Purviance tapped her bag. I heard the hollow thunk of a plastic container.

"Gutsy. You already capped the boss. Why not Blotnik?"

"Blotnik was a thief."

"Saved you all that nuisance of breaking and entering."

A smile crawled Purviance's face. "I hadn't a clue about these bones until Blotnik blabbed. Old fool hadn't had them two hours."

"How did he know about them?"

"Some old bat found fragments while scoping the shroud they'd been in. What the h.e.l.l." Purviance again tapped the bag. "This could be c.r.a.p. Or it could be the Holy Grail. This time I'm taking no chances."

"What did you offer Blotnik? Did he think you had the Masada skeleton?"

Again the cold smile. "Just conning the con man."

She'd killed Blotnik, s.n.a.t.c.hed the shroud bones, and gotten away. What was she doing back here?

"You were moving under the radar. Why double back?"

"We both know a relic's worth zip without paper."

We heard it at the same instant. The soft squeak of a rubber sole.

Purviance's trigger finger twitched. She hesitated, undecided.

"Move!" she hissed.

I stepped back into the closet, eyes focused on Purviance's gun.

The closet door slammed. A bolt clicked.

Hurried footsteps, then silence.

I put my ear to the wood.

A sound like surf, overridden by the drone of a radio commentator.

Stay quiet? Draw attention?

What the h.e.l.l.

I pounded.

I called out.

Seconds later the office door slammed inward against a wall.

Heart plowing, I shrank deeper back toward the ell.

A strip of light under the closet door.

Rubber soles.

The bolt clicked open.

The door swung in.

39.

I'D NEVER BEEN SO GLAD TO SEE ANYONE IN MY LIFE.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" Jake's tone was all shock.

"Did you see her?"

"Who?"

"Purviance."

"Who's Purviance?"

"Never mind." I pushed past him and grabbed an arm. "We've got to stop her."

I tugged. We both ran.

"She's got no more than a three-minute lead."

Out the office. Down the hall.

"Who's Purviance?"

"The lady with your shroud bones."

Gripping the rail, I took three stairs at a time. Jake stayed with me.

"You drove?" I threw over my shoulder.

"I've got the crew truck. Tempe-"

"Where?" I was breathing hard.

"In the drive."

As we flew out the door, a car blew past, driver's head barely clearing the wheel.

"That's her," I panted.

The car shot the gate.

"Move!"

Yanking the doors, Jake and I threw ourselves into the truck.

Jake turned the key and flooded the engine. It roared in neutral. Jake threw the gearshift, then tacked a triangle of short turns.

As we came about, Purviance's car was disappearing from the foot of the drive.

"She's turned left onto Sultan Suleiman."

Jake jammed the gas. Our tires spit gravel and we rocketed forward.

"What's she driving?"

"Citroen C-3, I think. I only got a quick look."

We plunged downhill. Across the way, the Old City was swallowed in mist.

Barely braking, Jake jerked the wheel hard left. I lurched right and my shoulder slammed the window.

Up ahead, the Citroen's taillights were again hooking left.

Jake pounded the accelerator.

I reached back, tugged and clicked my seat belt.

Jake made the turn onto Derech Jericho.

The Citroen had lengthened its lead. Its taillights were now two tiny red blurs.

"Where's she going?"

"We're on HaEgoz at this point, but behind us it's called the Jericho road. She could be heading to Jericho. h.e.l.l, she could be heading to Jordan."

Few cars moved along the pavement. Fog swirled the streetlights.

Purviance kicked it to fifty.

Jake stayed with her.

Purviance kicked it to sixty.

"Hang on."

I placed two hands on the dash.

Jake floored it. The gap closed.

The air in the truck felt damp and close. Mist filmed the windshield.

Jake hit the wipers. I cracked a window.

Lights flicked by on both sides of the street. Apartments? Garages? Nightclubs? Synagogues? The buildings were black LEGO blobs. I wasn't sure where we were.

A tower took shape on my right, neon logo shimmying in the haze. The Hyatt. We were about to intersect the Nablus Road.

Purviance made the turn.

"She's heading north," I said. Nervous talk. Jake knew that.

The traffic signal went red. Ignoring it, Jake spun the wheel. We fishtailed. Jake muscled the back wheels into line with the front.

The Citroen's taillights had shrunk to dots. Purviance had picked up a quarter-mile lead.

My heart was doing flip-flops. My palms felt damp on the dash.

Now and then a billboard framed into view, faded. We raced on.

Suddenly signs flared out of the fog. MA'ALEH ADUMIN. JERICHO. DEAD SEA MA'ALEH ADUMIN. JERICHO. DEAD SEA.

"She's heading for Highway One." Jake's voice was guy-wire taut.

Something was up. The Citroen's taillights were now expanding.

"She's slowing down," I said.

"Checkpoint."

"Will they stop her?"

"This one's usually a wave-through."

Jake was right. After a brief pause, the Citroen blew past the guardhouse.

"Shall we tell them to stop her?"

"Not a chance."

"They could pull her over."

"These guys are border patrol, not police."