Finally, I need to activate my subdermal implants. These are transmitter/receivers that Third Echelon put in my neck next to my vocal cords and in my inner ear. When the devices are activated, I can receive voice messages from Lambert via satellite that only I can hear. It works best outdoors, naturally, but in most buildings it works pretty well. If I'm underground, it's not worth crap. By the same token, the PTT--Push To Talk--transmitter translates data for use with a voice synthesizer located at Third Echelon. All I have to do is press the area of my neck near my Adam's apple and talk, or whisper, and what I say is sent to the synthesizer. Therefore, I can communicate with Third Echelon from just about anywhere. Pretty cool. The only drawback is that the signals can be picked up by the enemy pretty easily, so Lambert and I have an understanding that we communicate with text messages via the OPSAT first and use the implants only for urgent contact.

Once I'm packed, I make arrangements for my bills to be paid automatically for as long as I'm away. I confirm that I have plenty of cash in various accounts I can access just about anywhere in the world. I also make a phone call to the Krav Maga Studio and leave a message on Katia's answering machine, explaining that I was called away once again. She'll probably think I'm some kind of a nut. Alas.

I'll leave the Grand Cherokee at home. Lambert arranged for a car to pick me up and take me to Dulles. I wouldn't be comfortable with the idea of leaving my beloved Jeep in a long-term airport parking lot for what could very well be months.

There isn't much left to do when the house phone rings.

"Dad?" It's the sweet voice of my not-so-little-anymore girl.

"Hey, Sarah, I'm glad you called!" I say. I'm very happy to hear from her so I do my best to control my feelings about her going abroad against my wishes. Our last conversation wasn't a pleasant one. "Are you in Israel?"

"Uh-huh. It's the middle of the night, but we can't sleep. Rivka and I are still on Chicago time."

"How was the flight over?"

"Long, so I was glad that Rivka was with me. That made it more interesting. Hey, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about the misunderstanding. You know, about me going."

Misunderstanding? In my mind there was no misunderstanding. She disobeyed my wishes but it was too late now.

"I'm sorry, too, honey."

"Dad, we had the most beautiful sunset tonight. It was all orange and red, and from Rivka's rooftop it looked like something out of a movie. It's beautiful here."

"And her parents are there with you?"

"Uh-huh. Her mom and dad are real nice."

"That's great to hear. Listen, honey, I have to go out of the country tonight, too. It's for work."

"Again? Didn't you just get back?"

I sigh. "Yeah. But you know how it is."

There was a bit of the old frustration in her voice. "No, I don't know how it is. You're so secretive about what you do. Where are you going this time?"

"I'm . . . I'm going to the Middle East, too. But don't worry, I won't be anywhere near you."

I hear Sarah talk to someone in the background and I distinctly hear a male laugh.

"Sarah, who's that with you?" I ask.

"Huh? Oh, that's Rivka."

"I thought I heard a boy."

"Oh, that's Noel, Rivka's boyfriend. He and Eli came over since we couldn't sleep. They're helping us party. You remember me telling you about Eli?"

"Is he that music student you were dating at college?" I ask.

"Yeah, that's him. He's back home in Israel this semester. So is Noel. He used to date Rivka. That's how Eli and I met, remember?"

I seem to recall hearing something about it last year. During Sarah's sophomore year she dated a foreign student from Israel. Rivka, a foreign student herself, knew a whole group of them.

"What's Eli's last name, hon?" I ask.

"Horowitz. Eli Horowitz. He says he wants to meet you someday." I hear a male laugh again in the background and Sarah giggles.

"Well, I'd like to meet him, too," I say. I try not to sound too much like a father. "Why isn't Eli at school this year?"

"Oh, his student visa expired and he didn't renew it," Sarah answers. "Same with Noel. There was some kind of stupid technicality with them."

I don't know why, but I suddenly hear alarm bells in my head. Perhaps it's because of all the circumspection that foreign students have been receiving since 9/11. Immigration has cracked down on student visas since then and is ferreting out undesirables.

"Sarah, how much older is he than you?" I ask.

"Dad, please. He's just a couple of years older. Um, three." She sounds annoyed.

"Do his parents live there in Jerusalem?"

"Dad, what is this? What's with the third degree?"

"Honey, it's not a third degree," I say, trying not to sound exasperated. "I just want to know who you're hanging out with in a foreign country, that's all. And Israel can be a dangerous place sometimes. You can't be too careful. I'm your father, after all."

"But I'm also an adult, Dad."

"You're not drinking age yet," I counter.

"Oh, gee, like I have seven more months to wait," she says sarcastically.

I almost point out that that is nearly a year, but I let it go. I don't want the call to turn into one of our teenager vs. parent battles. Sarah and I went through some real knockdown drag-outs when she was in high school.

"All I'm saying is that you should find out a little more about him and his family before you get more involved, that's all," I say. I know it sounds lame.

"Dad, please. We dated for three months last year, but I guess you don't remember that. I know him pretty well already."

"All right, all right, I'll stop being a dad. Do you have plenty of money?"

"Sure, Dad. Thanks."

"And you remember the phone number in case you need to reach me?"

"I've got it memorized," she answers. This is a special toll-free number that she can call from anywhere in the world whenever I'm on assignment. It actually goes to Third Echelon and is then transmitted as a text message to my OPSAT, wherever I happen to be. No one but Sarah and I know the number. I instructed her long ago on how to use it, but only if it's an emergency situation. Anything trivial can wait until my return to Maryland.

"So, when do you fly back to Chicago?" I ask.

"Next Saturday. Just when I'm about to get over the jet lag I have to turn around and go back," she says.

"Yeah, that's the way it usually is."

"Look, Dad, I gotta go now. It's great to talk to you."

"Sarah, honey, you be careful, okay?"

"I will. You, too, with whatever it is you do." There's that touch of sarcasm again. She doesn't like that she knows nothing about my work and has said so on several occasions.

"Okay. Have fun. I love you."

"Love you, too."

She hangs up.

I begin to wonder if my uneasiness about her boyfriend is simply the normal reaction a father might have to his twenty-year-old daughter becoming intimate with an older boy, or is it something else? I probably shouldn't worry. Eli Horowitz lives with his parents. They're probably wealthy, too, in order to afford to send him to America to study. I wonder what really happened with his student visa? I might have to make an inquiry about it.

There's not a lot I can do about it now, I decide. I need to focus on the assignment at hand and study the documents that Lambert gave me this afternoon. They will reveal who my contact in Iraq will be and where I can pick up transportation, my SC-20K, the Osprey, and other equipment I may need. I imagine it'll be through the army. Someone at the top of the food chain there will have been briefed.