If you've ever been debriefedby the CIA, then you probably know exactly how I felt two hours later as I satin the backseat of a limousine, watching city give way to suburbs and suburbsto countryside. Dirty piles of blackened ice became thick blankets of lushwhite snow, and the world seemed clean and new—ready for a fresh start.

I was through with lying(except for official cover stories, of course). And sneaking around (well…exceptwhen involved in covert operations). I was going to be normal! (Or as normal asa student at spy school ever gets a chance to be.)

I was going to be … myself.

I looked at my mother andreiterated the promise that I would never let a boy come between me and myfamily or my friends or matters of national security ever again. Then Irealized that she'd hardly said a word since we'd left D.C. "I did okay,didn't I?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Of course, sweetie. Youaced it."

Which, not to sound conceitedor anything, I kind of already knew, because A) I've always tested well, and B)people who fail polygraphs don't usually walk out of top-secret facilities andget driven back to spy school.

Then I thought about theone-way glass. "You got to watch, didn't you?" I asked, fullyexpecting her to say, You weregreat, sweetie, or I think thismight be worth some extra credit, or Remember, breathing is key whenyou're being interrogated with a TruthMaster3000. But no. She didn't say any ofthose things.

Instead, my mother just placedher hand over mine and said, "No, Cam. I'm afraid I had some things todo."

Things? My mother had missedmy first official government interrogation because of … things?

I might have asked fordetails, begged her to explain how she could miss such a milestone in a youngspy's life, but I know the things my mother does typically involve nationalsecurity, fake passports, and the occasional batch of weapons-grade plutonium,so I said, "Oh. Okay," knowing I shouldn't feel hurt, but feeling itanyway.