This was fun actually, even though the protagonist came across as a teensy bit too naive. a lot of globe trotting, a lot of office work. Lots of image recognition and plenty of illustration of how our thinking and our doing are 2 different things.
Love how spunky -the MC is about pretty much everything. Great into to her family history. Had a laugh at the evasion driving lessons. LOL. A great way to sit exams.
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And every time I was stateside, I made sure to get highlights in my hair or touch up my roots. No matter how far away I went in the world, I needed to hold on to the sorority girl in me—I needed to believe that she, I, could survive all this. (c)
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Sanity required a little reckless joy, some make-believe, and the whimsy of those ridiculous pink flamingos staked into the crumbling ground like big, plastic bouquets. (c)
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... when your life depends on the intelligence and efficiency of the people around you, respect takes on a whole new meaning. (c)
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“I can’t think of anything…” There was the fake ID I had given to my mother on the plane, but that didn’t seem worth mentioning. This was, after all, an organization that operated under fake IDs. (c)
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My maternal grandfather, Jack Davis, was my biggest champion, supporting me and cheering me on in all I did with great enthusiasm. I’ve come to realize that everyone needs at least one person like this in their life. We need an audience of some sort, an admirer who fully, openly, and unabashedly adores us and is always happy for us. For me, it was my grandpa. No one was more proud of the various certificates and medals I was awarded in school, and eventually in the CIA, than he. Often it seemed like the only point in getting a certificate or award was so that I could take it home and show my grandpa.(c)
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I had taken the time to curl my hair and had put on bright red lipstick that perfectly matched my nail polish. I don’t particularly like the attention of strangers, and I hate to be the focus of any group, but I love clothes, makeup, and dressing up. Since my time in the sorority, I have fully rejected the idea of anyone—any man, woman, or institution—telling me I have to dress a certain way to play a role I’ve been assigned through the expectations of others. So even as an intelligence officer working mostly with men, I wanted to be taken seriously while exercising the right to curl my hair into long ringlets, because I like my hair that way (c)
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… we practiced driving our eighties drug lord cars into a cement wall that stood at the long end of the track. If the car could still be driven, you did it again. If you totaled it the first time, your job was done. (c) Maybe those braincells that got scrambled in such exercises could be what drove all the batshit weirdness we've all been able to see the last decades? Now, that's a thought.
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“Do you ever look into the woods… and wonder how many pairs of eyes are looking back out at you?”
“Of course,… I’m in intelligence. Like you.” (c)
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The whole thing felt like a nutty funhouse game. Only dangerous. No matter what we reported to the administration, they turned it around, turned it inside out, and spat it back out into some non-truth version of what had been said. (c)
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On Monday, February 4, I handed a finished chart to the office of the White House. On Wednesday, February 5, Colin Powell made a speech to the United Nations in an effort to garner support for the invasion of Iraq. My colleagues and I watched the speech on television. As Powell presented his case, he held up the chemical terrorists chart. But it was not the chart I had turned in. The words Iraqi-Linked had been added to my words Terrorist Chart.
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Now I understood why the CIA had been denied approval to pick up Zarqawi and take out the Ansar al-Islam labs in northern Iraq. All our information was being reframed and then submitted as proof that Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. Zarqawi, who had no known connections to Hussein, was mentioned 21 times in that one speech. Yes, 21.
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(Soon enough, they’d congeal with the Bush-anointed Zarqawi as their leader and rebrand themselves as ISIS or ISIL.)
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When it became clear that this war was a lot messier than most people had expected, and that there were no WMDs in Iraq, the CIA was blamed for the whole shebang, falsely accused of having provided faulty intelligence.
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I must say this in response to that accusation: I was there. I’m one of the people who supplied the intelligence. Not a single bit of anything my team turned in was faulty. How it was changed and twisted by the White House was faulty.
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The CIA did not betray the White House. The White House betrayed the CIA.(c)