Rumsfeld stepped out of the jet black, mirror finished, armored limousine after Pulling up to the reception area at the Pentagon. The Honor Guard was at attention, prepared for a visit from very well traveled royalty.

Rumsfeld smiled. The Pentagon Photo Corps waited around with their 3.6 megapixel digital cameras in their designated spot at the top of the honor guard.

I am dressed in a dark blue Italian suit with my favorite Hugo Boss Fleur de Lis tie, Bally of Switzerland patent leather shoes and a pair of shades that were designed by someone who saw the Matrix the night before.

A modified SDAI Learjet 60, which hauled my rear out here in short order, is still warm and awaiting my return on the runway at Andrews Air Force Base, with Tech 2 at the helm, having fiddled only 16 hours earlier with the Pratt & Whitney engines to achieve optimum performance.

"Is your presentation good," Rumsfeld asks with a wry smile, "or simply adequate?"

"I heard your relatives disowned you."

Rumsfeld breaks into a coarse guffaw as we stand together waiting.

"Haven't you heard - I'm singlehandedly terrorizing old europe."

"Yes. I know you must cool off" I say with my natural German accent.

"Just tell me we have a convincing presentation and I'll be a Norwegian."

"We have a presentation."

"This one better be good - not the same old stuff."

"You do still mean old as a term of endearment, correct?"

"Naturlich."

A huge and somewhat preposterous looking black Hummer Limousine pulls up with 22 inch solid gold rims and trim. The Saudi Prince emerges after a troop of armed bodyguards emerge from the car and circle the vehicle and surround him.

We walk towards the Prince and shake hands with a slight nod of the head.

"Salam Aleikum, (Holy Greetings)" Rumsfeld says with a pretty good accent.

"Keefil, hal? Keefik? (How are you?)" The Prince says with perfected nonchalance.

I decide upon a materialistic approach.

"Ma'sh allah! Hummer! (How beautiful! Hummer!)"

"Haddah ateak, (This is old)" The Prince replies- though I can see he is pleased with the semi-official flattery, "but let us speak in English."

His English is amazingly Americanized - not surprising considering he received his education here.

The Secretary of Defense smiles as the photographers click a few shots for posterity. With my luck I'll have a case of redeye that makes me look more like the terminator after dark.

After a few security checkpoints we descend in an card-key elevator to one of the undisclosed sublevels and a briefing room which looks like a cool Curt Jurgens-esque, bad-guy command center set.

The body guards are left in an adjoining room and the Prince takes a seat next to Rumsfeld in front of the 20 foot screen.

"Saddam Hussein's designs upon Saudi Arabia" flashes upon the screen in big white letters on a blue background.

"The EU industrialist gruppe Machinations of Destruction have supplied...
...revealed operatives working with the...
...VX smuggled in to assassinate....
...Bin Laden wants to assume....
...A Trillion dollars in Gold...
...imminent threat to the Saudi Family..."

Two hours pass. My throat is sore and
Rumsfeld gives me a rare pat on the back after the Prince and his security entourage have left. The Prince had asked the right questions and received unfiltered responses.

"Heck, you've even swayed me from my strong antiwar position," Rumsfeld laughs.

I find myself back at 16,000 feet, gazing out at the passing clouds and reflecting upon the days ahead. The sky is gold and pink and, like some Pre-Raphaelite vision chock full of surface symbolism, seems a harbinger of good fortune.

.

.

.

.

SDAI-Tech1