Chapter 11: Friends in Places

SOMEHOW, we got through the next few days in India. We handled Madras on Friday and flew on to Hyderabad on Saturday. We spent the evening Saturday and most of the day Sunday as tourists in the city. Upon our arrival Saturday, we were assigned a tour guide from the consulate who drove us around all the important sites, explaining what we were seeing in heavily accented English. I took a lot of pictures, but can’t say what I saw beyond a lake, a tomb, the legislative building, and a bunch of very old architecture.

We were in a very nice hotel and elected to simply stay there from mid-afternoon on Sunday until our driver picked us up on Monday morning. We even ordered room service and spent some time relaxing in each other’s arms as we made love.

“Do we have any idea what we are doing when we get back to Chicago?” I asked my lover.

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been doing in the evening when I’m on the phone. That magic hour from seven until eight p.m. here is the best time to call the office. When we get back, we will have three days off as comp time after our thirteen straight days on the clock. I would guess our yard needs to be mowed again. The following week, I’ll be staying in Chicago while you travel alone.”

“What? Where are they sending me alone? I didn’t think that after Calcutta they would trust me out of sight. We’ve had a person assigned to us everywhere we’ve gone since then,” I said.

“I think we were supposed to have someone in Calcutta, too, but signals somehow got crossed up and we were left to our own devices. I’m sure we’ll hear all about that in our meeting with Mr. Martin on Thursday next week. But then on Tuesday, you are headed to Washington, DC. A shipment of equipment will be waiting for you in a large classroom where you will train some fifty or so personnel on the equipment. Class sizes are limited to twelve stations at a time. The equipment will primarily be used for creating ID badges at the State Department, but will have the twenty-seven passport agencies and centers in the US, so you won’t have to travel around to all the centers training people. They’re all coming to you in DC. The other devices and personnel are located in and around DC and will be responsible for getting every State Department employee badged.”

“Is that such a big job that they need all those people? We handled this office in a week.”

“There are over 20,000 State Department employees domestically. They don’t want you working in DC for the entirety of your alternative service. They really do want us out and training in the consulates. I guess the trip here to India was first because of an urgent need in Bangladesh. The rest of India was a target of opportunity. I’m almost surprised they aren’t sending us on to Pakistan. But I’m not suggesting it. We have nearly 20,000 Foreign Office employees to tag as you install at each of the consulates.”

“I had no idea it was so big!”

“I didn’t either until I saw it for the first time,” Ronda said seductively. “I was sure it would never fit, but the more I got used to it, the more certain I was that I would make it fit no matter what.”

“Are we still talking about the State Department?”

“No. We’re talking about making love again. What good is traveling together and having hotel rooms and room service if we aren’t fucking our brains out?”

I had to agree with that.

We did the training in Hyderabad Monday morning. By three o’clock, we were in the air to Bombay. We were once again met at the airport and escorted to our hotel. Our driver indicated he was at our disposal if we wanted to go anywhere. We asked about food and he gladly took us to a restaurant where he suggested the Bheja Fry.

“This is a Muslim restaurant. Much meat. Only fish at Maharashtran restaurant,” our driver said. “I will wait for you here. Do not hurry. I will not move.”

We went in and enjoyed our meal, discovering that our driver’s version of ‘meat’ was primarily goat and chicken. That was okay. Our meal was sauteed with tomatoes and onions and a bunch of spices I couldn’t name. When we finally got around to asking the waiter, who spoke English, what was in the dish, he told us: Goat brains. We were glad we didn’t know before eating.

Our driver was waiting when we left the restaurant.

Breakfast in the hotel was much simpler. It was simply an egg and toast dish and we learned not to ask what else was in it. Our driver was waiting for us when we left the hotel and drove us the short distance to the consulate. We were greeted by the Consul General himself and welcomed to their humble chancery. He asked if we would have lunch with him, and of course we agreed.

Training went well, though I was afraid by the time we finished, we might have missed our lunch date. Not so. The consulate here seemed to be a little more laid back than the first three we’d visited. We were asked about the training we’d conducted and the status of the other consulates. The questions were pretty general and I didn’t think we were giving up any secrets of one branch to another in the same government.

“We’ve had our challenges here. Perhaps not as acute as those faced by Calcutta, but India is still in the throes of change. It has been independent for only twenty-five years and there are many factions vying for control. Some are the usual communist, democratic socialist, nationalist, etc. You see them everywhere. And some are religious divisions—not just Hindu vs. Muslim, but many sects within each,” he said.

“I understand,” Ronda said. “It must be very difficult to negotiate among so many who must be clamoring for your attention or endorsement.”

“Yes. Of course, the real weight is on the shoulders of the ambassador.” He looked between the two of us as if weighing options and then turned first to Ronda. “You might consider carrying a sturdy handbag on your trips to different consulates and embassies. Something with a strong strap that you can pass over the opposite shoulder. And always make sure that the flap opens toward your body and not away. Since you are without such a bag at the moment, I will give this to Mr. Hart.” He handed me a standard business envelope. It had no name or address on it. “If you would be so kind as to secure this in the inside pocket of your suit and hand it to the ambassador in New Delhi, I would be indebted.”

I wondered what kind of test this was. They had telephones here. They had couriers. There must be any number of ways to get a message from Bombay to New Delhi. I tucked the envelope into my inside pocket and buttoned the flap. Adrienne. She had thought of everything when working on my wardrobe, including the ability to secure things in my pocket.

We concluded our meal and unorthodox meeting and packed up to leave the consulate. It was already late in the day and we decided to stay in for another evening, just enjoying the luxurious bath and casual time together. We didn’t mention or discuss the envelope. I just hoped I could get it out of my jacket and into the hands of the ambassador more easily than passing a note in Miss Kellogg’s literature class in high school.

We arrived in New Delhi early enough that our driver took us to the embassy for a courtesy call. At least that’s what I expected it to be. We did have a tour of the embassy, which was at least twice the size of any of the consulates. There must have been 150-200 people there, plus people who were interviewing or had business with the embassy.

“Leonard Graves, Consular Affairs Attaché,” the man in the passport office introduced himself. “That covers all US citizen interactions, including passports and immigration visas. Let me say we are happy to welcome you and the new technology you bring to India.”

“Nate Hart and Ronda May,” I said, shaking his hand.

“We’ve had an excellent time with the first four installations,” Ronda volunteered.

“As busy as our four consulates are, we still process close to three times the number of passport and visa requests here at the embassy. Remember that India is the second most populous country in the world, with over half a billion people. Believe me, anything you can do to streamline our process is appreciated.” He led us into an office next to his that had the equipment cases and materials in it. “This is where we intend to do the training, but I believe we’ll need to have the actual operation located less deep within the embassy. Do you have an opinion on that?”

“Of course you need to determine your own traffic patterns,” I said. “One of the things we discovered in Chicago was separating where the applicant info is taken and typed from the area where the passport is actually manufactured gives an added level of security. In this room, for example, you have nearly everything that is necessary to create a valid US Passport. The passport form, typewriter, camera, photosensitive papers, laminating and binding. I’ve advised each of the consulates to separate the information gathering and completion of the template from the photo and binding portion.”

“Excellent. You’ll be training a few more people in the process tomorrow than for the consulates. We can’t be dependent on having only one operator at the embassy. You’ll get a break for lunch, of course, but after your day’s work, there will still be the evening.”

“The evening, sir?”

“Yes. We are asking to enlist your service as a photographer for an ambassadorial dinner.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re due for a quick introduction to the Ambassador, if you’ll come with me.”

We had to actually walk outside and across a courtyard to a separate building to get to the main offices of the ambassador. Mr. Graves pointed out the ambassador’s residence, Roosevelt House, next door to the chancery. It was all within one walled compound.

“Mr. Ambassador, may I present our photographer and passport experts, Mr. Hart and Miss May,” Graves said when we were admitted to the rather grandiose office.

“Welcome. Welcome,” the ambassador said as he came around the desk. Mr. Graves stepped out of the office leaving us alone with the ambassador. I immediately reached in my pocket for the letter and handed it to him. It had no markings on the envelope.

“It’s from...”

“Shh. It doesn’t exist,” the ambassador said. He slipped the envelope into his own pocket. “Now, regarding the assignment tomorrow evening. You have all you need for photographing an event?”

“I wasn’t aware that we’d be doing any official photos, but I have my 35mm camera, a strobe, and film. If you want black and white, I’ll need to change out what I’ve currently loaded,” I said.

“We have a photographer,” the ambassador sighed. “But he is currently indisposed. If you can take a roll of black and white photos, my secretary will point out the scenes. At the end of the session, just give her the roll of film and we’ll take care of the processing and printing. Please be sure that there are only official photos on the film. No miscellaneous scenery. These things can be rather delicate if not handled correctly. Suit and tie for Mr. Hart. Miss May, as his official assistant, a suit or dress with a jacket will do. Knee-length or longer skirt. If you need anything, your driver will escort you to a shopping area.”

“I believe we’re prepared for that,” Ronda said. “We didn’t understand why we were bringing such formal clothes when we were assigned this trip.”

“You’ll find that in the diplomatic services, you should always be prepared,” the ambassador chuckled. “They should at least tell you in advance if you will need a tuxedo and formal gown.”

“I never anticipated that,” I said.

“My secretary will meet you at Roosevelt House after your training session tomorrow. Don’t worry; you will get to eat.”

He escorted us back to the door where our driver, introduced as Mo, met us, and took us to check into our hotel. We decided to eat in the hotel restaurant, so the driver said he’d be back at eight o’clock in the morning to pick us up.

“I’m not going out on another assignment until I’ve had a meeting with Mr. Martin and get some things clarified,” I said when Ronda and I were in our room. “I don’t know exactly how the organization and structure of the Bureau of Consular Affairs works, but I understand my reporting structure for alternative service. Until and unless he reassigns me, I report only to Martin and if these guys want me to pass secret messages and take official photographs, they need to understand that I’ll report it all to him.”

“Calmly, sweetheart. I agree, but there is nothing we can do before we return to the US and have our debriefing on Thursday. We go back day after tomorrow, but our meeting with our boss is still a week away.”

“Should we call him?”

“Somehow, I don’t think this should be discussed over the phone. I know I’ve seen too many spy movies, but I get the feeling we could be watched and monitored at any time.”

“You’re right. Whoever is spying on us, I hope they enjoy watching me make love to you tonight.”

“Why Mr. Hart! Are you going to sexually assault your assistant?”

“Only if she wants me to.”

“Oh, she does!”

We went to the restaurant in the hotel for dinner first.

We did two full training sessions on Thursday, with four in each session. Two of the people were designated as being the ones responsible for getting everyone in the embassy issued a badge. The other six were filling the administrative and technical roles in producing passports and visas. This embassy was really a hopping place.

We ate lunch in the embassy cafeteria, and at five o’clock a staff member came to pick us up in the training room and escort us to Roosevelt House. We were taken to a room where we could change clothes and get ready for the dinner. When we were ready, we were led to a small eating area off the kitchen where the ambassador’s secretary joined us for dinner.

“I’m Karen. Do you mind if I join you for dinner? I’m afraid I won’t get to eat otherwise.”

“Please do,” Ronda said. “Maybe you can tell us what we’re doing.”

“Well, I’m sure you know what to do in general. I’ll follow along with you and direct you to specific photos of the ambassador with the foreign minister. The whole dinner is supposed to help shore up the Foreign Minister by showing how closely he is working with the US on economic, education, and cultural matters. Relations took a bit of a hit when the West Bengal local government renamed the road the consulate is on to Ho Chi Minh Sarani Road. Now the official address of the consulate is on a road named for our current great enemy.”

“I see. I’m just filling in for the embassy photographer to take photos that show how good the working relationship between India and the US is,” I said.

“That’s correct. We hope you will use a flash in taking the photos. The Ambassador intends to have the Foreign Minister understand that we are taking the desire of India to work more closely seriously and that he will be responsible for assuring that.”

“There is so much politics involved here,” Ronda said. “You know we are not political appointees, right?”

“Neither am I, Ronda. But there is nothing we can do to eliminate politics from the field. It’s what diplomacy is all about.”

I had no experience with state dinners and Karen told me that would continue. There is apparently an official terminology and state dinners carried much more weight than two officials meeting together for dinner.

“A state dinner is given by the president to honor a visiting head of state. It often involves a hundred or more guests,” Karen said when we entered the dining room. “This is an ambassadorial level unofficial dinner. We’d like to start with a couple of photos of the table arrangement, if you would, please.”

It was a long table with five places set on either side. There was no setting at the head or foot of the table. I was informed the ambassador would sit at the center of what was to me the right side of the table and the foreign minister would sit opposite at the center of the left side.

“Do you plan this whole thing?” Ronda asked.

“Oh, no. I’m the ambassador’s office secretary. The social secretary plans dinners like this. This one came together rather quickly after a number of conversations last week. It is a business dinner, as can be told by having no wives present.”

I could hear chatter in the next room as I took the pictures and servers hurried in and out, but Karen explained there were no cameras allowed in the cocktail lounge. Ronda, Karen, and I stepped back against a wall to wait as the guests entered the dining room. All stood behind their chairs as the ambassador and the foreign minister gave their greetings and then were seated. I got a photo of their toasts. As soon as they were seated, food began arriving. Karen maneuvered me into position to take pictures of everyone at the table, shooting over the ambassador to get the foreign minister and vice versa. Most of the meal was spent waiting until Karen tapped me to take a specific photo. I had Ronda hold the strobe and bounced it off the ceiling to get better illumination without shadows. We’d get a picture and then step back against the wall until Karen pointed out the next photo to take.

At eight-thirty, the meeting broke up and I photographed the ambassador and the foreign minister shaking hands across the table. I had no idea what any of the meeting was about. I removed the film from the camera and handed it off to Karen. She led us back to the room where we’d changed and we picked up our bags. Mo met us and drove us back to the hotel. We collapsed in bed and barely got up early enough to have Mo drive us to the airport for our trip back to Chicago.

Ronda and I indulged in a bottle of wine for dinner, but did not try to have sex on the plane again. It was only thirty hours home instead of thirty-six, because we were flying from New Delhi instead of Calcutta and had one less layover. We still didn’t get in until Saturday afternoon.

Our girlfriends and little girl were waiting at customs, which we breezed through with our bags and black passports. We hugged and kissed and generally made a spectacle of ourselves.

“I hope your trips aren’t all this long,” Anna sighed as she led us to the parking lot. “This was like being in college again and living in a different city.”

“And you know, we are an awful long way from anyone we know up in Antioch,” Patricia said. “We want to invite neighbors over to meet everyone, but when you get home, we want you all to ourselves.”

“Dance, Daddy,” Toni said.

“As soon as we get home, precious,” I answered. I sat in the back seat next to the little girl on the way home.

“I mowed the yard last weekend,” Patricia said. “But I’m sorry to say it needs mowing again. This will probably be the last time, though. The weather has definitely been getting colder and I expect we’ll have frost by the first of November.”

“That’s hard to believe. We’ve just come from temperatures in the nineties. It’s making me rethink the plan to get to southern climes in the winter if it will be that much of a shock when we get home,” Ronda said.

“Please, just take us with you,” Anna said. “I’d love a week with temperatures in the 90s this winter.”

“We’ll have to find out where we’re going and if it’s safe,” I said. “And I’m not going out again until I know exactly what’s expected of me. We got raked across the coals because I called my friend Rohan from the class in England in January. They were sure I was passing secrets to some separatist organization—as if I had any secrets to pass.”