After two days of seeing the sights we boarded a bus for Damascus, Syria. Everyone on board bore the signs of retirement; graying hair, wrinkles, loose fitting comfortable cloths, a tourist bag, camera and a friend or spouse to set with. I on the other hand was alone, carrying no bag, was then 34 years old, and wearing jeans, polo shirt and light jacket. I don’t know what my attire communicated but evidently it wasn’t tourist. When we got to the boarder between Jordan and Syria two twenty-something military types came aboard the bus to check pass-ports. Both had assault weapons dangling dangerously from their shoulder, the muzzle banging against the metal back rests as they moved from person to person down the aisle. One got to me and reached for my pass-port in a manner different than he had with the other tourists. Rather than just taking the document from my hand he grabbed and jerked it from me. I played it cool and looked out the window, ignoring the abrupt gesture. The soldier showed my pass-port to his partner, they exchanged comments in Arabic in a tone recognizable in any language—hostility—and ordered me off the bus and escorted me to a small guard shack. Once inside the soldiers seemed to argue, from time to time they’d point at the pass-port and then stare at me, not saying anything. Finally the bus driver, an older man, came into the shack and intervened. By all appearances it looked as though the driver was berating the soldiers. I was hoping he wasn’t antagonizing them further. Rather quickly the shouting quieted and the driver motioned for me to follow and as soon as I’d returned to my seat on the bus we were back on the road. That evening one of the tour group members asked me if I was afraid during the incident. I said, “No”. I explained at the time I wasn’t at all apprehensive, all I thought about was that the incident might be worthy of a book one day. However, as the day passed I became acutely aware of how close I came to losing my family first and my freedom second. The incident at the boarder turned out to not be a big deal, hardly worth mentioning, but I learned a valuable lesson that has remained with me since then. Never take your safety for granted, even under the most benign circumstances (especially in unfamiliar territory) life can change in a second.

Since then I’ve thought about the hundreds of people carrying out clandestine missions every day with one goal in mind and that is the safety of America and our way of life. Their job is thankless, and their achievements are buried because of the confidential nature of the mission. No one knows what sacrifices they’ve made on our behalf and they can’t tell, ever.

My novel, mentioned in an earlier blog, tells a story of a few fictional characters performing a thankless job under conditions that aren’t at all fiction.