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couples in the restaurant, and some of the men were much older than the women they were with. I was afraid that to them it was clear I was spending money on this young woman before taking her to a hotel, and I wondered what she thought of me and what I was to her besides her case officer. You know what I wanted? I wanted her to see in me a father’s authority, and someone she could turn to as to a mother. I also hoped she might be secretly in love with me. Of course I wanted her, but I knew where the boundary was. I don’t suppose she guessed what I was thinking about. Rachel was an operative just starting out. She had known me for several months and we had spent many hours together, but I never spoke about myself, nor did I ask her what she thought of me. I was an experienced professional, and I knew I was preparing her for her first time, her baptism of fire, solo, and she needed to be treated like a war machine.
    â€œThe waiter came over and she turned and addressed him in her deep and warm voice. I said to her, like a judge in a talent contest, that her voice, ringing out with a perfect British accent, was a weapon, something inspiring confidence and generating the sense that it is directed wholly toward the listener.
    â€œShe nodded her head with a movement that seemed to me a gesture of gratitude, and took a sip from the glass of wine that she allowed herself. It was a moment in which she seemed to condescend and to accept what was due her, like a queen responding to her subjects. And I was convinced again that for women this is easier. Easier for them to gain trust, easier to play the dependent card, ask for and receive help, and be thought of as innocent. But what good will this do her if she is caught, if she falls into their hands? For women it is also more dangerous. At the end of the day this is a man’s world, and if she is jailed, she will be at the mercy of men, and men only.
    â€œI spoke to break the tension, I spoke to infuse in her, and in me too, a bit more confidence. I went over everything we had done together, over the language school in Rome where she had worked for a month, and how easily she was accepted, and how she succeeded in convincing everyone of her Canadian identity, despite her British accent and although some of the other teachers were themselves Canadian. I reminded her of her fine achievement in obtaining the references that they were happy to provide for the language school in the Arab city, and of the trip we took together through Europe. I tried to convince her that crossing the border from Turkey into Greece was more difficult than getting into an Arab country, and I got a smile out of her when I reminded her how the joke she told the Greek customs officer, about bird food, persuaded him not to confiscate the sack of Turkish coffee that she brought with her, thereby missing the imitation plastic explosives that we had planted in the sack. Then I talked about the beautiful places we had visited, and insisted that suffering is not obligatory. On the contrary, the job should be enjoyed and done happily. She’s young, beautiful, and free, and she’s traveling for fun, and to earn some money. ‘You’ll stroll around the markets, see all the beautiful mosques, and you’ll get to visit the most famous ancientsites. Everything as it was in training. Just don’t make a pass at anyone, and don’t let anyone make a pass at you,’ I added with a smile.
    â€œI saw the anger in her face. ‘And if I were a man, would you say the same thing to me? Don’t make a pass at any girls, don’t smile at any women in the street? Why can a man get away with it? What are you afraid of, that I’ll fall in a trap?’ She took a gulp of wine and I wondered what was coming next. ‘Tell me the truth,’ she said, and I knew she wasn’t looking for an answer. ‘Have you ever asked one of your male operatives what he does when he finds