I just got back from a whirlwind publicity tour in Amsterdam for the Dutch publication of COMPANY MAN, or BEDRIJFSONGEVAL --- literally, "industrial accident," which could be a different book altogether!
My longtime Dutch publisher, Luitingh, has been terrifically supportive, and PARANOIA was a major bestseller in the Netherlands --- which surprised me, since it always seemed to me such an American book. Almost every major magazine and newspaper --- their equivalents of Time or Newsweek, USA Today, the New York Times, etc. ---managed to interview me during my short stay to promote BEDRIJFSONGEVAL.
On my last morning in Amsterdam, I managed to squeeze in a quick visit to the Van Gogh museum to see the great Rembrandt/Caravaggio show, then dashed to Schiphol Airport to meet my Dutch editor, who was returning from the London Book Fair. We grabbed a cup of coffee in an airport lounge, and then, at the very last minute, I raced to my departure gate.
The security I encountered there exceeded anything I've seen outside of Israel. Agents took each passenger aside, one by one, and interviewed us in extraordinary depth --- not just the standard "Who packed your suitcase?"
My security agent noticed two round-trip Boston/Amsterdam flights in my record in the space of one week --- a mistake on the part of my publisher's travel agent, I tried to tell her, but she didn't believe me. She wanted to know: who paid for my ticket? What I was doing in Amsterdam? Why such a short visit? What kind of "interviews" was I doing, and why? What were my books called? Where were they published, and in what languages? I don't think she believed I was actually a writer...but I managed to convince her by pulling out a paperback copy of COMPANY MAN.
Just when the security interview seemed to be over, I started perspiring. I'd run through the airport, bundled up against the cold Amsterdam weather, and I always sweat a lot anyway. The sweat started pouring down my face like Albert Brooks in "Broadcast News."
"Why are you sweating?" the woman said, suddenly suspicious. "Are you nervous?"
"Nervous? No, not at all."
"You are a nervous flyer? You do not like to fly?"
"No, not at all ---"
"And yet you are sweating." She stared at me penetratingly, watching the rivulets of perspiration course down my forehead, my cheeks. "So very heavily."
"Well, see, I just ran here."
"You ran from your hotel?"
"No, I came by cab. But, see, I had a meeting with my editor in the airport, and it ran long."
"You met your editor in the airport?" she said. "I don't understand. Why would you meet your editor in the airport if you've been in Amsterdam for two and a half days? You hadn't met your editor before?"
The more I tried to explain, the more implausible it all began to sound. I began to feel guilty, and I hadn't even done anything.
Then I realized: if we're really serious about combating terrorism in U.S. airports, this is exactly what we ought to be doing. The Dutch don't make you take off your shoes (wooden or otherwise) in their security lines. But not a terrorist in the world could make it through an interrogation by these women.
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