Milligan turned her back to the men and went over to the blue Fiat. Ibri opened the passenger door for her, then went around to the driver’s seat. Gamal slipped inside the Volvo.

First the Volvo took off, followed by the Fiat, passing Rina’s Subaru hidden behind the tree. Rina sprinted to her car and gunned the motor. She caught a glimpse of the distant Fiat, turning onto Keren Kayemet. Rina hit the accelerator, catching up with the Fiat as it merged onto Melech George.

City center.

The Fiat, as well as the Volvo, was headed in the direction of the Old City of Jerusalem—a walled fortress built at the time of the Crusades. The Old City had been the site of conquest after conquest. In the bright sunlight, it was a golden castle complete with crenelations and slits for bows and arrows. Rina hoped the Fiat wasn’t actually going into the Old City through one of its seven gates. Inside was a labyrinth, with roadways so narrow there was barely enough room for one car to squeeze by. And it was dangerous for her in certain sectors—the Moslem Quarters through the Damascus Gate.

The Volvo turned toward the Damascus Gate, but the Fiat bypassed the Old City and continued southeast, passing block-long Liberty Bell Park, heading toward the train station.

Then Rina knew where it was going and she bit her lip in fear. She had been so intent upon keeping her eyes on the Fiat’s rear window that she had forgotten a very basic rule. Get the car’s license number. And when she looked at the plates, her heart sank. It was rimmed in blue and white checks and held a small, blue Hebrew letter—chet.

Chet standing for the ancient city of Hebron.

Hebron.

A city rich in history, a city flowing in blood.

Once Hebron had had a famous yeshiva. But the Arabic city had resented the Jewish scholars. In 1929, when it had become clear that the Jews intended to stay, the Arabs had hit upon a way to rid themselves of the interlopers. They had brutally slaughtered them en masse.

Sixty-five years later, a deranged Jewish settler who had made Hebron his home had felt betrayed and neglected by his own Jewish government. Adding another deluge of blood to the village, he mowed down twenty-nine Arab men bowed in prayer.

Though Rina knew that Hebron was still a Jewish Holy City, would always be a Jewish Holy City, it was time to be realistic. Hebron was no longer Jewish and hadn’t been for fifty years. It was a typical overcrowded Arab village that bred rage and hatred against Jews. It had become such a hotbed of politics, Rina wasn’t sure who was securing its borders—the IDF, the Israeli Police, the Palestinian Police or UN troops.