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being burned and burned again—long ago made her wary and
sometimes defensive.
Up, Up, and Away
As secretary of state, Hillary Clinton has flown more than half a
million miles to 80 countries in her two and a half years on the job.
Her plane looks like Air Force One on the outside, but isn’t as grand
on the inside. It’s one of four Boeing 757s that the military fitted with
15 ordinary coach seats for reporters in the rear, a business-class staff
workspace with tables in the middle that seats about 25, and
Clinton’s quarters up front near an area jammed with
communications gear. She spends most of her time in a small private
room with a desk, a modest pullout sofa bed, and a flat-screen for
secure videoconferencing. The intimacy of the quarters intensified an
already awkward trip at the end of February when Samantha Power,
who had been forced to resign from the Obama campaign in 2008
after calling Hillary a “monster,” traveled with the secretary of state
to a U.N. Human Rights Council meeting in Geneva. Some months
before he died, Richard Holbrooke, the legendary special
representative for Afghanistan and Pakistan, had brokered peace
between them, but now no one knew what would happen en route. “It
was uncomfortable, but everyone was extremely professional,” said
one official aboard.
For most of her thousands of hours in the air, Hillary changes out of
her trademark pantsuit (yellow is her favorite color for clothes and in
the décor of her homes) into a fleece top and sweats. Meals consist
largely of fruit and vegetables (she has a special taste for hot peppers)
and maybe a scotch or Bloody Mary. “Don’t bring me the dessert!”
she loudly tells the flight attendants only moments before sauntering
into the staff cabin, brownie already in hand: “I know—I’ve been
bad.” Occasional cupcakes with candles are also exempt because
Hillary is religious about observing staff birthdays. She resists

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