“Always be prepared,” the ambassador replied. “That’s the Scout’s motto, you know.”
“Be prepared in mind by having disciplined yourself to be obedient to every order, and also by having thought out beforehand any accident or situation that might occur, so that you know the right thing to do at the right moment and are willing to do it,” I replied to a delighted ambassador who responded by giving the two-fingered Scout salute.
“Be prepared in body by making yourself strong and active and able to do the right thing at the right moment and do it,” he said, completing the motto.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“I didn’t think young people like yourself even knew what the Scouts were.”
“My dad had me dressed in Cub Scout blue by kindergarten.”
This, of course, was a lie. After our mother’s death, our father went off the rails and killed a man in an illegal underground fight and was imprisoned. Our older brother became like a dad to all of us younger siblings and tried everything he could to bring order and structure to our lives, including enrolling me into the Scouts at age twelve. Although, I loved the camping, shooting, and fishing aspect of scouting, not to mention, the fact that we got to carry and use big-ass knives, I could never fully conform to the entire Scout ethos and would flame out after a few years. But thanks to my eidetic memory, every word of the Scout handbook was seared into my brain. From knot making to the Scouts’ oaths, laws, and mottos.
The ambassador motioned to the empty seat across from mine. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Please, Ambassador Korman, by all means,” I replied.
“Call me George,” he said, settling into place.
“Pleased to meet you, George. I’m Cliff,” I said.
The ambassador smiled wide, giving me a knowing nod. “Cliff, is it? Okay, we’ll go with that.”
I laughed. “What do you mean?”
George glanced around to make sure we were out of ear shot. “I’ve been on enough flights with ‘camera men,’ ‘journalists,’ and ‘diplomatic liaisons,’ who pack light and disappear the moment the planetouches ground to spot one of you as soon as you get on board.”
“I’m not an air marshal if that’s what you’re implying,” I said, with a chuckle.
“I know you’re not. More importantly I know what youare.”
I smiled. “Of course you do, it’s right here on my press laminate. I’m a photographer.”
The ambassador nodded. “Of course, of course. I understand. You’re just here to take pictures.”
“That’s what Uncle Sam pays me for,” I said.
“I’d bet your camera bag is full of all sorts of fun toys.”
“I’m pretty old school. I travel lightly. One camera, two lenses, and extra batteries and SD cards.”
“Tell me. What do you shoot with? Canon or a Nikon,” George asked, clearly testing my cover story.
“Neither. My main camera is a Hasselblad XCD 100C.”
“Hasselblad? You truly are a man out of time, aren’t you, Cliff?”
“A legacy manufacturer for sure, but this model utilizes the latest mirrorless technology.” I pointed to the camera bag on the seat next to me. “I can show you if you’d like.”
“No, please don’t bother. I’m sure I’ll get to take a good look at it later since you’ll be with our group.”
“Of course,” I replied, knowing as well as George did that I’d break away from the group at the very first opportunity.
“Tell you what,” George said, reaching into his coat pocket. “Here’s my card. Should we become separated, and you find yourself in need of assistance while in Russia, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it. Weary travelers such as us need to stick together. I wasn’t always a diplomat, just as you haven’t always been a photographer. As a young man, I also travelled to Russia for the first time.”
