Bourne Supremacy

I finished watching the Bourne Supremacy. It was rather fun in a thrilling way. But it left me with some new thoughts about my father. This weekend my mother let it out of the bag that the CIA tried to recruit my father after he retired from the Air Force. You have to understand my father at that point in time was over 50 years old. Not your stereotype age of a spy.

So now I'm left pondering what did my father do in the service. When I think back on things I realize that maybe my father did not have exactly the normal experience in the military. When my father retired he had served his country for 30 years. In that time he fought in 2 wars (Korea and Vietnam). Had three different tours in foreign countries (Italy, Germany and Iran). At one point in the '60s my dad was detailed to the Secret Service. He worked on Lyndon Johnson's ranch.

In our many talks my father told me about the times he had contact with Military Intelligence. One of those times was during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Military Intelligence had acquired some documents listing several hundred Americans. My father's name appeared on that list. The MI wanted to know why my father's name was on that list. Apparently they interrogated my father at length. My father had no clue why his name was on the list. Apparently every other individual on that list didn't know why their names were on that list. The best that the MI could come up with was it was a list of probable leaders of insurgency should the U.S. government fall and an invasion occurred. In other words it was a list of those who were to be found and executed.

While we lived in Iran my father was again on a list. This time the Savak found a hide out for terrorists. They had a map with all the routes the bus my father and brother took to work. They had pictures of every man who rode that bus. I mean it must have been like what you see in the movies. Only this time it was real. The terrorists were planning to hit the bus sometime. It's a sobering thought. We don't know what they were planning to do but I'm sure it wasn't to ask them to tea.

Also, while we lived in Iran my father would leave. He would be gone for unspecified periods of time. We never knew where he was or what he was doing. I do remember my mom. I remember how she would jump when the phone rang or the door bell pealed. Later in life I remember my mom talking about never knowing whether Dad would come back. She talked of the fear of not knowing what happened to Dad.

So now I ponder... was there more to my Dad than Chief Master Sergeant. In fact it makes me wonder about a couple of incidents that happened to me in India. I was approached by a woman. She had a thick accent. She wanted to know where I was from. After I told her, I asked her where she was from. She didn't want to answer but I pressed her for one. She told me she was from Soviet Union. It was a rather puzzling episode on an elevator. It stuck with me. I mentioned it to my father. He made a rather odd comment. I remember him saying, "If I were still in the military I would have to report this incident." Which now makes me wonder about another situation that developed in the same place. All of this happened in New Dehli. While I was there I had caught some sort of virus. I went out with my group of Girl Scouts but eventually I didn't have the strength to continue shopping and sight-seeing. So I told everyone in my group I was going back to the hotel. Breaking every rule in Girl Scouting I went back by myself. I felt confident that nothing would happen to me in India. I was more travel savvy than my chaperon was, and I knew I could handle any situation that I might face.

As I traveled back to the hotel I became aware that I was being followed. He was a very handsome man dressed as a Sikh. I started to feel a bit alarmed. I tried shaking him off. But to no avail. I finally approached him and asked him if I could help him. He said that he thought I might need help. He offered to escort me back to the hotel. I decide that he was following me anyway so I might as well have him by my side. I said good-bye to him at the entrance of the hotel. I thought that would be the last I saw of him.

A couple of days later my group was returning from dinner. We got stopped by a wedding procession. A groom was going off to pick-up his bride on the back of a horse. There were all these people dancing and singing. They were having a most excellent time. So good that a friend and I got carried away from our group (literally). Some man had grabbed me up and was carrying me away. I could see my friend. She had the same type of feelings about this development as I did. We were being molested by all these men. Our breasts and buttocks were pinched and squeezed. Things were truly out of control. We were terrified. Suddenly out of no where the Sikh shows up and manages to detach us from this wild group. He escorts us back up the street where our dumb struck travel companions stood. I thanked him for his help. He kept asking whether we were okay. We assured him we were fine. We weren't about to tell him about the indignities we suffered. Too embarassing. We continued to see him here and there as we wandered the streets of New Dehli. I was curious then why he attached himself to us but now I wonder even more. Was there some sort of clandestine stuff going on around us? Were we being protected officially?

At one time I wanted to write a biography of my father. I never started. I've thought about writing requesting his military record. Now I wonder whether it would really be worth it. In one way I fear that it might only lead to more questions that would have to remain unanswered. Did my father really only work on the president's ranch? Or did he do things that we will never know about? What did he do in his absences from Tehran, Iran? Why did my mother worry so? More importantly, why did she worry about never knowing what might have happened to Dad if he never came back?