Fair Game: My Life as a Spy, My Betrayal by the White House
On July 6, 2003, four months after the United States invaded Iraq, former ambassador Joseph  Wilson's now historic op-ed, "What I Didn't Find in Africa," appeared inThe New York  Times. A week later, conservative pundit Robert Novak revealed in his newspaper column  that Ambassador Wilson's wife, Valerie Plame Wilson, was a CIA operative. The public  disclosure of that secret information spurred a federal investigation and led to the trial  and conviction of Vice President Dick Cheney's chief of staff, Scooter Libby, and the  Wilsons' civil suit against top officials of the Bush administration. Much has been written  about the "Valerie Plame" story, but Valerie herself has been silent, until now. Some of  what has been reported about her has been frighteningly accurate, serving as a pungent  reminder to the Wilsons that their lives are no longer private. And some has been completely  false--distorted characterizations of Valerie and her husband and their shared integrity.Valerie Wilson retired from the CIA in January 2006, and now, not only as a citizen but as a  wife and mother, the daughter of an Air Force colonel, and the sister of a U.S. marine, she  sets the record straight, providing an extraordinary account of her training and  experiences, and answers many questions that have been asked about her covert status, her  responsibilities, and her life. As readers will see, the CIA still deems much of the detail  of Valerie's story to be classified. As a service to readers, an afterword by national  security reporter Laura Rozen provides a context for Valerie's own story.Fair Gameis the historic and unvarnished account of the personal and international  consequences of speaking truth to power.Read the First Chapter fromFair GameJoining the CIAOur group of five--three men and two women--trekked  through an empty tract of wooded land and swamp, known in CIA terms as the "Farm." It was 4  a.m. and we had been on the move all night. Having practiced escape and evasion from an  ostensible hostile force--our instructors--we were close to meeting up with our other  classmates. Together we would attack the enemy, then board a helicopter to safety. This  exercise, called the final assault, was the climax of our paramilitary training. Each of us  carried eighty-pound backpacks, filled with essential survival gear: tents, freeze-dried  food, tablets to purify drinking water, and 5.56 mm ammunition for our M-16s. The late fall  weather was bitter, and slimy water sloshed in our combat boots. A blister on my heel  radiated little jabs of stinging pain. My friend Pete, a former Army officer, usually ready  with a wisecrack and a smirk, hadn't spoken in hours, while John, our resident beer guzzler,  carried not only his backpack but at least fifty extra pounds of body weight. His round face  was covered with mud and sweat.Read the Publisher's Note  and First Chapter fromFair Game