LONDON: OK, so she likes invading countries, killing thousands of innocent civilians, and imposing US-style capitalism across the globe, a modern-day Boudicca. But, that aside, you have to admit it: Condoleezza Rice is one helluva lady.

Even the US president himself looked terrified of her as he gave her a nervous, faltering peck on the cheek at the announcement of his new secretary of state.

Condoleezza, aka the "Warrior Princess", has struck fear into the most powerful people in the world: and not just Saddam Hussein. It was she who declared, when three leading nations refused to back the Iraq invasion, that the United States should "punish France, ignore Germany and forgive Russia". No wonder Tony Blair fell in line.

And, of course, what's all the more remarkable is that "Condi" (sorry, Ms Rice, hope you don't mind) is black. Not "Uncle Tom" black, just doing the white man's bidding. Not liberal-conscience black (trying desperately to change things from the inside, to make life a little less worse for the brothers and sisters). Not even martyr black (taking on the oppressors directly, but suffering a brutal backlash ending in prison, or death). No, she's totally black - the like of which we've never seen before. Foxy Brown with WMD and a PhD.

She's not playing to anyone's agenda but her own. Which is why, in a way, she's more powerful than any "role model" we black people have ever had. We liked her predecessor, Colin Powell, but his was a story of marginalization and dignified silence. Someone obviously out of tune with the jackals around him, and only given a front-line role when forced to relay American lies to the world. The ultimate humiliation. You can imagine the administration's insiders saying of the "intelligence" that Powell presented to the United Nations: "We know it's rubbish; just a couple of grainy photos and a test tube. We're bound to get found out. Let's just give it to the black man so he can take the flak."

With Condi there's no compromise. She loves war. Over the next four years, she'll be pressing President Bush to do more bombings, to have more shows of brute force to cow the rest of the world into submission. But she is free. Liberated. (Maybe that's why she likes doing the same to so much of the world.) She doesn't represent, or even in the slightest claim to represent, her race. Her only mission is to prove how ruthlessly and efficiently she can do her job.

Bizarrely, despite Condi's war-mongering record, she's described in this week's profiles as "popular". Can you imagine her fellow hawks Donald Rumsfeld or Dick Cheney being so described? If she were white she'd be hated as much as them; her colleagues are obviously just a bit too polite and politically sensitive to admit their real feelings. A weakness no doubt she'll be only too willing to exploit.

At this point, I have to admit something. Once Condi and I were very close. For three hours, in fact. In 1988, we sat next to each other on a flight into London from Sofia, Bulgaria.

I first spotted her as we sat in the transit lounge, on my way back from Nigeria; she, as it transpired, coming from Moscow. She wasn't difficult to notice: with her impeccable appearance and perfect 80s hair, she was by far the most glamorous and striking traveller. And I couldn't believe it, when I got on board the plane, to discover she was in the seat next to mine.

As we took off, she told me her innermost secrets: why that strange, misspelt name, for starters. We talked about US politics: Jesse Jackson had just won the Michigan primary and was being reported as having a realistic chance of winning the Democratic nomination. "It won't happen," Condi said. "Now people think he can really win it, they'll turn against him in droves." She was right, of course.

I remember her revealing, almost apologetically, that she'd probably be voting Republican: she was no Reaganite, she just thought that George Bush (the first) had the right blend of compassion and conservatism.

As we parted at London-Heathrow, we exchanged business cards: hers, "Professor, Stanford University, California"; mine, "News reporter, The Voice, Brixton". I was not worthy. We promised to keep in touch (as you do, but never do), and it remains the biggest regret of my professional career that I didn't make that call. The next time I heard of her was in Ebony magazine a couple of years later, in a piece reporting how she had recently become President Bush's adviser on Soviet affairs. In status, there had always been a gulf between us; now it had just got a whole lot wider ... and over the years the gap grew and grew, till now, she's the second most powerful person on the planet ... and I ... well, I'd rather not think about it.

Maybe, just maybe, there could still be a chance to make up for my major mistake. Condi, African-American Queen, if you're reading this, do you think we could hook up some time? You name the place. I'll invade it.-Dawn/The Guardian News Service.