“I was beat: I checked into a motel out there.” I said. “I only woke up a little bit ago.”

“So you didn’t actually see the A-rab, huh, doll? What was that girl, that Catherine Bayard doing out there in the middle of the night? She mixed up with that terrorist, do you think?”

“Hard to picture,” I said lightly. “Probably has some boyfriend in the area she doesn’t want her folks to know about. I just put in my last quarter. Can you meet me at your back door in ten minutes? My clothes are a wreck and I want to change before I do anything else. Just in case DuPage has the place staked out, and just in case they haven’t posted anyone in back.”

The warning beeps sounded. We were disconnected before Mr. Contreras could finish his response. Waving a cheery farewell to the woman who’d wrestled me for the phone, I headed into the dank afternoon.

I switched on my cell phone-Earth to VI. once more-and climbed back into the Jaguar. When the engine turned over, I found myself thinking that Luke could file off the serial number and repaint the car blue instead of red. I knew I had to return it, but driving the coolest car on the road brought me more cheer than Father Lou’s horse liniment.

I drove up Western, past a new mega-mall that had driven away two little grocers, a small appliance rental and repair shop and Zoe’s Homemade Pies and Cakes. Ah, progress. I crossed Racine, the street where I live, and parked a block to the east.

I walked in a square, south and west, away from the car, so I could saunter up Racine looking for any unusual vehicles or loiterers. The overcast afternoon was bleeding into a gray dusk, cloaking my face from any watchers.

If I were a Clancy or Ludlum superhero, I’d have memorized all the license plates on the two-block stretch, and been able to tell you which ones hadn’t been here when I left early yesterday morning. Since it’s all I can do to remember my own plate number, I concentrated instead on vans that could hold listening devices, and cars where people were sitting with the motors running. One of these was a Chicago squad car across the street from my own building. Not too subtle.

After walking another block north, I turned east again and cut down

through the alley behind my building. No squad cars were warming the night air behind my building. A woman I recognized was emptying her garbage, but no one else was in the alley.

Mr. Contreras was waiting for me inside the back gate, along with the dogs. The three greeted me with a heartwarming ecstasy. While we were still outside, I explained the possibility that the building might be under electronic surveillance. “I don’t think that it is-I don’t think my being in the house an Arab speaker fled from warrants huge attention-but I can’t be sure. So-don’t say anything to me you wouldn’t want Clara to hear.”