Vice President Dick Cheney didn’t even give us time to recover from McCain’s visit before popping up unannounced in Baghdad today. Journalists traveling with the veep reported that he made at least six stealthy moves in and around the Green Zone, with details trickling out only after he’d departed the undisclosed locations.

I was scheduled to meet a U.S. military officer for lunch today in the Green Zone, but found our usual route into the fortress-like compound blocked by concrete barriers and coils of concertina wire. The bridge we use has been under construction lately, but today even the pedestrian entrance was closed, most likely as a precaution for Cheney’s visit.

To make the appointment on time, my driver and I had to travel across town through traffic jams and squares known for frequent roadside bombs targeting police or military patrols. We arrived at the official public entrance, the one Iraqi journalists are still forced to use, the one we sometimes call “Walk of Death” because we have to exit our cars and scurry to the gate at the risk of being caught in sniper fire from nearby rooftops or explosions aimed at the adjacent Iraqi foreign and defense ministries. (Note: This checkpoint has experienced considerably fewer attacks in the past year or so, though it’s still a creepy place with blast walls scarred by bullets and shrapnel.)

This labyrinthine series of checkpoints unsettles me not only because of the personal dangers, but because I always get the feeling that some official in the Green Zone decided which forces would man the stations according to a dubious sliding scale of the value of human life: the first and most exposed checkpoint is Iraqi, then come the Ugandans, then the Peruvians and, finally, Americans in the most protected interior part.

The U.S. military officer met me on the other side of the checkpoint. After eight days of chai and grilled meat in the outside world, I was looking forward to iced tea and American comfort food at the dining hall of the U.S. embassy, where the officer works. I climbed into his SUV and remembered to fasten my seat belt only after he did – outside the Green Zone, we don’t wear seatbelts in case we have to jump out if attacked.

Observing the posted speed limits (another departure from life outside the GZ), the officer drove us toward the palace only to find the streets blocked by U.S. military vehicles.

“But I work there!” protested the officer to a young soldier who waved us in the opposite direction of the palace.

“Orders,” the soldier replied curtly. “DV.”

“What’s DV?” I asked the officer.

“Distinguished visitor,” he said.

The officer said he knew of another entrance, so we tried and again failed to make it past heavily armed guards with strict orders to protect the DV’s route. (I won't stoop to say it could be for our own protection, but perhaps you remember that fateful hunting incident.) By this time, the officer was visibly frustrated and I sat silently in the passenger seat, my dreams of a salad bar and pecan pie quickly evaporating. As we reversed and prepared to leave the area, we noticed a ruckus at the gate.

“There he is!” the officer said.

A convoy of armored SUVs with darkened windows zipped down the street just a few yards from our vehicle. The convoy was escorted by a coterie of rumbling Humvees with the gunners’ posts spinning around like tops. There were other armored vehicles equipped with bomb-detecting sensors; attack helicopters circled overhead.

And then, in a flash, Cheney was gone.

“Wow,” I said. “His motorcade is smaller than Maliki’s!”

“Well, Maliki is pretty full of himself,” the officer answered.

We finally ended up eating a lackluster lunch with European troops at the NATO headquarters, which was actually kind of cool because it allowed me to see a corner of the Green Zone that’s normally off-limits to reporters. After the meeting, I was deposited at the “Walk of Death” checkpoint, where I was scooped up by my driver, Haider.

“You know what would be good surprise for Dick Cheney?” Haider asked, unprompted, in his broken English as soon as I got in the car. “He come and find Ahmadinejad wait for him in Green Zone. Hello, my friend!”

Haider giggled at the thought of this improbable meeting for the entire way back to the hotel. Once inside, I set about writing the daily round-up, taking feeds from Hussein, the stellar Iraqi correspondent who happened to be on the night shift. As I rewrote pool reports in which Cheney was quoted as praising the "phenomenal" security improvements in Iraq, Hussein alerted me to roadside bombs, mortar attacks and the horrific suicide bombing that killed more than 40 pilgrims in the southern holy city of Karbala.

Then Hussein excused himself for evening prayers. My American colleague, Steve, jokingly asked if Hussein would pray for him, too.

“I’ll pray for all Iraqis,” Hussein said. “And everyone in Iraq."

“Hey, you know Dick Cheney’s in Iraq,” I teased him.

“He is not included,” Hussein said tersely, heading off to his prayers.