WASHINGTON, Aug. 26 — As a senior at Berkeley, 21-year-old Carly decided to enter the family business: intelligence. “I didn’t want to be an analyst, either,” says Carly (not her real name). “I wanted to do field work — to be a spy.” Before she heard back from CIA, however, one of her father’s colleagues, himself a senior intelligence official, sought her out, warning her that her youthful good looks, rather than her mastery of foreign languages or her excellent grades, would be viewed as her main asset. “He basically said it’s likely they would want me to ▒make friends▓ with terrorists — to sleep with them,” she says. “I’m patriotic, but I would have been more comfortable assassinating someone than sleeping with them.” Thus ended Carly’s romantic notions of espionage.
My name is Bond. James Bond. 