Dea Agent Quotes

A Philippine-brothel-owning member of the House of Lords was staying at the house of a Spanish Chief Inspector of Police. The Lord was being watched by an American CIA operative who was staying at the house of an English convicted sex offender. The CIA operative was sharing accommodation with an IRA terrorist. The IRA terrorist was discussing a Moroccan hashish deal with a Georgian pilot of Colombia's Medellín Cartel. Organising these scenarios was an ex-MI6 agent, currently supervising the sale of thirty tons of Thai weed in Canada and at whose house could be found Pakistan's major supplier of hashish. Attempting to understand the scenarios was a solitary DEA agent. The stage was set for something.

Everything is falling into place perfectly. We have four dirty DEA agents working with a terrorist group and killing Americans on American soil. The headlines are going to write themselves and we're going to get our candidate into the White House. When that happens, we'll get the war we want. The war we can win.

The world Gary Henderson predicted when he coined the term “designer drugs” in 1988 is now with us. Counterfeit pills laced with fentanyl and made in Mexico now dominate the market and have replaced the sloppy Magic Bullet blender in a dealer’s kitchen and the powder fentanyl coming from China. In Los Angeles, DEA agents seized 120,000 of these pills crossing the border in 2017, and 1.2 million of them in 2020.

Ziggy is in front of the tube, as if nothing much has been happening in his day, watching Scooby Goes Latin! (1990). Maxine after a quick visit to the bathroom to reformat, knowing better than to start in with the Q&A, comes in and sits down next to him about the time it breaks for a commercial. “Hi, Mom.” She wants to enfold him forever. Instead lets him recap the plot for her. Shaggy, somehow allowed to drive the van, has become confused and made some navigational errors, landing the adventurous quintet eventually in Medellín, Colombia, home at the time to a notorious cocaine cartel, where they stumble onto a scheme by a rogue DEA agent to gain control of the cartel by pretending to be the ghost—what else—of an assassinated drug kingpin. With the help of a pack of local street urchins, however, Scooby and his pals foil the plan.

Her lips curved up then, as if she liked his answer. “Are you working tomorrow?” Dax nodded. “Yeah. Training stuff.” He was running weapons-training exercises with three of his guys and a small team of DEA agents. They liked to do joint operations, especially in Miami, where there was a smorgasbord of government agencies. But he couldn’t tell her that. “When do you get off?” The way she said “get off” brought up all sorts of images. Hannah must have read his expression, because she shook her head. “Pervert,” she muttered. He grinned, liking the camaraderie between them, as if part of that wall she’d erected had been knocked down.

after a parent-teacher conference that his firefighter and DEA agent brothers-in-law lowered the hammer: No devices were allowed whenever they sat down to eat as a family. And that included when they dined out. They placed time limits on their computers in addition to the already installed parental controls, and they had to leave their cell phones on their parents’ dresser before retiring for bed.

In the United States, a park ranger is more likely to be assaulted in the line of duty than is any other federal officer, including those who work for the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF); the Secret Service; and the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA). A park ranger is twelve times more likely to die on the job than is a special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI).

After all these years, he couldn't believe he'd recognized her so instantly. He prayed that she wouldn't recognize him, but as her eyes widened, he knew she had. "Marcos?" she breathed. And his worst nightmare came true. His cover was blown.

Rylann woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. She sat up in bed, foggy-headed with sleep and disoriented by the fact that it had begun to get dark outside. She leaned over and reached for her purse, grumbling to herself as she rooted around for her cell phone. Somebody had better be dead—and she meant that literally. If there wasn’t an FBI, a DEA, a Secret Service, or an ATF agent on the other end of the line with a major case-related crisis, heads were going to roll

This Garner is an interesting guy. He’s both a lawyer and a usage expert (which seems a bit like being both a narcotics wholesaler and a DEA agent).

Juan Pablo Castillo and his husband, DEA agent Shane Ruskin-Castillo, stood there. Kane

in plain sight for years. When Alford pointed this out to colleagues, they struggled to believe that Google alone could unveil the world’s most mysterious digital drug lord. It had taken more than a month for the FBI, DEA, and DOJ staff assigned to the investigation to even take the IRS agent’s lead seriously. Ultimately, his discovery had cracked the case.

Interstate 290 cuts past Chicago’s Rush University hospital and then through the city’s near Southwest Side. Adjacent to the expressway, homeless people and others suffering from opioid-use disorders do deals and shoot up, and the highway also provides quick access for affluent people from the suburbs. “They serve you in your car, quick-out in under a minute, and you’re back home in Hinsdale before the kids wake,” Jack Riley, ex–special agent in charge of the DEA’s Chicago office, told Rolling Stone. “That’s why gangsters kill for those corners. They’re the Park Place and Boardwalk of the drug game.” To Chicago residents, 290 is better known as the Eisenhower Expressway or, to many, the Heroin Highway. Chicago’s famously high murder rate, which police say is driven by drug dealing on the West Side, all comes to a head near the Heroin Highway, in drug markets on streets like Independence Boulevard.

This has been absolutely perfect, Kane.” My fingers feathered over the stubble on his jaw. “But there’s nowhere for it to go. How could a DEA agent ever tie himself to a mafia family?

Misterul care-l învăluia pe cel mai bine cotat agent operativ Elite îl intrigase dintotdeauna. Îl admira şi-i invidia puterea de concentrare şi control. Alex era inteligent, poseda un inegalabil sânge rece şi era cel mai formidabil agent cu care lucrase vreodată. Desigur, îl invidia şi pentru conexiunea inexplicabilă pe care o avusese odată cu Alina. Dar după opt ani de muncă sub acoperire, părea complet schimbat. Vallis era convins că asta se datora în principal faptului că fusese nevoit să renunţe la Alina. Definitiv. Dacă înainte de presupusa sa moarte Alex inspira pericol, acum părea dea dreptul letal.

I let an undercover DEA agent talk me into snitching on my man. One

Les anonymes (R.J. Ellory) - Votre surlignement sur la page 431 | emplacement 6599-6607 | Ajouté le dimanche 11 janvier 2015 00:12:06 Opération Granit. Opération Beffroi. Des balises secrètement installées dans des endroits perdus entre la Colombie et le Panamá pour aider les pilotes de la CIA qui convoient la drogue à voler de l’Amérique au Panamá presque au niveau de la mer sans être détectés par les avions de la répression antidrogue américaine. Destination : l’aéroport militaire d’Albrook, au Panamá. Opération Rachat, impliquant la société-écran de la CIA, la Pacific Seafood Company. La drogue est entreposée dans des bateaux transportant des crevettes et expédiée en divers points des États-Unis. C’est une opération conjointe de la CIA et de la DEA. Opérations Petite Piste, Route de Birmanie, Or matinal, Retour de bâton, Ciel indigo et Triangle. Informations fournies par les agents de la CIA et du renseignement de la Marine suivants : Trenton Parker, Gunther Russbacher, Michael Maholy et Robert Hunt. Lecture recommandée : le travail fondateur de Rodney Stich intitulé Décontaminer l’Amérique. Profit estimé des opérations de la CIA autour de la contrebande de marijuana et de cocaïne : entre 10 et 15 milliards de dollars. ==========

Societatile moderne sunt construite astfel incat oricarui agent, in orice situatie, i se poate cere sa isi justifice actiunile, iar el s-a angajat dinainte sa faca acest lucru. Atfel, motivele sunt liniile invizibile de-a lungul carora se desfasoara secventele interactiunii, si care ii indeparteaza pe agenti de conflict. Pe masura ce agentii sociali se obisnuiesc ca actiunile lor sa fie orientate de vorbire si de recunoasterea reciproca a motivelor intemeiate, incep sa se formeze tipare relativ stabile ale ordinii sociale, care nu depind direct de amentari credibile cu pedeapsa, traditii religioase comune sau valori morale preexistente.

WHAT WAS THAT AD SLOGAN you saw all over? Ellen Pierce wondered. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? Ha! Not if you're an agent with the DEA. What happens in Vegas becomes a nightmare of paperwork back in Manhattan. For the third straight day since returning home from Vegas, Ellen was stuck behind the desk of her small office at the DEA's New York Division on the Lower West Side. This part of the job never made an iota of sense to her. Screw up and lose your bad guy, and you only had to file one report. Actually bring him down and you had to file three. It was almost as bad as being a doctor and dealing with insurance companies. The thought had probably come into her head because Ellen had once considered pre-med rather than pre-law at Wake Forest.

a encubrir crímenes de mexicanos y ciudadanos estadounidenses que pudieron prevenirse, pero que los agentes extranjeros sacrificaron por salvar el pellejo a sus informantes.

Treatment is bullshit,” says the brash young DEA agent as he steers the car down U.S. 65 out of Springfield to the nearby country music resort of Branson, a town that sells itself as “America’s Family Destination.

Use of informants is ethically questionable. The DEA ends up paying money to dubious characters, albeit toward busting bigger drug loads and bigger criminals. In theory, agents cannot pay informants actively involved in criminal activities. In practice, agents try not to know what their informants are up to. As they admit, “these guys are not choirboys.” Agents are also worried the informant could be a double agent who is feeding info to the cartel. Or a triple agent. Daniel discovered you have to push into an informant’s mind to make sure he is playing straight.

The pilot tapped his GPS screen a few times until he found the nearest airport. "Closest airfields are north. The Virgin Islands.” “You crazy, man? They’re probably already tracking us on radar. DEA or the Coast Guard would probably be waiting for us...” Marco tapped on the touchscreen map. “What about this island over here? Says it’s got a private air strip. Small, but we could go there.” The pilot squinted down at the GPS chart. “I know that one. Some rich guy owns it, I think. He’ll probably have security guards.” Marco tapped the map again, changing the layering to show the satellite image. “The buildings are all on the northwest side of the island. It would take people time to get to the runway, even if they knew we were there. It’s been storming hard so they won’t be outside. We can land on goggles, keep the lights off. We’ll cut the engine as soon as we touch down. We only need ten, fifteen minutes at the most. I’ll check the oil and top us off, then we’ll take off before anyone has time to reach us.” The aircraft jolted as they flew through more turbulence. More lightning in the distance. “Fine,” said the pilot. Marco tapped on the GPS display screen. “There. Your waypoint is in.” The aircraft banked slowly left as the pilot turned them toward the private island.

I still feel a tremendous sense of power in this job. Somewhere, our suspect's waking up, planning out his day, having some coffee. He has no idea he'll be dead or in jail before sundown. God help me, I still love this job, I just can't help it." -- Mauricio Hernandez, DEA Special Agent In Charge (Phoenix Field Office)

Mi amava. Mi amava, perciò mi aveva lasciata andare. Non credeva di essere abbastanza forte per contrastare suo fratello. Ma non aveva contato sul fatto di avermi al suo fianco. Mi aveva vista solamente nei miei deboli tentativi di combattere come agente sul campo. Non mi aveva mai vista in modalità dea dell’hackeraggio. Se fossi riuscita a tornare da lui, avrei potuto mostrargli quanto sarebbe stato facile per noi due abbattere Cristian

My name is Skyler White, yo. My husband is Walter White, yo. Uh huh! He told me everything, that's right, and just so you know my brother-in-law is a DEA agent. And I will not hesitate to call him, not if I have to. Understood? This is your one and only warning, do not sell marijuana to my husband.

I wonder what glass-is-half-full Goldie would say back then if I told her she’d be wearing her clearance-rack sexy LBD when she worked undercover as a confidential informant for the DEA. Well, since I am her, I know exactly what she’d say. She’d say, that’s cute and laugh at me.