I once got the strange, rather cringe-inducing news that that FBI guy who was a Russian spy had often left his reports for his Russian compatriots to pick up in a park where I used to play soccer as a kid. Bad history intersecting with my life (though I never ran into one of those cases. Heck, if I had, I might not be here now)...Department of Credit Where Credit Is Due Department: The second story is paraphrased from, I believe, the Washington Post column Bob Levey's Washington.
On a much lighter note, another D.C./spy story: Obviously lots of spy novels are set in Washington, D.C. Someone was reading such a novel, which described a spy leaving a secret note in a foil-lined envelope, in a crevice, in a particular statue in a particular D.C. traffic circle. The reader lived near that statue. Out of curiosity he sought it out, explored it, and found a crevice exactly where the novelist had described it...and where there was an envelope.
He opened it.
It was foil-lined.
There was a note in it.
He pulled out the note.
It read, "Wasn't that a good book?"
Spies like us
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