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let’s see what you’ve got there.”
    He nodded, his eyes never leaving her gun, and raised his shirt. A small revolver was wedged in his belt.
    “Remove it with your left hand, using your thumb and index finger. You make one wrong move and I’ll send you to hell.”
    He did as instructed.
    “Toss it on the ground and kick it over here,” she ordered.
    When the weapon was at her feet, she crouched down and scooped it up, eyes on him the entire time, and then studied the fallen forms of his friends.
    The youth puffed out his chest and sputtered with rage and anger. “I–”
    “Don’t talk. Listen. Your pals are going to need to see a doctor. I’d concentrate on that, not on me, because if I hear you come after me, I’ll shoot you like a dog. Do you understand?”
    He nodded, his face twisted with fury over being humiliated by a woman. She thumbed back the hammer on her pistol as a reminder that she was serious, and his anger turned to fear. That was more like it.
    “Good. Stay there until I’m out of sight.”
    He nodded again, and she moved past him, giving him a wide berth, and picked up her pace as she crossed the road. The gloom appeared to thicken as she hurried down the street. Once she had turned the corner a block up, she broke into a run, putting two more between herself and the fight before slowing. Confident she’d left the danger behind her, she relaxed her pace and inspected the revolver as she walked: a cheap .32 caliber with only four rounds in it.
    She covered the remaining ground to the barracks in six minutes. Samuel was waiting, obviously nervous, glancing at his watch as she brushed by him.
    “Cutting it close, aren’t you?” he whispered.
    She shook her head, her voice even.
    “Nah. Piece of cake.”
     

Chapter 8
    Republic of Singapore
    A small crowd of well-wishers stood in front of the Maghain Aboth Synagogue. The salmon walls of the stone building sparkled cleanly, and the white Star of David relief on its façade shone in the sunlight. The black wrought-iron gates stood open to admit a line of SUVs, which hulked on the driveway like attack dogs as prominent members of the local Jewish community shook hands with arriving dignitaries from Israel.
    Waterloo Street was quiet on a Monday morning at ten, the rush-hour traffic over in the busy metropolis. Towering skyscrapers crowded the horizon, all polished glass and chrome, gleaming like dragon teeth in the tropical glare. A black-clad rabbi emerged from the edifice with a smile on his cherubic face, his step sprightly in spite of his years.
    Three children ran between the adults’ legs, dressed in their special occasion finery, the little boy in a white linen suit, the two girls he was pursuing wearing modest dresses and colored stockings that would soon be dirty and torn if history was any guide. A heavy woman in a demure outfit frowned at them as they squealed by her with delight. The boy’s mother shushed him and called his name, her tone sharp enough to etch glass. Her husband stood by, oblivious, watching the proceedings with rapt attention.
    Security guards clad in dark suits patrolled the perimeter of the property. No trouble was expected; Singapore was a civilized oasis in the turbulent region, a hub of money and power that exuded prosperity and tolerance, and the city-state enjoyed a low crime rate that was the envy of its neighbors. The dignitaries were there to commemorate the groundbreaking of a cultural center planned for a nearby patch of precious real estate, which would be the pride of the community once completed.
    The mayor of Singapore walked to the podium near the front entrance and tapped on the microphone, signaling to the assembly that the first of innumerable longwinded speeches was to begin, his to welcome the group from Israel and offer it the symbolic keys to the city. Three members of parliament waited nearby for their chance at the news cameras, their clothes obviously hand-tailored and expensive, hands