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We shopped at the commissary and PX. Milk was pasteurized,
and the children ate fast food at the base
78
THE MASTER OF DISGUISE / 79
club. Karen and I played golf on weekends. My TDYs in the
coming years would take me places where few of the locals
had even heard of such amenities.
The plane completed the 180-degree turn on its approach
toward Kai Tak International Airport, heading toward the spit
of land which jutted from the Kowloon Peninsula into Hong
Kong Harbor, one of the world s busiest deep-water ports. I
caught a glimpse of a luxuriously green pyramid straight
ahead Victoria Peak, rising steeply behind the dragon s teeth
of Hong Kong s skyscrapers. Lights were coming on, which
made the dark vegetation an even richer green. The calm, gun-
metal harbor teemed with thousands of ships and boats of all
sizes, ranging from tiny sampans sculled by a single fisherman
to the hulking gray monolith of an anchored American aircraft
carrier, on leave after several weeks of air strikes against North
Vietnam from Yankee Station in the Gulf of Tonkin.
I heard the grinding whir of the flaps extending, then the
comforting thud of the landing gear locking into place. But
suddenly, something seemed wrong. Instead of lining up
straight on the final approach toward the string of twinkling
strobe lights, sprinkled amid the neon glare of the tenements
ahead, the plane banked hard right again while descending
fast. Oh, my God, I thought, with an adrenaline rush, they ve
lost control. The jumbled television antennas, chicken coops,
and elaborate bamboo laundry poles on the flat roofs of the
high-rise tenements seemed to reach up and grasp the right
wingtip. In the airliner s blinking green running light, I could
see the faces of the Chinese hanging their washing. A big Ral-
ston Purina billboard loomed ahead.
Suddenly the plane snapped back, and the pilot eased the
throttles. Crouching in my seat, I dared a glimpse at the narrow
canyons between the tenements, the shadows where the routine
bustling street life of
80 / ANTONIO J. MENDEZWITH MALCOLM MCCONNELL
an Asian city continued undisturbed with vendors peddling
fried squid and scribes sitting in their underwear, slowly
pecking at elaborate Chinese-character typewriters.
We re going to live after all. The plane skimmed over a wall
of billboards plastered with garish ads, and I saw the runway s
parallel amber lights. Then the plane slammed down on the
concrete; the pilot applied full brakes and engine reversal, and
we fishtailed twice before slowing to a controlled taxi.
On that first trip into Kai Tak, I was impressed by the
straightforward and efficient nature of the British colony s
immigration and customs controls. The officials manning the
arrival lines were typically young Chinese men and women
who had been trained to gaze intently, but nonaggressively,
into the eyes of the traveler, betraying no emotion, but making
it clear they were alert to deception. I did not encounter any
of the confrontational behavior exhibited by arrival officials
at third world airports. The officials at Kai Tak exuded pure
business. Their midnight-blue uniforms were neatly tailored,
trousers and skirts alike, with military, cable-knit sweaters,
starched white shirts, immaculate ties, and shiny black shoes.
They were a class act.
I observed these details not merely out of personal curiosity,
but also because of professional interest. After a year of work
and additional training at my Okinawa base, this TDY was to
serve several purposes. One was to file a report on immigration
and customs procedures in as much detail as I could possibly
obtain without arousing suspicion. Espionage often involved
moving people from country to country, and frequently these
people had to travel under false identities, using altered or
forged documents. My apprenticeship involved not only the
preparation of these documents, but also the building of
convincing cover legends for the illicit travelers, whether they
were agents controlled by
THE MASTER OF DISGUISE / 81
case officers or foreign defectors under hostile pursuit, seeking
asylum in the United States. Sending me through an ostensibly
friendly international crossroads such as Hong Kong was an
excellent test of my ability to observe. At the end of this TDY,
I would have to prepare both a probe report on the controls
and an infiltration/exfiltration plan for Hong Kong to be used
by defectors traveling in alias.
The female immigration officer flipped quickly through my
burgundy official passport, inoculation record, and ongoing
airline tickets, expertly absorbing the details.
How long will you stay in Hong Kong? Her polite question
was spoken in perfect, clipped English. My answer was less
important than the way in which I returned her unwavering
gaze. Although she was a small person, her dark eyes felt large
and powerful. I sensed strongly that the indignant-Western
act would have little impact on these immigration inspectors.
Satisfied by my demeanor, she slammed the All Square Dater
onto a blank page in my passport, depositing the blue-black
impression of the arrival cachet. She initialed the lower left-
hand corner of the Dater stamp with an indecipherable swirl.
I noted that the Dater employed Roman numerals for the
month, and I knew there was also a random rotation that in-
cluded Arabic numerals, full words, and abbreviations for
months. The employment of the sequence was a closely
guarded secret. I was one of many TSD officers whose job it
was to detect this arcane lore so that our duplication of passport
cachets would be accurate and not trigger alarm bells among
airport security personnel.
The officer handed back my papers with a perfunctory smile,
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