They arrived in Jerusalem just after sunset, and had to quickly arrange hostel accommodations so that they might have a place to crash if they ended up spending the night. Once that was done, thanks to Peter’s surprising command of Hebrew and Frankie making sure everyone acted convincingly enough like college students, they made their way to the Mount of Olives on a crowded tourist bus.

Nearly an hour later, the tour stopped at the Garden of Gethsemane’s entrance so everyone could get out and have a look around for a few minutes. Seven passengers hadn’t returned when the bus left.

The moon was rising, huge and yellow, as the little group walked down the straight, white-pebbled paths through the Garden. Thick, tightly gnarled trunks of old olive trees casted twisted shadows around them.

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