tables where Will had seen the men studying so hard three days earlier.
There, rocking backwards and forwards, his eyes closed and facing towards the heavens, was Rabbi Freilich.
'Rabbi? It's Will Monroe.'
The rabbi lowered his head and then opened his eyes, as if from sleep. His face betrayed great weariness. Then, seeing the bruises on Will's face, it registered shock.
'Rabbi, I know who's killing the righteous men. And I know why they're doing it.'
The rabbi's eyes widened.
'I will tell you and I will tell you right away, while you still have time to stop them. But first you have to do something for me. You must take me to my wife. This instant.'
Freilich's brow tensed. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked at his watch: twenty minutes to go. Will could see he was weighing up the right course of action.
'All right,' the rabbi said finally, though he still looked anguished. 'Come with me.'
It was easier to walk out of the shut than it had been to walk through it; the crowd parted in deference to Rabbi Freilich, even if a few curious glances were directed at the rabbi's battered companion.
They emerged into the dusk, the sound of the prayer within filling the air. The rabbi walked fast, turning left at the first corner. Will looked at his watch: fourteen minutes left. Each step hurt his calves and thighs, but he was almost running.
Suddenly Rabbi Freilich stopped, turned and faced a small brownstone house.
'Are we here?'
'We are here.'
Will could hardly believe it. It was just around the block from the synagogue; he must have passed this house several times. He had been so close to Beth without even knowing it.
His heart began to pound. So much had happened, it felt as if so much time had passed, since he had seen his wife.
The need to hold her tight was so intense, he could barely contain it.
The rabbi knocked on the door. A woman's voice called out, in a language Will did not understand. The rabbi replied with what Will guessed was a password, in Yiddish.
Finally, the door opened to reveal a woman in her mid thirties, wearing one of those twin-sets his mother might have worn twenty years ago. Her hair was styled the way all the women of Crown Heights had their hair — which meant it was not hers at all, but a wig. Will let out a sigh; he realized he had expected to see Beth straight away.
'Dos is ihr man. Bring zie ahehr, biteh.' This is her husband.
Bring her here, please.
The woman disappeared upstairs. Will could hear doors opening, then footsteps, then the sound of two people coming down.
He looked around, to see a long dark skirt descending the stairs. More disappointment. But as the woman walked lower, he recognized her hips and her posture. And then he saw her face.
He had no control over his eyes. They filled the instant he saw her. Only at that moment did he realize just how deeply he had missed her, how his whole body had ached for her.
He jumped the two remaining stairs and clasped her right there, on the staircase. His vision was too blurred to see her face clearly, but as he held her tight he could feel her shake and he knew she was trembling with tears. Neither could say anything. He was squeezing her so hard, but it was not tight enough. He wanted there to be no space between them.
At last he peeled himself away, to look at her properly for the first time. Her eyes met his, with a kind of bashfulness he had not seen before. It was not modesty but something else: it was awe, awe for the enormity of the love they felt for each other.
Finally she spoke, through her tears. 'You see, I told you.
I told you I believed in you. Remember the song, Will? I knew you would come and find me. I knew it. And look.
Here you are.'
He brought her head to his chest, the two of them clinging fast, unaware of the woman who had opened the door, unaware of Rabbi Freilich standing at the foot of the stairs, unaware that each one of them had shed their own tears at the sight of this couple back, at last, in each other's arms.
'Mr Monroe, I am sorry,' the rabbi began, as if clearing his throat. 'Mr Monroe.'
'Yes,' said Will, using the back of his shirt cuff to wipe the tears from his cheeks. 'Yes, of course.' He turned to Beth.
'Have they told you about all this-'
'She knows nothing,' the rabbi interrupted. 'And there isn't time. Now please.'
Will hardly knew where to start. A tiny Christian sect that believed it had inherited Jewish teaching, all of it, even the doctrine of the lamad vav. How they had picked up on the Messianic fervour of Crown Heights and had started hacking into its computer network, eventually discovering the identities of the righteous men. How they had used their people all over the world to kill them, one by one — timing the murders for the Days of Awe, the Ten Days of Penitence.
'Which,' Will added, 'will be over in twelve minutes.'
'But why?'
'I can't be certain. At the service, this voice, the Apostle, was explaining it but that's when they started beating me.
He and the other man, the younger one, talked about redemption and judgment and salvation, but I couldn't make any real sense of it. I'm sorry.' Will glanced at Beth and took her hand: she looked completely baffled.
'Can someone tell me what on earth is going on here?' No one said anything. Will gave a small shake of the head. No time. Later.
By now Rabbi Freilich was sitting, stroking his beard, deep in thought. 'And you have seen this group with your own eyes?'
'I was with them an hour ago. They're here in New York.
I'm convinced it's them. And I'm convinced they're here to finish the job. The Apostle said that 'the final knowledge eludes us'. I think they still don't know the name of the thirty-sixth righteous man. But they are determined to find him — and to kill him. You have to protect him. Where is he?
Is he safe?'
'He is in the safest place in the world.'
'You must tell me. Otherwise, we can't be sure they won't find him.'
Rabbi Freilich looked at his watch again and allowed himself a small smile. 'He is right here.'
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Monday, 7.28pm, Crown Heights, Brooklyn
The sounds of ne'eilah were drifting through, not just from the synagogue but from houses along the street — intense prayer at this, the most climactic hour of the holiest day of the year.
'Here?' Will said. 'You mean…' He stared at Rabbi Freilich himself.
'No, Will, it's not me.'
Will looked around. There were no other men in the room; no other men in the house. His stomach began to turn over.
Was it even possible? 'No, it can't be. You can't mean-'
'No, Will,' said the rabbi, his smile stretching wider. 'It's not you.' And then, with only the slightest tilt of his head, he nodded towards Beth.
'Beth? But I thought the thirty-six were all men. You told me they were all men.
'They are. And your wife is carrying inside her the thirty sixth righteous man. She is pregnant, Will, with a
