three large U.S. Government buses sit in the parking lot of an otherwise empty strip mall outside Roslyn, Virginia. It's five thirty in the morning on a cold Thursday in November. Students arrive one by one, half awake with their coffee or diet cola. I pull my suitcase out of the trunk and pat myself down one last time. We are conducting this exercise in alias. I can't have anything in my pockets that reveals my true name. Experienced interrogators will strive to break down our cover identities, family histories, and jobs. If anyone learns my true name it means arrest. Handcuffs. Jail.

Satisfied I'm not carrying anything that can expose me I board the bus and sit down next to Jay. We engage in a little nervous chatter, trying to forget about the approaching drill. Our conversation turns to the sweeping changes in the intelligence community over the past five months. Al Qaeda, an enemy unlike any this country has ever known, is still trying to kill as many Americans as possible. Dawn breaks as the bus pulls away to take us to the interrogation site. Reflecting on the moment, Jay looks out the window and with characteristic understatement notes:

"It's no longer a gentlemen's game."

It most certainly isn't.

The trade of espionage is no longer professional intelligence officers working against each other in a practiced and civilized manner. The old methods of recruiting foreign nationals during diplomatic parties are now part of Cold War history. Terrorists aren't on the diplomatic circuit. They quietly toil in towns and villages away from capital cities where the U.S. maintains an official presence. Embassy parties have been replaced by commercial cover operations, paramilitary action, and covert influence programs. Unfortunately, there's a shortage of qualified field officers to do the work. That's where we come in.

We are the CIA's Clandestine Service Training Program Class 11. The first class whose members volunteered after the September 11 attacks. We are the largest class in CIA history. The exercise we are conducting today is only the beginning, a peek into the main instruction conducted at the Agency's legendary training facility in Central Virginia, most commonly known as "the Farm."

This isn't a story about tuxedos, martinis, or fancy gadgets. This is the real world of espionage. But like most professions, it isn't about tradecraft. It's about people. A group of people who took a dramatic turn from career, family, and friends to answer a nation's call. We're here because of the planes. The hijackers. The 3000 Americans murdered in cold blood.