FOURTEEN
16H30.
“What do you mean we were followed? Why would anybody want to follow us?” Debbie Feinstein asked.
For a few minutes after the shower she seemed more relaxed than at the airport, but now new concern about the news had tensed her up again—as it would for any normal person, I guess. I didn’t want to bring it up—I’d actually been more concerned about her Jewishness and if that would be somehow in a database when we passed through passport control.
“Don’t worry, maybe it’s just a standard thing they do, or maybe I imagined it. I’m just being cautious, it’s part of the job.”
I lied, we were being followed for sure. Our own driver had taken what he called a short-cut through a residential area to avoid traffic, and the guys tailing us had to cut through another lane to make t
