|01||Ma famille et moi|
|02||La peur du plan B|
|03||Sur le sol mexicain;|
|04||Rencontre du 3ème type|
|05||Enquête au dessous de tous soupçons|
|06||Le requiem des secrets|
|07;||Épilogue des secrets|
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|01||Ma famille et moi|
|02||La peur du plan B|
|03||Sur le sol mexicain;|
|04||Rencontre du 3ème type|
|05||Enquête au dessous de tous soupçons|
|06||Le requiem des secrets|
|07;||Épilogue des secrets|
Google Translation of "Sous le voile du secret"
20 March 2016.
This morning it is not very beautiful outside.
A storm drowned the avenue during the night.
As always, Clara prepares to do her morning jog.
The faithful "Cowboy", pet dog, stirs and presses his mistress.
It is then that she sees mail passing from the mailbox.
Intrigued, she stops.
A low weight envelope comes out of it.
She no longer receives so many letters in the mail.
Internet allows her to spend time, contact Julia, her best friend and pay bills.
She turns and turns the little package in her hands.
He is stamped from Maryland.
No mistake, its own address is present in the middle of a label in the center of the envelope.
On the other hand, no name of the person who posted the letter either on the front or on the back of the package.
She tears the slice with the plate of her hand.
A letter and another envelope which, obviously, must contain other letters folded only in two, inside.
She starts reading the first one which is very short.
Dear Mrs. Thompson,
It was with sadness that I learned of the death of your husband, John.
I do not know if he spoke to you about me.
We met at the NSA and soon became his friend.
He talked a lot about you.
He had left me your address with the mission of sending you this little packet of letters which you will find after mine.
He wanted me to send you the package if your husband John died.
I learned of his death like all those who work at the NSA.
It is perhaps a large house but a small world that crosses the office, is spoken sometimes and sees itself only after some very specific operations outside.
I therefore fulfill his wishes on a post mortem basis.
I do not know their content.
You receive them as is behind closed envelopes.
I waited somewhat before sending them to you for security reasons.
I suppose he wanted to tell you a few things about his life.
He has given me only a few ideas.
Please accept, dear Madam, my most sincere condolences.
The letter ends in less than one page with only a first name for signature.
A name she does not know.
John had not told him about his colleague and friend, Ted who was not aware of John's false death and resurrection.
Clara has the urge to faintly trembling from all these limbs on her legs.
She seems to relive a story already lived a month earlier when a soldier came to announce the death of her husband, John.
Since then, if she has buried a man she was told was her husband, it was not him.
She could not identify him because he came from Egypt and the body was already decaying.
Since then she had seen him again.
She knew John, alive.
Accompanied by her son Stephen, she wanted to learn her parallel history with the NSA.
In such a short time, it would have been a challenge if a chance had not helped them when they found him dressed with a local djellaba.
John had told them what had happened to him and revealed his desire to change his life and come back to zero.
She still remembers this video he showed them with these drones which for him had been a click.
Then Clara and Stephen had returned to Florida, reassured and happy with his decision.
The NSA had to lose its track because it had no more consequences.
She goes back inside the house.
Sits in the living room chair and starts reading the second letter.
2 February 2016.
If you receive this letter, it is because I have not managed to disappear without leaving my last wish.
As I imagine, you must have received a soldier to announce my death.
I told myself that memories can not die completely with me that carries them away.
I never told you many of my adventures because I was kept in secret for various reasons in my life.
Do not expect me to let you know about my last schedule in the letters that will follow, if it has not fallen into the public sector.
When we met in July 2015, my decision to change my life had been made without knowing the method of getting there.
Change life and flee, this life I had taken one day without realizing the implications.
This life that had imposed me, so many secrets voluntary or not.
To change the way on what we do, it is sometimes enough of almost nothing.
A trifle creates the spark and leads to the reflection that one has been mistaken in the way and that one has been deceived by beautiful national principles.
All of a sudden, the world becomes more closed and no longer manages to fulfill its primary family desires.
So I ended my life at the NSA where the secret is the very function of the services.
The violence behind the secret services had become unbearable.
I thought that in my world closed to communication I could preserve myself from the world and its vicissitudes.
This is true at first, but it becomes very difficult when you have to explain your attitude and you can not.
Sharing my feelings with you and with others had become forbidden.
We are taught to be stronger, more educated, more everything, but not essentially, to have one's existence in oneself in the private of a couple.
The brain has an existence only through the communication and sharing of information and its knowledge.
Today, the Internet is the reflection of this networking of universal information.
This lack of contacts, of being able to open up and to relieve himself of his troubles by confidences, has gradually been felt in me.
Ted was the only one with whom I could open somewhat what was difficult to maintain in me.
This had generated a lassitude not to exist with my relatives to express my experiences.
This lassitude, I felt it with the years that pass too quickly with the overflow that manifests.
It is time to live differently to get out of this blockage.
In the year 2015, I had made the decision to consider living another future life with you.
I could not talk to you about it earlier because I was not sure I was going to change it.
This is the upheaval that has taken place in me.
Since then, I have described this past in a series of letters that I have written without being able to send them to you in a secret journal.
It was a very salutary operation to take stock of the episodes of my life and of what had produced it.
For them to seem the most representative, I wrote when I had time in times of stress and fear.
I'll give you the nonsense that I ended up throwing in the trash, a place they should never have left.
These are the letters that I passed on to my friend Ted for whom I had absolute confidence and who agreed to play this role of messenger to you after my death.
Long ago, you had noticed that I was often away from home.
Too often, I admit.
You often waited many weeks, if not more, before I came home.
You may have thought that there was a second life parallel to you.
True, there was one but do not worry, this parallel life, I did not pass it with another woman.
Finally, except once, long ago, in a moment of distress without love friends who was not a rival for you ...
I do not anticipate.
So I owe you some explanations about my absences and perhaps on my failed attempt to form a couple very united with you.
This is not the time to make confessions but to make a will.
A will that I hope will not be too hard to read.
I hope that you will find after me, a little more than a hologram, a ghost dragging a ball of secrets behind him.
If the high where I'm supposed to go, the great coordinator thinks I'll wake him some secrets about how the world is below, he's wrong.
I am held to secrecy for life and death.
My story goes back a long way back in time.
A family life of the parents that gave the beginnings of what was to follow.
I must admit it, you had married a traveling pigeon.
I hope you will even understand me posthumously.
I embrace you with all my heart, dear Carla.
Your John forever,
The biography of her husband, this is what Carla had hoped for a long time and now she appears naked before her.
The letter was written a few days before Clara received the soldier to announce his death.
She who wants to get to know John by going to his search at the places of his last passage, was going to be filled.
It was not this furtive meeting with him in Cairo that had made him much more aware.
With impatience, she went on to the next letter, which goes back in time.
23 February 2015,
I'm a traveling pigeon for so long.
A pigeon maybe, but who does not coo in bringing his message and who remains silent like a mole can not reveal anything and tell where he came from and where he is going.
A pigeon often leaves on a mission and returns where he left when his messenger work is over.
I returned home, whenever my presence was required on the great occasions of our existence like the birthdays and the traditional holidays of Thanksgiving, Christmas ....
But it's true, I know, I felt it again during our last interview, it did not have to be enough for you.
My psychic disorder corresponded to this taste for the inconsiderate journey, I knew it since my youth in reaction to the immobility of my parents.
It was indeed a disturbance.
I later understood it in search of a paradise that does not exist anywhere.
Dropped, I had to lose my way en route and mislead myself into a kind of migratory syndrome.
I was somehow earning my responsibilities as husband and father, but it was stronger than me.
The journey is a kind of traveling confessional in which meetings allow confidences since they will in principle have no follow-up.
Encounters, landscapes, that's what makes all the charm of travel.
In my youth, I was a fan of Jack London's books.
A true citizen of the world, this writer.
If you have not read one of his novels, "The Call of the Forest" or "The House of the Wolf" in which he talks about his burnt house that forced him to take the world as a new residence ... .
London is the perfect way to travel around the world to a young person.
It will soon be a hundred years since he passed the weapon to the left at the age of forty.
A short life but a full life full of adventures at all times with his boat to cross the seas.
His most terrible dilemma, he had to endure to choose between the work of his contemporaries and the wandering life.
His work has been transformed into writing his life to the core and brought the dream to others.
The journey serves to understand oneself, to estimate if one is in the average of the mass of the workers who will see only the end of their way a few steps from their home.
It is true that many Americans know nothing but their region.
At best, the rest of the country remains immense and is still sufficient for them today.
I wanted to go beyond these American borders.
See if the grass had no more colors of the rainbow, in all horizons and all directions.
In practice, by passing from one horizon to another, one discovers that one accentuates one's loneliness by its exclusive side but I saw in it a richness without wanting to see in it negative points.
From travel syndrome, it appears that it would be a psychiatric symptom such as acute delirious states, hallucinations, a feeling of persecution, aggression, hostility of others, derealization, depersonalization , Anxiety, and also body-related disorders such as dizziness, tachycardia, sweating, etc.
Incredible that one can say and write that.
I did not feel that way.
For me it was the deliverance of what I had known before.
A rescue through the diversity of encounters.
I do not know if it can be called a psychiatric syndrome.
Stockholm syndrome, which becomes accustomed to a hostile environment with only advantages, would be more appropriate.
The negative point is that if the furtive encounters of the human condition serve us as a derivative, they fail to analyze this human condition more deeply.
I admit, the purpose was not always praiseworthy to eject these furtive encounters from his memory to find others elsewhere even if they can be more rewarding.
Maybe it was a naivety in front of them that always pushed me to continue my quest without ever feeling satisfied.
My problem may have been instability.
When I am somewhere, very quickly, I feel a lack of novelties and adventures that compels me to seek a sequel in a serial never completed.
My syndrome of exoticism and travel was not to works of art, religious symbols, but as a search to know me or to recognize myself.
I liked the meetings of people who do not resemble me and who can bring me this clash of culture that one ends up meeting.
My need to communicate with the rest of the world is not new.
I could have realized it in virtual over the Internet as many do today, you will say.
You're right, I made a few trials in this direction.
I bought a lot of DVDs on exotic places in the world but it did not give me the necessary adrenaline and it had accentuated my cravings to see on the spot.
Moreover, often it was to boast a place with a tourist idea behind the head.
I come to wonder how some believe themselves in a paradise with a headset on their head with the vision of 3D images as technology allows today.
There is always the wind, the odors that will be missing.
I loved all kinds of expatriations, cultural shocks, shocks of improvisation, the unexpected that bring me adrenaline by the risks they bring.
At the beginning, everything had been organized in my life to achieve this goal which always included some risks of bad encounters.
Then there was the NSA and everything was broken without realizing it.
If I still loved traveling, I could no longer give my impressions, my feelings to others.
The paradox of my life in all its splendor.
More home-loving, you did not seem to have that taste for the risk of making happy or unhappy encounters.
More family, you enjoyed the people of your entourage whom you know for long dates.
I realize that maybe I'm wrong because we never talked about it.
But practicing in my universe of risks involved in working in the NSA as an extreme burglar, had broken all hopes.
Let us go in this past under the veil of shared secret.
15 March 2015
When I was on a mission to Egypt to take an interest in what was going on during the Arab Spring, my taste for exoticism had been filled.
An Egyptian, by the name of Dalida, introduced me to the other form of life in the Far East.
Professor at the University, she had already ventured into many places in her country and others in the Middle East.
I did not know the Egyptian language but English was enough in most cases meetings in the hotel.
During a visit to Cairo University, we spoke to each other.
She had never been to America and we exchanged our experiences and habits in our respective countries.
For me, it was the tourist adventure with a happiness in the rough.
We made an appointment and she was a guide and an interpreter.
I have seen it a few times but no more than visits of courtesies and exchanges of life versions.
Not to say, Egypt is another world.
I was conquered by this unanswered question to seek out how we could still live in the 21st century with the troubles we found there in multiform crises.
But it was a parenthesis that made me think about myself.
My sickness as a wanderer, a traveling pigeon has become more so in recent times.
I have to go back much farther back in time to the sources of my self.
That is why I have allowed my memories to mature in a journal whose episodes I have reprinted without completely rewriting them.
I became insomniac worried, always waiting for an event that would challenge everything, pleased me.
My odyssey in the form of letters, I organized it in the space of time of a year.
I assure you it was a fucking adrenaline hard to put in a can ...
I lived amazing adventures without being narcoleptic, without knowing whether as an actor, I dreamed or if I was awake in the real world.
Before that, I had never had time to much dream or I had to forget in the forward leap.
Sleeping for two or three hours on average without feeling tired, was my lot for a few years.
You know, we get used to this rhythm without realizing that we are rotting life.
Living in the real world is perhaps even more stressful than seeing a thriller on TV.
So, prepare yourself for a mixture of dreams and nightmares that are lost through my adventures.
Our country is experiencing a turnaround now with the elections of a new president who is preparing behind the scenes.
It starts ... Turns the first page ...
The following pages, tell my life mixed with and without you.
I added dates. They do not mean anything.
These are the ones of the day I wrote them.
They did not write on the spot but with the retreat of time.
Did they need to be localized in time?
I am not sure.
Read them as if it were a suspense serial on TV.
I told Ted, the postman's postman, not to sign his letter so that he would not be involved or worried about my story.
Do not count that I will give you secret and strategic details that could make me recognize if my letters were read by unauthorized persons.
What you will read are rather memories, observations and anecdotes that came to my mind at the time I wrote them.
I kiss you.
Clara stops reading, pensive.
She rereads the last letter.
"Did I really misunderstand John all this time," she told herself.
"He never asked her if she loved traveling. How could he think so? Yes, I do not like dangers, but other than that, "she continues.
These letters are a testament to a death of sincerity that she did not know from John.
She had sometimes felt a gene, but she had never gone further to make him talk more intimately.
She realizes her mistake of not having forced her to speak to solder her couple again.
From the moment when he had been told that he had died, and had seen him alive again, everything brought him existential shocks.
John was not in correspondence with her image.
She feels obliged to retrace the past in memory with an impression of relive certain moments.
A question that comes back throbbing and made him shudder.
What if John had once again fallen into a trap?
Was he really alive since she saw him again? "
There is no question of calling or writing to John in Egypt to tell him that these letters have come down to him.
She does not even know her new address.
No, I can not, I do not want to relive that ...
Carla turns on the radio. An old song "The sound of silence" floods the room.
It goes on to the next letter.
20 March 2015
What follows, will teach you how I became a secret agent.
You learned my travels as the first reasons.
They do not explain everything.
Let's go back a long way back in the past.
My parents, you met them but you do not really know them.
Their couple is far from a poem of love.
It is a whole score of which I had to interpret its discordant or dodecaphonic notes.
I was almost sure that they did not really like each other or that if that had been the case, it was at the beginning of their marriage that I did not have the good fortune to know.
It took three years after their marriage for me to appear on this earth and five more years for me to realize the result of their union which survived only by habit and shared moroseness.
I had gradually felt in them a break, if not a tear, with society and the world.
As a child, if I accepted such reflections as "you have to ...", once a teenager, when the formula became "you have to ...", recorded on a striped record, This did not pass and remained dead letters when they did not respect any of their advice in their couple.
The least that I can say is that I soon had an immense need for air and great wide in the middle of this game of bowling that clashed.
Long before our marriage, I had chosen every opportunity and opted for every opportunity to take my liberty away from them and their many disputes.
Everything was good enough to disengage me from the obligations my father had swallowed me with the spoon like a religious leitmotif completely devoid of fantasy.
I have only partially emerged from this closed world.
I am sure that my letters will seem rather dry to you, devoid of feelings.
Childhood whether we like it or not, remains anchored in our integrated circuits.
Marrying me had brought me a new way out, a new alibi, or a new personal justification to prove to them that life was something other than that which they lived and dissociated from me.
If you like black novels or, in the strictest sense, a gray comedy without suspense, you will know the adventures.
In my parents, each actor constantly relived what he had experienced the day before, without realizing the repetition of his gloom.
The best simulation of their situation was found in the film "Groundhog Day", whose scenario was repeated (the word is badly chosen) by conditioned reflexes in reaction to the dogmatism of my father, a facilitator of lessons Too rigorous to adapt to my mother's.
This one was a real electric battery, possessive as much as aggressive.
She threw her dumps on everything she did not like.
This obviously brought a lot of potential for disputes.
In the background, to think about it, perhaps she wanted the whole earth not to have had the life she secretly dreamed of in a city haloed with glory as seen in the films coming out of Mecca Hollywood And she liked watching TV.
If afterwards, she recognized her errors of judgment, it was quickly forgotten and it began again.
Never responsible, she re-directed her moods in absentia on my father who no longer had the right to reply when I, by ricochet, I received the lost balls.
When she had lost a battle, she came to my mansard-room, where I had taken refuge while waiting for the end of the storm, to give me her version of the facts of the dispute with which she had just been defeated.
I was listening but I did not answer.
Seeking responsibilities seemed to me to be a logical consequence of their lack of love.
If the TV sometimes filled the void of his acquaintances and if his potential for imagination and understanding was outdated, my father would zap until he saw a baseball game.
My father had neither received an education with qualifications borrowed from modernity which would have allowed him to seek elsewhere other opportunities more remunerative.
For that reason, I did not hold it against him even though I could hardly bear this reclusive life in the past.
One day when my mother had broken her feet, I tried to make my father understand, in veiled words, that he could leave my mother only because I had grown old enough that I would not see any inconvenience.
He answered me :
"Do you know what you say in church when you get married?"
"I imagine, but I never went there. I attended other marriages without hearing what the pastor said.
-Marriage is a sacrament. We get married for the better and for the worse. This oath I made before our pastor. I will stay with your mother until the end to respect it.
I did not insist, feeling that I had touched a sensitive point of his blockage.
Punishment lost, of having pointed it out to him.
My father had moments of weakness. He knew he had lost face with my mother for a long time.
Probably, a day of fatigue on his way back from the carpentry shop that used him, he talked to me.
He tried to justify himself. He brought me his philosophy of the infinity of time and space ... and especially his garden.
In exchange, as I knew that no proactive response would be followed by a change in my confessions, I did not insist.
Basically, the routine should not displease him completely.
You heard about the Amish.
We were not part of it, but we had some similarities with that community. It was only the most modern utensils and clothing that brought a difference, a "customization" by form but not by substance.
In the end, sometimes I had to think that I was still partially responsible, to be a spoiler, to be an accident of their life that had not allowed them to fulfill their intimate wishes.
The village in which our family lived was lost in the middle of nowhere near Route 66 which crosses the country.
It was a small village hit hard by the programmed desertification that waited for the last inhabitants to disappear by the wear and tear of time.
There were so few people that everyone knew each other by heart.
Its inhabitants watched and knew the character of its neighbors and how to make them happy or, on the contrary, displease them.
What the locals thought, what they were going to do with their day, what they were going to say to start a conversation when they met, everything was largely programmed as on music paper.
It was a small house with a large garden of which my father had made his Eden on earth and his place of entrenchment.
The Little House on the Prairie with the Hingalls family has made this country life, but without the happiness that was there.
My father was an old pillar of our village.
I never saw him leave the village for a very long time or forgot, or he had gone to the nearest town in secret, without telling me about it.
The truck was used for utility trips. The big city was more than two hundred miles away.
In any case, I would not have had an imperishable memory of it.
From great journeys, my father had a holy horror.
As soon as he saw a plane crash on TV, he had a mythical phrase:
"You see what it is to want to go."
-Yes, but they could have lived another life. We also from elsewhere. We could have traveled too, "my mother replied to face it.
-You're crazy. We do not have the money to do this kind of spending madness.
Money, he may not have gained madness, but it did not allow to launch such a reply. As for my mother, she did sewing work at home that brought her a few dollars to round off the end of the month.
For him, the garden was his only passion and nothing could subsist outside this restricted space. He went there to stir the land and visit his vegetables.
It was his retreat from Russia that allowed him to escape from the dummy prison without bars in which he had made an intangible heritage.
Before the meal, he mumbled blessings that did not say everything.
He had imposed himself a hell on living in the company of others and of himself.
The Sunday morning departure, an unchanging rite that began in the church.
The Mass and the sermon of the pastor who had nothing original with excerpts from the Bible, read and re-read invariably with vibrations in the voice.
For my father, this was followed by a trip with the mates in the village's only saloon.
The small diseases of the village were then swollen to gain a box on the scale of interests of the present guests.
Not to say but we thought we were teleported in the time of the westerns of pioneers.
Nothing was scheduled for that to change one day.
He was just missing Indians with their arrows and winchesters to react to their attacks.
My mother was a housewife while dreaming about it. My father, the man of proximity and convenience.
We are all, without knowing it or wanting to, the main artisans of the impasses in which we end.
The birth of my desire to travel the world came in reaction to my father's immobility, the isolation and the lack of novelties in which we lived.
I never looked at what my father was reading, but I was sure he was not trying to fill his gaps with the rest of the world.
One day I had rebelled by saying that life was exploding everywhere else, from other horizons in big cities like New York.
-Papa, you should read novels, fictions that would get you out of your environment.
He was angry with a hand raised above his head.
"I am obliged to read what I do not like." That I must live in these great cities of misfortune. Where are we going. It is not you who will make the law in this house.
As if to support it and contradict my turn, my mother had come to play in her ropes.
I think she realized that this kind of opportunity was necessary to re-establish the ties in her couple by earning merger points against me.
The Stockholm Syndrome had put them in a state of solidarity that I was not part of.
After this paternal and peremptory bawl, I had taken refuge once more in my room to resume reading a book of travels which I had begun and which, with rage, I read in one go until The last page until nightfall.
Books, let's talk about it.
The ones I was reading were part of the ones I found in the store, which was nothing like a bookstore.
It was rather a mini super-bazaar in which everything useful in the village was found more than cultural books.
They corresponded to those that had been encountered years ago in large cities.
As a reward for an opposition with them (- if I may say so), my father and my mother, by mutual agreement, had sent me to a boarding school, considered by my father, to be among The schools of the disciple where one would inevitably instruct me but also me mater.
I was glad to escape from the house and find myself in boarding school at this school.
I followed an ultra-classical teaching in an atmosphere of competitiveness to excess.
The school was not really an answer or a chance to answer my desires to escape in the world, but I found a compensation when it talked about what I was passionate about like mathematics, geography.
The figures brought me abstraction.
Geography, a vision of the immensity of the world.
As for literature, I confess, I had very specific preferences and I eliminated literature too romantic or too poetic.
When you have a bit of what is called the math bump, I felt very quickly repulsed by those who did not "bite" into this cake of knowledge.
I had taken the name of wax-pumping or ass-licking often as first class.
A professor who understood that I had the stuff of a gifted man.
Being considered a phenomenon, it brings a host of solitary complexes.
We leave the normality and live in a closed world in which one does not confide easily for fear of being misunderstood and end up being rejected.
From loneliness, I had made her a mistress of wisdom despite myself.
Some friends, I had maybe but never had real friends who cling to my basques for a long time.
I came to love discipline in student life.
This made my position even worse by others.
This school taught me more loneliness and independence rather than group spirit.
She certainly must have left traces in my adult life.
A sign that does not deceive me, I never had the least desire to find my old fellow students or to see the school again.
When I was 18 years old, I almost demanded to be sent to the nearest military school, which naturally was too far away to allow me to return to the village for one weekend out of two.
I was sent to the military academy at West Point.
The trips organized by the Academy did not go very far but they allowed me to open my appetite for travel and to please my spirit borrowed from discipline.
With the diploma in hand, I left the army and immediately sought to use my knowledge in the private sector on my own.
I had written to my father to tell him about my new situation and my feelings towards my mother.
My father replied:
-Do not worry, do not think about it, she always had this feeling because she blames everything to everyone who wants to listen to her good graces, to have missed her life. It was to get away from you that I consented to send you to a boarding-school some distance from the house.
So it was not my mother who pushed me to pursue my studies.
I had answered my father with another question without being sure of receiving a revelation:
"What would you have liked to do with your life if you could go back in time?"
I was disconcerted by his answer.
-I would go on a small motorboat to crisscross the river that passes through the village.
Surprised by his answer, I did not dare ask him where to go?
This kind of confidence did not occur again.
It is a pity because it was at this moment that he had regained a lot of respect in my mind.
As for my mother, who had sent me to boarding school, I did not ask her if it was to get away from the house because she had loved me.
Was it for her, to love my father, that I had cloistered him and prevented him from having his little boat to set out on the river?
I had several years after the confirmation of being unloved by my mother.
She must have had failures on the side of the maternal spirit.
It takes more lived to understand the intimacy of someone as close as his mother.
What are the questions that remain unanswered?
A few years later I learned that they had moved to the nearest town.
I wondered if it was I who had blocked them in this lost village of everything.
In the city, my father did the same job and my mother started "bizarrely" baby-sitting.
I learned from the tape that her entourage considered her mad with her own clients who brought their children to do the guard.
She had lost them one by one.
For my part, I had started a small import-export company.
I tried to learn how to counter the blows of fate and commercial deals by comforting me by the idea that I was erasing my past.
Eager for new things, I was living on new adventures in search of the resolution of the squaring of the circle in the "American way of life" of which I did not know the existence.
I told my father, with some pleasure, some commercial successes in controversy to all that he strongly asserted and hidden what was wrong.
I realized that I often struggled against myself.
It is not always interesting to stay in one's own head.
I did not really have any gifts for the sale.
I joined a guy who presented well and had a lot more bagu than I had ever had.
Enormous differences of way of being and acting.
This also created disputes between him more dynamic and me too financial.
Often, a host of little innocuous events accumulate and explode when one no longer expects it.
The disputes always end by subsiding by the renunciation of one of the opposing parties.
They have often served me afterwards to understand the techniques of compromise with courage and honesty in human relationships.
But I noticed that it was sometimes a re-edition of what I had known in the couple of my parents.
Crazy or not, in any case, it is always difficult to find oneself in the thoughts of others.
25 March 2015
I lived alone in a small apartment. When I went on vacation to Mexico.
That's where I met you.
Our meeting in Acapulco changed my life.
I did not think it could ever happen to me.
I told you about the relationships I had with my parents and what it had generated as a major impact on my own character.
I almost thought that spouses always end up like my parents with time.
Very young, I had planned my existence linearly without thinking of starting a family.
Then our encounter was, as they say, "a thunderbolt."
A thunderbolt, I did not know what it meant, but if it did, this encounter with you should look furiously.
You were the opposite of me.
You were cheerful, witty, funny and besides, you seemed not to be afraid of the life that rubs off through a bit of fatalism that is characteristic of the Jewish-Christian education of my parents.
Your joie de vivre, your curiosity of everything seduced me.
Even when it did not work, you managed to turn the situation into something fun.
You were bringing perfectly the other side of a room that I did not know in my latent state of confinement from which I came in childhood.
The arts were relatively unknown to me.
Your artistic skills have filled my lack.
My technical skills in relation to yours were well theoretical compared to yours more practical.
In Mexico, family education was probably not always the best for people who can not pay for advanced studies and to enter a professional career, but you had this complement that I did not have: the joy of living Even without having anything in his pocket.
You found practical solutions to problems when I saw them almost insoluble.
My phrases may seem obsolete and reflect my difficulties in interacting with a woman.
More introverted than me, it was hard to find.
You gave me a lot more pleasure in a few months than in all my childhood years.
It has been tough to go through the 19th century to modern times.
The stories of love too daring, forbidden by Christian good-will, did not exist from where I came.
The girls and boys went to separate schools and only crouched in secret.
When I introduced you to my family on the occasion of the end of 1994, I was almost certain that your Mexican Latin origin would not be appreciated at its true value and that asides with them would try to tarnish My relationship with you. An immigrant in the family, mestizos in addition; It was worse than anything.
In my opinion, they had to give their consent to our union. It was not true.
The clash of cultures, the level of education was inevitable, but I did not care.
When I introduced them, you found the right words to interest them in your condition and how you see what a couple was when they were still struggling to find their own path in the same context.
Attempted seduction that I did not have to do with your own parents who had welcomed me with open arms.
Over time, there are terrible questions.
Would I be able to be really happy as a couple?
Were I myself building the happiness that my parents had not been able to achieve?
Two questions of which I did not seek answers with adequate arguments.
"Hell is possibly the others," said Jean-Paul Sartre.
To apprehend existence in the face of events, plunges us into jubilation or pessimism
You had to come first to live with me to feel the difference in standard of living with my country always settled on skills and capitalism overflowing.Tu devais obtenir cette fameuse Green Card pour devenir une véritable américaine avec une langue anglaise plus qu'approximative.
You have had to endure the disillusionments of exile and the mirages of emigration.
The Americans are very open in instant stealth meetings, but they must not be shaken by incrustation for too long.
I asked you to marry me when I still doubted me.
The date of the marriage was fixed very quickly.
I had to be afraid to go back and give up the wedding.
I only hoped that over time I would not deceive you.
We moved to Florida.
Then, very quickly, our son Stephen arrived.
I saw you filled.
He was going to fix my own life.
I did not tell you, but I panicked when you told me we were going to have a baby.
I hoped for it but for much later.
I made a sedentarization effort before asking myself how I was going to be able to pin my entrepreneurial life with the couple's life.
Stephen once again forced me to change some life plans for me who loved to travel to find me elsewhere.
When your parents with whom you had frequent contact, died in a car accident, it was a shock to you as much as to me.
I loved them very much.
Then, for the company, my travels abroad began again.
Since then, this home has always been considered by me as a hotel of passage in which I return to rest before launching myself in new adventures and in trips to the end of the world.
For some time, I had business that took me more and more time.
I had to go and see very distant clients who did not care about my situation as a young father.
Clients only understand for a time that the provider has family obligations.
Reminding them is time wasted.
They sometimes also have clients to satisfy in a chain of intermediaries.
An American takes his job too much to heart before his family and the rest of his private life.
He feels obliged to do so as if he is obliged to travel his country to find prospects.
When one no longer counts in kilometers but in hours in its displacements, this planes the time.
The plane and the car rental have become my tools.
"The American fascination with power forces us to constantly reinvent ourselves into action," wrote Francis Scott Fitzgerald.
We do not play a dissident theater play with different roles as easily as we should to transgress the puritanism.
Far, I thought of you and your fidelity to wait for me.
When Stephen arrived, you prepared the house perfectly for his arrival.
His room was ready by a miracle without my intervention.
You painted it blue when we knew it was a boy.
It has taken on an importance in your eyes that I have admired you as a follower.
Before Stephen, in moments of reflection, I wondered what father I would have been.
This time I had part of the answer.
It was neither conclusive nor obvious.
Then I went back ...
The voyages resumed their work of undermining an American household.
Who said that the most beautiful journey is the one we have not yet done?
One illuminated like me, probably.
18 June 2015
When I got home, I did not tell you everything.
I often lied to you by omission.
You were too happy for me to tell you what was going on in my affairs.
Lately, I was engaged in a big import-export business with a partner.
He seconded me at first, then he wanted to go too fast and we lost big customers.
He thought he was invulnerable.
When he was defeated, he held all his entourage responsible.
He was a salesman who could have sold water to a drowned man in his last sighs.
When I returned from a prospecting trip, surprised, I picked up a shovel of unhappy customers without looking for it.
It was up to me to wipe off the flood that he had generated at the customers.
With the jokes he told the client, he had the good part and I made a vacuum around me by throwing paving stones in the pond and splashing at the same time.
Being dreamy is not a problem, but you have to take your dreams into reality.
My associate made me ashamed in this game of dupe of which I was the so-called responsible.
At first I left him in his illusions when the situation permitted.
Gradually, however, I was fed up with his ideas and actions of matamore as the crisis began to dawn.
There was no way to hide my bitterness and the arguments began.
With others besides you, I lied with difficulty.
My frankness turned into a gaffe and ended up saying a resounding "shit."
He and I, if nothing changed, I went bankrupt and it seemed not to feel it.
She arrived faster than expected.
I wanted to show nothing of my anger at home to let you live the way you did.
I did not want to get involved in this personal mess.
I went home and told me the story of your friend, with which you laughed, you made me laugh and forgot all my problems during the rest of the evening we had together.
I do not really remember anymore but it was a confidence she had made you on her way of living with her man of the moment.
Thank you Clara ... thank you for your humor.
I hope you thanked her on my behalf for her story.
This morning, I left the heart lighter at the wheel, thinking of that.
I did not know where to go ...
I kiss you...
Clara remembered the cold reception she had received during her first visit to John's parents.
She did not hold it to him.
He did not know the whole story about John's childhood.
She had a little more understanding of the subtleties when they had met at John's false burial.
The song "I'm calling you" from the movie "Bagdad café" came back in his head.
She did not imagine herself as a tourist who had left her husband and stranded in the desert at the Baghdad Café on Route 666 with a suitcase containing a Mexican wardrobe and a magic game.
30 June 2015
After the bankruptcy of my business, I entered a dark period.
Disappointed, I felt overwhelmed by events as a man who had not been able to adapt to modern life.
I did not even think I could bounce back after this failure by reminding me of the immobility and defeatism that my father had shown.
By the porosity of his ideas, I felt this bankruptcy as a personal tornado.
Those who succeed are probably not as incorruptible as I was.
My former associate would find another job without falling into disgust.
An American in business has a habit of rebounding when he has reached the bottom.
Depressed, I was lying to myself.
Since the beginning of the decline, ashamed, I felt obliged to remain in the lie by omission from you.
I pretended that everything was fine. I intercepted the letters that were related to this bankruptcy.
I was idle when I left the house and started to frequent the bars and drink in secret.
One glass then another and then another one.
Before going home, I rinsed my mouth to extract the smell of alcohol.
Sitting on a counter stool, I looked in front of me, emptied of all substances.
I was living a real flight ahead without much thought about the consequences.
The more time went on, the more I slipped away without being able to get out of it.
I still had money in the bank, but I had nothing left to confide in my confusion.
How many times I hesitated to put you in the fragrance of my descent into the abyss of uncertainty.
I tried, once, I remember, when my trouble was too strong and I confess I had a big deal falling into the water.
You smiled at me.
You were visibly at a thousand places the depth of my trouble and what I thought I was telling you.
I dropped. I never did it again and I kept taking everything on myself.
Re-launching another business or being hired on behalf of a commercial firm, did not have the pleasure of pleasing me.
When you have been a director and your own leader in a business, it becomes a dilemma.
I did not want to recreate the past.
In these times of distress, one becomes a prey for observers or wise observers.
One day in a tavern asking me what I was going to do with a drink in front of me, a woman approached.
She was young. She talked to me. She knew more about life than I could imagine.
She had had romantic adventures without a tomorrow, but she recounted them with humor.
I told him about my bankruptcy. She felt my distress.
Mutual confidences were exchanged.
Seductress, she knew how to speak and console.
A bond of friendship has been established as between two lost.
I found her the next day and the day after.
With it, the emptiness in me was gradually filling up a slope.
I must have reached the floor of my dismay.
The macho side that exists in every man, made me think that I was still worth something.
Falling in love, I could not have, but she was putting a bandage on my tear.
"Falling in love means seeing only the good side you want to see and hear what fits our ears," as someone who forgot his name said.
We are not paying attention to the problems to be brought into harmony with innocent desires when we put our own in parentheses.
I let myself be caught up in the game of shared solitude.
She tried to train me in her bed.
Do not worry, it did not work and there was no second draft.
But she had brought up the moral.
Perhaps, I myself served him. I wish him well.
One day she realized that her role as a Samaritan would end.
By mutual agreement, we cut all our contacts. I have not returned to this tavern of our meetings.
This story was plagued by remorse and cowardice that I confess today.
I had to tell you this episode in my life.
When I looked at a newspaper, I found a job offer that did not specify the name of the employer, but that corresponded to my skills.
A new opportunity sprang up in my head.
Hope was reborn. I showed up at the address indicated.
It was not in a business, but in a corner of a hotel room. The interview was strangely discreet more to prune the importunate.
Two people questioned me about my life, my qualifications and especially my background.
I was quite taken aback by the kind of question but I answered all with nothing to hide from my current situation.
They wrote down all my answers in a notebook.
They were looking for cryptographic specialists with good knowledge in the new information technologies
Cryptography had been part of my teaching at West Point.
It seemed in their cords but without enthusiasm. I gave our address.
When the interview was over, they told me that more interviews were to take place and that I would write to my address without special mention of the sender.
All this intrigued me but I did not care and it excited me all the more.
I just had to wait.
Forgive me for never having told my torments.
Forgive me for having been told by a stranger.
I would certainly have done better to share my despair with you.
This episode of my life goes back a long way, but I had to be honest with you and admit it.
15 August 2015
I watched the arrival of the mail so that you did not fall on a letter before me.
A week later, a letter arrived with the invitation to go to a different address.
So I was pre-selected.
I went there and the new contacts revealed to me, in more detail, the function they were looking for.
What was not my surprise when I learned that the vacant job sought in a cryptographic service messages for an intelligence service.
There I freaked out. I was excited perhaps a little fast.
It was only after I was told that it was for the National Security Agency, the NSA. A government agency.
I knew the CIA as the intelligence organization but not the NSA.
And for good reason, the NSA does not make as much effort to make itself known as the CIA as you will discover in the letters that follow.
They gave me some general details.
This organization was born in 1952 to unite the efforts of cryptology following an impulsion of the Navy and the US Air Force.
The spiritual father of the agency was the fifty-year-old general, Ralph Canine.
Initially, the goals were set at 50% towards the surveillance of the USSR.
It then developed an active structure that was part of the decisions of the American international policy concerning Vietnam, Cuba, Iraq and Al Qaeda.
Although the NSA has a very secret history, it is ubiquitous.
It is the most active nucleus in the vast network of spies.
The reason for my ignorance was understandable because its existence was revealed only five years after its creation, but it persisted.
At its inception, there was no Congress commission or laws to formalize its creation or to control its actions. There were only texts intended to protect her.
200,000 people work at the NSA in the world.
The Agency takes care of all that is said or written in the press and in diplomatic circles.
Its prerogatives go so far as to strip technical magazines, national or foreign, to analyze speeches and the media and even fictions and police novels.
She was known by the name of "The Agency" or "The Company".
I learned later that the agency received several humorous nicknames like "No Such Agency", "Nothing Sacred Anymore", "No Say Anything".
Its annual budget is estimated at more than ten billion dollars.
Computers of the later generations and artificial intelligence were part of the arsenal of tools to carry out their various tasks of espionage.
The preponderance of activities revolved around the economic field and research, but not only.
Today, it is a real empire that communicates from Fort Meade to coordinate its highly technical activities related to the operations of the United States.
The NSA offers the appearance of a citadel of glass and steel protected with a luxury of unheard-of precautions on a surface of fifteen hectares where dozens of buildings are scattered.
A museum and library were inaugurated for the public.
Many "geeks", impassioned by the numerical find themselves there.
Participating in US security and entering the agency, what a great opportunity to serve my country, I thought.
I was going to be able to exercise my mathematical talents by the art of cryptology and I forgot all the risks of vicissitudes.
I agreed, but I was not yet committed.
In the evening I returned home with a smile that was not distorted.
I was returning to my childhood dreams and it excited me.
All that I will write to you in the letters that follow, has entered the public domain.
I can not tell you more.
17 August 2015,
I went to Fort Meade.
Staff selection agencies have looked at me from every angle, in the most intimate detail.
My life has been exhumed, intersected, analyzed, indexed.
My political opinions, my fads and my ambitions have been sifted through.
Very extensive psychological tests were part of the selection.
I understood what was really "Big Brother" at work.
I do not know how, by what artifice, I was selected among many candidates and received my entry ticket into the den of secrecy.
Probably, my military past, my qualifications, but maybe also, my solitary and introverted character that corresponds to the typical secret agent.
The main handicap to my engagement was you.
Accepting your presence as a wife has been difficult.
The breeders have come up without you knowing about your past and your Mexican parents.
I later learned that NSA employees are encouraged to get married to each other.
The least that can be said is that this procedure of probation, investigation of myself was very important to discover the fault that would make me a potential traitor.
It included in addition to my education, the control of my neighbors, friends, former comrades.
The policy of suspicion and the principle of loyalty regardless of rank and seniority, includes a passage to the detector of lies every three years.
The secret was to become a routine.
When I interested them and decided to take my candidacy into consideration, they put my patriotic fabric back on.
In the final, I had to sign documents as if it were a Pact with the devil that forbade me, for life, to advertise my commitment to anyone or to disclose my Employer even to yourself.
In their offices, I was trained on procedures, general military courses, but also the foundations of secrets and confidentiality of information.
You are taught to never trust anyone after a first emotional reaction.
Learning goes through how to translate or make-up a truth so as not to reveal your functions and how to lose your emotions in any stress situation.
The secret became for me a second nature with the watching of my alter-ego in both directions as ultimate security.
Everything becomes a potential risk to me and to the team in which I am a part.
I was certainly under surveillance with my hotel room full of microphones and my recorded communications.
I may be still after years of exercises.
But for a novice as I was, it took me a lot of effort to accept this supervision.
I assume that all spy and counter-espionage agencies in both East and West have very similar rules.
What does not spoil anything, being an agent was relatively paid since the budgets of the agency allowed it.
Temporarily, I bracketed, my secret desire to go into the field of operations.
My inclinations for the "great migrations" remained intact.
As soon as I joined the staff, I got to know Ted.
He had entered the NSA two months before me.
He became a true friend. The only one with whom I had "almost" trusted 100% so much that it looked like me on many points.
A few months after the instruction, I applied for information in the world provided that I can return a number of times to see my family again.
New concerts of instructions, recommendations and precautions to learn to leave Fort Meade.
Concert which consisted of questioning people in a monologue to collect information without revealing anything about myself.
I had secret missions in some places of the planet with which the United States had some concerns and different methodologies of governance.
In Europe, it was in the Stuttgart branch in Germany.
I transferred my reports via diplomatic validity or by other, even more secret means.
I tell you the rest in other letters.
25 August 2015
And if I started with the story of Kennedy at a time fertile in events for the agency.
The Cuban crisis with the missiles sent by the Russians brought a halt to the CIA.
I mean the CIA.
In the eyes of JFK, the finding of lack of their intelligence services had been attributed to them.
As a result, the NSA had taken another step in its legitimation to demand even more resources in staffing, equipment and of course in credits.
Many fantasies about the history of JFK have only reached the public in recent years by the press.
Everything was kept secret for fear of reprisals.
When all the information is encrypted, the job of the NSA had to protect its sources and crack those of others, enemy or not.
Internet had just existed but not the Web.
Between being spied and being spied, it was the waltz of secrets in this "big public enterprise".
Behind the scenes, there are anecdotes from the drawers of the NSA archive.
Between CIA and NSA there existed a feeling of "I love you either," sometimes walking on the same flat bands.
JFK was a very special democrat.
Visionary but also petticoat runner and preventer from turning around in circles.
1961 was a pivotal year for the NSA.
Because of these nuclear missiles pointing towards the country, we were on the brink of a nuclear war with the USSR of Khrushchev. The priority affair of Cuba gave him the opportunity as if it were a Super-Vietnam.
A blow of warm followed by a master stroke of the falcons of the NSA.
If before, it was imposing itself as a pivot of the system by flouting some laws in passing, it missed only the opportunity to penetrate to the decision-making center of the White House.
The Q Street in Washington was the meeting point of ideas and plotters.
The story of Mary Meyer was one of them.
JFK had been in love with her and once married, he would even have thought of divorcing her.
He had become priapic by this bulimia related to a myriad of drugs he was taking to fight Addison's disease that affected the body's ability to regulate sugar and sodium.
The Meyer couple was very close to the high spheres of power.
She had married a well-to-do bellast who climbed to the 2nd of the CIA hierarchy.
A journalist by profession, Mary began to seduce government circles while practicing Bohemian life with the LSD as intellectual support.
Brilliant, subversive and whimsical, she was an explosive mixture with her unusual mind but hated the social outings. His very private side pleased JFK.
She had seen JFK after her marriage but without leaving the alcoves of the mystery.
The NSA knew the actions of this couple not in accordance with the American intelligence.
To counter the Soviet influence and the communist tendency in Latin America, JFK had signed the "Alliance for Progress" which was to provide massive social and humanitarian aid and establish American-style democracy.
The great American groups did not care much about the development of democracy in that part of the world.
He had pursued are action by wanting to remove tax niches that allowed for savings but that came in opposition with the oil companies.
Laurence H. Frost was appointed to the NSA for two years to overcome the shortcomings of his predecessor, John A. Samford.
At the time, funding from the anti-castrist groups in Florida had to be stopped by opposing the N.R.A. organization, the National Riffle Association.
We must keep a tension in the world so that the arms market works.
The pacifism is not a recipe, does not pay anything to this association nor to intelligence organizations that find financial resources there.
The CIA would soon have turned to catastrophe because it neglected civilian leaders.
Allen Dulles was fired by JFK. His protégé, Youri Nousenko of the KGB had been held incommunicado by Dulles because he thought he knew too much.
Then there was the unexpected assassination of JFK.
Mary Meyer was immediately persuaded that a conspiracy against him and the White House to foment a form of coup.
On September 27, 1964, the conspiracy was denied by the Warren Commission, whose report showed Oswalt as the only culprit.
A legend for Mary.
Oswalt, a false communist lost in a world that surpassed him, JFK's murderer, the very idea had made him jump as the names of the hawks of the secret services were looping in his head.
Whether true or false, she had managed to form a very different opinion following the CIA's most secret echoes at Langlay.
She made investigations, went back into the past of Lee Harvey Oswalt and her assassin, Ruby.
She spread her smoky theories duly argued in Washington and was telephoned.
Was she the woman who knew too much?
On October 12, 1964, while jogging along the Potomac River, Mary was shot, eleven months after her lover and less than a month after the Warren Commission's findings.
We will never find the culprit.
An old friend of Mary, Peter Janey, is still looking for how and who perpetrated this crime.
In 1976, another commission on the case cleared the secret services but admitted that they should nevertheless have an active role in a complex conspiracy.
A history of secret services that has been repeated with great detail in the book "Murder in Georgetown".
At the NSA, the conclusion of this new commission came as a shock wave by sending everyone on deck to look for other more plausible responsibilities.
Then there was the assassination of Bob Kennedy by Sirhan Sirhan.
Some have spoken of a curse of the Kennedy by forgetting the concordant clues.
The first question "who profits a crime", thickens when we see things differently from inside the secret services.
You entered the secret mysteries or you do not kiss
... but that does not prevent me from kissing you
2 October 2015
I continue with the history of the NSA which was partly taken up in the book "The Flea and the Giants".
If the CIA was responsible for everything vis-à-vis the public, the power of the NSA was only growing.
It was physically impossible to verify the actions or expenses of the NSA which administered hundreds of bases abroad and made satellite shots.
President Lyndon Johnson liked to exhibit these photos.
For him, it was a brutal way of warning the adversary states since he knew all about them.
In 1965, the influential general Marshall Pat Carter, head of the NSA, who had been dubbed the "Anagram Inn", was more scientific than military.
He preferred independence to belonging to the Defense.
A survey was conducted by Richard Helms to determine whether the effectiveness of the NSA was consistent with the ever-increasing spending it required.
To understand its expenses, it must be remembered that the United States has always been a target for terrorists of all kinds.
Nothing peaceful in this period.
In 1969, activists were protesting against the Viet Nam war.
A hotel which was a bomb factory, exploded in New York.
In 1970, there were 3,000 bomb attacks and 50,000 threats causing the evacuation of buildings.
Violence of political and leftist origin in an America considered to be uniformly right-handed ...
No, nothing is ever free to justify espionage.
In 1973, the CIA was recognized as the arm of the shadow to render Allende's socializing attempts unproductive in Chile.
No one had pointed the NSA.
The mystery of his existence has always been stronger, and preferably designated a more well-known actor ...
In President Nixon's policy, secrecy had become an obsession.
His vice-president Spiro Agnew chastised the disorders and nailed to the pillory a "small arrogant elite" often referred to as "communist influence" which organized waves of "subversion."
The atmosphere was overheated in a maniacal war to the point of thinking of a military coup without permission from the Pentagon.
To control a country, for Nixon, was to supervise him in every way possible in a Gestapo state.
In the end, all this caused the Watergate scandal, revealed by pointing the CIA as responsible. Again, the NSA and Directive No. 6, which had founded it, were spared.
The attempt by Democrat Jimmy Carter to check the NSA was a failure.
Under the presidency of his successor, Ronald Reagan, credits flooded again to oppose the "Empire of Evil" via the "Star Wars" that was to annihilate the weapons of the opponents.
His acknowledged links with the mafia allowed him to climb until the inauguration of president.
A president, much loved by the American population, arrived in the air of the time of the Golden boys and Margaret Tatcher.
Loyal to those who are behind him, who supported him and erased his slate from his extravagant spending, Reagan, a tailor-made president, had to reimburse them by erasing the shady files.
The same fallacious arguments lead the world and the world of secrets takes its share in the passage.
The attack in New York in September 2001 was another blow to the CIA by a failure.
The NSA was no farther away from the fiascos of the CIA and the FBI who had not seen anything coming, but no one cared.
The PRISM electronic surveillance program was then set up to target the highest ranked people in the world. It was officially called the Terrorist Surveillance Program and was set up by the Bush administration after the attacks of September 11, 2001. The revelation of this program had a worldwide impact by creating a scandal that Barack Obama had to calm down with difficulty Saying it would be short-circuited from within.
In 2006 came a new "bomb" that created panic aboard the NSA.
The revelations called "Wikileaks" revealed a real traffic of information from the shadows.
Its alert launcher, Julian Assange, led the leaks through the Asian Communist countries and Cuba.
The alert launchers become the heretics of the digital world. "Between the cloud and the hell"
This public enemy number one was protected by the recognition of the public eager for this kind of confidences.
His story was shown in the film "The Fifth Estate".
When Assange released his video titled "Collateral Murder," it was a detonator in the audience.
The natural enemies of the secret agencies are investigative journalists and idealistic volunteers.
Once, spotted for their suspicious actions, they are put under surveillance.
Activists make us become reactionary by contractual proxy of one thesis against another. Everything becomes classified defense secret.
When proofs are confirmed, what else is there to short-circuit the leakage networks to make them skid on false tracks, the fakes, to deny and discredit them.
The reliability of our own sources becomes doubtful until they have been returned.
By these leaks, the names of our spies have been disclosed making them vulnerable.
Barack Obama was furious with the secret services and had to explain to the international press that he would take steps to eradicate them. Still it is necessary to reach the right service at the right address.
The information war had to cause many victims among us.
An arrest warrant against Assange who withdrew from the Ecuadorian embassy in London with his blocked bank accounts made no difference.
Having become the darling of the population, Assange continues to make us suffer.
The suspicion of his sexual offenses in Sweden no more.
Sexual deviance is an argument that had already been used in the NSA's history to dismiss Bermon Mitchell and William Martin, both NSA alumni.
"Give a mask to a man, he will tell you the truth," said Oscar Wilde.
I was assigned to a team called the Group with the role of analyzing the raw information and getting it out of the finished intelligence.
In 2013, Edward Snowden's revelations brought a new earthquake.
Stalking the information and its propagators without mood to avoid further leaks comes down to looking for sources to determine how they were able to get out of authorized channels.
Choped by this research, the military Chelsa Manning was condemned.
Continue to investigate if such a fish does not hide another.
You remember the funeral of Mandela in December 2013.
Obama jumped at the occasion of this event to create a shy warming with Cuba because he too had opponents to any rapprochement with the Cuban administration.
Behind the scenes, all this had been prepared in a mechanism of the shadow.
The clenching of hands must have seemed to be natural and not premeditated Barack Obama and Raoul Castro.
Cuba was no longer under the bosom of the USSR or under Russia.
It was necessary to recover the island under the starry banner to find new outlets for American products.
Good and bad sometimes marry for economic reasons under the leap of secrecy.
Even the KKK is still on the list of assets, maybe softened but watch out for grain.
Discretion when you hold us ...
I continue this historical visit in the following letter ...
I kiss you
Clara paused and stopped reading.
From the NSA, she had learned more than she could have known since she had never heard of it before the arrival of this soldier who had informed her of the death of John.
She was left with this fact, very curious to read the continuation as if it was a detective novel of which she is very fan.
1st December 2015
When a country spies on its neighbors, it must accept to be spied on itself by them.
After the last war, Japan was bloodless. He got back on his feet by securing the supremacy of information technology and became the world's leading economic power.
Faced with Silicon Valley, which has become the world center of espionage, it has enabled it to re-establish a "technological health" in a few years.
Today it is not what it used to be, but it still competes with the biggest companies with its robots and humanoids by artificial intelligence.
The Russians have intruded into the secrets of the West by cunning, without noises or reproaches. Plans and stolen products have allowed the USSR to make up almost a decade of military delay by espionage of American industry. The prestige that the United States could derive from their scientific knowledge was very important. Adopting a repressive model would stifle technological innovation by the obsession with secrecy. It was through the manna of documents published in the scientific magazines that the Russians used them by sending several thousand agents to collect these reports which had fallen into the public domain. Without effort, they had only to photocopy pages like "Defense Electronics" or "Military Electronic Countermeasures" to discover the improvements of the last systems of arming. The unveiling of advertising to the glory of our country reaffirmed the validity of the American system and allowed to overcome and even surpass the American advance. Lenin had prophesied that the capitalists would be delighted to sell them the rope to hang themselves. American naivete was unequaled.
Then it was China's turn to catch up with time and its delay even more authorized. The Chinese were invited by western companies who wanted to sell their surplus technology to them without understanding that the "factory of the world" was going to use it for its profit. The Chinese were not only workers but engineers who saw a way to learn the future plans of the West and how they intended to realize them. The Chinese have contented themselves with listening and reproducing, the works of their masters to think to become students studious and astute. China has accelerated to second place in the ranks of the world's economic powers. China's need for prestige came at the 2008 Olympic Games which became a showcase to impress the Western world. Today, if the Western world does not wake up, China could surpass America and replace it on the scale of futuristic nations.
All this to say that espionage is a double-edged sword.
I am not here to justify espionage but simply to say that the intelligence virus is spreading around the world in a dream of greatness of the powerful and a broken dream for those who are less so.
The NSA, one of the very secretive ways to privatize the state.
Whether with natural methods through intelligence or virtual via the Internet, the actors of the world experience a rise in power, a climax and a return to the abysses of anonymity so dreaded when they fall asleep on their laurels without reacting To protect strategic information.
Physiologically, the common man has a connection with the society in which he lives.
He grows up in childhood, seeks outlets to live and once grown up is depreciated in society with age.
"The show must go on, is not it" ...
Between individuals, kisses and love bring the bonds that are lacking to a nation.
10 December 2015
The population sees only the top of the iceberg relayed by the press.
In 2003, the CIA provided strategic information about weapons of mass destruction, which was used by Colin Powell in his speech to justify Iraq's attack on the UN and Al Qaeda.
We have since known what it really was.
Reality is created when it does not correspond to the goal to be attained.
However, the NSA was not even quoted or officially implicated.
It is as if the NSA was protecting itself from the risks of cancer of the rays of the sun by the solar oil of the CIA which it must answer to its users by giving a instructions of use.
At the beginning of his first term, Barack Obama, like all the presidents, was in the sight of the intelligence services.
Obama had received a Nobel Peace Prize as an encouragement at the beginning of his first term. He may have sought to make peace with fine resolutions. He never succeeded.
His perpetual smile reassured the arable audience at his first major conference in Cairo.
All that Obama was able to achieve during his two terms was judged as soft, too symbolic by our agency.
Then the soufflé fell off. The Congress had taken a majority of votes and sent the plans of Obama back into history.
Do not forget that Americans have always been trained as a conqueror with a divine mission to regulate the world to its own measurements.
The two agencies turned away from the Republicans, who, in their eyes, could be more profitable to them.
Their leaders often have links with major oil companies that have nothing to do with the ecology and health of the people.
History is always an eternal beginning in concentric cycles whose central point is self-interest.
The most effective armies create people who obey without thinking.
If you remember the movie with Bronson "A spy too" (Telphon) in which the manipulation of the mind can create zombies after a phone call.
We are not zombies, but we are drilled to forget the contentious actions and it is up to our leaders to cope with the Congress to explain our actions.
A platoon leader may fall back, but she will come out of the hat later to take up the torch of the one who has fallen.
Each one, for fear of losing his position, blindly follows the orders given above, whether in the army or in the secret services.
Our bosses often change after a new presidential inauguration and take on the political color of their leader in Washington.
Paranoia does the rest.
There is no psychiatric hospital for the bosses, whereas sometimes such a return to the rails would impose itself by delimiting the real field of the virtual.
This will to compete must be written in the genes of men with The Art of Intelligence.
The former CIA agent, Howard Hunt, had official and authorized sources to talk about it in his novels.
His novels were only a series of adventures in which violence was never far away.
Israel, the privileged and strategic ally of our country, has often been balanced between peace and war with its neighbors.
Obama had tried to give arguments to support the Palestinians against the Israelis who shared their land. He was countered by the Republicans.
The intelligence agencies have had an independence with variable geometry according to their own statutory prerogatives which they do not hesitate to transgress.
Europe is cracking today and the Middle East is exploding in so-called revolutionary spring which are quickly back on track or face reprisals for non-participation in the cost of their revolution.
How to intervene in such a context by the soft method?
In any country, dissentings always become treacherous to their country.
After a few months in our institutions managed by non-existent laws, I had already thought a lot and I was no longer sure of having chosen good parentage.
My math skills led me to do digital scales with formulas that had nothing human.
The employees of the secret services have nothing to do with the image that we give spies to Hollywood or a James Bond that is displayed with pretty girls.
We were not, either, physically GIs with athletic builds. It's quite the opposite.
What was important was to be resistant morally, psychically and intellectually.
Today, Michael S. Rogers runs our NSA store.
Snowden denounced the news that appeared in the Washington Post which made its reputation by the Watergate.
Originally, in 2007, Snowden was aimed at countering terrorism with the "Protect America Act".
Everyone always ends up standing by the goatee in giving-giving in a seemingly win-win solution.
The United States is a nation obsessed with the dream of excellence animated by a psychology of ephemeral and strategic information.
This is how it strengthens its power over others.
Fear forces us to live in silence and falsehood.
If lying is a nightmare, it is even worse to teach others to lie.
Creating a worried world constructed nomadic solitudes, characterized by unbounded and uncomplicated creativity.
Its unconscious selfish dynamism easily builds businesses with the help of "Ventures-capitalists" but does not care too much about its sustainability to keep itself alive.
This dynamic world of travels and mysteries, I had searched blissfully during my childhood.
During my youth I read many books on the subject of travel in which the secrets of adventure excited me sometimes with its plots.
The secret and the thrillers are hovering when you are alone in your corner.
It was a new vice that had closed on me.
My work abroad had been more and more delicate with the additional precautions.
I detected the microphones in all the rooms of hotels in which I resided.
I used different passports to blur the tracks.
All this to remain unknown and stay alive.
I have never been able to reveal to you my states of souls.
You would have been involved and I did not want to.
A long time ago, the writer René Barjavel wrote "Le Grand secret".
The logic of the book was organized in mysteries that followed one another as a game of dominoes, one of which involves the end of the Cold War, the cause of JFK's assassination, De Gaulle's behavior and Nixon's travels Moscow and Beijing.
Do you realize what the sequel to these ideas was, there was the vision of immortality and transhumanism that we are talking about recently when fear is a cement of all this?
The "Great Secret" is as much the fear as the greatest hope in the world.
In history, everything holds on condition that one does not let go the thread of Ariadne.
As soon as you touch the geopolitics, your life is no longer the weight.
I was making phone calls from a landline phone without saying where I was to not being geolocated.
If you have received these letters, it is because I have not managed to remain secret and that I will have finished my way.
I felt I would have ....
... could kiss you more often.
6 February 2016
One thing is certain, I never had to do anything wrong with the law or kill an adversary to save me.
I wrote these letters as a secret journal to channel my disappointments and analyze my feelings.
When I was recently offered to return to Egypt, since I was supposed to know the country well, I was very happy to rediscover the gates of the East and I jumped at the opportunity.
Implanting the most advanced drones like liked to do Obama, to monitor certain targeted people does not allow them to go and read their intentions in their brains.
One tries to break through its secrets, but in the end, one sees that one remains a mystery for oneself.
The drones will soon fly into the sky in automatic without human control "Watching you".
Professional secrecy as the secret of private life remains sacred.
The alert throwers are always cursed ravens that must be eliminated before they crash to make an anti-crows damage.
At the beginning, my mission in Egypt was to understand the relations between the Muslim Brotherhood and Salafism.
The NSA had to have fresh news in the field of operations and I, a need for offshore air.
The Islamist parties that had taken power had been put in brackets.
Yet, one does not yet dare to say what one thinks of the energetic presidency of Abdel al-Sissi.
Was it an Islamic or communist power, since it took an anti-capitalist turn?
Americans always confuse socialism and communism.
An Egyptian, Dalida, had made me understand everything that separates the Western spirit from the oriental.
I learned so many things in her deep intellectual company that she was.
She had used me as a cover and brought knowledge of the terrain that was evolving in violence.
The Arab Spring has shaken everything in the habits of this country that I had known since a few previous visits.
I was spotted and burned in my mission.
A spy feels when he is spied on himself.
I had to disappear one way or another. I had two options.
Disappear by eliminating the traces behind me.
Or acknowledge the failure of my mission, die morally and be eliminated as the burnt spy.
To summarize my life is to speak of my youth without love, of parents who lived at best in a shared solitude of violence.
Talk about the trauma of my childhood echoed the potential bridled my parents, by a desire to escape.
Gradually, I began to no longer accept missions with its secrets.
Carla, I am very grateful to you for having been my warrior's rest, my haven of peace.
In our world of technicalities, the weapons became more and more sophisticated and the telephone tapping seemed to me too intimate.
They affected people who had nothing to do with terrorism.
The software cut the sentences into words. Words used out of context could make a person suspicious and worry him / her up to prison.
Uncle Sam in the form of Big Brother had become anti-democratic and was calling me more and more.
I hope I have been forgiven for my repeated absences.
Over the years, I served my own penance.
In recent times, in some cases, I have made enemies to express my disapproval too high.
I had this strange impression of having someone follow me on my journeys.
I have since refrained from under-veiled attitudes even on board the agency.
But, it would not occur to me to become a new Snowdon.
I love my country too much to get hurt.
Today, I return to these thoughts with a certain remorse and a guilt to have accentuated the problem that brings the secret.
To work as I did, being married is a bigger risk than usual.
Was I made to have children in my ambition to travel around the world?
A couple life with children is an incompatible and too risky burden for a secret agent who has nothing to do with an office job that starts at 09:00 and ends at 17:00.
To respond to his own desire for freedom in the comedy of life, then translates into tragedy.
I learned a lot from these lessons in life, from his thrusts, from bribes between private and public sectors, from those military contracts that were made to be signed by greed and sexual drift.
Too much maybe.
I have learned to deceive and it is a vague regret in my heart that pursues me.
I saw the movie "Ridley Scott's" Body of Lies ". It explains the dilemma a spy can have to track down a terrorist.
If I had to leave a philosophy of all this, I would say that life is a forward leap into which one falls into a trap in search of a way to make it better.
I was mistaken about myself.
The competition that requires to be better than its neighbor, one learns it from the school.
So it was to Ted that I entrusted the task of sending you these "war correspondences" if I were to lose my life.
When I told him my story, he advised me to write my memoirs in a novel.
"You would make a tobacco with your story of love, your bankruptcy and your rise to the shadowy living," he told me.
I smiled then thinking that I did not have the qualities of writing to write a book.
You have humor and imagination.
I was under the veil of secrecy, to you to write a sequel under a title that could be "The veil torn"
These letters to tell you soon or forever, in another world.
In this other world, perhaps, we can live a peaceful life together again with Stéphane.
My remorse will now be cast in the marble of a grave with his lost stereotypes forever.
Take care of our son Stephen since I could not do it as I should and maybe wanted in the bottom of me.
Re-live your life with a guy who would be closer to you.
I embrace you with all my heart, my dear Clara.
God bless America and proud to be American ...
Troubled, Carla stops reading as exhausted and uses coffee.
She was bewildered by this succession of events which she received en bloc.
On the radio, we hear a recent song that was heard looping, "Lost on you."
Quite in the note of what she had just read.
She remembers in memory their marriage organized with her parents, with all the village.
His own singing and those of John who remained without coudoyer his parents.
The work of John, of which she had known nothing of her adventures.
This business decline despite her skills, bankruptcy, her distress and this woman who had played the part she should have taken had John had the good resolve to talk to her about it.
In a period of stress, there was this temporary temporary exception to this lady who probably had the same psychological problem.
He had been supported by this woman in replacement because he knew that was a passenger of the rain and that there would have been no follow-up.
He was ashamed to tell him in his disarray.
Religious marriage to the American is most often an unbroken link in which John was only distracted.
The memories his parents had taught him had prevented him from speaking to him.
To be angry at this past, which she ignored, written as a will?
Clara noticed that this letter was the last.
She had never been afraid of John's fidelity, but these letters brought proof of her sincerity.
Friendliness without true love does not wait for explanations for an ill-controlled situation.
She had forgiven John without even asking the question because of jealousy.
She had decided not to speak to him when she saw him again.
The great illusions of life are often the basis of immortal regrets.
Fortunately she knew that John had not died in Egypt.
She had understood all the anguish that John had had to write these letters.
She went to breakfast, her eyes in the void, to look at the sea before her without seeing it.
Outside, the weather was fine.
The sun of Florida shone in the sky with all its fires without any shame before the anguish of men.
She went out for a walk.
Half an hour later, she reads these letters one last time before deciding not to tell John, to wait for a more favorable opportunity after his return.
She handed the letters to a shoe box, which she placed in a wardrobe in the attic at a place that had not been studied for this purpose.
19 March 2017,
Clara and John have lived in Mexico for four months.
The package of John's letters she had received through her former friend Ted almost fell into the forgetfulness of this wardrobe.
She accompanied in the move from Florida.
John has since a small local business for tourists.
He remained very sedentary, unrecognizable compared to previous years.
Sometimes the sedentary life weighs on John, but his life in the NSA had been erased from his memory forever.
Clara and John walk along the sand, hand in hand, lapping gaily in the water as they head for their house.
She jumps next to her, splashing John.
A spring of lead from the spring illuminates with sparkles that result on the surface of the sea.
John realizes the time lost by smiling and noticing that Clara is still as beautiful, as mischievous as the first day he met her.
Since the silence was replaced by complicity and confidences, John has changed a lot morally. He feels happy.
Life fuses in him like a melody of which he would compose the notes.
He always had their hair shaved close to brush and was beardless.
Physically, with a thick beard and long hair, he hopes to no longer be recognizable.
The answer, he will know it after a chance of time.
-We'll have to invite Stephen during the Easter holidays," Clara said.
-Very good idea. It will be an opportunity to invite him with his new conquest.
"And your parents, are you leaving them in ignorance?"
-Yes. For them, I am dead and buried. I'm not sure they'd like to see me again. I would have become a non-American alien. Filiation is less important than status.
Mexico does not have many similarities with its northern neighbor. It is a strange country whose geography largely explains the instinct of survival, 'says Clara.
In the northwest of Mexico, a strip of land stretches between the Pacific Ocean and an ocean of desert sand backed by the Rocky Mountains that border the rest of the country.
John suddenly starts the conversation again.
-You know, there's an opportunity. It would be nice to go prospecting other customers in the south of the country. The company may be asking for a market exploration abroad. It will take barely a week. I will prospect the tourists.
Clara ticks imperceptibly in remembering the solitude she had known in another life with John.
She had suffered and had not forgotten it.
-You forgot something" she said.
-Ah, yes, what then?
-You sent letters to me through your friend at the NSA.
-You mean Ted?"
-Yes, you had given him a mission if you were to disappear." You do not remember ?
John blushed immediately, remembering what he had left behind in his memory.
His enthusiasm fell suddenly.
Indeed, he had forgotten.
This time, he regrets that Ted too well followed his mission.
The adventure he had had with this woman in his hollow period, burned his forehead.
-Do not worry. That episode, I also forgot.
She kisses him to compensate for John's emotion.
They finally reach a hundred yards from their house.
A still imprecise silhouette stands on the steps facing the wind of the Pacific.
She seems fragile before the power of the waves whose white foam came to die at their feet, but she worried John who recognized him.
The one we expected more, John's friend is there. It's Ted.
-Shit, here's Ted," John said in a trembling voice in Clara's ear.
John almost has a desire to run away.
Coincidence is not possible.
The NSA found it.
He is there to come and fetch him and imprison him as a deserter.
Clara no longer adds anything, takes John by the arm to contradict the fear she also felt by ricochet.
She never saw Ted.
She has the same thought, "John was spotted by the NSA" but there is no way to back off ..
She is afraid that all this will start again and that John's past will return with his life of mysteries or even worse.
She feels that John's nails are inserted in the skin of his hand until he hurts.
Yet surprise and embarrassment exist on both sides of the encounter.
Arriving in front of them, Ted said in a reassuring voice:
-No, that's not possible. If I expected you to be alive, John, I would not have believed it. You can not imagine how happy I am that you are alive. A ghost. With this beard, your long hair and your clothing in tanned Mexicans, difficult to recognize you at first glance. But, basically, you have not changed too much. That beard suits you well.
Clara and John remain speechless, ready for anything.
-Do not be afraid, I am not sent by the Firm to seek you." I'm on vacation in Mexico. I wanted to go through here to pay my respects to your wife since I had learned that she had expatriated with a return to the source at the place of birth.
John did not relax.
Clara, she throws, warrior with a smile.
-Hello Ted. Delighted to meet you. What a coincidence you see here. Do not pay attention to John's fear. Follow us inside. I invite you to visit us. It will be cooler. We have so much to say. Since last year, Trump has reached the presidency. Everything has changed, it seems. Everything is evolving so fast in the country. I am sure that at the head of the Firm a lot of posts have been reviewed by the new boss of the White House. John told me so many confidences in the letters you sent me. I'm ready to hear anything. Nothing will ever amaze me or move me.
John has passed the cape of anxiety and decides to embrace Ted in a reunion embrace.
All three, enter the house and settle in the living room.
Without asking, Clara goes for a bottle of Tequila and Corona beers.
-It's not bourbon, not Bush beer here, but it's just as alcoholic.
Ted starts to speak smiling.
-Thanks, I'll take Corona." With Trump, we have new missions. All the owners of the house follow the political leaders until they become paranoid. Trump has a tooth against us and ensures that his decrees and tweets are followed by effects. Monitoring the entry of immigrants and the illegal exits into the United States has become an obsession. Immigrant applicants must declare their accounts on social networks.
-It's to amuse the gallery of Republican supporters of Trump, finally throws John out of his lethargy more than apparent.
-As you say. I see that you have not lost your sense of humor. Orwell did not die every four years. He revives with retroactive effect to count and deduct the dollars. There is no shortage of work. Fortunately, we are going to have the last computer that we say is ten times more powerful than the previous one. Internet users, they will have to be more circumspect on the desire to place their privacy on the net.
-It's not lost for everyone." I can confirm that. Oliver Stones could create a remake of Snowden's story as an alert launcher with the "Trump" lies.
-The situation of Snowden in Russia will be problematic since his residence permit in Moscow expires this year. One more worry between Trump and Putin. Are you aware that in 2016 there was a contractor subcontractor from home who was arrested by the FBI for data theft and that Yahoo was accused of spying on e-mails on behalf of the firm ?
-No. The movie "Snowden" arrived here in Spanish. "No Such Agency" of course "Hay tai Agencia".
-Especially does not reappear with your math knowledge in Spanish.
-Math was my banter to my lost time. You know, I do not really care. Apart from doing my accounting. I died and buried in the United States. I have a new life here in Mexico and Trump built a wall between our two countries to protect me, right?
- No nostalgia for the country?
-I've never been nostalgic about the past. I turned the page of the NSA. Even my parents do not know my resurrection in the world of the living. Clara takes care of me with our small business. She does not know the crisis in tourism. I visit the most beautiful places in the region. The proof is that you are here. The NSA paradigm has always been focused surveillance to build anyone in a potential suspect through anything that transits into networks even before the Internet.
-You would be considered a deserter if you knew that at home." You are a rocking like Snowden but you remain under the oath not to divulge the secrets of the box. Stay hidden and make yourself forget. I do not know how you managed to get out of their claws.
-How? Very simple. By exchanging identities with someone who jumped in front of me. I had an opportunity to disappear and, as I said, I "jumped" at the opportunity. The path of my decision to leave the NSA was in 2015 but I did not know how I was looking for how I would do it when I wrote the letters to Clara. As you were my friend and you remain, I have asked you to send them to him. I thank you. I hope you're not geolocated by anyone. Staying too long in my surroundings could arouse suspicions and get me into trouble and ricochet to yourself.
- You are here, with another passport, incognito with another name. No one is going to make the connection.
-Yes. It's not a fake passport. I did not have to seek asylum in Mexico with this new identity. I do not feel traitor to my homeland. I did not pass any documents on to anyone. The chiefs of the Secret Service also retire. I took it a little earlier than they did. Our home in Florida was sold with good added value. We are satisfied with that. Life is not as expensive here when you leave the tourist areas. I will not have an NSA pension. Any benefit for her and for my country of origin. How has things evolved on board? With the arrival of Trump, I suppose nothing has calmed down.
-Packing by hackers has never stopped. In 2016, "The Shadow Brokers" published Equation Group files on how to launch cyber attacks or cross firewalls set up by countries such as China, Russia, Iran. This related to the NSA probably by "leaks". Trump accuses Obama of spying on him during the presidential elections. It would be better to make a low profile since the FBI would have information about communications between relatives and Russian agents. It seems even that software have been installed in some smartphones of their users.
-Normal. His technique of defense is the attack. All politicians are spying on themselves and consumers are suffering personal interests. Leaks and software are the big problems and at the same time, they are the tools of the secret services. "Massive surveillance with the help of the Palantir software under Five Eyes to collect the information" as Keith Alexander said, has always awakened hackers.
-The individual has only a few solutions to protect himself and keep his anonymity. Anti-virus, firewall, VPN to protect confidentiality and ensure its security.
-And at the personal level of the NSA, one maintains despite the tumultuous relations with Trump?
-As elsewhere, there is restructuring, The brain drain has occurred because of the reorganizations. Trump accuses us of being the source of leaks of confidential information. The NSA21 project wants to reduce personnel by merging internal and external espionage operations. Big names like Curtis Dukes are in the spotlight.
-There's evidence of" top secret "leaks?
-There was the case of Harrold T.Martin, an employee subcontractor who hacked the source code that the NSA had developed.
Then there is the constructive visit by the very warm German Angela to our Donald to break the ice. "It's better to talk to someone than to talk about someone," she said.
-Yes, I learned and replied," We have in common our aversion towards Obama who was spying on us. " Can Trump, who claims to be an adversary of the secret services, really calm the ardor of the NSA?
-When it is known that the military budget is progressing under its administration, not sure that the agency is forgotten in the maneuver.
-You do not have any more comical news to tell me?"
-More funny. Yes, there is. Remember Pamela Anderson, the well-rolled siren of the TV series "Alert to Malibu"?
-Yes, with a red bikini. What happened to him?
-According to the rumors, she would have become infatuated with Julian Assange, the sulphurous founder of Wilileaks. She visits him at the Chancery of the Embassy of Ecuador in London. She confessed, I open the quotation marks, "spent more time discussing with him than with her three husbands together. Without being romantic, I want to join forces to do something important. I care about his health. I always thought I would make a good First Lady. If I had to choose a world leader to make my life, it would be Julian Assange. " I close the quotation marks.
John starts to laugh and Ted accompanies her while Carla fetches another bottle.
-After such a revelation, it is well worth filling our glasses. Go on, honey, help us with a new Corona. Do you have any other revelations of the same kind?
-This is no secret, Trump is cold with the secret services because he feels controlled by them. Do you know how the secret services respond?
-The secret services use an old technique of fear, they wondered about the future. The CIA sent a 300-page report to Donald Trump's office explaining what the situation might be like by 2035. Their agents traveled across many countries and interviewed thousands of experts to support their thesis.
"What does it contain?"
-Their open source report concerns the evolution of world trade, resources, water, technologies, and the increase of migrants. To conclude, they have three visions to choose. An archipelago style of protectionism at the Trump. A world of spheres of influence of competitions of the genre Putin and a world of communities in the style Bill Gates in which the states have become cities or businesses.
-Just that ? And this is justified by ...?
- Increased cybercrime, risks of military and religious conflicts, new formations to find jobs, green energy, collapsed economic liberalism and a post-truth confidence crisis in a torn world By opposing forces. What most feared the CIA, "the Spanish hostel" of pluralism of ideas that would block politics and democracy. Tomorrow, Monday, the NSA's big boards are invited to explain the report. This may be quite folkloric.
-We replay in this scenario of the "War and Peace" style "Apocalypse" but in a version 2.0 with drones and robot killers who play in the war in automatic.
-Since digital espionage has reached the level of sophistication known to the NSA, the question to ask is "What would happen if America was in the hands of a dictator or a military government Extremist ".
-I see who you think. To Dr. Folamour. It will be without me even with my digital potential in luggage, I will no longer play the cat and mouse.
I was a good rookie for the NSA for a few years. I had many qualifications to carry out my missions to the best of my ability.
I was ready to do everything to exercise, to travel, to respond to what I experienced in my childhood in the same way without being able to release my most intimate secrets.
-And you've changed."
-I have adapted myself. I understood how the Europeans did it, that to resist a common enemy designated as terrorism it is not through the secrecy of intelligence, but through infiltration, coordination and sharing of information. Their "European Counter-Terrorist Center" gives better results. Today, there is globalization. There are no longer cowboys against the Indians, the good against the wicked, the gentile against the wicked. Everything is only nuances and appreciations of a situation in its context to be taken as a whole. This requires much more information to analyze. Information is like a war, it is not controlled. We know where it starts but we can say where it ends. This is why it is necessary to play fair play with it in the shared transparency whose benefits are recognized by all.
Do you remember the name of the one who is at the origin of modern espionage?
-No, tell me. He's an American, is not he?"
-Not at all. It was an Englishman named Alan Turing who developed a machine to break the codes of the Germans during the Second World War. Under the project name "Ultra", it made it possible to shorten the war of two years. He was an idiot mathematician, a great guy, but it was not quite normal. A simple mind, a practical mind ...
-Perhaps it is because of the abnormal people like him that the world is getting better. The American-Hungarian, John von Neumann was a clever mathematician. A great theorist. He went further than Turing, touched on artificial intelligence, and everything became more abstract and therefore more secret to man. If one day humanity is consumed in nuclear hell, von Neumann will have made it possible.
-Exact. The program calculator model, von Neumann attributed it to Alan Turing. If von Neumann is worth a hundred normal people by the speed of his thought, I much prefer abnormal people who meet a practical need and much less the theoretical wizard apprentices.
-What will you do ? Do you stay in Mexico?
-The problem in Mexico is not refugees. It is the secret corruption that rages and some macabre discoveries in Vera Cruz. As a child, I left a little lost village and was convinced to discover the world with its hopes to materialize in full light. By discovering the secret, I went back into the shadows and underground. I must be marked by the fate of secrecy. We live behind increasingly authoritarian and populist threats. Is not forgiveness the ultimate vengeance of life? Contrary to what I discovered in the shadow of the American secret services here, in full bright colors of light that the greatest secrets make unknown or crazy to live.
Enough philosophy, Ted. You are on vacation, it is not enough to say that the bright colors of the light make Mexico. I'll take you with Clara to see.
We'll show you where I met Clara 25 years ago. You will see how very difficult it is not to fall in love with such a place. You never came to Mexico?
-No. I follow you. I trust you as a guide. But you had spoken to me several times, you do not remember?
They go out on the beach.
Clara, alternately with John, play the guide for Ted.
Ted is pleased by following the fingers of each of them in the direction they indicate.
John holds a finger in the direction of a bridge.
-There you see the bridge. You will see that ...
John will not have time to complete his sentence.
As if he had kicked a stone that did not yet exist, John slumped on the sandy ground, from a room like a mass.
Clara jumps to him to hold him back, but fails.
-What do you have, Clara said with a heart-rending voice.
She looks at her face which is already frozen with the fixed eyes of death.
She raises her head and her hands are full of blood.
There, she cries, bursts into tears and turns towards Ted with an air that reveals a certain surprise mixed with an accusation.
Ted bent down to support her with a desperate look.
-No, it's not me. It's not me, "Ted repeated desperately as he saw that Clara was accusing him.
He gets up and looks around.
He will not have time to tell her more.
A bullet reaches him in the chest.
Clara leans over John, does not have time to come to her rescue.
She collapses in turn on John's body.
At two hundred yards a man got up.
He hastened to dismantle his gun, remove the fixed telescope, and put the whole in a case which holds all the borrowings of his arms.
He picks up his binoculars and places them on his shoulder.
His work is over.
He returned without looking at the place he had not left for half an hour.
Ted was well on vacation with no will to hurt.
It was John's letters that were read a day before he went to Egypt, that he sent them to Clara through Ted and that was the detonator.
John had used his computer to transcribe his handwritten letters that he had erased but were retrieved.
It was they who marked him as dangerous and created a suspicion of John's survival after Clara's return to Mexico.
Ted's request to go to Mexico had been an opportunity to check if their suspicion was justified.
John's embrace with Ted had confirmed that they had known each other for a long time.
The man with the rifle was a Mexican and had the photos of Ted, John and Clara.
He had followed Ted from the airport.
Sub-contractor, he had been given specific instructions to eliminate them if all three were together.
The following day, in the local press, a short paragraph appeared: "A new mass murder has caused victims in a settlement of accounts between rival gangs.
Unable to go back to the source for investigators.
The weight of the secret flew into the information sent to the clouds and again claimed three victims, one of which was already counted.
If knowledge gives more power, it becomes a trap when it can only be shared by a few malicious people.
Secrets can protect or harm.
Occult, they do not share.
They give obligations to those who are empowered to contain it and lose all emotions and responsibilities.
Knowing something in the shadow world is always happening to know too much.
Sharing information instead of protecting it is a new model of society that young people are trying to establish and that has reached some companies but not yet states.
Alert throwers of state secrets are punishable according to models of references from the past but a sense of "clean hands" takes over in our virtual world where everything gets to know.
To pretend not to have known, to ignore the power of artificial intelligence and continue to live did not yet work under the veil of secrecy where ...
Nothing Sacred Anymore "and" No Say Anything ".
(traduction Google en anglais du "Syndrome du Saumon")
What would you do if, your spouse had remained a stranger to you for many years?
An unknown person who comes and goes only in due time but who has secrets in reserve by obligation.
It's kind of what happened to Clara with her husband, John.
Clara is of Mexican origin and is what is called the wife of a single man.
If there have been attempts made by some men to reconcile them, they have all rejected them and never counted for her.
John, on the other hand, is the republican American, pure stock.
As for Carla, politically she was a democrat to the tip of her nails.
In a country as immense as the United States, being on the move for its business, is not abnormal. Mobility is not a question, it is almost an obligation.
Their 20-year-old son, Stephen, still single, was in training at a military base at the other end of the United States.
To complete the family, the dog, Cowboy, keeps company with Clara.
From Florida, the European imagines Miami, with the memory of soap operas "Miami vice", "Experts" designed to attract the tourist.
The Villa Vizcaya, Italian Renaissance style, brings to life the memories Al Capone and Gatsby.
There is no question of forgetting the word "dollar" in the infinitive plural, walking along the canals and islets of Fort Lauderdale, known as the "Venice of America", under the insistent indications of a guide. Of pensioners in which it is not uncommon to see "young-old" serving in drinking places, to round off the end of difficult months.
By taking a step back and summarizing, Florida is a large amusement park organized for "entertainment". She bears the palm of the Luna Parks.
The state also deserves to be featured in the Guiness Book by mixing dreams and reality, science and fiction.
At Disney World, one passes blithely from the castle of the Sleeping Beauty to the haunted house where "You are the host of the gost" is more than a maxim.
Right next door, Epcot combines the past and the future with the present.
Seaquarium and Marineland share their shows for dolphins and orcs by forgetting their captivity to the tourist.
Cap Kennedy, at Cape Canaveral, makes dream by the remains of the rockets and shuttles to the conquest of the space while keeping in center, a workshop for spaceships that exceeds in dimension, the pyramid of Cheops.
In bad sensations, then, it is the Seminole Indians who, in the Everglades, cure the tourist by playing with an alligator in whose jaws they place their heads to make them pale with emotions.
Gibsonton, the unusual city that brings rest to the circus people and characters of "freak shows", "beasts of fair". This since the 1940s, during which it was not surprising to see an elephant in a garden. Become "Show Town" or "Gibtown".
"Bush Gardens" has nothing to envy from amusement parks like Pairi Daiza, Walibi & Co.
Without a very distant past, the Americans do everything to make it revive Saint Augustine with all the old stuff of the conquest of the West in a museum of wax, sometimes in the open, trying to imitate the reality of the characters but who However, would look pale opposite the Musée Grévin in Paris.
Everything is commercially operated in Florida.
To get out of the crowd, tired perhaps, the tourist finds nature and its sweetness to live on the Silver Spring by sailing on boats with plexiglas flat bottom in search of the manatees. Water-skiing shows on the lakes of Cypress Garden ...
On the production side, oranges and grapefruit are the breasts of Florida, while Tampa cigars are trying to make pale those produced in Cuba.
In general, this tour if it does not push to return the tourist in childhood during his holidays, it is that it is not normal.
35 years ago, I discovered and toured Florida as a short culotted tourist, in this state show that produces series in series.
"Sex, sand, sun and sin".
Crossing point, cocaine yields more than tourism.
I do not think that has changed.
The American Naples, where this story begins, is a version on "Gulf of Mexico".
Nothing to do with the Italian city with its Vesuvius in the background.
No resemblance, except the warm climate, but here is only more humid, more tropical at 26 ° north latitude and 40 ° for Italian Naples.
The character of Naples summary would be in the words romantic, chic, elegant, privileged and good-natured. Words found in Old Naples in the heart of Third St South.
In Florida, if one has the age of its arteries, it was mainly based on its magot.
In February 2016, we are at the beginning of the electoral campaign for the inauguration of a new president in a country that pushed capitalism to its climax, until it bites its fingers in 2008.
Clara learns of the death of her husband John.
She knows a vacuum that she wants to fill by looking for answers to the questions she had never asked herself.
To know John, to meet him, if need be, posthumously and accelerated.
For you, readers, it will be a soap opera that I will publish at a rate of two chapters per fortnight.
As Musso said in his latest book "The Brooklyn Girl" podcast, a novel is like the Tour de France, we know the beginning, we know that there will be someone on the podium in Paris, Knows the different stages, but we do not know what will happen inside each of them.
Good reading and good imagination.