other-side-of-deception-victor-ostrovsky

I looked at the man. "No, I guess not. Sure, what the hell, I'll doit." ,4s he was about to turn to the other man, I held him by the shoulder.He faced me again, smiling. "What?""If I do it, I want you to run me through to the other side like Iwas here on business." What I meant was that he should take methrough all the stations, flashing his ID card and clearing the wayfor me."Sure. No oroblem."I smiled, feeling the blood drain out of my face. A cold sensationtook hold in my chest, as though a chill breeze were blowingthrough it.This teeter-totter of emotion was something we were trained todeal with in the Mossad, since an officer always has personal feelingsthat could get in the way of the job he has to do. You learn how tocreate new feelings that will compensate for the ones you lack.Less than one minute after the security officer had handed me thepassport belonging to the big guy and given mine to him, the newcrew arrived. I glanced quickly at the passport I'd been handed. Itwas an American passport, and the photo was a color close-up of theman standing next to me. The beard he now wore was not on thepassport photo. That could stump the new crew. I read the name andtried to remember it. This was extremely amateurish; my real namewas on my suitcase, and my ticket was in my real name. They wouldhave to be extremely daft not to notice-unless there was somethingelse behind it."Sir, your passport, please," said the woman. Her attitude wascordial and quite professional for someone who was the first time onthe job. I could see what the officer had meant. She was indeed verypretty, which may have accounted for the nasty rumor someone hadcirculated, most likely out of envy. I stepped forward, leaving my luggagebehind, my arm outstretched, passport in hand. I smiled at her.Her expression didn't change as she took the passport.From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of-~~hraim, leaning onthe counter some forty feet from where I was. He was watching me. Icouldn't make out any expression on his face. Was all this a charade toget me in the slammer; was the Lebanon story a ploy to get me to runand then catch me in this stupid exercise at the airport? I could hear itnow as I tried to explain in court that a security officer had asked meto help in an exercise, etc., etc., and there would be no such officer toverify my story.She took the passport, and I could see the big man handing in mypassport to the other security officer.I1I"Your name?" she asked me."Robert Freidman."She closed the passport and put it on the metal table in front ofher. "Could you please place your luggage on the counter?""Sure, no problem." I turned to pick up my suitcases when I heardthe other security man raise his voice at the big fellow. "Don't move,raise your hands above your head." He drew his gun, and within secondsseveral police were on the scene."What's the matter? What's going on?" asked the first to arrive,gun in hand."This man is traveling on a false passport." He turned to the bigfdlow, who was now feverishly searching for the security officer. Hisface was wet with sweat, his eyes staring down several gun barrels."This is a big mistake. Please don't shoot. This is only a game, askhim." He nodded to me, and at that moment the duty officer cameback on the scene. "Everybody calm down. David, put your gunaway." He turned to the policemen. "Everything is under control, thiswas only an exercise. You, sir." He was now talking to the man whosepassport I was holding. "You can put your hands down. It's all over.Good work, David." He then turned to the girl. "Well, Sarah, wouldyou mind giving that passport another look?"Her eyes opened wide with the realization that she had donesomething wrong. She slowly picked up the passport and looked atthe photo and then at me. I knew at that moment that no matterwhat might happen in the world over the next one hundred years, Iwouldn't be able to get that girl to look on me kindly. She wassilent.The officer returned my passport to me and handed the big fellowhis. He then said to Sarah, "I want you to report to me after work atmy office in the prefabricated building. You know where that is?"She nodded; there seemed to be a tear ready to roll out of the cornerof her eye, but somehow she managed to hold it back. When theofficer and I turned to head for the ticket counter, I saw her wiping hereye with the sleeve of her dark blue sweater.The officer stuck to his promise, and after my ticket was in orderand I got my boarding card, he escorted me through all the stations,getting my passport stamped and avoiding the body search that everyoneelse was put through. We had a cup of coffee on the second floorin the departure lounge, and after I'd bought myself a fresh pack ofcigarettes and a copy of Time magazine, he got up to leave."Have a good flight, man, and thanks for the help.""You're welcome, any time." About then, some of the other pas-