Undercover Enemies Quotes

Now you will know the real hell. Not the one you go to after you die. This is the one you go before.

Because she was trying to flee from them, they regarded her as a fugitive from the jaws of the Alligator.

Dressed in an expensive-looking dark gray suit, the man was in his early sixties and had the air of one accustomed to giving orders, not carrying them out.

Sometimes the enemy that was hardest to fight was the one within yourself.

authors of more recent books have also praised the bureau for destroying the Nazi networks in South America. But the FBI didn’t intercept the messages. It didn’t monitor the Nazi circuits. It didn’t break the codes. It didn’t solve any Enigma machines. The coast guard did this stuff—the little codebreaking team that Elizebeth created from nothing. During the Second World War, an American woman figured out how to sweep the globe of undercover Nazis. The proof was on paper: four thousand typed decryptions of clandestine Nazi messages that her team shared with the global intelligence community. She had conquered at least forty-eight different clandestine radio circuits and three Enigma machines to get these plaintexts. The pages found their way to the navy and to the army. To FBI headquarters in Washington and bureaus around the world. To Britain. There was no mistaking their origin. Each sheet said “CG Decryption” at the bottom, in black ink.

Every morning you slunk out of our house after breakfast, leaving behind the books and the smell of coffee....and like a spy going deep undercover into enemy territory, you entered a world that was a terrible inversion of everything I had taught you to value: a world shaped by toughness, boastful ignorance, firm gender stereotypes, underachievement, and the threat of violence.

I’ve been operating undercover to discover her whereabouts. All that stuff you read in the papers was just a ruse, designed to make the enemy think I was in disgrace. I’ve actually been working for the Murnauer

Kane was a member of the fucking military. At least, he had been. But why was he at Xavier pretending to be a student? He had to be after either my family or Reyna’s—or both. I’d wondered about cartel connections, but with a military background, could he be some kind of undercover cop?

I have an opportunity to get away and escape my family.” “You mean the papers Javier is getting for your new identity?” She shook her head. “No, it’s another option to disappear. Something that just came up.” My gut churned with unease. “The undercover fed,” I murmured without needing to ask. It was the only obvious explanation, but the two hadn’t been in contact since Valentina’s big showdown. How had this come about? More importantly, if Reyna became a witness for the state, she would be in grave danger. Assuming she made it out alive, her next step would be WitSec. She’d be untraceable. I’d never see her again.

Esteban Ventura Novo rose to the rank of a police Lieutenant Colonel during the Batista regime in Cuba. Feared by many, he became known as the white-suited assassin and was infamous in Havana’s Fifth Precinct. He later moved to the Ninth Precinct where he continued his reign of terror. The University of Havana was closed due to the ongoing revolution and the students feared for their lives. Esteban Ventura Novo was known for the cruel torturing of people and how he dispatched his adversaries. On April 20, 1957 Ventura organized the largest massacre of students in Havana. At the time he sent a squad of undercover police to find Fructuoso Rodríguez, the president of the Federation of University Students and his followers and without hesitation Ventura ordered that they be killed in cold blood. During the second half of 1958, the swinging city of Havana became a dangerous place in which to live. The ruthless but dapper Ventura who started as a police snitch gained his promotions by means of his vicious conduct and the diabolical way he eliminated the so-called “enemies of the state.” Ventura, was condemned to death by Fidel Castro’s revolutionary army but managed to escape to Miami where he and other members of the Batista regime found refuge. Ventura settled in Miami, where he founded a security agency, which was located on First South West Street and Bacon Boulevard. On April 1, 1959, Ventura was granted permission to stay in the United States. He had escaped justice despite the overwhelming evidence against him. Esteban Ventura Novo, the “Man in the White Suit” continued to live a comfortable life in South Florida, until his death at the age of 87.

Stacey gazed up at him, wonder traveling through her with the speed of cold molasses. Who was this man? He didn’t sound like anything the articles she’d read about The Davenport Development Group. They had a nasty reputation for skirting the laws in the cities where they built, fabricating permits if they’d “forgotten” to get them, and paying their employees basement-bottom wages. She could not imagine any of the their top-level executives going undercover—or even caring how their employees were faring.

During the Second World War, an American woman figured out how to sweep the globe of undercover Nazis.

I located the shelf with the cereal and sighed. Of course Ryan had only gross flavors like “Pencil Shavings” and “Inedible Tiny Rocks.” I went with “Pencil Shavings.” I found a container labeled SUGAR and figured an undercover agent had somehow sneaked behind enemy lines. I hoped dumping a gallon or two of it on top of my cereal would at least make it edible.

Cloak and Dagger was lost in the summertime NBC schedule, lumped into a mystery block with several other shows of far inferior quality. It never attracted a sponsor and got almost no critical attention, but the recent discovery of the entire run reveals a gripping show with every story an unpredictable departure from formula. It was the story of the wartime activities of the OSS—the Office of Strategic Services—“this country’s first all-out effort in black warfare … dropping undercover operators behind enemy lines, organizing local partisans to blow bridges and dynamite tunnels, operating the best spy systems of Europe and Asia.” It was a tense half-hour of patriots and traitors, of love affairs doomed by war, of triumph, tragedy, and failure. The stories did not always end with the lovers embraced and the mad-dog Germans reeling in defeat: the hero-agent, in accomplishing his mission, sometimes gave up his life. It opened with a question by actor Raymond Edward Johnson: Are you willing to undertake a dangerous mission for the United States, knowing in advance you may never return alive? It was transcribed and had a definite “canned” sound, which may also have helped turn listeners away.

The anti-psychiatry movement made not-so-strange bedfellows with the civil rights movement. Both were united against a common enemy: the power of “the institution” that decided what was “normal” or “acceptable” in society.

The Agency taught me to fight terrorism by convincing my enemy that I’m scary. Zoë taught me to fight by taking off my mask and showing my enemy that

The Agency taught me to fight terrorism by convincing my enemy that I’m scary. Zoë taught me to fight by taking off my mask and showing my enemy that I’m human. In that hallway, surrounded by metal vault doors that lead into giant airtight rooms of secrets, I know that both paths might lead to security, but only Zoë’s path leads to actual peace.