I'M ALARMED BY the news that the French government has accused several U.S. diplomats of economic espionage and asked them to leave.
It raises big questions about what kind of people we are sending out to represent our interests abroad.If you are posted to Paris, the most wonderful city on Earth, the plum of all official assignments, and you cannot think of anything better to do with your time than skulk around looking for shabby little business secrets, then you deserve to be sent home.
I am not against spying. But like anything else worth doing, it requires imagination. How would a sensible spy conduct himself in Paris?
Well, he would start by going in the morning to one of the cafes near the Opera. He would read the papers and listen to what was being said at the tables around him and maybe jot down a surreptitious note or two.
After that, he might take a nice several-block walk east to the Bourse, the Paris stock market, where, from another strategically placed table, he could observe the expressions of the arriving traders - whether they looked smug or worried.
From there it would be a pleasant stroll south to the Rue de Rivoli, for a turn through the Tuileries garden. He would notice occasional figures sitting on benches, their faces hidden behind newspapers, pretending to read.
These would be his professional counterparts, operatives from the other side.
The ones from the former East Bloc he would recognize by the deplorable condition of their shoes. Others would give themselves away by holding the newspaper upside-down.
Probably it would be worthwhile to cross the river and make a leisurely pass along the Quai d'Orsay to discover, from the diplomatic plates on the limousines, which ambassadors were calling at the foreign ministry.
In the afternoon he would walk through the Bois de Boulogne, noting the number of people asleep in the bushes. As in Washington, New York or anywhere, that can be useful information.
Then he could go to one of the racetracks in the park. By the time the ponies finished running, the sun would be low and there would barely be time to hurry back to the office and write up a report. Then he would have to make his plan for the evening - no easy assignment in a town with so many restaurants.
On weekends, it would be his duty to leave the city and drive south to wine country to learn what he could about the prospects for the year's grape harvest, which is the only piece of economic intelligence about France that is of much interest to the rest of the world.
So, as you can see, a spy's work is never done. It is a hard, dirty job. But for love of country I'd take it on.
Only an idiot would do something to get himself sent home from Paris. And the spy game is just too important to be left to fools.