Deadly Deceits (13 page)

– Douglas S. Blaufarb

While in North Thailand I converted a small servant's quarters in my home into an office. I lined the wooden walls with a large-scale map of North Thailand, and on the wall closest to where I sat I hung a large poster. The poster depicted a ravenous, fanged Mao Tse-tung and Ho Chi Minh with burning eyes, outstretched arms, and clawed fingers, leaning over a map of Southeast Asia. Blood from a swirl of massed humanity flowed from the North down over the countries of Southeast Asia. The poster illustrated in graphic, startling form the domino theory, so much a part of what I believed. It was evocative, disturbing, and for me and other Agency officers represented the
raison d'être
for the work of the CIA in Thailand. We were there to protect the Thai people from the Communist monsters of the North. We believed if the Communists won, there would be a bloodbath, liberty and religion would be destroyed, and nation after nation would fall before the swelling red tidal wave.

My small part in fighting the menace was to gather intelligence concerning Communist subversion and at the same time to teach the Thai counterinsurgency force how to develop its own intelligence capability. I held several courses for the officers, using as my interpreter Captain Song (not his real name), who had associated with Americans for a long time and spoke a form of idiomatic English. He was a good friend and constant associate, frequently visiting us at home and bringing some of his fellow officers with him.

Since Captain Song headed the operations of the counter-insurgency unit, we worked together daily. A maverick who got along beautifully with his co-equals and his subordinates, he took an immediate dislike to anyone with direct authority over him. He had a trace of royal blood in his veins, which undoubtedly had helped him attain the rank of captain. Every day he and I would review the incoming intelligence from the counterinsurgency unit's scattered posts. There wasn't a lot of hard intelligence, since not much was going on.

Most of our reports covered the activities of the various ethnic groups in and around the Thai border area that were plotting their independence from Burma—the Karens, the Shan State Independence Army, the Red Lahu, and others. We also kept an eye on any possible Communist incursions among the numerous hill-tribe people who populated the
highland areas around the border—the Hmong, the Yao, the Lisu, the Haw.

Many of the hill tribes had lived in China but had migrated south. Most lived in mountain villages at an altitude above 3,000 feet. They practiced a slash-and-burn style of agriculture and as a result had to move frequently to look for new fields. They raised rice, poultry, and livestock, but the major cash crop was opium from the poppy.

In addition to gathering information, I or another Agency officer would accompany the Thai commander of the counter-insurgency unit on his jeep trips to remote outposts. During the rainy season some areas were inaccessible, and we would schedule one of the station's planes to take the commander on his trip. One time the station sent up a C-47 with instructions to use it. The station's contract with the Agency airline, Air America,
³
called for a minimum number of hours of use each month. At that particular moment, in a most unusual situation, absolutely no one seemed to have any requirements for a plane. I offered the use of it to the local officers of the Joint United States Military Advisory Group, who had done many favors for us. They were delighted, and we took off for Chieng Khong, a small airstrip on the Lao-Thai border. The pilots were new to the area and had difficulty locating Chieng Khong. We flew much too long and suddenly we spotted a large airfield. We immediately turned around and headed for home. After we got back, we recharted our time, speed, and direction and determined we had been flying over China—an incident none of us reported to our superiors.

The other Agency officer and I coordinated our activities with the American consul, Larry Pickering, who was a thoughtful and disciplined diplomat. He frequently invited us to official functions, and I briefed him weekly on any intelligence. I was somewhat in awe of Pickering's status until one occasion when I began to understand the influence of the State Department compared to that of the Central Intelligence Agency. This occurred at a ceremony marking the beginning of the construction of a university.

On that day the Thai Prime Minister, Sarit Thanarat, came north with a large entourage of Buddhist priests, senior foreign diplomats including the U.S. ambassador, high-level Thai officials, and some members of the royal family. The
CIA chief of station, whom I shall call Rod Johnson, also came but was not a member of the official party. I picked him up at the airport and took him to the ceremony, where we sat in the open stands at the side of the processional route, far from the official area, which was covered and roped-off. The sun was bright, and it was as steaming hot as only Thailand can get. As the ceremony concluded, the dignitaries in the enclosed area formed a line behind the Prime Minister for the recessional. As the group slowly moved our way, the Prime Minister spotted Rod in the stands. As he drew near, he held up his hand for everyone to stop. He signaled Rod down to him. While the assembled laymen, clergy, and royalty sweltered in the sun, Sarit told Rod that he would like him to join him at a party at his Doi Su Thep mountain retreat. Sarit complained that the American ambassador had heard of his plans and had asked to come along. The Prime Minister did not especially like the ambassador and wondered if Rod could in any way prevent him from attending the party. Rod said no. As the conversation ended, the slowly melting official groups staggered out to their waiting cars.

Pickering had scheduled a briefing for the ambassador at the consulate following the ceremony, and I was one of those there to brief him. An hour or so after the incident at the ceremony an angry, red-faced ambassador stormed into the consulate. He did not want to be briefed. He went into an adjoining room and furiously wrote out a message. Apparently at the party Sarit had waited for about half an hour and then asked the ambassador to leave because he wanted to have a private conversation with his good and close friend, Rod Johnson, the chief of station.

This incident demonstrated the relationship that many chiefs of station have with heads of state—primarily, I suppose, because of the Agency's ability to back a chosen individual as the leader of his country. In this case Rod Johnson not only had the powerful CIA behind him but also was a model for the role. He was a gregarious, six-foot-four-inch, red-headed, back-slapping extrovert who avoided all confrontations. He had a genius for developing close relations with whoever became a country's leader. After Sarit died, there was a period of strained relations between the CIA and the new government of Thanom Kittikachorn and Praphat
Charusathien. Praphat officially was the number two man in the government, but in fact he held the real power. Rod Johnson quickly overcame the tension and developed such a close relationship with Praphat that the Thai foreign minister complained that he could seldom get in to see Praphat because Praphat was always with Johnson.

Johnson liked to tell the story of his trip to see Praphat early one Sunday morning under orders from Headquarters in Langley. He arrived unexpectedly and Praphat came out to greet him in his undershorts. After settling business and after a few drinks, things loosened up a bit, and playful blows between Johnson and Praphat developed into a full-scale wrestling match. The battle between the six-foot-four-inch Caucasian and the short, fat Thai (who so closely resembled in appetite, conduct, and appearance the word many Thais used to describe him—pig) began to favor Johnson. Praphat got angry, and the chief of station, deciding diplomacy was more important than victory, allowed Praphat to pin him.

Rob Carson was also assigned to the North. His responsibility was to oversee the equipment and physical plant of the counterinsurgency force. Rob, who was about 50 and in great shape, had been the instructor for the survival/dirty fighting/ physical education courses at the “farm” during my paramilitary training.

Both Rob and I started studying the Thai language at the same time and after a few months I—no whiz at language study—was able to order food in a restaurant and exchange pleasantries with Thais. Rob, on the other hand, spoke hesitantly. It was painful in a restaurant when he tried to order in Thai. Others would just name the dish, but not Rob. Every time he would go slowly and carefully through the ritual, enunciating each word, “
pom dtong khang
” (I want), while the Thais looked on in impatient exasperation.

But this aside, Rob was quite pleasant and we worked smoothly together. In the small community, if we had not liked each other, it would have been very difficult.

One day after I had been in the North for about six months, I received a message from the deputy chief of station,
Dave Abbott, to report to the station. Before seeing Dave, I first checked in with my parent office. Everyone seemed to be furious, and I quickly realized that the reason was Dave Abbott. Demanding and critical, Dave was genuinely disliked; each person in the office had his own stock of Dave Abbott stories to tell.

Sam, one of my friends in the office, took me down to the cafeteria for lunch. He said most of the officers in my parent office—two of whom were my direct supervisors—had formerly been with the Agency's training division. Abbott had it in for trainers. He had really gone after my boss John, and John had had a heart attack. The American doctor wanted to send a dispatch to Headquarters pointing out Dave's inability to handle people and specifically what he had done as the deputy chief of station. Both Dave and the chief, Rod Johnson, pleaded with the doctor that such a dispatch would ruin Dave's career. The dispatch was never sent.

“Dave and Rod are a typically matched Agency chief and deputy chief of station,” said Sam. “They form a great team. Where one is weak, the other is strong. Dave pays attention to detail and is the shouting top-sergeant type who sees everything is done on time. Johnson is the so-called good guy. He butters up the Thai leaders, he greets everyone, ‘How are you, you old rascal?' and never has a harsh word for anyone—at least not to their faces.”

Sam warned me that Dave would probably follow a strict ritual at our upcoming meeting. “He'll make you wait in the secretary's office up to half an hour before having you escorted in,” said Sam. “Then he'll pretend he is reading and make you sweat while you stand there waiting for him to acknowledge your presence. Then he'll look up and say, ‘Well, what do you want?'” According to Sam, Abbott did this with all subordinates to keep them on the defensive.

After lunch I was called to Dave's office. Much to my surprise, I was immediately escorted in, and he was standing there waiting to greet me. Dave gave me a big hello, came around from behind his desk, and motioned me to take a chair while he did the same. He asked how things were going in the North. I told him I had a problem with my old jeep that kept breaking down and was costing a small fortune to keep running. “I'll take care of it immediately,” he said. “You'll have a new
one in a few weeks, if I can get the training idiots around here to do their job.”

Dave then got down to the purpose of the meeting. “You know these people who head your office here were all forced on the station by the Agency's training division,” he confided. “They were all teachers who never had any real operational experience. They really prove the maxim that those who teach cannot do. I have to really follow what's going on here and with you people upcountry or they'll get everything screwed up.”

He then asked, “What's happening in there today?”

This really took me by surprise, but I tried to recover and outlined the various administrative things I knew were being done in my parent office. I did not mention the state of angry confusion that seemed to permeate the place.

“Look, Ralph,” he said, “I have to know exactly what is going on in there, what they are saying, what they are doing. I want you to become my eyes and ears.”

He was tearing down my superiors in my presence and was asking me to spy on them for him! I was angry, embarrassed, and most of all confused. What could I say? How could I respond? I tried to act as if I really did not understand what he was asking, and we parried words for a while before he curtly dismissed me.

I later observed that others who accepted his “recruitment” attempt instantly became important men in the station and had many hurried calls to the front office. But after their tours in Thailand ended, they were marked men. No one wanted a fink in his office. As for me, for the time being I'd kept my reputation, but, as I was to find out later, Dave Abbott never forgot or forgave a man who turned him down.

Early one November morning in 1963, a friend of Norma's came by to tell us the sad news she had just heard over the short-wave radio: President Kennedy had been shot and killed. We were stunned. The prince of idealism who had challenged us all “to ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country” was dead.

The Thai people had admired the young President and his
beautiful wife. Pictures of them had appeared in the press, and there were favorable comparisons made between the Kennedys and the young King and Queen of Thailand. That day I could not go to work and stayed with my family. We were all confused, angry, and distressed. To occupy my mind, I decided to fix the flat tire on Scott's bicycle. I went to the local hardware store to buy a pump. I took it off the shelf and asked the clerk,
“Gyi baht krup?”
(How much?). He said,
“Baht deeo”
(five cents). I looked at him in disbelief, but his sad eyes insisted. It dawned on me that with this subtle gesture he was expressing his sympathy. I appreciated his heartfelt attempt to assuage my grief.

After I had been in Thailand for more than a year, I was assigned to “observe” a program for the hill-tribe people being conducted by the Thai counterinsurgency organization. The purpose of the program was to help build close relations with the hill tribes and to lessen their vulnerability to Communist subversion. The program included training young tribal members as medics and issuing them basic medicines; training other young men in more advanced agricultural methods and assisting them to develop a cash crop other than opium; and improving the breeding stock of their pigs and chickens by providing breeding boars and cocks. An initial phase of the program required us to convince the hill-tribers to help construct small mountainside airstrips to facilitate transportation to their isolated villages. Of course, coincidentally, this also would allow a military force more rapid access to the area.