I've often wondered how they do that, uniformed security looking with that mix of aggression and boredom. That "I'd totally F up this guys life but it's almost lunch" look, half yawn, half glare. He's encased in a little glass both with a black "empire strikes back"ish uniform. He's flipping through the pages of my passport, looking for the tourist visa. He glances up at me, fixing me with a harsh stare.
After a twelve hour Air China flight, I don't have to pretend to be tired to look like I'm not scared shitless.
Next to the booth there is a new machine that records, verifies and matches your fingerprints with your passport. I wonder briefly whether it shares information with a database back in Canada.
I try not to worry about that. I will find out soon enough either way.
Next to the fingerprint reader there is a customer service "rate my interaction" device. There is a sad face button, a happy face button and a really happy face button on the tiny machine. I wonder silently if anyone ever has the balls to choose the sad face button.
I certainly don't.
He hands back my freshly stamped passport, waiting for me to select a response button before allowing me beyond the gate.
I press the happy face button. Pressing the "very happy face" seems suspicious, pressing the "unhappy face" brings potential other concerns.
Speaking of unhappy faces, I wonder if Matt is there to greet me. I pull my duffel bag, and remove the combo tool from it and put it in my pocket.
I look around and having nothing to declare, well, no items to tell anyone about and head into the arrivals area.
Everything is bright, shiny and new. I don't know what I was expecting, the sand swept hot box of the TLS? (Taliban Last Stand) No, this civilization, Technocracy land.
There are crowds of people waiting for passengers to arrive. There are families waiting for the arrival or return of mothers, fathers and siblings, people running to the warm embrace of loved ones. Amongst the families are drivers, standing uncomfortably in suits, holding up a sign with the name of some foreign business person.
Then there was a beautiful, tiny Asian woman wearing a crisp white business shirt and a short, knee length, black skirt holding a sign with "Matt Martin guest" on it and scanning the crowd of new arrivals.
It's a much prettier face than I had any reason to think was waiting for me.
"Hi, where's Matt?" I say to the Chinese woman holding. "He's nearby, waiting for us. Are you Ian?" She says, looking up at me. She's maybe five two, and had an unexpectedly soft voice.
"Sort of," I reply. If she understands my little joke she gives me no indication.
She folds up the sign and says "follow me," and stomps away. I see the sign for a cell phone store but I don't have any choice except to follow her. She darts quickly, unencumbered through the crowd.. and it is crowded. However, I will soon find out that I don't really know what a crowd is at all.
I can't see them as much as feel them, feel their eyes on my back, but I can't worry about that now. I have to try and keep up with her. Then I saw him, drinking a coffee and leaning against the wall at the back of a "Costa" restaurant. When he saw me he walked towards the door and stuck out his right hand in more of an arm wrestling challenge than a handshake. I had forgotten how much shorter he was than me. His hair was a little greyer and his mustache had more salt than pepper. He had a genuine, warm smile and he hugged me when I took his hand, slapping my back.. Or was that him checking me for a chest rig? He sat down at a table, gesturing for me to take a seat next across from him. The beautiful Asian woman quickly grabbed the chair next to him.
"Welcome to Shanghai, brother. Order you a tea?" he asked.
I sat and nodded. He gestured for the woman to go to the counter and buy a tea.
"A double-double for me and a tea for Ian," he said, handing her a Mao-faced bill "get yourself something too."
He waits for her to go to the counter, "as far as Mrs.Li knows," and he gestures towards the woman buying me a tea, "you are just an old friend in need of a teaching job. We'll get you all sorted. ... and answer any questions you might have." He glanced above my shoulder and I knew she was there, "Right babe?"
She set down my tea and went around the table to sit next to Matt.
"I'm sorry, I didn't really introduce you two. Mrs.Li, this is my old friend, Ian. We knew each other in Kandahar days."
She smiled her lovely, demure smile.
"And Ian, this is Mrs.Li. She is my partner and the administrator of our school, "The Vancouver school of English."
I reached out and shook her hand.
"So what did you and Matt do in Afghanistan?" She asked.
I smile, "whatever they told me to do. Did Matt tell you we were in Delta teams together?"
"Hey Ian, did they ever explain why it was called a Delta team?" Matt asked.
"I assume because Alpha, Bravo and Charlie teams were already taken," I chuckled.
"No. The D in Delta Team stands for deniability. They would have us do things, even actively working against us, so they could deny any activity later. We were meant to be burned."
I looked around looking at the ashtray, sipping my tea and keeping my mouth shut.
It was decent tea, but bitter
