The last few days, though, made it worthwhile. Cheney’s aides told us we’d make surprise visits to Pakistan and Afghanistan. We flew to Baghram Air Force Base, where Cheney met briefly with troops, but a snowstorm prevented us from taking off for Kabul. He and his top aides quickly found beds for the night, but the rest of us weren’t so lucky. The soldiers at the base were embarrassed and apologetic; they weren’t prepared for overnight guests. They ended up taking us to one of the few temporary barracks available, and it had only a few blankets, no sheets and hardly any pillows. A trip to the dining hall was canceled because there wasn’t enough food, so we ate packages of Cheez-Its from the plane.
Just after dawn we were taken to the mess hall, where Cheney was dining with soldiers. “How was breakfast?” a reporter yelled. “Breakfast,” he replied, “was excellent.” That’s all we got. Then our adventure resumed. As we waited to board the plane for Kabul, sirens went off and a plume of smoke rose in the distance. A suicide bomber with links to the Taliban had blown himself up at Baghram’s main gate, killing 15 people. Aides worried that Cheney’s security had been compromised, but we took off anyway. Once we landed, we buckled up for a white-knuckle motorcade ride to the presidential palace, speeding at more than 100mph past bombed-out buildings—a grim reminder that a meal of Cheez-Its wasn’t so bad. An hour later, we were headed home. During the flight, Cheney finally spent a few minutes talking to us. Twelve minutes.
