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leader of Jam’iyyat Ul-Islam Is-Saheeh, the Assembly of Authentic Muslims, in prison.”
    He glanced at the receding backs of the Nation members as Navarro walked over to talk to a patrol sergeant.
    â€œThat’s how the kid got recruited. A couple of years ago, the Mexican Mafia ordered his father’s murder in Pelican Bay. George showed back up here right afterward on a mission from Allah to clear the Hispanics out of the neighborhood in the name of racial purity.”
    Jones nodded toward Navarro. “He’s probably the reason the crew came hustling down here.” Then toward the apartment house. “George has been trying to take over this building and kick the last of the Hispanics out so he can move all their women and kids in.”
    â€œWhy’s this particular place so important to them?”
    â€œIt’s right in the middle of a redevelopment project. Ground zero. The city wants to raze four square blocks and build thousands of condos and low-income housing. Lots of white people and Asians and Hispanics will be moving in, and from then on they’ll be running Hunters Point.”
    Donnally pointed at the church across the street. “That means that you’ll be moving out too.”
    â€œEven when we’re gone, God will still be here.”
    Donnally raised his gaze toward the second-floor apartment. “You know who lives up there?”
    â€œThe Rojos. They’ve been living in that same unit for twenty years, maybe longer.” Jones shook his head as he stared up at the building. “I don’t know why they stayed. Their oldest son was murdered standing right next to that crucifix.”

CHAPTER 6
    D onnally scanned the street as he drove his truck toward the Rojos’ apartment just after sunset. He’d decided not to put the family in further jeopardy by trying to speak to them earlier in the day while he, or they, might still be under surveillance by the Muslim Nation.
    The dope dealers were back on their corners, wearing hooded sweatshirts and puff jackets against the cold. The streetlights above them had been shot out, leaving them in shadow except when side lit by passing cars.
    The day’s trash littered the curbs and sidewalks. Malt liquor cans. Beer bottles. Taco Bell and McDonald’s wrappers. Pages from Auto Trader and the San Francisco Bay Guardian .
    The door to the corner A&B Market was caged with iron bars and bulletproof glass. Light emerged from a window and chute built into the door for sliding money in and purchases out.
    A tricked-out 1980s ragtop Camaro with spinners on its wheels rolled by as Donnally pulled to the curb, the four occupants sitting low and staring over at him. He watched the car stop at the corner just long enough for the front passenger to hand a paper bag to one of the runners. The kid glanced inside, then tossed it to another who carried it toward the open frontdoor of a duplex unit and passed it to a woman standing in the threshold.
    Donnally checked the Velcro retention strap on his shoulder holster under his jacket. He then climbed out of his truck and headed up the driveway toward the concrete and wrought-iron stairs leading to the second floor of the apartment building. Two teenage girls were walking down as he headed up.
    One of them stopped next to him on the second-floor landing. “Look at you, Five-Oh.” She laughed. “All undercover and everything.”
    They were using 5-0 for police, as their parents had before them, the code having survived two iterations of the television show and a voyage halfway across the Pacific from Hawaii.
    Donnally didn’t mind them thinking he was still a cop and hoped they’d pass the mistake onto the dealers on the corner. It wasn’t as protective as a body armor, but it would do.
    â€œMaybe,” Donnally said, “but I’m just visiting an old family friend. Somebody died.”
    The girl’s smile faded. “Sorry. I