Follow Focus
39
Just One More Thing…
WE WERE ALL getting excited about the next trip. It would be brutal, but if we did it the way we planned, it would be our last big trip. We were in the office on Thursday and had to stay late enough to talk to Mr. Martin before we went home for the weekend.
“Are you sure you want to do this all in one trip?” he asked. “Can your plane carry all the equipment? And your crew? There are seven of you now.”
“We’ve gone over the figures with our crew,” I said. “We’ll be carrying equipment for six new installations and eight upgrades. We won’t need supplies for the upgrades—just the secure camera to swap out.”
“And you’ll be carrying a backup unit and supplies just in case?”
“Yes, sir. We always have one unit in reserve in case we have damage or need to make a quick trip somewhere else,” Ronda said. “We’ve landed in Columbo, Ceylon twice, but haven’t installed there. Perhaps we should consider that on our return trip.”
“How does your crew feel about such a long trip?” he asked.
“The flight crew is fine as long as they get some rest in after the really long flying days. We all need that. Jackie and Eldon are pleased. They really have no base of operations here in Oman. When we are idle, they just sit around. They weren’t really happy when we spent the weekend in Melbourne with our friend,” Ronda said.
“Any friends along the way on this trip?”
“One. We’re plotting to spend a weekend in Tokyo and visit with my sister and her family,” I said.
“You had a brief meet—up with her your last time in Japan, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Seems like her husband should be due for rotation back Stateside. Glad you’ll get to see them,” he said. “Okay, I’ll approve it all. A courier will arrive on Sunday with a pretty hefty batch of dispatches for you to distribute. Make sure your security knows you are carrying them so they are alert. Plan on touching base with me on each Friday evening. That will be Thursday morning here in Chicago.”
“Will do, Mr. Martin.”
“Good luck on this trip. Be sure to let your family know they can call on us in an emergency. The ambassador in Muscat might not be available.”
“Thank you, sir.”
After spending the weekend with our family, we were finally ready to travel again. We’d leave on Monday the tenth of March and be back the second or third of April. This marathon of just over three weeks would have a lot of jumps in it, but then we’d come home and pack our family to return to the States.
The State Department was really going to make use of every possible stop along the way to deliver and receive dispatches. We flew five hours from Muscat to Madras, India and a courier met the plane while we were refueling. We’d been in India before and the customs weren’t very tight. We never got off the plane. The customs official came on, checked our passports, and let us hand off our package to the diplomatic courier. By the time the plane was refueled, we were off for the next four hours or so to Rangoon, Burma.
Jackie and Eldon met the customs official and the two embassy cars. There wasn’t room in one car for our bags, the equipment and four of us to travel. Eldon got the car with all the equipment. Jackie rode with Ronda and me. We made a stop at the chancery long enough to deliver the equipment and supplies, then were taken to our hotel. We ate at a local restaurant and got to bed early.
Tuesday morning, Jackie and Eldon escorted us to the chancery and waited with the Marines on guard duty. It was a beautiful building, but it seemed really weak in terms of security. I was sure Robert would have a lot to say about it, but this wasn’t in his region. I took photos, though, and marked the film for delivery. I was confident we’d packed enough film to take a full roll at each site we visited, which would include the photos of the ambassador or consul general and others.
We spent the night in Rangoon and took off for Bangkok on Wednesday morning. Any thought we had about this being a quick trip to install and train quickly vanished. It started with a more involved customs review that took us nearly an hour as an officer came aboard the plane and questioned each of us in detail regarding what the purpose of our visit was. It wasn’t cleared up until the embassy vehicle showed up to take us to the chancery.
When we got to the chancery, we were already late, but our training was further delayed because our students had not yet all arrived. The chancery itself was huge, almost like the building in London. And it was packed. We were informed that the embassy in Bangkok had 150 American employees and nearly 500 Thai Foreign Service Nationals. Eldon and Jackie were allowed to come with us into the inner offices where we were shown to a cafeteria and had a decent lunch.
We went back to the training room where a dozen people had gathered from both the embassy and the consulate in Chiang Mai. I was surprised to find two of the people were in uniform.
“The equipment I will introduce you to this afternoon is being introduced by the State Department in order to facilitate your improved processes for originating passports and visas. You will also be creating ID badges like the ones Miss May, Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and I are wearing. State has ordered that all State Department employees be issued ID badges within thirty days of the equipment being installed here.”
“It’s about time,” one of the army guys said.
“Have you been experiencing problems with unauthorized people on embassy or consulate grounds?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. My apologies for the outburst. We had an instance of an intruder at the consulate just last week.”
“I encourage participation, so no apology is necessary. We would like to be sure we are meeting the needs and that you share situations with each other.”
“Mr. Hart and Miss May,” a woman interrupted from the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the ambassador can see you now. He has a very busy schedule, so if you could please accompany me.”
“It appears your training is not as important as the ambassador’s schedule,” I said to the class. I pulled the keys off the units and pocketed them, then picked up my courier bag and camera. “We’ll resume as soon as I am released.”
There were a few chuckles from the trainees, so I gathered this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Ronda and I were led to the ambassador’s conference room where half a dozen others awaited us. Just after we got there, the ambassador swept in and slammed a pile of folders on the table.
“Colonel, how soon is this Operation Babylift to commence?” the ambassador shot at an army officer.
“As soon as aircraft and personnel can be secured,” the colonel answered. “I expect we will be seeing arrivals within three weeks at the outside.”
“Unbelievable. We’re just supposed to accommodate… This says as many as 5,000 orphans! Babies. Arnold, we’ll need to meet with the Minister of Welfare,” the ambassador said to another person at the table.
“Ambassador, we’re not expected to accommodate all the children. In fact, Manila is expected to take the bulk. And it will be a short stop as we get them secured on flights out. I understand the Brits are planning to take some of them and that will be the likely destination for kids from here,” the colonel continued.
“Okay. This is not the purpose of this meeting,” the ambassador said. “Mr. Hart and Miss May are going to help streamline our processing with new visa and passport technology. They are also assigned to take photos of this jolly crew. How goes the training, Mr. Hart?”
“Mr. Ambassador, we barely got the students collected in the training room when we were summoned to this meeting. As soon as I can get back, we should be able to get your technicians up and operating in a few hours,” I said.
It took a while for the impact of what they were saying to dawn on me. Where would they get 5,000 orphans to airlift to the US? It had to mean they planned to evacuate Vietnam. I visualized the map in my mind. Thailand bordered Laos and Cambodia, both bordering Vietnam. And neither was friendly to the US now. Any plane flying from Saigon to Bangkok would be going over hostile territory.
“Well, let’s take as little of your time as possible. Regan will give you the names of all those present. Gentlemen, the Secretary of State wants our portrait. Please gather here at the head of the table.”
Ronda started working with the ambassador’s secretary as I set up my camera and got the six guys posed. We had the ambassador, the deputy chief of mission, the consul general, the defense attaché, the public affairs officer, and the regional coordinator of refugee and migrant affairs. We were finished in half an hour and delivered our packets to the ambassador and the consul general.
“Thank you. We aren’t always in this kind of crisis,” the ambassador said. “Sometimes it’s another kind. I’m sorry for interrupting your training. I hope to have a more leisurely meeting with you at dinner tonight at 108 Wireless. Until then.”
He shook our hands and was off. His secretary escorted us back to the training room where we found all our students just sitting there with cups of coffee.
“Is there a chance I can get one of those?” I asked. Jackie took off to get me a cup of sustenance.
“Now, let’s get back to where we were,” I said. “I’ve just been told that you will be the filter for a lot of refugees heading toward the US or toward Europe in the next month. I want you all to be able to man this equipment around the clock if necessary. Those of you from Chiang Mai may be called upon to work here in the chancery in Bangkok during the influx. That means you all need to know both the operation of the equipment and how to safely transport it to a temporary location. You will have a big task ahead of you—as if you didn’t already.”
Jackie got back with the coffee and I started the instruction. The group was fairly casual, but they took their task seriously. Apparently, they had been briefed on the importance of their mission even before the ambassador’s meeting today.
With twelve people to train and make sure they could all take care of the equipment, it took until nearly seven in the evening. I gave the keys to the designated captain of each group and wished them well. We were met by the ambassador’s secretary and escorted to a car to go to the residence.
“Do we have any idea where we’re staying tonight?” I asked Eldon.
“We’ll be at the Novotel. Jackie and I will check you in and the driver will pick us up when he’s on his way to get you at the ambassador’s residence. Is there anything you need from your luggage?”
“No. I think with my camera bag and courier bag, I have all I could possibly need. Thank you, Eldon.”
The residence was quite lovely. I understood that a lot of the building and grounds had been renovated in just the past few years. The teak floors shone and had a little give to them as we walked across. The ambassador’s wife met us and took us to a lovely sitting room where the consul general, the deputy chief of mission, and their wives were having a drink with the ambassador. We graciously accepted a drink.
“I can’t say you got here a bit too soon,” the consul general said as we settled for dinner. “We were already facing unprecedented immigration applications before this whole rescue operation was proposed.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Well, as soon as Laos began to collapse under the communists, the Hmong were in jeopardy. They’d been the staunchest loyalists and the communists don’t look kindly on people who opposed them.”
“How many are we talking about?” Ronda asked.
“Over 75,000 so far. More are swimming across the Mekong every day, many with nothing but what they can carry on their backs.”
“And no papers. That’s the really hard part,” the deputy said. “How are we to know if we are sending a refugee or a guerilla fighter to America?”
“Really, Charles. It’s not that difficult,” his wife said. “How many guerilla fighters are washing up on the shore at the edge of death, asking for refuge?”
“We can’t be too careful,” the ambassador said. “On the other hand, we can’t let our fear control our humanitarian efforts. Where else will you be doing installations, Nate?”
“We just finished in Burma and were in Jakarta a couple of weeks ago. We’ll fly from here to Kuala Lumpur and then Singapore.”
“Those won’t be much help with the refugee crisis,” he sighed. “They are small missions. What about the Philippines?”
“We’re slated there in two weeks. We need to make a loop up to Korea and Japan to do some retrofitting, then we’ll swing back to Manila before we head home.”
“I’m afraid the Philippines are going to get hit hardest by any refugee flood. That’s the direction the wind blows. Thailand is closer, but it’s a more treacherous journey.”
We enjoyed the dinner with these high—end diplomats and their wives. We found out that Bangkok and Manila were the largest missions in south Asia. There was a huge American presence in both because of the war. American troops had been withdrawn from Vietnam, but there were thousands standing by in Thailand, the Philippines, Korea, and Japan.
It was a fairly short hop from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur the next day. We got the training finished and took an even shorter hop down to Singapore that evening. We got to the embassy and did the training there on Friday afternoon, then decided to spend the next day just relaxing in Singapore. Jackie and Eldon were pleased with that as they considered Singapore to be a secure location.
And they’d been to Singapore before and knew the island pretty well. They convinced us to stay at an old British hotel in the heart of the city called Raffles. Friday night, our two students joined the seven of us from our plane for dinner of pepper crabs. They were incredibly good. Afterward, we stopped in the Long Bar at the hotel and were treated to a Singapore Sling, which was mostly gin, cherry brandy, and juices. It would have been way too easy to overindulge in that sweet treat.
On Saturday, we visited the harbor, saw various temples, mosques, and churches, and basically ate our way from one side of the island to the other. It was great to have all seven of us out exploring together instead of having part of the crew isolated at the airport.
Sunday, with a freshly fueled plane, we took off for Taipei, Formosa. The entire seven—hour trip was over the South China Sea. We were careful to stay well out of the territorial waters of Vietnam and China. We did the equipment upgrade on Monday morning, answered a few questions from the operators, and took off for Naha, Okinawa.
Tuesday morning, it was a quick upgrade in Okinawa before we took off again for Seoul, South Korea.
I noted, once again, that there was a strong American presence in South Korea. There were a dozen US military bases in the country, apparently still left over from the Korean Conflict that left the country divided north and south. The number of bases, army, air force, and navy, meant there were a huge number of American citizen support staff and families in the country. The consulate services at the embassy were the most focused on American citizen services of any we’d been to. They planned to tour all the bases with the equipment and generate ID badges for all non—military personnel. I was glad we were getting the upgrade installed.
It was a fairly short hop from Seoul to Fukuoka, Japan, so we were able to swap out the equipment and refresh the techs on Friday afternoon. Then we flew to Tokyo. Once again, Eldon and Jackie relaxed a little because Japan was more of a known territory. We were all getting a weekend off. For Ronda and me, it was a chance to visit family.
Deborah and John lived in Ebina, which was just off a main train line from Tokyo. Deborah met us at the train station and drove us to their home. Drove! On the wrong side of the road!
“I’ve gotten used to it. I’m sure I’ll have a wreck when we get back Stateside,” Deborah said.
“When’s that going to be?” Ronda asked.
“We’re awaiting orders,” John said. Anthony and Cameron had grown a lot since I’d seen them last. Anthony was almost six and Cameron was now eight. “Electronics are a significant up and coming field. I’m senior here at Zama now and they intend to send me to a training facility to teach. They just haven’t decided which one yet. Probably either Oklahoma or Virginia. As soon as I receive orders, though, we’ll have a month off to visit home and see the folks. Then I’ll go find us a place to live and we’ll go on to the next adventure.”
I hadn’t heard John so talkative in a long time. It was good to see him really enjoying his work.
“I’m guessing we’ll get the kids enrolled in school for fall,” Deborah said.
We had a good visit and went out to dinner Saturday night. Japan had a lot of different kinds of restaurants. Many of the places we’d visited had only local cuisine or some form of American fare. We all had a great Italian meal that night, including sharing a bottle of wine.
Sunday, we headed back in to Tokyo and got ready for Monday’s installations. Then it was up and down again for the rest of the week. From Tokyo to Sapporo to Nagoya to Osaka. They were all pretty quick and easy trips, so the crew was all fine with flying to Manila on Saturday. We stayed at the International Hotel, practically across the street from the chancery. And it wasn’t far to the airport, so when we had to go back to pick up the equipment on Monday morning, it wouldn’t be too awkward.
We spent Sunday just walking around Manila, seeing the presidential palace, the embassy, and a major shopping district. Jackie and Eldon seemed comfortable, but I was glad to have them with us as we wandered through the crowds.
The embassy was another experience like Bangkok. It was huge, elegant, and packed with people. There were more than 200 American employees and nearly 1,000 Foreign Service Nationals in the chancery. People were lined up to get in for appointments. Our car delivered us to an entry point at the north side of the complex and once we were inside the walls, we could see out to the ocean.
We were met at the parking area by two people with a luggage cart to carry the equipment and materials inside, where we were shown to a training room. We had two units with us, but we were told one of them was to go to Cebu City about 350 miles south of Manila. That area was already in a bit of chaos as there was economic and political pressure to drive tribal Filipinos out to Indonesia and Malaysia.
Twenty people came in for the training. They didn’t actually know yet who would be managing the passport and visa control, so they were training everyone in the consulate section who could be spared. We had four guys in uniform and I asked them about their assignment.
“We’re mushrooms,” a lieutenant said. “They keep us in the dark and feed us shit. But basically, we hear there are still 5,000 Americans in Saigon, plus their dependents. A stupid wild—ass guess is that there are at least 7,000 Vietnamese with ties strong enough to the US to put them at jeopardy if they are there when the communists roll in.”
“The communists are going to win?” Ronda asked.
“Who’s going to stop them? There are no more American troops there. ARVN has no more balls than the US Congress. The thing is, all those people have to go somewhere. We expect them to be processed at Clark Air Force Base or Subic Naval Base. We’re betting processing them through will require passports and visas.”
“That’s all very enlightening,” I said. “Let’s make sure you are all ready to handle the influx.”
We worked hard on getting everyone trained. Training twenty people takes about three times as long as training two. We continued in the morning.
Tuesday, we not only had the continuation of the group from the day before, but eight people arrived from Cebu City. In addition to the passport and visa training, all twenty—eight of our students were called in for a training session on dealing with refugees and displaced persons.
We got a call to the ambassador’s office where we met with the ambassador, the deputy chief of mission, the military attaché, and the consul general. We delivered the dispatches we had and got them all lined up for mug—shots, as one of the guys called them.
“Mr. Hart, you’ve been asked to stay in Manila until tomorrow to meet with your boss, who will be arriving at 0800,” the deputy chief said as we walked out.
Well, that sucked. We were hoping we’d still be in the air by dinner time. We had to call out to the airport and have the crew stand down. Jackie and Eldon met us before we left the building and we told them about the new schedule. We all had to go back to the hotel and check in again.
“Why is the deputy assistant secretary for passport control flying to the Philippines?” Eldon asked. “That just doesn’t make sense.”
“Oh, you know Mr. Martin,” Ronda laughed. “He’s probably flying in to congratulate us on fulfilling our mission with all installations and training completed.”
“I’m sure the State Department has money to waste on things like that,” I said. “He’d have had a shorter trip to meet us in Oman. And then our family could have been with us.”
“Well, we can still catch our family at the embassy,” Ronda said. “Let’s call and tell them we’re delayed.”
“It will be nice to put this all behind us. Once we’re home, I don’t think I’ll travel again for years,” I said.
Patricia and Anna, of course, thought we were calling to let them know what time we’d be getting in and were not happy that we would still be a day before we took off. It was really awkward getting phone calls through. The Philippines had a much better communications infrastructure than Oman did. Our housing development had been put up in a time of economic surge, but a downturn in oil prices stopped development before telephone lines could be strung. So, all calls had to go through the embassy.
“We want you back home,” Patricia said. “But the good news is that we aren’t facing any family crises at the moment. We’ll be okay for a few more days.”
“Daddy, dance!” Alex said excitedly.
“You bet we will, honey. Daddy will be home before you know it.”
“I miss you, Daddy. But I’m being a good girl,” Toni said. “Hurry home.”
“We will, honey.”
“I don’t miss you,” Anna said. “April fools! I miss you like crazy. We’ll be back at the embassy first thing in the morning to get your call and tell us your arrival schedule.”
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. A lot of love went over that phone line. We met Eldon and Jackie and went out to eat, not knowing what was going to happen the next day.
“Operation Babylift starts tomorrow,” the army chief of staff said to those of us gathered in the room. Our boss wasn’t the only person who arrived in Manila that morning. There was a whole legation from Washington. Manila was going to become the hub around which the evacuation of Saigon revolved.
“We have facilities reserved,” the coordinator of refugee services said. “And the plane we flew in on this morning is packed with formula and diapers. We have forty doctors and nurses who will fly in and coordinate with ground crews in Saigon. In order to evacuate all the babies we want to get out, there will be at least fifty flights.”
“Those are the military flights,” the chief of staff said. “There may be private flights chartered as well. We’ll want to make sure that all are processed. But that is only the tip of what we are expecting. Flights will continue as we work at evacuating American personnel and their families. Don?”
“That is why you are in this meeting, Nate. In order to facilitate the evacuation, we need to have the new passport and visa tech up and operating in the embassy in Saigon. A lot of the dependents of Americans in Vietnam are not exactly legitimate. Common law spouses and their children will need immigration visas. On top of that, there are thousands of Vietnamese nationals who have worked with the US or the embassy in various capacities. In order to leave the country en route to the US, they need papers. Papers are rare. We need you.”
“You want me to take equipment to Saigon and teach someone there how to make passports? Ronda and I can do that,” I said, looking at her. She nodded vigorously. Our security sat back in their chairs shaking their heads. Well, they certainly hadn’t signed up to protect us in Vietnam.
“No. I’m sorry, Ronda. I don’t want to send Nate to do this, but I absolutely won’t approve you going, or your security team. I’ve brought a dozen dispatches to be delivered around South Asia to give to you. You need to deliver them on your way back to Oman,” he said.
“You want me to cart all the stuff alone? Will I be able to get some help?” I asked.
“You’ll be traveling on the same plane that I will,” the chief of staff said. “If necessary, I’ll help carry your equipment myself.”
“And this won’t be a quick turnaround, I’m afraid,” Martin said. “The staff at the embassy is overtaxed as it is. I’ll need you to stay for a couple of weeks and take care of the backlog. As soon as it’s running smoothly, you’re out of there and headed home.”
I just stared at him. There were more points in the discussion regarding refugee relief. Ronda’s fingers dug into my arm and I didn’t really hear what else was covered.
My first day working for the State Department, I’d been used as bait to trap and kill a murdering racist. A year later, I’d been hijacked and had to transport a CIA operative to Egypt. The next year—this year—Adrienne and I had been kidnapped and forced to teach that operative how to use the equipment, so his Mossad partner could use our equipment as bait for Black September.
Now they wanted to send me to Vietnam. What the God damned hell!
That was the hardest call home I ever had to make. My children and my wives were crying. Ronda and I were crying. Ronda would be back home in a week. It would take two weeks to clean up the backlog at the embassy and then I’d be able to fly out. That’s what they said. It was just the name of Vietnam hanging over our heads. Where was Anna’s April Fool’s joke?
The chief of staff didn’t help me carry my equipment, but he sent an aide to assist me. I kissed Ronda at the steps to her plane and turned to meet Mr. Martin.
“I’m going to travel with your partner,” he said. “I didn’t want to send you on this mission, Nate. I didn’t want you to go anyplace where you were at risk. But this order came directly from the Secretary of State. There is a lot of conflict at the upper levels that doesn’t have anything to do with what the outcome will be. The ambassador to South Vietnam doesn’t want to show any sign that we are evacuating. He’s likely to wait until it is too late. Here.”
He pressed a heavy box about three inches across and six inches long into my hand.
“You are now officially authorized to emboss passports and visas with the seal of the State Department. Don’t leave that laying around where anyone else can get hold of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“God speed, Nate.”
I turned and went with the aide, using my folding trolley to roll the equipment and materials. The aide carried my suitcase and camera bag to the waiting C—5A that would take me to Vietnam.
I was hit by heat and humidity that nearly brought me to my knees when I stepped off the plane. The pilot had announced that it was ninety—five degrees and had just finished raining. I hustled around to where they were off—loading what little luggage there was on this flight and the General’s aide, Ken, helped me load my equipment onto the folding trolley. I rolled it quickly into the terminal building, such as it was, while he carried my bags. This wasn’t the kind of airport terminal where you went for Sunday brunch while you watched the planes come in. At least, not anymore. The Defense Attaché’s Office (DAO) was at the airport and this was where they were processing people to leave the country.
I heard some pops in the distance and realized it was gunfire. They were a long way away and I’d heard that in Chicago. We got the equipment stowed on a green bus that had half a dozen people heading toward the embassy, including the general and his aide. I slouched down in my seat, only slightly interested in seeing the city as the bus wove in and out of traffic.
Then I saw the hole in the wall next to me. Less than half an inch across. The panel had been pounded back so the ragged edges weren’t sticking out. I wondered if anyone had been sitting in this seat when the bullet ripped through the bus. I traced the hole with my finger. So, the bus wasn’t bulletproof. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep until we reached the embassy.
“Hang tight with your equipment here for a few minutes,” Ken said. He was the general’s aide, but had been helping me schlep my equipment from Manila. “The general has told me to scout out the location where you’re supposed to set up and then come and help you get things in place. Afraid that then you’ll be on your own. I need to be available to run interference for the general.”
“Thanks, Ken. I’ll just stay here and try to be out of the way.”
‘Here’ was next to a Banyan tree in the embassy courtyard where the bus had dropped us off. We had all shown our passports at the side gate where we were waved through. I’d seen a long line in front of the embassy, waiting to get in, but regular visitors were not allowed in through the side gate. Four Marines stood guard there and closed the gates behind us as soon as the bus entered.
I looked at my suitcase and camera bag. My personal things were pretty limited. I needed to wash out my underwear and socks since I hadn’t washed them in Manila, thinking I’d be home today. Other than that, I had two sport shirts and two pairs of slacks. Mr. Martin had told me I didn’t need to pack anything for dressy wear, but if I needed something to buy it here and the department would reimburse me. He’d pushed a fistful of Vietnamese dong at me and told me the exchange rate was approximately 1,000 dong per dollar. Then he handed me a bunch of $100 bills. He said most places would take American dollars.
Certainly, I didn’t see many men around in shirts and ties. The military guys were in fatigues and all carried automatic weapons. They looked fierce. I guess they had to with the number of people wanting to get into the embassy. Some of those wanting in were not friendly and all looked kind of desperate.
“Nate, this is China,” Ken said, getting back to me with a lovely young Vietnamese woman in tow. I assumed she was young. I’d already found that I was a lousy judge of ages when it came to Asian women. They all looked small and young.
“I’m happy to meet you, China,” I said.
“Thank you, Mr. Hart.”
“China will help you get your things to the passport office and will act as your assistant in all things while you are here in Saigon. She’ll show you where to eat and where to bunk as well,” Ken said. “Sorry I have to run, but the general is standing outside the ambassador’s door and I need to get there.”
“Thanks, Ken. Good luck,” I said.
“Well, Miss China, as you can see, I have a pretty good supply of things to cart into the chancery. If you could give me a hand.”
I watched China lead, carrying the suitcase and camera bag Ken had been helping with. I thought it was an odd name for a Vietnamese woman. She dressed quite western, though, in a short—sleeved dress that was just knee length. She wore flats, so I guessed her height to be just a hair over five feet—about the same height as Ronda.
Hmm. Apparently, I was to have a Vietnamese assistant. I guessed I was still within State Department guidelines about having an American citizen doing the passport work since I was really the only one who would be making passports and visas.
It wasn’t long before she led me into the chancery and then out a door on the other side. The consulate was in a separate building on the north side of the compound. We went down a hall just beyond ‘Passport Control,’ where at least a dozen people at desks were interviewing applicants and filling out paperwork. We entered an unoccupied office with a desk that I could set the equipment on.
“China, I’ll need to talk to the people who are in charge of typing up the passport info, and I’ll probably need a typewriter if we are supposed to do it here. Did I understand correctly that you were to be my assistant?”
“I was told that by the general who just arrived,” she said. “I guess my other duties will be picked up by coworkers.”
“What are your other duties?”
“Cleaning, cooking, and sometimes directing traffic,” she said. “We’re pretty fluid here. Sometimes, I’m called upon to translate.”
“Your English is fantastic. If anything, you speak better than I do.”
“English is my first language, Mr. Hart. I was raised in the embassy.”
“Really? I beg your pardon for assuming you were Vietnamese.”
“Half. But I was born and raised inside the embassy walls. I’ve been working here since I was twelve,” she said.
“And if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you now?”
“Nineteen, sir.”
“Okay. That’s got to go. My name’s Nate and there is no reason for you to call me anything else. I’m a Foreign Service Specialist in Passport and Visa Services. By the time we are well underway, you’ll end up being a Passport Technician. I was told I’ll only be here a couple of weeks to get the backlog caught up and then I’ll turn it all over to you. As long as we’re getting the templates typed up by the people who take the applications, all we need to do is get the photos and create the passport booklet. I’ll show you every step of the process,” I said.
“Okay, Nate. I can type, so if we have forms that need to be transferred, I can fill them out.”
“Great. Um… I suppose I should present my credentials to the ambassador. Or maybe the Deputy Chief of Mission.”
“They are hardly ever available. I’ll put in a request to their secretaries.”
“How about the consul general?”
“He is usually around. Shall I see if I can locate him now?” she asked.
“If you wouldn’t mind doing so. I’ll get things set up so we’re ready to start producing. The consul general will be fine to get our process started,” I said.
China left and I began setting up the equipment. I was correctly equipped with 220 volt transformers and got the machines plugged in and tested. The desk had several drawers in it and I distributed the various supplies among them. Then I set up the stand with the white background and placed a chair in front of it. I focused and got the range correct for the camera, all before China got back, lugging a typewriter, and followed by a guy who seemed about as busy and frazzled as anyone I’d seen in the compound.
“Nate Hart? I’m David Conklin, Consul General. I only received a telex this morning that you would be arriving to help us unblock our passport and visa process. Welcome to Saigon.”
“Thank you, Consul. I wanted to be sure that I’d properly presented my papers to the man in charge,” I said, handing him my orders. He glanced through them.
“Yes. This is great. So, what do we need to know about the process?”
“It will work most smoothly if the people reviewing the application type up the correct information right on the passport or visa template. They can then deliver it here with the person to be photographed. I’ll insert the template in the camera, have the person sit in the chair there, and snap the shutter. The template information and photo will both be printed on the photo paper. In the device here, it is developed and a plastic laminate is applied so it cannot be altered. Then I move it to the bindery where it is sewn into the booklet with additional blank pages. The cover is pressed onto it, it’s folded and trimmed to size.”
“Amazing. And then we have a valid passport or visa? It has been taking us weeks to get them processed.”
“Last step is to apply the embassy seal. I understand there is a backlog and I’d like to focus on getting that cleared as quickly as possible. If we receive the completed and approved application from processing, China assures me she can type the information into the template. However, at that time we will need the applicant. I can’t issue any passport or visa without the correct person sitting in that chair.”
“I’ll shift a couple of agents over to helping clear the backlog. There is no sense in sending you applications without the applicant with them,” David said.
“Each passport or visa is supposed to be stamped with the State Department seal,” I said. “Does that mean they will have to be referred to you?”
“Hmph. Only if I can wrestle it away from the old man. He seems determined to individually approve every applicant personally. He could be tied up all day at times and not get any of the docs approved.”
“That’s good to know. We’ll see if we can streamline everything else. Is there anything I should know about how things are being handled here?” I asked.
“You’ll be best off if you simply never meet the man. The ambassador is a good man, but he has a rigid sense of morals and is a micromanager. The only person who can convince him to give up control of anything is the Deputy Chief. And he’s almost as bad.”
“I appreciate your guidance, Mr. Conklin.”
“Nate, this mission is a little less formal than some you might have worked at. Please call me David. If you need anything, China knows where to find me. Let’s take a quick tour and I’ll let the staff know the new procedure. You have templates for them?”
“Yes. I’m ready if you are.”
China accompanied us as I went to meet the consulate staff.
There was the usual amount of grumbling about the template meaning more work for them, but once they saw that they could actually get a passport issued on a same—day basis, they became much more amenable to the whole process. By the end of the day, I’d already returned twenty completed visas to the front for final stamping. I wasn’t going to let anyone know that I could apply the seal myself unless it was an emergency.
When the line finally died down—a result of the chancery closing and everyone standing outside being told to come back the next day—I stood behind the camera and motioned China to the chair. She’d typed up her own ID form and I checked it out. Maybe her name was pronounced ‘China,’ but that wasn’t the name on the ID. Nguyen Armor Xian.
“Is this in reverse order like some other Asian names I have come across?” I asked.
“Nguyen is my surname, Armor is my middle name, and Xian is my given name,” she said. “It is too difficult to go around correcting people’s pronunciation all the time, so I go by China, which seems much easier for Americans to pronounce.”
“Do you prefer that I work on pronouncing your name correctly?” I asked.
“No. It would only confuse people.”
“Is Armor a Vietnamese name?”
“No. Nguyen is my mother’s surname, which I was given. Armor is my father’s surname, though I never met him. I’m afraid my papers were also destroyed when the old chancery was bombed when I was just nine years old. My mother was killed in that attack and a kind staff person protected me and had me move with her to the new building here. I seldom leave the compound because I don’t have any papers and can only reenter if someone at the gate knows me.”
“My God, China. That’s terrible. Well, this ID badge should get you in and out of the gate, but it’s going to be a hell of a job to get everyone in the embassy badged and get it recognized by the guards,” I said.
“Most embassy day workers have a badge of sorts that gets them in and out of the compound.”
She had a beautiful smile and the badge was ready for her in just a few minutes.
I locked the camera and picked up my suitcase, camera bag, and dispatch bag, then followed her on a brief tour of the compound. The courtyard, the parking lot, the chancery, and the recreational facilities included barracks where some Marines and resident staff could be housed. It seemed the rooms were used for temporary housing, not long—term. There was a cantina, a swimming pool, and a recreation hall.
“Uh… Where am I taking my suitcase?” I asked.
“The staff rooms are over in the CRA—that’s the Combined Recreation Area. I need to check with the manager to see what room is open. You can always leave the embassy compound and live in a hotel if you prefer,” she said.
“I think I’ll prefer to stay here on the grounds if there is room.”
China checked in with the housing manager—another Vietnamese national—and I was soon in a small room next door to China. The bathroom was down the hall and it was all reminiscent of a college dorm. Eventually, we went to the cantina and got dinner.
I sat and talked to China for a long time that evening. We drank a beer out by the pool after dinner and I found out a little more about life in the embassy compound. I hadn’t even seen a telephone to be able to call home. I’d have to find a place to make the call the next day.
And the evening and the morning were the first day of my time in Vietnam.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
