”I caught you off guard. I can see that from your face,” he said, sincerely.
“You did,” I responded, honestly.
“I didn’t mean to do that”
“You see why I would be.”
“Yes.”
“I’m here alone. The wife’s at work, and the maid’s out shopping.”
“If it’s a bad time….”
“No, no.”
“What is this all about?”
“You’re a reporter?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m a fan.”
“A fan?”
“I’ve read your articles about your friends and your travels.”
“So?”
“Nothing. Or should I say they’re informative.”
“Who are you, really?
He embarked on a complicated answer that I suspected was fictitious…that he left the States almost two years ago to work his way around the world, and the reasons…well, that was also “complicated,” which told me, like me, that maybe he was running away from something.
“For the past two years you’ve been supporting yourself in various parts of the world as a business consultant?” I intoned.
“That’s my cover.”
“Then who are you working for?”
“As my card implies, I’m for hire.”
Personal questions about himself, about his American connections and those in the Philippines, about his travels and traveling companions, and whether or not he worked for the CIA, as I suspected, were skillfully dodged. T hen suddenly, my visitor said, “I suspect you’re wondering why I’m here; and I can assure you I’m not here in any official capacity. No one sent me. I’m just curious. Are you a Communist?”
“No.”
“As far I know it’s not against the law, either in the Philippines or the States, to be a Communist.”
“What’s your point?”
“You needn’t be afraid.”
Then he really got down to the business of my friends and my association with known Communist and “subversive individuals.” He asked me specifically about people I knew and had written about.
What was amazing was that I didn’t kick him out. Clearly I was getting angry, but I sat there and responded to his questioning.
“Are you…
“No.”
“Did you….”
“No.”
“Will you….”
“No, no. But now Joe, I have a few questions for you. It occurs to me to wonder just who you’re being paid by; if not by the United States, then by whom. Am I, or have I ever been associated with the Communist party. No. Have I knowingly aided or supported the Communist movement, directly or indirectly, through another organization, group, or person? Well, yes. I’ve bought a Communist lunch. I’ve gone with him on trips. Now my question to you is ‘what are you going to do with this information?’”
“Nothing. As I’ve said, (especially after reading your articles), I’m just curious.”
“And I’m suspicious.”
“Fair enough.”
Then it occurred to me that Mr. Wilson could be a vigilante, or totally insane, so I put the question to him.
“No,” he said. “Maybe I’m just pulling your chain.”
Now came his attempt to set me at ease. “I can use something to drink now. You know, if you hadn’t written those articles you wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar. I admire your bravery, or is it stupidity? Can we start over?”
“No.”
“Could we be friends?”
“No.”
Such questioning seemed so absurd that it didn’t deserve a positive response, and yet I couldn’t keep from smirking. I’d always wondered what kind of people the CIA recruited, and I now I knew. Did they imagine that their approach would work and that I would cough off something that would incriminate me…or that it made sense to knock on my door and confront me directly. But then of course, I’m a novice.
“No.” By now, I was getting very annoyed.
“I’m sure you’re planning to go back to the States.”
“Yes.”
“What about dope? Do you smoke it?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sure you love America.”
I nodded my head.
“Are you married?”
“I told you I was.”
“Congratulations. I assume you don’t have children, but I don’t know why I assume that.”
I brought him a tall glass of sweetened ice tea from our refrigerator, remembering that he said he was from the South, and sweetened ice tea was part of the constitution of a Southerner.
“Where do you intend to go from here? I found Singapore to be extremely orderly. If you were handed a fortune could you be bought? I’ve had to wrestle with that myself? How much do you sympathize with the students?”
Mr. Wilson, whomever, did his best to trap me…first one way, then another…to see if I would contradict myself with my answers. Finally, all smiles, he seemed to come to a point where he was satisfied with what he got from me. Mr. Wilson could finally relax, and we both seemed relieved. In the end, he turned out to be a nice enough guy.
Meanwhile, our maid Linda came home with a bag full of produce. She tried not to disturb us, as she busied herself in the kitchen.
“What do you think about the Vietnam War?
“You’ve read what I’ve written. One of my best friend died over there.”
“Like him, would you fight for your country?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “If the war were worth fighting.”
Touché. I knew I had passed.
As he went out the door, I said to myself, “ So much for Mr. Wilson.” I decided I wouldn’t tell Susan about the visit. I didn’t want to cause her any more worry than she already had. .
Randy Ford
