And here was Rina, driving the Subaru down Derech Hebron—the road to Hebron. She knew she should turn back. A lone woman going to Hebron was sheer suicide. But then again, the area had been quiet for a while since the beefed-up security. And maybe the car wouldn’t go all the way to Hebron.

A few more miles.

She rolled up the windows and locked the doors, on her way to enemy territory.

The moment Rina left, Decker knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t speak Hebrew and Yalom could barely speak English. When the old man motioned him toward Dalia’s father, Decker cursed his stupidity.

A stranger in a strange land—a ger.

Yalom bent down to whisper something in Menkovitz’s ear. Menkovitz was much older than Yalom, in his late eighties. His arms were thin and bony, sticking out of short white sleeves. But when Menkovitz stood, Decker noticed not only was he taller than the average man, but he sported a sizable gut. Like many old men, Menkovitz was high-waisted, his black pants stretched over his belly and supported by suspenders. He had thin, white hair and a long face specked with liver spots.

After Yalom was done with the whispering act, Menkovitz looked Decker over, dark eyes not missing a trick. Then with much deliberation, he picked up a shoebox-sized leather case and chained it around his waist. Slowly, he put on his black jacket and walked away.

Yalom followed and so did Decker.

“Where are we going?” Decker asked Yalom.

“Savlanoot,” Yalom said. “Pacien.”

Decker assumed he meant patience and kept silent. Menkovitz kept his eyes straight on, not even bothering to grace Decker with the merest of courtesy nods. But Decker knew it wasn’t out of rudeness, it was out of numbness. Menkovitz had the look—old man going through the motions. They took the elevator back to the fifteenth floor, back to Menkovitz’s office. The old man walked into the sally port, the secretary buzzing them through without Menkovitz’s uttering a word.

The old man’s office was spacious, holding a panoramic view of what Decker assumed was industrial Tel Aviv. He saw factories, smokestacks, warehouses, train tracks, and lots of commercial buildings. The day was clear, the sun was bright, but the mood inside was dim. Menkovitz spoke to Decker in Hebrew. Feeling like a dunce, Decker asked him if he spoke English.

Angrily Menkovitz turned to Yalom and fired off some rapid gutteral speech. Yalom fired back a response. Menkovitz waved his hand in the air.

Decker said, “Excuse me, Mr. Menkovitz. If there is a problem, I can come back later with my wife. She speaks Hebrew.”

No one responded.

Decker said, “Uh, ani can come back.” He realized he was speaking with his hands. Something he had never done before. “Uh, ani ba—”