O Israel, return into the Lord thy god; for thou hast fallen by thine iniquity... [Hosea 14:1]

ALL EYES FOCUSED on her long blond braid and American blue jeans. Not for the first time, Lisa Donahue wished she had better protective coloring for traveling in the Middle East. Any moment now, someone would holler the remembered tag, "Hey, blondini!"

She inhaled the mixed aromas of deep-fried chickpea balls, roasted spiced lamb, and corn sold by aggressive street vendors. Fragments of Hebrew, Arabic, French, and English assaulted her ears as native Israelis and visitors from many nations milled around the Tel Aviv plaza.

It was wonderful to be back. She'd been afraid the reality wouldn't live up to her rose-colored memories of seven years earlier, when she'd been a wide-eyed archaeology student. She needn't have worried--Israel was still noisy, vibrant, smelly, and altogether enchanting.

A live chicken, destined for dinner, squatted and clucked in a string shopping bag near Lisa's feet. Above the bag stood a plump housewife, obviously daydreaming about chicken stew with dumplings. A few feet away, several Orthodox Jewish men wearing black hats and long curls muttered and gesticulated. Two female soldiers wearing dark green uniforms gossiped and smoked French cigarettes, and a Bedouin in flowing robes talked loudly on his cell phone.

When the Egged bus showed up, the crowd surged towards the door. As Lisa struggled to stay in front, she remembered that Israelis didn't like the idea of "lining up." The best way of getting on a bus--or through any kind of door--was to pretend you were an Israelite crossing the Red Sea, vigorously parting the crowd with your elbows.

Lisa bagged the remaining front seat, opposite a thirty-something businessman with sleepy brown eyes and a five-o'clock shadow. She dozed as they left Tel Aviv, opening her eyes occasionally to see palm trees swaying against a metallic blue sky and tall tan buildings.

As they traveled out of the city, cement high-rises and modest houses gave way to scruffy bushes and reddish-brown soil--soil that blanketed thousands of years of history. No one could sink a spade anywhere in Israel without turning up potsherds or scrolls or ancient fortifications. When Lisa was an undergraduate here, a friend suggested the easiest way to become an archaeologist was to convert to Judaism, marry an Israeli, and dig up her new backyard.

The Hebrew chatter from the driver's radio kept Lisa from really sleeping. As she felt the bus begin to climb, she forced her eyes open so she wouldn't miss her favorite scenery--the passage through the Judean Hills.

The businessman watched her. Normally, Lisa liked talking to people when she was traveling. It was part of the adventure and she could try out her Hebrew or French or Italian.

But this man's gaze reminded her of the Chevrolet salesman with slicked-back hair who put a hand on her knee when she was sixteen and on her way to visit colleges by Greyhound bus. She moved the hand. He put it back. She moved it again, sliding as far away from him as she could. Now, ten years later, she wished she'd stood up and yelled, "get your hand off my knee, you pervert!"

Lisa caught herself before she smiled. Glancing sideways, she noticed the businessman's thick eyebrows and coffee-colored skin and wondered uneasily how long he'd been observing her reclining form. His gaze, no longer sleepy, made her feel undressed. She sat up straighter.

"You are from America, yes?" he asked with an oily little smile.

"Yes," Lisa replied curtly, sick of being hit upon because she was young, blonde, and foreign. She began a mental catalogue of tips for young women traveling in the Middle East: Do dye your hair brown or black; Don't wear jeans; Don't fall asleep on public transportation...

"On holiday, perhaps. You visit our museums?"

She met his brown eyes briefly. "Business trip. I work for a museum at home."

"How very interesting. Then surely you visit the Israel Museum and the Shrine of the Book--the home of the famous Dead Sea Scrolls?"

Lisa was startled. Could this guy read her mind? "Yes, actually. I'm an archaeologist, here to look at some ancient ceramics."

"Perhaps you arrange loans for your museum?"

Now she was puzzled. Was he an Israeli Customs officer trying to prevent the export of illegally acquired antiquities? But he was wearing a well-tailored gray suit and polished black shoes, not a uniform.

"Are you in the museum business, too?" she asked.

The man laughed gently. "No, no, I am archaeology enthusiast only. I sell computer parts--for the Beirut branch of Microsoft."

"Oh."

A computer salesman. Lisa pretended to go back to sleep, shifting her long body slightly so he could no longer stare at her face. A spring from the ancient bus seat dug into her hip. Lisa longed for the padded futon of her own living room, enhanced by the furry bulk of her cat, Tango. She searched the landscape for distraction.

The tan and brown hills meandered west of Jerusalem. They were crisscrossed with low terraced walls and the gray-green clumps of olive trees. Lisa leaned closer to the window frame, sniffing the pungent aromas of wild oregano and thyme. The holy city gleamed pale yellow in the morning light as the Egged bus swooped around the curves, following the perimeter road. The sight was even better in the late afternoon, when the setting sun turned Jerusalem's stone architecture into "the City of Gold."

New suburbs sprawled haphazardly across the fields. She could see a lot of growth in only seven years. How many of the new buildings strayed into Palestinian land, she wondered? This tiny strip of land, barely the size of New Jersey, had been bitterly fought over since time began. Lisa could almost hear the tramp of soldiers--Assyrians from the north and Egyptians from the south--vying for control of the ancient highways and key trade routes between the mountains and the sea. The city of Jerusalem had eighteen conquerors in five thousand years--after King David united the land of Israel and established Jerusalem as its capital in the tenth century B.C., the place was overrun with Babylonians, Greeks, Nabateans, Romans, Byzantines, Persians, Mamluks, and Ottomans.

Modern British and the French rulers had carved the Middle East into political mayhem, while thousands of Jewish settlers claimed a homeland. They were still fighting, the immigrant Israelis against the Palestinian landowners, giving ground one week and seizing it back the next. Now, the Israeli Prime Minister had the unenviable job of dealing with the latest riots in the West Bank.

Lisa glanced at her traveling companion, and discovered him watching her again. As their gazes met, his slid away.

She wished him gone. That he'd get off in another part of Jerusalem, park his sleek self in an outdoor café, and chat up a Lebanese or Palestinian girl who liked older men. That he would not find out where she was staying.

"SHALOM! HEY, MISS, please ... we arrive at Yerushalayim. We are at your hotel, the Beit Gesher."

The swarthy face of the driver loomed over her.

Lisa sat up with a jerk. She had fallen asleep in spite of her uneasiness, and the Lebanese salesman was gone.

"Todah rabah," Lisa murmured, dredging up the Hebrew for "thank you" from some drawer in her cluttered memory. She groped for her carry-on, while the driver fished her rolling suitcase out from under the bus.

A short walk along the narrow street brought her to a pristine hotel lobby, cozy with potted plants and overstuffed chairs. The room had the look of vintage 1960s. Lisa flipped her long braid over her shoulder and marched up to the front desk with as much dignity as she could muster in her bedraggled state.

"Mees Donahue, yes? Room five." The pretty young clerk with dark reddish-brown hair fastened in a clip took her passport and handed her the old-fashioned key.

"Oh, I need to ask you about a room switch. I need the single room for four nights, and then I want to change to a double."

"You have your friend Mees Perkins coming to join you?"

"Yes, that's right. She's my colleague from our museum in Philadelphia. Ellen arrives on the twenty-eighth. We'll want a non-smoking room with two double or queen-sized beds and a private bath."

"We arrange it. It is not too busy just now." The young woman's clear tanned skin flushed. "Oh, I almost forget, this message is for you." She handed Lisa a sealed envelope.

No one knew she had arrived. Puzzled, Lisa opened it as she waited for the elevator.

You are in danger. Don't tell anyone why you are here. I'll explain when I see you.

It was signed with a scrawled C.