Followed by Bill, John went up to the secretary, said good morning smiling, gave her his fake business card, and said that he had just arrived in town from Washington. She looked at his card and then at him in a curious way, asking herself, Why is this gentleman telling me these things?

John quickly clarified the mystery.

“Madam, it is extremely important that my associate and I see his Excellency the Ambassador immediately. It is a matter of the utmost urgency for the safety of the United States. Waiting for an appointment for the end of the week, or even tomorrow, may be too late. I urge you, Madam, to please ask the ambassador in person, not over the phone.”

The lady did not waste any time asking him if he had an appointment; she knew he didn’t. After a moment of silence and reflection, she looked at the card again, then at him, and then, still pensive, took matters into her own hands.

“Mr. Tucci, I am Mrs. Di Francesco, the Ambassador’s secretary. What is this thing about ‘the safety of the United States?’ ”

At last, John thought, I am face to face with a human being, and not a robot.

“It’s about Arab terrorists who are now en route to America to strike a blow similar to 9/11. We have a chance to stop them if our Ambassador helps us.”

That converted the lady into a believer. She pushed a button on the intercom, went toward the huge doors, and said to John,

“Just a minute, Mr. Tucci.” She disappeared in the ambassador’s inner sanctum, but returned a minute later, smiling.

“Mr. Tucci, the Ambassador will grant you five minutes to explain your case.

She went to the door, opened it, and stood there as the two men went in. John approached the desk of Mr. Bailey, a tall, balding man with gentle manners and a soft accent from the Deep South; he introduced himself and then Bill Carey. Certain now that the Ambassador had not heard from the State Department about his counter terrorism operations, John explained briefly the purpose of his mission in North Africa, and the information he needed to stop the terrorists. Then he told the ambassador how he could help.

“Mr. Tucci, what you’re asking me is preposterous,” said the gentle-mannered man with a soft Southern accent that suddenly sounded abrasive. “You’re telling me in a straight face that I, Ambassador of the United States of America, can help you catch Arab terrorists. Will you please leave my office, Sir, and stop wasting my time?”

“Mr. Ambassador, you promised to give us five minutes of your time.”

“Continue then, but please be quick,” he said in a dismissive way.

“A terrorist suspect now in a Paris prison has knowledge of a terrorist plan to inflict an apocalyptic blow against America. The prisoner will talk if the French release him. That’s where you come in, Sir.”

“You’re still wasting my time, Mr. Tucci. The French will never release a criminal in their custody to do America a favor. Have you forgotten that since we liberated France at the cost of thousands of American lives, Gen. De Gaulle and his successors have been putting obstacles in America’s path every step of the way? And President Jacques Chirac is no different from the rest.”

“Mr. Ambassador, if we don’t ask, they can’t help. If we do, they may.”

The First Secretary came into the room then, and John continued to speak to the deaf.

“Your Excellency, we may avoid a national tragedy perhaps greater than 9/11, if we intercept the terrorists before they reach our shores. Don’t you think, Sir, that trying to avoid such cataclysm deserves a few minutes of your time?”

“I don’t want to repeat what I’ve said before, Mr. Tucci. Please leave this office immediately.”

George Potter, having practically thrown the two CIA men out of his office a few minutes before, on hearing the Ambassador’s stern ultimatum, turned to him and said,

“Your Excellency, this man is crazy. If he doesn’t leave in a few seconds, I’ll call the Marines downstairs and place him under arrest.”

The up-to-then taciturn Bill Carey--faithful follower (like his Excellency the Ambassador and his loyal First Secretary) of chicken-shit government regulations—was unable to control himself and finally erupted.

“Gentlemen, you’re absolutely right. This man is crazy. You granted us five minutes, your Excellency, may I please have the remaining seconds to tell you why this man is crazy?”

The ambassador waved to Bill to continue.

“Mr. Tucci masquerades--you saw his business card--as a State Department Official, like you gentlemen are, but he is not. He also impersonates a real CIA officer, like I am, but he is not. He’s a pipeline salesman, gentlemen, moonlighting as a CIA Officer.

“This crazy thinks that government hierarchies, procedures and regulations, which for you and me are sacrosanct and inviolable, for him they are nothing but chicken-shit rules. This man is crazy because last week, instead of dining and wining with a beautiful mademoiselle in a fancy restaurant in the Right Bank--like you and I usually do--he risked his ass and exposed himself to spend the rest of his life in a Libyan dungeon. This crazy man broke the laws of the sovereign republic of Libya by illegally crossing its border. He wanted to study desert routes terrorists might use, in order to stop them from blasting to smithereens thousands of our American citizens.

“A moment more, gentlemen, and we shall leave.

“Perhaps you might have read that Arab terrorists--jihadist zealots--are hell bent on killing Americans with fanatical determination. This pipeline salesman moonlighting as a CIA man, instead of following our chicken-shit regulations, is hell bent on protecting us with the same fanatical determination that Arab terrorists show against us Americans.

“Thank you, Gentlemen, for listening, and have a good day.”