He was met by a low-level agent from the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations, better known as the Mossad. The agent was an attractive woman David estimated to be in her midthirties. She had the no-nonsense attitude of a military officer. She walked up to David and without hesitation said, “Welcome to Israel, Mr. Johnson. Please follow me. Your bags will be waiting for us at the car.” David had been told he would be met by a Ms. Ulatowski, but he did not like being led around by the nose, so he extended his hand and asked, “Ms. Ulatowski?” The agent replied with a curt yes and ignored his offer of a handshake. “Ms. Ulatowski, could I see some identification please?” David asked with professional courtesy. Without a word, she withdrew her credentials from her pocket and extended them, her face an emotionless mask. David took his time in looking at the identification. Several times he looked at the picture on the ID, then up at the woman extending it.
