The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2003

Lang varied his routes through the city, for security reasons and for pleasure. Today, as he walked through the piazza in front of the Pantheon, he thought of the annual efficiency reports due on his staff. He needed to complete them this week. It would not be too hard. He had done as the book said, carefully keeping a folder on each officer and reviewing their performance with each, several times. He had some hope that his report on Jane Farnham might get her promoted to senior ranks. But what sort of report was Fred Dustman going to do on him? The DCM had given him no clue. It was just after nine when Dustman summoned Lang. Dustman shut both doors to his office, pointed Lang to a place at his long conference table, and sat down across from him. “John,” he said. “You know it is all coming out. I mean about you and the ambassador. I have told the regional security officer not to say anything to the department, but I think they know. And I suspect everyone in this embassy knows, Americans and Italians alike. Even I know, and nobody likes to share confidences with the DCM. It is a bad situation. Certainly if you were mar- ried to the lady you couldn’t be here, since the anti-nepo- tism laws preclude one spouse supervising the other. You know all that. I don’t suppose you realize, or care, what kind of position you have put me in. What should I do? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I am going to write an efficiency report that rates you very low on discretion and judgment, and you are going to agree with it. You may want to ask for a transfer.” “Fred,” said John Lang. “Do whatever you want to. You are, you know, the perfect bureaucrat. As for me, I’ll consider my best course.” And he walked out. But he knew Dustman was right; he could not stay in this embassy. As the week progressed, Lang completed his staff’s efficiency reports, in between conversations at the for- eign ministry and the drafting of many cables and suc- cessive luncheons with an editor, a deputy trade minister, a senator, and Italy’s best political analyst. Jane Farnham glowed when he gave her the report he had done on her; his other officers seemed pleased enough. On Friday, Lang told the DCM that he wanted to take a week of leave. There were no pressing matters, and Farnham could handle anything that came up. Dustman had done his damning report on him, and it had gone for- ward to the ambassador to add her reviewing statement — when she returned; she had been called back to the department for consultations, and had left the previous day. She and John Lang had seen each other only briefly before her departure, that Thursday morning in the embassy. Dustman agreed to his taking a week off, but added, “What then, John?” “I’ll let you know.” A t ten on Saturday morning, at Roma Tiburtina, a sturdy-looking hiker bought a ticket for Arsoli and boarded the Pescara express. He was clearly off on more than a Saturday excursion; he had a large back- pack with a sleeping bag on top. Lang had decided to do something he had long dreamed of, a three-day walk southeastward along the ridges of the Apennines, start- ing at the Arsoli station and ending on the summit of Monte Viglio, the highest peak in the Lazio region. From there, he would come down to the village of Filettino, to take a bus for Rome. If he reached Filettino too late in the day — buses generally left vil- lages for Rome in early morning — he could always spend another night in the woods. Before he left home, he phoned Marie Takala and told her his plan, just so someone in the embassy would know. No need, he said, to tell the ambassador (who was due back from Washington later that day); he would come see her when he returned. It was past noon when he got off the train at the little Arsoli station, and started tramping down the road. The first five miles, he knew, were all on road; no help for it. Before two o’clock, though, he had reached the three-monk monastery of the Madonna dei Bisognosi, a thousand meters above sea level. From there he started up the faint path along the rising ridge. He passed through oaks, then pastures that alternated with F O C U S 34 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 3 “Everyone in this embassy knows, Americans and Italians alike. Even I know, and nobody likes to share confidences with the DCM.”