Can’t trust a woman in a pants suit. Men wear the pants. The world doesn’t need anymore Hillary Clintons.
Now, could the mole be someone from the Bureau, not the CIA? Of course. Are we actively pursuing that possibility? Of course not. Because we’re the *Bureau*. The Bureau knows-all. Cooperation is counter-operation, and that’s the mentally. Of course the enemies of this country aren’t so picky. They’ll work with anyone who shares their hatred of us. The Bureau hasn’t learned that lesson yet.
Tell me five things about yourself, four of them true.
It’s a *game* we used to play, at the subanalytical unit. Keep ourselves sharp. It’s lie detection.
That would’ve counted as your lie, right there.
I wrote a program last night using just ones and zeros, just to see if I could do it.
Eventually I would appreciate an escape plan. Nothing lasts forever.
Can you imagine, sitting in a room with a bunch of your colleagues, everybody trying to guess the identity of a mole and all the while, it’s you they’re after, you they’re looking for? That must be very satisfying, wouldn’t you think?
It doesn’t really matter; the judgement of other men… I know what I’ve done.
One might propose that I am either insanely brave or quite insane. I’d answer neither. I’d say, insanely loyal. Take your pick. There’s insanity in all the answers.
I never cared about making headlines. I wanted to make history. People intel tracks are the ones who want to wipe America off the map. And somehow that always meant a little more to me than being promoted.
The “why” doesn’t mean a thing, does it?
The perks go to the guys who play the game, the ones who politick.
