EXFIL by Anthony Patton (best book reader txt) 📕

This lawlessness proves somewhat exciting for people without responsibilities or who are itching to escape the restraints of America (we’re not as “free” as many imagine), but the tolerance of such behavior was one reason these countries struggle to achieve economic growth.

Billions of dollars of foreign aid won’t help people not prepared to assume the discipline and moral restraint required for social progress.

The nature of my profession distorted my perspective, but Bangkok was a dangerous place for men unaccustomed to resisting temptation. I’m not suggesting that the average Thai man was depraved or lacked a moral compass, but the three best red-light districts in Bangkok—Soi Cowboy, Nana Plaza, and Patong—blended in with the broader culture there in ways that Las Vegas did not. A lot of behavior that would be deemed scandalous in America didn’t even raise eyebrows in Thailand. As an outsider with the discipline of a soldier, I initially felt immune to such temptations, but would soon learn the hard way that small steps could lead us astray.

U.S. government officials in the business of collecting information—as not all of them are Intelligence Officers—often made gratuitous outings to the go-go bars, with the alleged purpose of cultivating relationships with sources. There were scenarios in which taking sources to go-go bars served the purpose of building rapport or gaining insights about what made the source tick, for sure, but many sources weren’t interested in go-go bars and viewed such invitations with suspicion.

The U.S. Embassy crew had a reputation for frequenting these clubs, but the way I saw it, “look but don’t touch” entertainment was better than seeking a mistress or a prostitute, which most wives would agree with in the silence of their worries.

Many men surrendered to temptation, or never viewed monogamy as a condition of marriage in the first place, but most married men I knew, myself included, could look but not touch and go home to our wives and kids without missing a beat.

When it came to work, I was never a creature of habit, to avoid falling into predictable patterns and routines, but the way the game played out, Club Ecstasy, the legendary gentlemen’s club with the mauve neon lights in Soi Cowboy, was the diplomats’ and expats’ go-go bar of choice.

After several visits, the bouncers and dancers knew me well. “Mr. Lance!” They saved me VIP tables beyond the velvet ropes and brought me the prettiest girls, which is how I met Jewel. She initially made tantalizing offers for some expensive fun in the back rooms, but she finally relented, respecting that I wasn’t game. After that, she warmly asked me about my family and admired the latest photographs on my phone, while playfully sitting on my lap. Of interest, her mannerisms suggested that she understood the purpose of my visits and ensured that my guests always had a good time.

Jewel attended nursing school in her free time, had a heart of gold, and might have avoided working as a dancer under different circumstances—a cliché, I know.

But these were the cards she had been dealt. To make up for lost revenue, I tipped her well and bought drinks for her and the other dancers, which made her boss happy and forced me to use creative language when submitting receipts for reimbursement.

We would flirt and she would kiss my cheek, or gently caress my crotch with a wink, but keeping the relationship Platonic allowed her to forget who she was pretending to be.

To show how cultural norms can vary, one of my would-be sources accepted an offer for some expensive fun in the back rooms with a dancer, paid for by Uncle Sam, returning with a grin and fist bumps for all the world to see. An amateur Intelligence Officer might view this as a positive step in the relationship, an indication that he might be willing to provide secrets or that his behavior could be exploited, but many men around the world simply didn’t consider this a compromise of their values.

The challenge was to accept this fact of life without resorting to moral relativism.

Beth knew about my forays to Soi Cowboy and seemed to understand that it was just business; in fact, she met some of my contacts and agreed that go-go bars were often the best venue to cultivate the relationships. Naturally, she had heard enough stories about American husbands surrendering to temptation, and would have preferred that I avoided Club Ecstasy altogether.

In fact, we often made love after I returned home at night, allegedly because she missed me. I could have sex twice in one night, but the implicit suggestion—although she never said as much, of course—was that she could discern whether she was second in line.

Between hosting parties for attaché wives, finishing her Ph.D., and writing a book, Beth kept busy and leaned into the arrangements for our follow-on assignment to West Point. She planned my promotion party and seemed shocked when I wasn’t selected, and even considered the possibility that we could delay the move by a year to try for promotion again the next year.

After all, her selling point to me had been that West Point would be good for my career.

We never argued, but she sometimes showed frustration that I wasn’t more willing to temper my career ambitions for hers. At the same time, she was disappointed that she wouldn’t be married to a brigadier general but also appeared content when I took assignments that weren’t good for promotion. She hinted that I could remain in Bangkok for one year as a geographic bachelor and arrive in West Point the next year as a colonel or a brigadier general, whatever the case might be.

We still had a few months to decide the specifics of what we would do.

My replacement canceled his assignment at the last minute for a family issue, and it would take another year to find a replacement, so the third year would be mine for the taking.

For the first time in