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doing here, in one of the most tortured, perilous, hot spots on the globe. Did I really believe someone would just knock on my door and say, "Hey! I'm glad you're here. I've been waiting for you to come so I could show you around and tell you my story"?
    I ordered some tea from room service, ran some hot water, and took a bath. Gunfire rang out intermittently outside the window. I put on a sweat suit, crawled under the covers, and went to bed.
    I had almost dozed off when I heard a knock on my door.
    That's funny, I thought. I can't imagine they'd have turndown service. Maybe it's room service, and they want their tray back.
    Go away, I thought. Let me sleep.
    The rapping continued.
    I got up, stumbled to the door, and looked through the peephole. A man in his middle twenties stood outside the door. He glanced nervously up and down the corridor. I latched the chain lock and opened the door a crack.
    "What do you want?" I asked.
    "My name is Mafateh," he whispered. "I work at the hotel, in another division. The girl at the front desk is my Page 37
    friend. She said you were asking for something. I think I can help.''
    I scanned him through the crack in the door. He wore a dark blue suit that looked like a hotel employee uniform. With his hikedup pants and chubby cheeks, he had an Arabian boynextdoor look. His eyes were gentle. He looked frightened, but safe. I unlatched the chain, opened the door, and let him in.
    I introduced myself, then stumbled over his name, trying to repeat it. He told me to call him ''Fateh."
    "Just like 'fatty' in your language," he said proudly.
    We talked for a while. It took only moments for me to feel as if I had known Fateh for a long time. This was the first time I had connected with anyone on this trip. I explained that I would be in Algiers for at least three days, maybe longer. I said I wanted to see the country and talk to the people, and that I needed a guide to do that—someone to drive me around.
    "It's not safe to drive around," he said.
    "Please," I said.
    He shook his head.
    " S ' il vous plait ," I said, repeating myself in French. I was begging. I knew it. "This is probably the only time in my life I will ever be here. . ."
    He looked at me, scanned my appearance, then reluctantly agreed.
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    "Maybe it will be all right," he said. "You look like you could be from my country. Be in the hotel lobby by 9:30 tomorrow morning. Wear dark clothes, clothing that does not look like it is from America. Do not speak to anyone. Do not tell anyone where you are going or what you are going to do."
    I thanked him, stuffed some Algerian currency in his hand, and latched the door behind him as he left.
    In a matter of moments, the energy of this entire trip had shifted dramatically, moved to a new level. Whatever mysterious vortex had brought me here, to this part of the world, was now going to funnel me below the surface. It was time to take a deep breath and dive in.
    The sharp voice of the interrogator ripped me out of my story and brought me back to the airport in Cairo.
    "What kind of books do you write?" she demanded.
    I looked around the terminal. The hubbub had dissipated. Except for one or two travelers, the only people I could see were airport employees and the man and woman who were interrogating me.
    "The eight books I've written have all been about spiritual growth and healing," I said. "They are what we call selfhelp books in my country. That's what I'm working on now, too."
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    "You say you write books about spiritual growth and healing. Yet you traveled to Algeria, a country dominated by terrorism. What could the people there possibly have to do with the subject matter you write about and the people who live in your part of the world?" she asked.
    By now, I was drenched in sweat and getting very tired. I thought I had told these people more than enough, more than they wanted or needed to know. I wanted to get this over with. But I wanted to cooperate, too. So I carefully