When she heard footsteps on the other side, Sarah backed away, ready to let Eli have it.

The man who unlocked the door and peeked inside was not Eli. He had a cold, cruel look about him, and he grinned lecherously at her.

"Good morning, Princess," he said. "You slept a long time. How are you feeling?"

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Where am I?" She was suddenly so frightened and confused that she felt light-headed again. She staggered and her knees buckled. The man rushed into the room to catch her and help her to the cot.

"Whoa, miss, sit down. There, there."

She reclined on the pillow and then asked again, more softly, "Who are you?"

"My name is Vlad. I think you need some more sleep."

"Where am I?"

"Just sleep," he said and turned to walk out.

"Wait!"

But he was out the door and she heard it lock.

What the hellwas going on? Who was he? Where were her friends?

She heard an airplane overhead. Was she near an airport? Come to think of it, she had dreamed of airplanes, or so she thought. She remembered an unpleasant state of consciousness that she wasn't sure was real or part of her sleep. She thought she might have been carried someplace by men who gripped her ankles and wrists too tightly. Even now, as she touched her arms, they felt bruised. She also recalled a feverish tossing and turning, which may or may not have occurred there on the cot, and hearing the occasional roar of overhead planes.

Surely Eli would show up soon and explain what was going on. Right now she felt too dazed and confused to care very much. Perhaps she should try to sleep more. If this was what a hangover felt like, she never wanted to take another drink.

She admonished herself that she hadn't been the most model twenty-year-old girl while on her trip to Israel. She had had sex several times, had drunk alcohol, had stayed at a boy's house overnight . . . what would her father think?

Her father!She could call him! There was that special number she could dial on her cell phone and send a message to him. She didn't know where he was, but he was sure to get it. Sarah reached for her purse on the floor and frantically looked inside it for her phone.

It wasn't there, of course. Nor was her address book. Damn, she thought. What now?

A key rattled in the lock again. This time the door opened to reveal Eli.

"Eli! My God, what the . . . where are we?"

He closed the door behind him, set a bottle of water on the floor, and stood in front of her. The expression on his face disturbed her.

"What's wrong? Eli? What is this place?"

"Sarah, as long as you cooperate they won't hurt you," he said.

She wasn't sure that she'd heard him correctly. "What? Where am I? Where's Rivka?"

"Shut up," he spat. "Listen to me. You're a hostage. You're all alone. You can't escape, so don't try. Don't try to scream for help, because no one will hear you. We're miles and miles from anyone."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What? Eli?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah. That's just the way it is."

"Are you . . . who was that guy who came in? He said his name was Vlad."

"You're not listening to me, Sarah," Eli said. "You are a fucking hostage!"

She gasped. He really meant it. This wasn't a joke. The look on his face was something she had never seen before. This wasn't the Eli she knew. This wasn't the funny, tender Eli who had once made love to her. This was someone who scared her.

"What's going on, Eli? Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"We want to know where your father is."

The enormity of what he said nearly made her faint. She took a deep breath and said, "So that's what this is about. My father." She shook her head and turned from him.

"Tell us where he is and you'll be all right. If you won't, then . . . I can't be responsible for what Vlad and Yuri will do to you."

"Vlad and Yuri? What about what you'vealready done to me, Eli! Fuck you, Eli!"

Eli stood there unfazed. There was a knock on the door and Eli said, "Come in."

It was Noel.

"Noel!" Sarah said. "What the hell is going on? Where's Rivka?"

Noel looked at Eli, who shook his head.

"Noel? Where'sRivka?" Sarah asked again.

Noel shrugged at her. He looked at Eli again and then walked out of the room.

My God! she thought. Something badhad happened to her friend. She knew it. She felt it in her gut.

Eli turned to follow Noel and said to her, "Your father is an American government Splinter Cell, and you're going to help us find him. We have your cell phone and your address book. After we finish examining these items, if we haven't found the means to contact him, then we will come back to you. If you know how to get in touch with him, then you had better tell us. I wouldn't want to see you . . . hurt."

She stared at the young man she thought would someday be her fiance.

"Think about it," he said. "I'll be back in a while. There's some water for you. I'll bring you some food, too. But this isn't a hotel, Sarah, so don't expect room service whenever you want it."

He opened the door and left. The sound of the door slamming and locking reverberated in the small room.

Her private cell.

GENERALProkofiev couldn't make the meeting. He had business in Moscow and would be returning with an important piece of equipment for exclusive use by the Shop. As one of the top officers in the Russian military, Prokofiev had access and clearance to an unbelievable amount of material. If something was lost or diverted, the buck stopped with him--and he was certainly not going to tell his superiors about it. It was one method by which the Shop obtained much of their product.

Andrei Zdrok spent twenty minutes going over the sales of the last month and outlining the Shop's profit margin. He also detailed the company's losses and what it meant for them.

"If we don't reestablish our position in the Far East within the next two months the Shop will lose six point three million dollars," he said. "Gentlemen, I do not want to give up my chateau on Lake Zurich. If we have to recruit another partner, then we will. Jon Ming has expressed interest on numerous occasions. What do you think of the notion of bringing on a Chinese partner?"

Herzog shrugged. "If we have to in order to save the company, then fine. But let's try to repair the Far East damage ourselves first."

Antipov said, "Never. I hate the Chinese."

Zdrok almost smiled at his associate's bigotry. "At least you're honest, Anton." He then moved on to another important topic and announced, "I'm happy to report that we have the identity of the next Splinter Cell on the list. His name is Sam Fisher. He lives in Baltimore, USA, and is not assigned to any particular territory. The NSA sends him out to do specialized missions--the difficultassignments. We believe he was responsible for Kim Wei Lo's death in Macau and for the damage done to our interests there. His identification has given us an opportunity to dispose of him. Someone close to him is now in our control, and hopefully she will lead us to Mr. Fisher . . . or lead him to us, more likely."

Antipov and Herzog nodded.

"Mr. Fisher will not be an ordinary enemy. He is probably the best trained and formidable opponent we have faced. The other Splinter Cells were mere children compared to Fisher."