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a Western European.
I printed these shots on different photo papers, which I then
aged by soaking them in a cup of strong tea before drying
them with a steam iron. We then completed the aging process
by bending the documents appropriately, working by touch.
We knew that the subjective feel of the documents was even
more important than the data they contained. An experienced
immigration officer was more likely to respond to the feel
of the passport and the demeanor of the bearer than to the ac-
curacy
THE MASTER OF DISGUISE / 151
of the data; a good customs officer made an assessment of
travelers by the time they were within twenty feet of the
checkpoint.
THE DAY BEFORE the exfiltration was a Saturday. David and I
worked into the afternoon, putting the final touches on the
documents and reviewing our operations plan checklist. The
three others had left the office before midday so that the
movements of several foreigners on a weekend would not
arouse suspicion. Raymond had explained how to exit the floor
by opening a combination lock on the sliding metal grate at
the end of the corridor.
With each of us carrying one complete set of NESTOR s ex-
filtration documents concealed on us, David and I left the office
around four and made our way through the poorly lit hall to
the metal grate. The combination lock opened easily, and we
strode toward the glint of daylight at the end of the hall that
marked the staircase.
But we nearly panicked when we reached the doorway to
the landing and were confronted by another, unexpected
metal grate and combination lock blocking our way out. Who
the hell can I call to reach Raymond with a discreet message? I
thought, unable to breathe for a moment. We had to assume
the phone lines to the U.S. Consulate and Raymond s home
were tapped. If I called and said we were locked in the build-
ing, we were basically lighting a flare for the SB.
Worse, if this building employed any type of efficient
watchman, he might spot us fumbling with the lock and call
the police. A search would reveal that we each carried a separ-
ate set of travel documents bearing NESTOR s disguise photo-
graph. Whatever happened to us, the exfiltration would be in
serious trouble.
Leaning close in the faint light, I tried the same combination
on this lock. Much to our relief, it sprang open. We groped our
way down the
152 / ANTONIO J. MENDEZWITH MALCOLM MCCONNELL
stairs, avoiding fresh, blood-red splotches of pan juice that the
char force had spit out along the route. With Murphy s Law
in full effect, we found the doorway into the lobby was also
secured with a grate and combination lock.
Three times for good luck, I muttered to David, entering
the same combination. Once more the lock sprang open a
hopeful sign that NESTOR s exfiltration would indeed be a
success.
THE EXFILTRATION TEAM converged on the international airport
just before midnight on April 22. Jacob and NESTOR arrived
in an anonymous Hillman Minx driven by the case officer with
whom they d shared the safe house for the previous week. I
came in a car driven by Pete, the officer from Bangkok who d
flown in two days earlier with the airline tickets. We were
trailed by another car that David had driven. Pete and David
would stay in the airport parking lot with these two cars, mo-
tors running escape vehicles to be used in the event that Jacob
and NESTOR had to leave the terminal quickly.
My position was to be on the observation deck of the termin-
al rooftop, supposedly waiting for someone on an incoming
flight. From there, I could watch Jacob and NESTOR leave the
departure gate, cross the tarmac, and board the flight to Athens.
When I had confirmed that the plane had departed with or
without them on board, I could pass on the appropriate signal,
using a wrong-number voice code, to the telephone at Ray-
mond s home, where he and Mac were sweating out the oper-
ation.
There was a disciplined logic to all these procedures. No
suspected CIA officer who might have aroused Special Branch
surveillance was anywhere near the airport that night. Our
entire team was from out of town. Moreover, if Raymond or
Mac had been under active surveillance,
THE MASTER OF DISGUISE / 153
the fact that they were enjoying a late dinner might have served
to dampen any SB suspicion that NESTOR was in the city.
But if I telephoned Raymond with the bad news code, an-
nouncing that NESTOR and Jacob had bolted, he and Mac
would leave his home in separate cars to meet the escape
vehicles at predetermined locations, and then try to break the
trail.
Checking to see if any surveillance was trailing me, I made
a pit stop at the terminal lavatory, which now reeked of carbolic
disinfectant that almost masked the stench of the drains. Then
I casually inspected the antiquated, railway-style arrivals board
and saw that TWA 876 was still due to arrive at one A.M.
Having established a plausible reason for being at the airport,
I climbed to the observation deck. The flight s arrival time
came and went. Moths and termites tumbled incessantly in
the spotlights above my head. The smit was rising from the
valleys to join the city smog as other airliners landed and taxied
up to the terminal to occupy all the free parking slots. It was
now almost 1:45, and I could only imagine the scene down in
the terminal.
Later, Jacob would describe in detail the sequence of events.
He and NESTOR arrived at the terminal curbside just before
midnight, and Jacob entered the building first. As instructed,
NESTOR waited five minutes, fussing with the strap of his
suitcase, which contained a collection of European clothes and
personal effects provided by TSD. Then, he also entered the
terminal.
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