She rattles off four more, in Africa, Asia, and South America. She turns to Manning.
RACHEL
By the way, Detective, there aren’t nine murders. There are twenty-seven. Eighteen before your first Russian victim.
I run the arrests Rachel claims. They’re all true. I relay this to Manning. As I’m monitoring all this from my desk, asking myself do I believe Rachel’s story, I’m simultaneously skimming her Ph.D. dissertation.
It’s fascinating:
Gematrial and Eschatological Implications of the Legend of the Tzadikim Nistarim
The piece is 387 double-spaced pages. Eschatology is the study of the End Times. I never knew this. Gematria, as Dr. Ben-David had explained earlier, is Hebrew numerology.
The tzadikim nistarim are by definition “hidden.”
Their identities are known only to God.
How, then, Manning is asking Rachel in the interrogation room, did a twenty-seven-year-old, only-recently-ordained female rabbi figure it out, when generations of scholars had all failed?
According to Rachel’s paper, there are twenty-six different gematrial systems, developed over centuries by Talmudists and learned masters in Judaic esoterica working in Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Aramaic, and Assyro-Babylonian-Greek, by which a single word (or part of a word), a passage of scripture, or an individual’s name can be broken down to reveal its occult meaning or, perhaps more important, a clue to some broader ethical, religious, or political issue. Here is one such formula from Rachel’s paper:
F(x) = (10floor((x-1) ÷ 9)) x ((x-1) rem 9 + 1)
I google this. It’s for real. I’m reading Rachel’s dissertation with one eye and keeping tabs on Manning’s interrogation of her with the other.
RACHEL
(to Manning)
I have tools that the ancient rabbis didn’t.
It is possible, according to Ms. Davidson’s dissertation, to employ contemporary computer modeling techniques to analyze via gematrial systems the names of all candidates for inclusion in the list of living tzadikim and to determine, within a reasonable margin of error, who the likely individuals might be.
Rachel came up with two lists.
The greater contained 1,787 names, non-Jews as well as Jews.
Then the core document.
Thirty-six names.
MANNING
How certain are you, Ms. Davidson, about these thirty-six?
RACHEL
We’re trying to read the contents of the mind of God, Detective. It’s not an exact science.
Manning studies Rachel hard. Does he believe her? Does he believe this whole outrageous scenario?
MANNING
In Jerusalem, Ms. Davidson . . . what exactly was the charge against you? What were you accused of?
ELLIE LANDAU
You don’t have to answer that, Rachel.
Rachel meets Manning’s eye.
RACHEL
I was charged with “revealing that which God has hidden.”
The interrogation continues into the evening. I’m working on three monitors simultaneously, confirming and consolidating for Manning’s inspection (and for submission to the district attorney’s office) Rachel’s record of intellectual brilliance, psychological fragility, and general proclivity for fucking up her own life.
Sometime after dark I look up from my screens to see Gleason emerging from the Bunker, where he has been working since noon with two other teams of investigators.
Our chief summons Manning from the interrogation room, confers with him briefly in the corridor, then crosses to the Floor, where he orders two Third Graders to follow through on some procedural matter that I can’t hear. I’m watching on my screen as Manning reenters the interrogation room. He does not sit. Ellie Landau rises. Ben-David stands as well.
From my workstation I see the group exit the interrogation room. Gleason is waiting at the exit station that leads to the elevators. I see Manning’s shoulders ride up the way they do when he’s furious. I rise and hurry over.
Gleason has released Rachel.
No charges will be filed.
Ms. Davidson is free to go.
Ellie Landau, Ben-David, and Rachel exit toward the elevators.
Manning’s glower remains fixed on Gleason.
GLEASON
(to Manning)
What are you looking at me for?
Gleason tells Manning that while he, Manning, has been defending the planet from the Apocalypse, real detectives have been on the job, doing real detective work.
GLEASON
The victims all knew each other, Manning. Including the newest one from China and the Tarahumara Indian.
MANNING
I’ve been telling you that for days.
GLEASON
They knew each other because they were all terrified. Not of the devil. Of the fossil fuel industry.
Gleason shows Manning phone and web intercepts proving that the nine victims identified so far communicated regularly with one another, and had been doing so for years, via conventional channels as well as secure courier and other encrypted media.
Every one of the “LV” victims, Gleason says, was a climate activist. Their fear was of the cadre of killers and defamation specialists utilized by the FSB and the energy extraction industry worldwide, including U.S.-based entities, Big Agribusiness, and the petro-oligarchs of Central Asia and the former Soviet bloc, of whom the red-white-and-blue Solntsevskaya Bratva, the Russian Mafia based here in New York, was and is a principal man-killing instrument.
MANNING
Then who is Instancer?
GLEASON
An asset. A freelancer. A hired gun.
MANNING
With all respect, Frank . . . bullshit.
Manning asks Gleason if his decision to release Rachel Davidson has anything to do with Ellie Landau’s ten-million-dollar lawsuit against the city. Gleason has not, by any chance, received a phone call from the mayor?
Could Gleason’s decision, Manning says, possibly be linked to his own political ambitions? Or maybe the fact that half the judges in the city have either studied under Ellie Landau or are sucking up to her now for their own career aggrandizement?
GLEASON
My decision, Manning, if it’s any of your fucking business, has to do with this division—with DivSix—and with keeping your “investigation” from taking it, and all of us, down the tubes.
Gleason tells Manning to go home.
MANNING
I don’t wanna go home.
GLEASON
Go anyway. The line of investigation you’re following ends tonight.
I steer Manning to the elevators. When he and I emerge at street level, Ben-David, Ellie Landau, and Rachel are still on-site, sheltering from the downpour under the south-facing awning.
It’s a moment. In some crazy way, the relentless friction of this long day has produced a bond among the participants. Manning slides in between Ben-David and Ellie Landau. I find a space at Rachel’s shoulder.
Ben-David is telling Ellie Landau that he will take Rachel home with him now, uptown to his place at Riverside and Ninety-Ninth. Manning reacts with concern.
MANNING
If you’re going, let me and Dewey drive you.
“I’ll take them,” Ellie Landau says. Her car and driver will be here in a few moments. Ben-David thanks her but waves the offer off, citing the storm and the flooded streets.
BEN-DAVID
I’m still a New Yorker, Ellie. We’ll catch the local at Seventy-Second and be home in three stops.
Rachel and Ben-David take off.
It’s Manning and Ellie Landau now, with me, under the awning.
Manning shifts one step upwind of Ms. Landau, opening his umbrella to shield her from the gusting wet. His eyes betray frustration, exasperation. It looks like he’s half ready to give up on the case.
Ellie Landau sees this. Manning’s face is turned away from her, looking out into the storm.
&
nbsp; ELLIE LANDAU
Will you take something from me, Manning, and not use it against my client?
Manning turns back.
ELLIE LANDAU
When I was in Moscow two weeks ago, I saw Instancer.
MANNING
What?
ELLIE LANDAU
I had no idea who he was. I didn’t make the connection till two days ago, when the first police sketches began circulating.
Manning has come to full nuclear alert. His glance to me says, Make sure you’re recording every syllable.
Ellie Landau tells Manning that she had flown to Moscow to assist in the defense of Alexsandr Golokoff, who was facing a hearing before a Kremlin tribunal. The Sabbath, she says, fell on the night before. Ellie was at shul in a private home. In attendance, she says, were a dozen or so, all Russians, friends of Mr. Golokoff.
ELLIE LANDAU
Instancer was among them. He sat alone. He spoke to no one, and no one seemed to know him. He was wearing a yarmulke and a prayer shawl. I was struck by him because of his appearance.
Manning presses Ellie to be more specific.
ELLIE LANDAU
He was electrifying. Charismatic. I couldn’t tear my eyes off him.
Ellie Landau tells Manning that Golokoff—“your ‘Russian victim number two’”—was supposed to meet her there, that night, at the private home.
ELLIE LANDAU
But he never showed. When I got back to my hotel I saw on TV that he had been murdered. I knew instantly that this young man was the killer. He showed up at shul, I felt certain, out of some diabolical intention to let me know. He knew who I was. He was mocking me.
Manning asks Ellie Landau what conclusion she draws from this encounter. If her supposition about Instancer being Golokoff’s killer is true, what does she believe it means? He’s a hired assassin? An FSB agent? A religious nut?
ELLIE LANDAU
I believe what you believe, Detective. We both know who he is.
Ellie Landau’s car pulls in at the curb and stops. Time is 1930, seven-thirty in the evening. The driver springs out and scurries around to open the right rear door. Ms. Landau is about to step out from beneath the awning.
Her phone pings with an incoming text.
Ellie checks it.
It’s a video.
Ms. Landau taps the PLAY arrow.
She reacts with dismay.
MANNING
What?
Ellie Landau stares at her phone in alarm.
Manning steps in to see.
ELLIE LANDAU
This is live! It’s happening right now . . .
On Ellie Landau’s screen a video streams.
It’s Instancer.
On a subway platform somewhere.
He’s wearing the same jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie he wore at the Rebbe’s.
The video is a selfie.
He’s filming himself.
In chalk, on a steel subway column, Instancer finishes scratching the last of twenty-seven vertical marks, in five groups of five, with horizontal slashes to mark the fifth in each, then two more verticals to complete the tally.
INSTANCER
(on video, speaking to camera)
Twenty-seven down out of thirty-six. Twenty-eight coming up.
Instancer grins. The video goes dark.
MANNING
Where is he? Wind the video back!
Ellie Landau obeys.
Manning peers.
Above Instancer’s chalk marks, in a sign-square on the column, is the street number of the subway stop:
72
19
SEVENTY-SECOND STREET STATION
OUR SELF-DRIVER slaloms to a stop at Broadway and Seventy-Second. Manning hits the sidewalk on a dead run. I’m two paces behind him.
We’re sprinting in the downpour for the Seventy-Second Street subway stop of the IRT Broadway–Seventh Avenue line.
Time is 1955, five minutes to eight. Manning has ordered Ellie Landau to go home, stopping for nothing, and to keep her driver and security man with her. He has called for backup to DivSix and all contiguous precincts. I have tried every channel, phone, text, DM, and social media to reach and warn Ben-David and Rachel. She, we know, has no phone at all, and Ben-David . . . who knows? Maybe he’s one of those Luddites who turns his off.
Entrance to the Seventy-Second Street station is via two aboveground control houses, on traffic islands in the middle of Broadway. Seventy-Second Street runs between the two. There are stairs down to the tracks, uptown and downtown, from both houses, and two elevators.
Manning points to the control house south of Seventy-Second.
MANNING
Take the downtown side.
We’re half a block east, bolting into traffic from the corner of Seventy-Second and Broadway, running flat-out through the sluicing downpour. Manning’s SIG Sauer is in his hand. He signs to me to unholster my weapon.
MANNING
Aim dead-center. Empty the full mag into him. Whatever you do, do NOT let him get past you.
I have never heard a shoot-to-kill order. Holy shit. I watch Manning burst through the heavy double doors of the control house and tear down the uptown stairwell.
That’s the side Ben-David will be on. The dangerous side. The side where Instancer will be.
I plunge down the stairwell to the downtown side.
Seventy-Second Street is an express stop on one of the two major West Side lines. It has four tracks and two island platforms—one uptown and one downtown. Riders access these down flights of stairs from the mezzanine level. The uptown platform receives the local on one side, the express on the other. Same for the downtown platform. Between the two island platforms are two tracks—one for the uptown express, one for the downtown. Ben-David and Rachel, heading for Ninety-Sixth Street, should be on the uptown platform.
I’m thinking this as I vault the turnstile and skitter out onto the downtown platform, scanning north and south as fast as my neck can swivel. The platforms each hold two dozen people or more, spread out over 100, 150 feet. Despite the storm, trains are still running up here.
Who could Instancer be going after? Rachel? Ben-David? Both? I have no idea.
“Police officer!” I’m shouting, shield in one hand, weapon in the other.
Bystanders are gawking. I see no Ben-David, no Rachel, no Instancer on my side of the station. Where’s Manning? I dash to the center of the platform, peering across the two tracks that separate my platform from the uptown platform on the far side. I’m thinking two things:
Don’t shoot anybody not named Instancer.
Why would Instancer send that selfie to Ellie Landau? Did he know that Rachel and Ben-David were on their way to the Seventy-Second Street station? How? Did he know that Manning was with Ellie Landau? How? Was the message really for Manning?
Why?
Why would Instancer send it?
I hear a train coming.
There’s Manning. I spot him, across the tracks on the uptown platform.
I see Ben-David but not Rachel.
Ben-David is uptown of Manning, about a hundred feet.
ME
There! There!
I’m pointing across the tracks and shouting to Manning. In the cavernous underground with the din of the approaching train, Manning can’t hear.
I see Instancer.
He’s approaching Ben-David from the downtown side.
ME
Manning! Manning!
I dash to a spot directly across from Instancer and Ben-David. I call Ben-David’s name. I’m shouting, waving my hands and arms.
Ben-David can’t hear me.
I’ve never jumped onto a subway track in my life.
WTF.
I leap. I land. People on the platform are pointing and shouting.
Now Manning sees me.
So does Ben-David.
ME
(shouting to Ben-David)
It’s him! It’s him! Get outta th
ere!
I’m pointing at Instancer. But I’m too far away in too dim a light. Ben-David doesn’t realize it’s me. What is he thinking? Probably that some maniac has jumped onto the tracks.
At that instant, Rachel appears.
She sees me.
She sees Ben-David.
She sees Instancer.
Rachel’s location is a hundred feet downtown of Ben-David. In other words, Instancer is between her and Ben-David.
Manning is on the same side but fifty feet behind Rachel.
Rachel bolts like a sprinter at Instancer.
Here comes the train.
Manning sees Rachel; he takes off, flat-out, after her.
The train is an uptown express, on the second track in front of me. It runs flush to the platform that holds Ben-David, Instancer, Rachel, and Manning.
I’m scrambling over the first set of tracks—the downtown express—dodging the third rail.
I see Instancer seize Ben-David.
He grabs him with one hand by the throat. Manning is racing toward the pair. He’s seventy-five feet away, shouting something I can’t hear. Rachel is twenty-five feet from Instancer and Ben-David, running and shrieking almost as loud as the train.
The subway booms into the station, metal-to-metal brakes screaming.
Instancer clutches Ben-David.
Rachel flings herself onto Instancer from behind.
She attacks like a wild animal, clawing for Instancer’s eyes, seeking his throat to choke him, thrashing furiously, trying to knock him off balance.
Manning is forty feet back, running all-out, weapon drawn.
He’s shouting to Rachel to get herself clear.
The train screeches toward the writhing trio of Ben-David, Instancer, and Rachel.
Instancer flings Rachel off him.
He re-seizes Ben-David by the throat.
Somehow Ben-David shakes free.
He flings himself onto the track, directly in the path of the train.
36 Righteous Men Page 13
