It was Saturday morning.

Leavitt, the American Chargé d’affaires, was in his office on the second floor of a villa converted into the American Embassy in downtown Minsk.  The building had originally been the residence of the top Soviet general in Byelorussia, or White Russia, after the World War II.  Now, the office windows were sealed and taped, and the Chargé could barely see out to the Russian Embassy next door. The town was silent, typical for a Spring weekend.

No one else was in the Embassy except for the Marine guard at “post one,” sitting in his glass booth at the entrance. Leavitt was composing a cable to the Department, which he would send out on Monday.  It would review the latest developments on the proposed Russia-Belarus Union.  This was not the type of cable you ground out in a few minutes; it required some thought and reflection, the type of thing you did on weekends, when the phones were not ringing and there were no appointments on the calendar. It was a typical weekend in the life of a Foreign Service Officer. He had a diplomatic reception to look forward to that evening.

The Embassy was quiet.  Leavitt walked down the stairs out the back door, through the courtyard and around to the family liaison office in the basement of the Embassy.  He pulled a bottled Coke from the refrigerator, a reward for spending his Saturday working.  Noticing some catalogs, Lands End, L.L. Bean, and the other lifelines for FSOs abroad, he was tempted to sit down and look through one, but knew he was just stalling since he really didn’t feel like working on such a beautiful day.  He walked back upstairs, through the courtyard, and up to this office, aware that he was being watched by the cameras.

Since the Nairobi and Dar-es-Salaam embassy bombings, Leavitt had been devoting a lot more time to security issues, even taking daily walks around the block just to observe, relying on his seven years experience living in the region and trusting his instincts to notice anything unusual, paying particular attention to individuals in passing cars. He had also asked the Belarus government for extra support, and when they hesitated, he called on the Russian Embassy next door, showing their Ambassador photos of damage done to buildings next to the American Embassy in Nairobi. He knew the Belarusans would not say no to the Russians on this.

It had been a long tour, and one Leavitt had disliked from his first day in country.  The bilateral relationship was adversarial. He had been rushed out to Minsk to take over after the Ambassador had been recalled to Washington.  Belarus, tiring of human rights criticism, had forced European and American ambassadors to vacate their residences.  The U.S. and Europe had responded by withdrawing their ambassadors and placing sanctions on Belarus.  Unfortunately, Europe had sent its ambassadors back.

This downturn in relations had been accompanied by an even sharper deterioration in the Belarus’ human rights environment. There were a number of disappearances of opposition political leaders and attacks on others. Clips were appearing on the government-controlled television station, saying the American Ambassador, before he left, had passed out money to dissidents under its democratization programs. Not long after, NATO began its Kosovo bombing campaign against Serbia, making the U.S. even more unpopular in Belarus, where the Serbs were seen as Slavic brothers.

Leavitt had taken a tough stand on human rights from his arrival, showing the flag. His first act was to visit a Belarusian democrat who was recuperating at home after being attacked by “skinheads” at a local metro stop. He worked daily with the local OSCE office to protect threatened opposition leaders, and delivered frequent harsh human rights demarches to the Foreign Ministry. He asked tough questions at Belarusan government press briefings.

On this day, Leavitt knew he needed to be near the phones, since a large opposition rally was taking place at noon, and his deputy, Tom Hayes, was downtown covering it. Leavitt was concerned that Hayes, always zealous in covering human rights, might get a bit too close to the action. Hayes’ car window had recently been smashed outside his apartment, a not so subtle warning, and Leavitt advised Hayes on this day to stay across the street from the rally, a block away if possible.

The Marine at post one didn’t need to be told why Leavitt was in the Embassy with his car and driver standing by. It was not really to write some cable, but to take care of the troops. Leavitt was close to the Marines.  He helped them obtain a new Marine House residence, and was the one they often asked to pin on their Sergeants stripes when promoted.  Leavitt would always remind the Marines that he had once been a Sergeant as well, in the Army, to which the Marines would always reply, “doesn’t count sir.” It was the standard joke between them.

During the U.S. bombing campaign in Kosovo, the Marines had been targeted by a local government-controlled newspaper, claiming they were the advance guard for a future U.S. attack on Belarus like that directed against Serbia.  Leavitt had charged down to the Foreign Ministry to put an end to such reporting “which could stir up local citizen anger against off-duty Marines.” The Ministry gave the usual answer that it had no control over the “independent media,” and Leavitt told them “we both know it isn’t independent,” and the U.S. certainly would not place negative articles in the Washington Post which could lead to attacks on Belarusan Embassy staff there.  No more articles criticizing U.S. Marines appeared.

Leavitt continued to work on his Russia-Belarus report while awaiting a situation report from Hayes.  At about 1:00 p.m., a call came in on his line.

“Yes, Jeff,” he said to the Marine at Post One.

“Sir, I am transferring a call from Ambassador Faulk.”

Ambassador Faulk, a retired German diplomat, ran the local OSCE office. He and Leavitt had known each other since 1981, when the latter was a junior political officer in the American Embassy in Moscow, and Faulk was the German Ambassador. Faulk spoke English with only a slight accent.

“Hello, John,” Faulk said, calling Leavitt by his first name, “I am calling to see if you have heard anything on the demonstration.  From our sources, the rally was peacefully dispersed with no incidents.  The police were restrained, as were the demonstrators, and no arrests were made.”

“Yes, Ambassador Faulk, that is what we hear.  Hayes just called in to the Marine.  He is on the way back.”

“Good,” Faulk continued, “I am meeting with the European Ambassadors this afternoon to draft a report to Vienna.  It appears the local police have shown some moderation.  I will let you know what we report.“

“Thank you, Ambassador Faulk, but the key point is that the protest was not approved in the first place, not that the marchers were dispersed gently.”

Faulk said “of course,” and signed off.

The Chargé had the greatest respect for Faulk, but he could envision the European report. The French and German Ambassadors, both of whom wished to tread softly with the Belarusians, had the upper hand in the EU, and they were still smarting over what they saw as U.S. moralizing diplomacy which had almost got them all kicked out of Belarus for good.

At about 4:00 p.m., while debriefing Hayes who had just returned from the demonstration, Leavitt received a call from the Personnel Bureau in the State Department. Hayes started to get up, but Leavitt waved him to stay.  It was probably some routine matter.  But, it was strange that “Personnel” would be calling on a Saturday.

The person on the other end of the line identified himself and said he was calling to inform Leavitt that the promotion list had been finalized, and, although it hadn’t come out yet, Leavitt’s name was not on it. Since Leavitt had not been promoted for six cycles, he would be forced to retire under the Department’s mandatory “up or out” policy.  Leavitt “no doubt knew that.” The current procedure, the caller added, was to give individuals an early heads-up before the list was published.  Leavitt could stay at post until the end of his tour, two months away, or leave service now if he wished.

Leavitt responded that he was inclined to stay to the end of his tour since there was unfinished business here, and the European Bureau would probably want him to stay on until a replacement arrived. Leavitt signed off, saying “thank you for the call, I was planning to retire at the end of the tour anyway.”  At this point, Hayes, with a long face, got up and left the room.

Leavitt hung up and picked up the Wall Street Journal lying on his desk. He had not had time to read it.  Opening the paper, he noticed a BMW automobile advertisement on page two.  Yes, retirement would be fine, he thought. He had taken tough assignments, and felt good about his twenty-five year career. Leaning back in his chair, he thought about Interstate 40, running between Albuquerque and Santa Barbara, through Gallup and Flagstaff, as far as Barstow, a drive he loved to make. Yes, I’ll be going home to New Mexico he thought.  He was going home, to the American West, where he always wanted to be.  It had been a long time getting back.

An hour later, after finishing the Russia-Belarus cable and calling Washington with the demonstration results, Leavitt packed up for the day, spinning the dial on his safe a second time to be sure.  He walked slowly down the stairs to the entry where the Marine post was located, wondering if Hayes might have said something to the Marine on duty.

This time, all the Marines were there, each shaking his hand as he left the building.  No words were said.