A priority list had been established, he told me, and unfortunately journalists were considered category 2. Seats were limited, and politicians and celebrities, opinion-makers whose names people recognized and might respond to, people who could help build the resistance, went first. “I’m really sorry, Rollie, but even with what you’ve already done, it’ll be a week or more before we can get you a reservation. There’s not much we can do to help you before then.”

There was no way I could wait that long. I played my best hand. “Listen, I’ve got some really important information. It’s a story I’ve been working on.” He was intrigued. I wasn’t going to offer any specifics, but I did add, “It’s the kind of story that has a chance of blowing Wrightman right out of the White House.”

After a long few seconds of silence, the voice had responded with some uncertainty, “Hold on.”

I was passed along to two more people and made my case to both of them. At that moment the rest of the world was offering at best tepid support for the administration’s regressive policies. European leaders were trying to balance ethics and economics, waiting anxiously to see how events turned out before making any commitments—and fully aware that opposition forces within their own countries also were watching and waiting. I was asked for more information. “Here’s the deal” was as far as I would go. “If the evidence I have is confirmed and made public by a respected entity, like the Canadian government, there’s no way Wrightman can win an election.” I spoke with the confidence of a used-car salesman pushing a vintage Yugo. But I needed that ride. When I didn’t get an immediate answer, I added, “And it’ll make it really difficult for any democratic government to continue supporting Wrightman.” If that wasn’t sufficiently intriguing, I added, the United Nations, which thus far had been silent, would be forced to take a position. Worldwide condemnation, and with it a total loss of credibility, would have dire consequences: The word of the American government would have significantly less value in international relationships. “In other words,” I said, “they would be Trumped.”

While no single country was powerful enough to force change, the worldwide community acting in unison could put enormous economic pressure on the administration to restore fundamental rights.

In about a dozen different ways they asked me for details about my evidence. I couldn’t blame them, but I also wouldn’t tell them. If it leaked, and anything was possible, my trip would suddenly become a lot more difficult. I must have made the sale, because they finally handed me a priority ticket. “You leave tomorrow morning. You’ll be all right tonight?”

I’d figure it out, I said. Because of my unusual circumstances we agreed I’d have to drive Van. My first “conductor,” I was told, would be waiting for me outside the Zawadi African Art Gallery on U Street NW the following morning. I’d recognize that person because they would be wearing a faded red Make America Great Again hat—backward.