Spies Key Quotes

Abby must have been the one who found the safe house, because Townsend didn't like it. "The building across the street is under construction," he snarled as soon as we'd carried our bags inside. "The elevator has key card access, and I've hacked into the surveillance cameras from every system on the block," Abby argued. "We have a three-hundred-sixty-degree visual." "Excellent." Townsend dropped his bag. "Now the circle can see us from every angle." "Don't mind Agent Townsend, girls," Abby told us. "He's a glass-half-empty kind of spy." "Also known as the good kind," he countered. Abby huffed.

If you want to stop someone from remembering something, the key is to use distraction.

Father once said the real language of diplomacy was in the space between words. He said silence was key to politics. Silence, I had learned, was also key to spying.

Alex is the one... He's the spy. - Call

The great spy novelist John Le Carré suggested this axiom: The cat sat on the mat is not the beginning of a story. The cat sat on the dog's mat, is.

Soviet authorities had long feared copiers. At its most basic, the machine helped spread information, and strict control of information was central to the Communist Party’s grip on power. In most offices, photocopy machines were kept under lock and key.

In the Oval Office, President Bush told Khalilzad, “Musharraf denies all of what you are saying.” “Didn’t they deny, Mr. President, for years that they had a nuclear program?” 8 Bush said he would call Musharraf and arrange for the ambassador to meet with him, to discuss the accusations directly. Khalilzad flew to Islamabad. Beforehand, he sent Musharraf a gift, a crate of Afghan pomegranates. When they sat down, Musharraf thanked him, but added that he hated pomegranates—too many seeds. They talked extensively about Musharraf’s usual complaints about the Afghan government—too many Panjshiris in key security positions, too many Indian spies under diplomatic cover in Kabul and elsewhere. Khalilzad proposed a joint intelligence investigation between the United States and Pakistan to document any covert Indian activity in Afghanistan. “There are no Taliban here,” Musharraf said blankly. 9

THE HAMMER is the key to the coup.

H1B visas, and who ludicrously brings alarmingly large numbers of Turkish “teachers” into the United States to teach English. Fethullah Gulen, a CIA asset, came into the U.S under the

The shelves were supposed to be loaded with books—but they were, of course, really doors: each book-lid opened as exciting as Alice putting her gold key in the lock. I spent days running in and out of other worlds like a time bandit, or a spy. I was as excited as I’ve ever been in my life, in that library: scoring new books the minute they came in; ordering books I’d heard of—then waiting, fevered, for them to arrive, like they were the word Christmas.

It’s all right,” I said, spying what was inside his bag. “Went grocery shopping?” “I picked up a few things,” he said amicably, but then a silence stretched out between us. I got my key out, wanting to say so much more but not knowing where to start. “I see you did too.” Oh my God. I covered up the side of my bag, even though I knew he’d already seen the big yellow rooster with Cocks-A-Lot emblazoned on the side. I really had to have a word with Terry about his packaging.

All over Europe, all over the world, men were spying. While in government offices other men were tabulating the results of the spies' labours; thicknesses of armour-plating, elevation angles of guns, muzzles velocities, details of fire control mechanisms and range-finders, fuse efficiencies, details of fortifications, positions of ammunition stores, disposition of key factories, landmarks for bombers. The world was getting ready to go to war. For the cannon-makers and for the spies, business was good.

Funnel The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost-new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died. The children honored their separate arts; two became moderately famous, three married and fattened their delicate share of wealth and brilliance. The sixth one was a concert pianist. She had a notable career and wore cropped hair and walked like a man, or so I heard when prying a childhood car into the hushed talk of the straight Maine clan. One died a pinafore child, she stays her five years forever. And here is one that wrote- I sort his odd books and wonder his once alive words and scratch out my short marginal notes and finger my accounts. back from that great-grandfather I have come to tidy a country graveyard for his sake, to chat with the custodian under a yearly sun and touch a ghost sound where it lies awake. I like best to think of that Bunyan man slapping his thighs and trading the yankee sale for one dozen grand pianos. it fit his plan of culture to do it big. On this same scale he built seven arking houses and they still stand. One, five stories up, straight up like a square box, still dominates its coastal edge of land. It is rented cheap in the summer musted air to sneaker-footed families who pad through its rooms and sometimes finger the yellow keys of an old piano that wheezes bells of mildew. Like a shoe factory amid the spruce trees it squats; flat roof and rows of windows spying through the mist. Where those eight children danced their starfished summers, the thirty-six pines sighing, that bearded man walked giant steps and chanced his gifts in numbers. Back from that great-grandfather I have come to puzzle a bending gravestone for his sake, to question this diminishing and feed a minimum of children their careful slice of suburban cake.

Footsteps from the stairwell startle him out of the past. He turns around as Emma's mother takes the last step into the dining area, Emma right behind her. Mrs. McIntosh glides over and puts her arm around him. The smile on her face is genuine, but Emma's smile is more like a straight line. And she's blushing. "Galen, it's very nice to meet you," she says, ushering him into the kitchen. "Emma tells me you're taking her to the beach behind your house today. To swim?" "Yes, ma'am." Her transformation makes him wary. She smiles. "Well, good luck with getting her in the water. Since I'm a little pressed for time, I can't follow you over there, so I just need to see your driver's license while Emma runs outside to get your plate number." Emma rolls her eyes as she shuffles through a drawer and pulls out a pen and paper. She slams the door behind her when she leaves, which shakes the dishes on the wall. Galen nods, pulls out his wallet, and hands over the fake license. Mrs. McIntosh studies it and rummages through her purse until she produces a pen-which she uses to write on her hand. “Just need your license number in case we ever have any problems. But we’re not going to have any problems, are we, Galen? Because you’ll always have my daughter-my only daughter-home on time, isn’t that right?” He nods, then swallows. She holds out his license. When he accepts it, she grabs his wrist, pulling him close. She glances at the garage door and back to him. “Tell me right now, Galen Forza. Are you or are you not dating my daughter?” Great. She still doesn’t believe Emma. If she won’t believe them anyway, why keep trying to convince her? If she thinks they’re dating, the time he intends to spend with Emma will seem normal. But if they spend time together and tell her they’re not dating, she’ll be nothing but suspicious. Possibly even spy on them-which is less than ideal. So, dating Emma is the only way to make sure she mates with Grom. Things just get better and better. “Yes,” he says. “We’re definitely dating.” She narrows her eyes. “Why would she tell me you’re not?” He shrugs. “Maybe she’s ashamed of me.” To his surprise, she chuckles. “I seriously doubt that, Galen Forza.” Her humor is short lived. She grabs a fistful of his T-shirt. “Are you sleeping with her?” Sleeping…Didn’t Rachel say sleeping and mating are the same thing? Dating and mating are similar. But sleeping and mating are the same exact same. He shakes his head. “No, ma’am.” She raises a no-nonsense brow. “Why not? What’s wrong with my daughter?” That is unexpected. He suspects this woman can sense a lie like Toraf can track Rayna. All she’s looking for is honesty, but the real truth would just get him arrested. I’m crazy about your daughter-I’m just saving her for my brother. So he seasons his answer with the frankness she seems to crave. “There’s nothing wrong with your daughter, Mrs. McIntosh. I said we’re not sleeping together. I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” She inhales sharply and releases him. Clearing her throat, she smoothes out his wrinkled shirt with her hand, then pats his chest. “Good answer, Galen. Good answer.” Emma flings open the garage door and stops short. “Mom, what are you doing?” Mrs. McIntosh steps away and stalks to the counter. “Galen and I were just chitchatting. What took you so long?” Galen guesses her ability to sense a lie probably has something to do with her ability to tell one. Emma shoots him a quizzical look, but he returns a casual shrug. Her mother grabs a set of keys from a hook by the refrigerator and nudges her daughter out of the way, but not before snatching the paper out of her hand.

COUNT. What’s to stop you taking her with you to London? FIGARO. A man who was married and had to be away so much? I’d never hear the end of it. COUNT. But with your qualities and brains you could climb the ladder and end up with an important government post one of these days. FIGARO. Brains? Climb the ladder? Your Lordship must think I’m stupid. Second-rate and grovelling, that’s the thing to be, and then the world’s your oyster. COUNT. All you’d have to do is take a few lessons in politics from me. FIGARO. I know what politics is. COUNT. Like you know the key to the English language? FIGARO. Not that it’s anything to boast about. It means pretending you don’t know what you do know and knowing what you don’t, listening to what you don’t understand and not hearing what you do, and especially, claiming you can do more than you have the ability to deliver. More often that not, it means making a great secret of the fact that there are no secrets; locking yourself in your inner sanctum where you sharpen pens and give the impression of being profound and wise, whereas you are, as they say, hollow and shallow; playing a role well or badly; sending spies everywhere and rewarding the traitors; tampering with seals, intercepting letters, and trying to dignify your sordid means by stressing your glorious ends. That’s all there is to politics, and you can have me shot if it’s not. COUNT. But what you’ve defined is intrigue. FIGARO. Call it politics, intrigue, whatever you want. But since to me the two things are as alike as peas in a pod, I say good luck to whoever has anything to do with either. ‘Truly, I love my sweetheart more’, as old King Henry’s song goes.

The proclamation of grace has its limits. Grace may not be proclaimed to anyone who does not recognize or distinguish or desire it. Not only does that pollute the sanctuary itself, not only must those who sin still be guilty against the Most Holy, but in addition, the misuse of the Holy must turn against the community itself. The world upon whom grace is thrust as a bargain will grow tired of it, and it will not only trample upon the Holy, but also will tear apart those who force it on them. For its own sake, for the sake of the sinner, and for the sake of the community, the Holy is to be protected from cheap surrender. The Gospel is protected by the preaching of repentance which calls sin sin and declares the sinner guilty. The key to loose is protected by the key to bind. The preaching of grace can only be protected by the preaching of repentance.

In May 1981, Yuri Andropov, chairman of the KGB, gathered his senior officers in a secret conclave to issue a startling announcement: America was planning to launch a nuclear first strike, and obliterate the Soviet Union. For more than twenty years, a nuclear war between East and West had been held at bay by the threat of mutually assured destruction, the promise that both sides would be annihilated in any such conflict, regardless of who started it. But by the end of the 1970s the West had begun to pull ahead in the nuclear arms race, and tense détente was giving way to a different sort of psychological confrontation, in which the Kremlin feared it could be destroyed and defeated by a preemptive nuclear attack. Early in 1981, the KGB carried out an analysis of the geopolitical situation, using a newly developed computer program, and concluded that “the correlation of world forces” was moving in favor of the West. Soviet intervention in Afghanistan was proving costly, Cuba was draining Soviet funds, the CIA was launching aggressive covert action against the USSR, and the US was undergoing a major military buildup: the Soviet Union seemed to be losing the Cold War, and, like a boxer exhausted by long years of sparring, the Kremlin feared that a single, brutal sucker punch could end the contest. The KGB chief’s conviction that the USSR was vulnerable to a surprise nuclear attack probably had more to do with Andropov’s personal experience than rational geopolitical analysis. As Soviet ambassador to Hungary in 1956, he had witnessed how quickly an apparently powerful regime might be toppled. He had played a key role in suppressing the Hungarian Uprising. A dozen years later, Andropov again urged “extreme measures” to put down the Prague Spring. The “Butcher of Budapest” was a firm believer in armed force and KGB repression. The head of the Romanian secret police described him as “the man who substituted the KGB for the Communist Party in governing the USSR.” The confident and bullish stance of the newly installed Reagan administration seemed to underscore the impending threat. And so, like every genuine paranoiac, Andropov set out to find the evidence to confirm his fears. Operation RYAN (an acronym for raketno-yadernoye napadeniye, Russian for “nuclear missile attack”) was the biggest peacetime Soviet intelligence operation ever launched.

authorities were less vigilant during a storm. Even so, he was nervous. He had flown in to Cuba many times. But never here. And tonight he would have preferred to have been going almost anywhere else. Cayo Esqueleto. Skeleton Key. There it was, stretching out before him, twenty-five miles long and six miles across at its widest point. The sea around it, which had been an extraordinary, brilliant blue until a few minutes ago, had suddenly darkened, as if someone had thrown a switch. Over to the west, he made out the twinkling lights of Puerto Madre, the island’s second-biggest town. The main airport was farther north, outside the capital of Santiago. But that wasn’t where he was heading. He pressed down on the joystick and the plane veered to the right, circling over the forests and mangrove swamps that surrounded the old, abandoned airport at the bottom end of the island. The Cessna had been equipped with a thermal intensifier, similar to the sort used in American spy satellites. He flicked a switch and glanced at the display. A few birds appeared as tiny pinpricks of red. More dots pulsated in the swamp: crocodiles or perhaps manatees. And a single dot about twenty yards from the runway. He turned to speak to the man called Carlo, but there was no need. Carlo was already leaning over his shoulder, staring at the screen. Carlo nodded. Only one man was waiting for them, as agreed. Anyone hiding within half a mile of the airstrip would have shown up on the radar. It was safe to land.

She had a lovely singing voice. Most well-bred young ladies could play, but few could sing, and Miss Cross could. Eliza, he reminded himself. Perhaps his future wife, the mother of his children, the woman would share his bed and his house. She loved her dog, she sang beautifully, and she liked the theater. Other than that, he knew nothing about her.Could he do this? She wasn't a typical beauty. Her face was round and her hair was an ordinary shade of light brown. A string of pearls circled her neck, and Hugh was sure her pale green silk gown had cost as much as Edith's court gown, but it suited her. Some women had no sense of style and bought the latest fashion whether it made them ugly or exquisite. With two sisters and a mother in his house, Hugh knew enough of ladies' clothing to see that this lady chose well. When she reached to turn the page, he got up and went to stand beside her to turn the next one. Her voice wobbled a bit as he did so, but she played on. Her skin was lovely. He spied a few freckles on her nose, but her shoulders and bosom were as pale as cream. Her bosom... Hugh reached for the next page and stole a quick glance downward. Plump and tempting, now that he looked at it. Her hands were graceful on the keys, and his mind wandered involuntarily into thoughts of what they would feel like on him. What it would be like to kiss her. What she would be like in bed. Would she be shy? Frightened? He found himself hoping not, even though he hadn't even decided to court her yet.

What will you do once you have the key?” Mia asks. “We’ll be able to break into every bank in the world!” Captain Dread declares proudly. “We can open every lock, everywhere!” “Um,” Harley says. “Banks don’t have keys anymore. They have codes, and scanners, and swipe passes. A key isn’t going to help you break into a bank.” The pirates all stop looking for the key and look at each other, confused. “We’ll just use it for anything with a key then!” “Like what?” I ask. “Like… the candy store.” “They use a swipe code for their locks.” “Hotels?” “Swipe cards.” “Government buildings?” “Codes.” “Food shops?” “Scanners.” “Safes?” “Dial codes.” “Cars?” “Keyless.” “Houses?” “Um…” I think about that for a moment. “Yep, I think most houses still use keys. You could use it there.” “Then we will break into every house in the world!” Captain Dread declares again. “We will enter any house we want to, at any time. With the possession of the Skeleton Key, we will be unstoppable! We will be the unstoppable pirates!” “Captain Wed, if you go into my house,” I say. “Can you check that my pet bunny rabbit has enough food? I am not sure if I gave him enough food before I left.” “No! I will steal things from your house; not feed your bunny rabbit!” “We can’t let him have that key, Charlie,” Harley whispers to me. “He will have too much power. We will have to keep the key a secret from him.” “Captain Zed, you are not going to steal anything from me. You can get off this boat now,” I say, as I pick up my backpack full of Super Spy gadgets.

But reasoning backward is important. It’s the key to a good strategy. It’s how you build strategies. It’s how you plan when you’re a spy.

Sometimes I thought it was a good thing that he had gone blind, because that way he would never see me, never see my face, never see the look on my face when I was with him, which wasn't the look of a prostitute or a thief or a spy, but an expectant look, the look of someone hoping for anything and everything, from a kind word to a life-changing declaration. There weren't many kind words, because Maciste didn't talk much, but there were kind gestures. And there were no life-changing declarations, or at least none I recognized at the time, though since then I've come to remember each of Maciste's words as a key or a dark bridge that surely could have led me elsewhere, as if he were a fortune-telling machine designed exclusively for me, which I know isn't true, though sometimes I like to think so, not often, because I don't lie to myself the way I used to, but every once in a while.

Sometimes, they would write down a decoder key onto the scarf. By tying it around their hair or neck, these spies held the answer to the mystery and no one was the wiser! functional

Violet and I love dressing up, and scarves are the perfect detective accessories. Women working as spies during World War II got double duty out of the fashionable fabric. The scarves of course protected their hair from the wind and rain. But printed on the reverse side of the fabric was an escape route of nearby towns, roads, and hideouts in case they needed to make a quick exit. Sometimes, they would write down a decoder key onto the scarf. By tying it around their hair or neck, these spies held the answer to the mystery and no one was the wiser! functional

The Director’s Chair is with Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, etc.), and Robert refers later to this quote from Francis: “Failure is not necessarily durable. Remember that the things that they fire you for when you are young are the same things that they give lifetime achievement awards for when you’re old.” ROBERT: “Even if I didn’t sell Mariachi, I would have learned so much by doing that project. That was the idea—I’m there to learn. I’m not there to win; I’m there to learn, because then I’ll win, eventually. . . . “You’ve got to be able to look at your failures and know that there’s a key to success in every failure. If you look through the ashes long enough, you’ll find something. I’ll give you one. Quentin [Tarantino] asked me, ‘Do you want to do one of these short films called Four Rooms [where each director can create the film of their choosing, but it has to be limited to a single hotel room, and include New Year’s Eve and a bellhop]?’ and my hand went up right away, instinctively. . . . “The movie bombed. In the ashes of that failure, I can find at least two keys of success. On the set when I was doing it, I had cast Antonio Banderas as the dad and had this cool little Mexican as his son. They looked really close together. Then I found the best actress I could find, this little half-Asian girl. She was amazing. I needed an Asian mom. I really wanted them to look like a family. It’s New Year’s Eve, because [it] was dictated by the script, so they’re all dressed in tuxedos. I was looking at Antonio and his Asian wife and thinking, ‘Wow, they look like this really cool, international spy couple. What if they were spies, and these two little kids, who can barely tie their shoes, didn’t know they were spies?’ I thought of that on the set of Four Rooms. There are four of those [Spy Kids movies] now and a TV series coming. “So that’s one. The other one was, after [Four Rooms] failed, I thought, ‘I still love short films.’ Anthologies never work. We shouldn’t have had four stories; it should have been three stories because that’s probably three acts, and it should just be the same director instead of different directors because we didn’t know what each person was doing. I’m going to try it again. Why on earth would I try it again, if I knew they didn’t work? Because you figured something out when you’re doing it the first time, and [the second attempt] was Sin City.” TIM: “Amazing.

While this signifier can be difficult to pin down with precision, it can clearly be heard in the records of Duane Eddy and many other guitarists of the period. It usually involves a relatively nondistorted electric guitar timbre articulated with a strong attack and a melody played on the lower strings. Reverberation is ubiquitous, and almost equally common were echo, amplifier tremolo, and use of the guitar’s vibrato bar. This overall guitar sound is often called a Fender sound, but that is a bit misleading, since Gretsch guitars were equally specialized for the purpose, and many other brands were also used. What makes the twang guitar interesting in topical terms is that it not only signified the western topic but also was key to a linked set of genres that intersect one another in complex ways: western, spy, and surf. Because these were all signified by overlapping musical features and in turn resemble one another in some of their broader connotations, we could speak of a twang guitar continuum: a range of topics that coalesced only shortly before psychedelia and were cognate with it in a variety of ways. Philip Tagg and Bob Clarida point out that the twang guitar, often in a minor mode with a flat seventh, was a common factor between spaghetti western and Bond/spy scores in the late 1950s and early 1960s. I would add surf guitar to the list, with its sonic experimentation and general relationship to fun, escape, and exoticism: “[The twang guitar] probably owes some of its immediate success as a spy sound to its similarity with various pre-rock ‘Viennese intrigue’ sounds like Anton Karas’s Third Man zither licks (1949). But in the 1962–64 period that produced The Virginian (1962), Dr. No (1963) and Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars (1964), steely Fender guitar was well on its way to becoming an all-purpose excitement/adventure timbre” (Tagg and Clarida 2003, 367).

The bureau set its sights high; it did not hesitate to go after even the celebrated Viktor Cherkashin, the canny KGB chief of counterintelligence in the Washington residency, who, as the CIA and the bureau later learned to their sorrow, was the key player in the handling of both Aldrich Ames and Robert Hanssen. The attempt to recruit Cherkashin was made by Ray Mislock, then the special agent in charge of counterintelligence for the FBI’s Washington field office. Cherkashin had returned to Washington around 1997 to attend a conference. It was long after the collapse of the Soviet Union, and by this time senior KGB officers often fraternized with American intelligence officials, their former foes, at various international meetings.

grit my teeth in frustration and hit the key to disconnect the security feed before I do something like jerk off while spying on her. I may be a twisted fuck, but I’m not creepy.

Whenever I attempt to understand the Pakistani military’s Inter-Services Intelligence and the civilian Intelligence Bureau, whose purpose is to collect crucial information on the security of the state, I am left with biting questions about their true roles in internal and external matters. It is a fact that such countries as India and Pakistan have always suffered from a lack of limits on the role of their intelligence agencies and respect for international law and human rights, including the privacy of individuals within the concept and context of global peace and fundamental freedoms. The ISI, driven by the Pakistan Armed Forces, ignores the supreme constitutional role and rule of a democratic head of state, under which even the Armed Forces themselves fall. This is not only a violation of the constitution but also a rejection of the civilian leadership. This can be interpreted as Pakistan is a country where the servant rules its leader and patron. It is this bitter reality that leads toward the collapse of all systems of society, which the Pakistani nation has faced since the first introduction of martial law by General Ayub Khan in 1958, and such conduct has continued to exist ever since, whether visibly or invisibly. One cannot ignore, avoid, or deny that Pakistan has maintained its physical independence for more than 7 decades. However, its real freedom as conceptualized upon the nation’s creation has been only a dream and abused by its so-called defenders and its power-mongers. Unfortunately, such figures control the ISI and lead it in the wrong direction, beyond the constitutional limits of its power. Consequently, the ISI plays the role of a gang that disrupts the stability of the main political parties and promotes tiny, unpopular parties to gain power for itself. There is thus no doubt that the ISI has failed in its responsibility to support constitutional rule and to secure and defend the state and its people. The failure of the democratic system in the country, directly or indirectly, reflects the harassment practiced by both intelligence agencies without proof or legal process, even interfering with other institutions. The consequences are the collapse of the justice system and the imposition of foreign policies that damage international relationships. The result is a lack of trust in these agencies and their isolation. In a civilized century, it is a tragedy that one dares not express one’s feelings that may abuse God, prophets, or sacred figures. But more than that, one cannot speak a word against the wrongdoing of a handful of army generals or ISI officials. In Pakistan, veteran journalists, top judges, and other key figures draw breath under the spying eyes of the ISI; even higher and minister-level personalities are the victims of such conduct. One has to live in such surroundings. Pakistan needs a major cleanup and reorganization of the present awkward role of the ISI for the sake of international relations, standards, and peace, including the privacy of individuals and respect for the notable figures of society, according to the law.

The judges who breach, violate, and break the concept of the constitution and law are not fair to society, even to themselves; they just put the mask on their faces as the judge. However, history is their judge that does not ignore the reality. A verdict is neither a vote nor a consensus nor a customary decision; it is the interpretation and conclusion of the constitution and law, and judges set it accordingly in the context of that and ensure its implementation. The constitution is like a rose; foreign policy is its fragrance that flies freely everywhere, and everyone feels equally beyond restrictions. Sure, such context carries beauty, dignity, self-determination, freedom, and success; otherwise, the sting of thorns becomes a painful risk. In a civilized century, it is a tragedy that one dares not express one’s feelings that may abuse God, prophets, or sacred figures. But more than that, one cannot speak a word against the wrongdoing of a handful of army generals or ISI officials. In Pakistan, veteran journalists, top judges, and other key figures draw breath under the spying eyes of the ISI; even higher and minister-level personalities are the victims of such conduct. One has to live in such surroundings. Tit for Tat is neither a constitution nor a law; it is just an act of revenge. If it continues, be sure everything collapses wherever it happens. The cheap army, undemocratic state, and corrupt nation neither fulfill their oath nor comply with their constitution.

In rural Bavaria, there were already flickers of revolt. When party bosses removed crucifixes from rural schools, pious women launched a wave of civil disobedience. Often they marched together to replace a crucifix after a Mass for a fallen soldier. In the village of Velburg, five hundred women pushed into the mayor’s house, pinned him down as he reached for his pistol, and forced his wife to hand over the classroom keys. Women rallied their husbands in other villages, where the public squares filled with peasants brandishing pitchforks. Perceiving “a front of psychological resistance” and “almost a revolutionary mood,” the Bavarian government restored the crosses.26 Unarmed women had faced down the world-conquering Nazis. The episode inspired and shamed the Ettal plotters. They now felt compelled to spearhead direct action within Germany itself.

Where’s the rule that says you can’t just unilaterally declare yourself a spy and snoop around for no reason? That’s the whole key to life: Fuck explaining yourself to people. Plus Miami is the perfect place, absolutely crawling with self-employed, freelance agents in dummy corporations ready to join any government that can’t have direct involvement with an illicit operation. I’ll just act suspicious until the highest bidder comes along.

Since Spirit’s around me so much, I’m not gonna lie--a few times I’ve used it to my advantage. Oh, come on, wouldn’t you? As a mom, being a medium always worked well with keeping my kids in line. I never really knew what was going on with them, but I’d tell them that I’d send my guides with them when they went out so they’d stay out of trouble! Victoria and my son, Larry, never thought about doing anything bad because they probably thought Spirit would rat them out. I even called them up a few times to find out if they were okay, and said my Spirit guides told me to. But I was just being a nervous mom--Spirit hadn’t told me anything! Now that they’re older, I don’t do this. I don’t even think Spirit would help me spy on Victoria at school, or on my son when he’s at a bar with his friends. Spirit probably thinks there’s a lot that I’m better off not knowing. I’ve also asked my angels to help me find a parking spot at the mall or items I’ve lost around the house. I spend most of my day searching for stuff I’ve misplaced because I’m such a space cadet, so if I didn’t ask for Spirit’s help with this, I’d get nothing done. To enlist their aid, I calmly sit down, relax, and pray to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost articles, that he guide me to where I put the item. You can try this, too. My husband, Larry, always says I can talk to souls across many dimensions, but I can’t find the keys in my own damn pocketbook.

a compact key impression kit, a plastic folding model with casting material that left no trace on keys. Maguire quickly made an imprint of the house key and badged back into the building through a side entrance. He made his way to a basement black area, where he dropped off the impression kit with a brush-pass.

This is getting weird,” Lip said, flipping through some of the others.  “Do you think these are code?” “Could be.  Don’t know.  Not our speed, though.  We’re going to need to call in some favors to get them run.” Lip nodded.  “That shouldn’t be a problem.  We’ll use our go-to boy.” “Lawrence?” “He owes us.” Lawrence Simpson.  He still worked at the NSA.  Man was a lifer.  And he owed them big. “They’ve got the Black Widow now,” Lip said.  “I’d love to work with that baby.” The Black Widow.  The NSA’s colossal Cray supercomputer.  Thing could scan through millions of emails, phone calls, you name it, in seconds.  It could find patterns, search for key words, and do it on a scale that was unfathomable. “Keep dreaming,” Marks said. Lip could get carried away.  Like the NSA was going to let ‘em use that.  Thing was needed for its job.  Like spying on the world. First time on the job Marks was pretty blown away.  Didn’t faze him in the least now, knowing that the NSA captured every bit of correspondence every day and every second from around the world.  Phone calls, cell or land lines.  Domestic and international.  Emails.  Text messages.  Fuckin’ everything. It was all captured, scanned and stored.  And Lip and he had a hand in helping with that.  Still were helping.  Information in motion.  There were always new pipes that needed to be tapped, more splitters to put in place somewhere around the world.  Dubai, Chóngqing, Bangalore…  Marks and Lip, just two of your friendly cable box installers.  No job too small or too far away. Marks eyed the walls again.  In a micro sense this was almost like a snapshot of the soup.  Random and nonsensical.  Just a bunch of non-related groups lumped together. He examined some of the newspaper clippings.  It was weird to see the paper content. 

adviser, repeatedly requested that the NSA spy on the internal discussions of key member states to learn their negotiation strategies. A May 2010 SSO report

Stanley reads The Mirror Thief. It’s a book of poems, but it tells a story: an alchemist and spy called Crivano steals an enchanted mirror, and is pursued by his enemies through the streets of a haunted city. Stanley long ago stopped paying the story any mind. He’s come to regard it as a fillip at best, at worst as a device meant to conceal the book’s true purpose, the powerful secret it contains. Nothing, he’s quite certain, could be so obscure by accident. As he reads, his eyes graze each poem’s lines like a needle over an LP’s grooves, atomizing them into letters, reassembling them into uniform arcades. What he’s looking for is a key: a gap in the book’s mask, a loose thread to unravel its veil. He tries tricks to find new openings—reading sideways, reading upsidedown, reading whitespace instead of text—but the words always close ranks like tiles in a mosaic, like crooks in a lineup, and mock him with their blithe expressions. The usual suspects.

The world upon whom grace is thrust as a bargain will grow tired of it, and it will not only trample upon the Holy, but also will tear apart those who force it on them. For its own sake, for the sake of the sinner, and for the sake of the community, the Holy is to be protected from cheap surrender. The Gospel is protected by the preaching of repentance which calls sin sin and declares the sinner guilty. The key to loose is protected by the key to bind. The preaching of grace can only be protected by the preaching of repentance.

now that was a lie, wasn't it? The tube journey back to South Kensington took another twenty minutes. He'd better get some milk. Some bread. Something to eat tonight. What would the flat be like now? What state had the police left it in?   It would be weird walking up the steps and in through the front door. He'd honestly thought that he would never be back. That his life in St Cecilia's Square was over. Perhaps it was. Maybe now he would sell it, and move somewhere else.   Letting himself in with his key at the main door, he checked for letters and bills in his mail box, and then walked slowly up the stairwell. Strangely, there was no mail at all. Not even junk-mail. Maybe the police or the Security Service had put a divert on it, so that they could read all his letters and pry into his life. He'd have to call them - who would he call? - to get it changed back? Ray Luck was still alive. He was free. He was home. At the top of the stairs, he stopped.

Udah Atnam walked at a brisk but steady pace through the kitchens. In the driveway, the chauffeurs were still smoking and talking among themselves. He passed them and walked through the gates, where he climbed onto a parked Yamaha motorcycle. It was a job well done, he thought, and he had repaid the debt. He placed his helmet on his head, fastened the strap, and turned the key in the ignition.

The strength of a cryptographic system usually has less to do with its design than with the way people tend to use it. Humans are the weak link. Instead of changing keys or passwords at regular intervals, we use the same ones over and over, for weeks or months or years. We repeat the same words (such as "secret") at the start of multiple messages, or repeat entire messages multiple times, giving codebreakers a foothold. We choose key phrases that are easy to guess: words related to where we live or work, our occupation, or to whatever project we're working on at the moment. A couple of human mistakes can bring the safest cryptographic system in the world to its knees.

The justice is blind; however, not the Chief Justice. “Between a liar and a lawyer, the differential is only the spelling, whereas the characteristic is the same for both.” The Pakistani judiciary has awakened and taken the initials against the intelligence agencies for interference, illegitimate force, and blackmailing the judges to achieve their will and goals, but after more than seven decades of breathless justice. Factually, the Pakistani judiciary system is utterly corrupt from top to bottom, including law protectors in black coats; mostly, they encourage injustice through immoral connections with intelligence agencies, political parties, feudal personas, and even criminals. I wrote this passage in one of my articles: “One cannot speak a word against the wrongdoing of a handful of army generals or ISI officials. In Pakistan, veteran journalists, top judges, and other key figures draw breath under the spying eyes of the ISI; even higher and minister-level personalities are the victims of such conduct. One has to live in such surroundings.” It faces and bears not only the Muslim state of Pakistan; it also faces and bears the entire Subcontinent, Asia, Arab and Third World, even in some ways the civilized societies for security reasons.

And the key to making friends with someone is actually being, well . . . friendly. You have a lot of wonderful qualities, but being nice to other people isn’t one of them.” “Other people are usually idiots,” Erica muttered. “See what I mean?” Cyrus asked. “That attitude is exactly what I’m talking about. Now, when it comes to espionage, I know you have tremendous talents, while Ben here doesn’t have many at all. . . .” “Hey!” I said.

1977, Carl Bernstein published an exposé of a CIA program known as Operation Mockingbird, a covert program involving, according to Bernstein, ‘more than 400 American journalists who in the past 25 years have secretly carried out assignments for the Central Intelligence Agency’” The Nation reported.

SUBUD received a land grant at the Crestone/Baca Community in Colorado from the Manitou Foundation. The Monitou Foundation was founded by shadowy former UN official and Agenda 21 architect Maurice Strong. Strong resides in China.

CLINTON APPOINTED WOOLSEY TO LEAD CIA AT THE BEHEST OF AL GORE JR., WHOSE PATRON WAS SUSPECTED KGB AGENT ARMAND HAMMER

PROSECUTORIAL MISCONDUCT IN UNITED STATES V. STEVENS AND “THE HAMMER” USED TO OVERRIDE THE AMERICAN PEOPLE’S VOTE

DOJ PROSECUTOR ZAINAB AHMAD AND ANDREW WEISSMANN WORKED WITH BRUCE OHR’S BACK CHANNEL BETWEEN CHRISTOPHER

The article featured interviews with Sheriff Joe Arpaio that were released by a federal judge in Arizona as part of a civil case, and are now preserved on our whistleblower Soundcloud page. Now, with President Trump locked at war with the Deep State, Montgomery is speaking out in public.

Conveniently for the coup plotters, Baker was recently hired as deputy general counsel of Twitter. With his new Twitter job, Baker is in a position to potentially censor and "shadowban" social media posts about THE HAMMER and cover up Obama, Brennan, and Clapper’s illegal domestic surveillance operation against General Flynn, President Trump, and the American people.

Brennan and Clapper took “THE HAMMER,” the Montgomery-designed-and-built supercomputer system that had previously served as a foreign surveillance tool and that was once located at eTreppid Technologies in Reno and later at Blixware in Washington state, and relocated it on February 3, 2009 to a CIA facility in Fort Washington, Maryland.

On March 7, 2017, WikiLeaks released CIA Vault 7, a cache of classified CIA documents containing information about the spy agency’s hacking tools. Vault 7

is so much mass surveillance that has been taking place. I mean, there has been a wiretap on Trump for years!

Senators Burr and Warner have subsequently been proven to be “Never-Trumpers.

Elizabeth Bentley was a Soviet spy who became an FBI informant after she realized that the Soviets planned to assassinate her. Bentley told the FBI that Miller passed intelligence reports to the Soviets.

together a Fusion Center at CIA that brought NSA and FBI officers together with CIA to make sure that those proverbial dots would be connected.

(5) THE HAMMER has the Supreme Court under illegal surveillance including and, most particularly. Chief Justice John Roberts (Brennan and Clapper also had Justice Scalia under surveillance with THE HAMMER); (6) Lockheed Martin’s supercomputers

J. Kirk Wiebe See Nothing Questionable About Montgomery’s Security Clearance Paperwork, Confirm “Parallel Platforms Exist

They took their oath to the U.S. Constitution seriously. That oath did not end with their retirement.

WHISTLEBLOWER TAPES: TRUMP WIRETAPPED “A ZILLION TIMES” BY ‘THE HAMMER,’ BRENNAN’S AND CLAPPER’S SECRET COMPUTER SYSTEM

Frank Marshall Davis, President Barack Obama’s mentor during Obama’s formative years in Hawaii, was a card-carrying Communist Party USA member (CPUSA member #47544)

Comey told “New York Magazine ”I’d moved from Communist to whatever I am now. I’m not even sure how to characterize myself politically. Maybe at some point, I’ll have to figure it out.

the Affordable Care Act and his eleventh hour position reversal on the U.S. citizenship question on the U.S. Census also call into question the use of “The Hammer” for leverage to effect an outcome. “The Whistleblower Tapes” particularly cite Supreme Court Justice John Roberts as being under surveillance by “The Hammer.

THE HAMMER” to conduct unlawful domestic surveillance and to illegally wiretap Donald Trump “a zillion times.

The hard drives that Montgomery provided to the FBI and DOJ contained 600 million documents of illegally-harvested material as well as Predator drone videos of high-profile events in Iraq that came from Nellis Air Force Base.

Pierre Dilecto,” is virulently anti-Trump.

HAMR (pronounced hammer) = throwing framework for browser exploits” a CIA Vault 7 document reveals.

HAMR can “throw” browser exploits at iOS, Android, OSX and Linux hacking targets, according to the CIA Information Operations Center document. HAMR sends specified plugins from a collection of iOS plugins called “WildTurkey” to targeted devices and installs (implants)

Smith-Mundt Act of 1948 prohibited the

The coins, known as “challenge coins,” are highly prized awards that recognize the special achievements of team members. Though some coins can be found on the web, the authentic coins have

August 19, 2015, Montgomery turned over to FBI Director Jim Comey’s office 47 hard drives that he alleges contain over 600 million pages of documentation from Brennan’s and Clapper’s secret surveillance system.

Obama and his cabal of communists picked and the laws they wanted to follow.” It was a free for all for his comrades. Billions of dollars’ worth of intelligence went to China, Russia and Iran. Our ports went to enemy combatants - even those on the Pentagons “blacklist” who were wanted for “capture or kill.” America’s adversaries were awarded and embraced under the Obama

David Childs wrote in The Fall of the GDR, “SED [East German Communist Party] functionaries used to joke cynically that ...‘Trust is good, but surveillance is better.

The DOJ did not charge Wolfe with leaking classified information, though the document contained both “Secret” and “Top Secret” information about Carter Page.

Investigations, prosecutions and consequences must follow, or we have descended into another communist bloc police state.

Words spoken by Marcus Tullius Cicero in the New York Times best seller A Pillar of Iron, a historical novel based upon his life.

FORMER FEDERAL PROSECUTOR AND SUPER LAWYER SIDNEY POWELL RACES TO PRESERVE THE RULE OF LAW, THE US CONSTITUTION, AND THE REPUBLIC ITSELF

On February 3, 2009 the U.S. government’s foreign surveillance system, THE HAMMER,  was commandeered and moved to the Fort Washington Facility in Maryland by John Brennan and James Clapper where they illegally transformed it into their own private domestic surveillance system.

Brennan and Clapper had stolen the keys to the kingdom and were turning America into a Stasi-style police state that targeted President Obama’s political enemies. The CIA has no charter to spy on the American people.

Are you looking at me?” replied General Clapper like any other suspect out of a mafia flick.

General Flynn had commented that the Obama Administration had armed al-Qaeda and ISIS terrorists. Those terrorists had perpetrated a genocide of Christians across the Middle East.

A nation can survive its fools, even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within.... for the traitor appears not to be a traitor...he rots the soul of a nation...he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. — Words spoken by Marcus Tullius Cicero in the New York Times best seller A Pillar of Iron, a historical novel based upon his life. COPYRIGHT 2020 MARY FANNING AND ALAN JONES

Fort Washington, Maryland, in close proximity to the White House.

remains a conundrum why Carter Page waited for over two and a half years before revealing his CIA past, while 40 million taxpayer dollars were burned on the Hoax Russian Collusion brush fire that consumed America.

Brennan, Comey, Clapper, and Steele — have questionable ties to communism or have already openly self-identified as communists. Brennan voted for Communist Party of the United States (CPUSA) candidate Gus Hall in the 1976 presidential election.

Suspected KGB agent Armand Hammer was the patron of Clinton’s Vice President Al Gore Jr. and Gore’s father Al Gore Sr. Woolsey not only had Aldrich Ames working under him. Ames began working as a Soviet agent just four short months after U.S.

General Flynn planned to kidnap Fettaluh Gulen. Woolsey also immediately ran that fabricated story to Vice President Joe Biden. Those in attendance at the meeting with General Flynn and James Woolsey, who arrived late to the meeting, claim that they heard no such story.

who turned out to be a spy who passed highly classified secrets not only to Israel,

According to a review of Seymour Hersh’s book The Samson Option: Israel’s Nuclear Option and American Foreign Policy:

General Flynn knew about Skolkovo — Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton’s effort to replicating Silicon Valley just outside of Moscow, an act of treachery;

Assistant U.S. Attorney Deborah Curtis Granted Montgomery Immunity For Hard Drives; Curtis Also Joined Special Counsel Mueller’s Team, Assigned To Flynn, Manafort,

The evidence indicates Mueller has destroyed or is suppressing Brady material. There was an original 302 created within five days — by FBI protocol — of the Jan. 24, 2016 ambush interview of General Flynn by two agents — Strzok and Special Agent Joe Pientka. It is mentioned in the Strzok-Page text messages and on page four of the recrafted 302 Mueller filed. Comey read the original 302 before he was fired.

However, according to Dennis Montgomery, when the BlackBerry phones are used on “THE HAMMER” platform they are a closed secret network that is encrypted and secure and cannot be penetrated.

According to military sources, Montgomery’s “Hammer” saved American lives.

FBI files show that the father of senior Obama White House adviser Valerie Jarrett was in communication with paid Soviet agent Alfred Stern. Stern was charged with espionage and fled to Prague.

Starting in 2003, Montgomery designed and built the powerful secret foreign surveillance tool THE HAMMER in order to keep America safe after 9/11.

WikiLeaks revealed that Robert Mueller, as President Obama’s FBI Director, personally delivered a sample of highly enriched uranium to Moscow. Weapons grade uranium is a strategic commodity critical to our national security.

In his book Loyalties: A Son’s Memoir, Bernstein tells that his parents were atheists. “There was no Hebrew, no Torah, and sparse mention of God.”  Every fall the Bernstein family commemorated the Bolshevik revolution — “the anniversary of the Russian Revolution — October Division.” The Bernsteins’ religion was, as prescribed by collectivist regimes everywhere, communism.

Army/NSA Venona Project that decrypted Soviet cable traffic. Venona was so secret that not even President Franklin D. Roosevelt was notified of its existence.

Director of National Intelligence John Negroponte invoked the State Secret Privilege (SSP) and a Government Protective Order (GPO) against contractor Montgomery. The SSP and the GPO were invoked in order to protect national security