Sam Bourne - The righteous men

He looked over his shoulder. Sandy had barely advanced from the door; he was gawping at the impossibly high ceiling, then startled by the rebounding echo. Clearly, he had never been in such a building before. The contrast with the lino-and fake-panelled gymnasium that served as the Hassidim's synagogue had overwhelmed him. Will remembered something his father had once said, that religious people had much in common, even when they did not share a faith: 'The same magic works on all of them.' There was no doubt about it:

Sandy was moved to be here.

Will, who had gone to school and college in buildings older than this one, was not overawed by the cold stone floors or medieval architecture. He was on a mission, to find a lord of heaven but not of hell. He faced the Grand Organ and then the smaller Chancel Organ. He checked out the altar and the pulpit, raised like the crow's nest of a ship. He examined the narrow shelves holding glass jars for the lighting of candles, and the boxes of new ones, available free of charge. He had a look at the small, private chapel, apparently closed off for private ceremonies. He looked upward, to see two flags: the first belonging to the United States, the second to the Vatican.

He had no idea what he was looking for.

He walked the length of the nave, studying the blocks of pews. He glanced up at the loudspeakers and screens attached to the pillars. There were tapestries with inscriptions, but no reference that might fit the message. There were stained-glass windows with pictures of saints, shepherds and the odd serpent. Will thought he saw an angel or two.

Hold on. Directly above, dominating the space around, was a huge crucifix, with a sculpted Jesus. It was picked out in strobing white light, as tourists queued to photograph it.

Was this the lord of the heavens but not of hell? After all, the underworld was the realm of Lucifer rather than Jesus.

Maybe it was as simple as that. Maybe he was meant to look at Jesus. But then what?

He wished TO was with him, another pair of eyes, another brain. Sandy was nice enough, but he did not have the kind of laser observation or brainpower Will was sure he needed right now.

Will headed for the exit, shoving a dollar bill in the glass box marked for donations — and filled with what seemed to be the coins of a thousand nations.

Outside, he dialled TO's number. 'Look, we've been inside the cathedral. I'm meant to be finding the lord of the heavens but not of hell. There's nothing that seems to connect with that. Nothing I can see. Yeah, I've walked up and down. It's just pews, crucifix-'

He could feel Sandy tugging at his elbow. He tried to shake him off, but the tug was persistent.

'What is it? I'm talking to TO 'Look.' Sandy was pointing, not back at the cathedral but directly across the street.

'TO, I'll call you back.'

They were facing the Rockefeller Center, Sandy breaking into a semi-jog so they could get a closer look. Barely checking the traffic, he crossed the street, Will behind him, until they were standing before it.

Or, rather, him. Even in shimmering metal, his stomach rippled, the lines of a perfect, mythic abdomen. His thighs were enormous, each one as thick as a bison. One leg was placed before the other, in the manner of a weight-lifter steadying himself. Except this was no ordinary weight.

His arms were fully outstretched at his sides, curving slightly upward to mould themselves around his load. For there, on his shoulders, was nothing less than the universe itself, rendered as an intersecting series of circles, like the lines of latitude and longitude that girdle the globe. On each of the metal arcs were marked the names of the planets. They were looking at the Rockefeller Center's largest sculpture, the two ton statue of Atlas.

'Behold the lord of the heavens but not of hell.' Sandy was murmuring the words almost to himself.

'I can see why he's the lord of the heavens,' said Will. 'But what's the hell thing?'

Sandy was struggling to get the words out. He was panting with exhilaration. 'It's a famous thing about this statue. When they did it-'

'Yes?'

'-they hadn't discovered Pluto yet. So there's no Pluto on here.'

'And Pluto's the God of the underworld,' whispered Will. Behold the lord of the heavens but not of Hell. This was the right spot. He dialled TO's number and instantly described what he could see.

'OK, you need to pick me up,' she said. 'And then we'll go to your apartment.'

'Why?'

'Because I think I finally know what's going on. And Atlas has just confirmed it.'

There was no time to be self-conscious. Even so, he could tell TO felt strange to be in this place, the home of the man she had once loved and the woman he had made his wife.

He saw her stealing glances at the photographs, especially the wedding collage — perhaps two dozen pictures, pressed under glass — that hung in their kitchen.

If it was odd for TO, it was horrible for Will. He had not been back since the day Beth went missing, visiting here only in his mind. Now he saw the calendar, covered in Beth's handwriting. He saw a cardigan of hers, slung over a chair.

He felt her absence so strongly, it made his eyes sting.

TO, you have to tell me what's going on.' Throughout their journey from Central Park, from the moment they had ditched Sandy, he had been pressing her to talk. But she was adamant.

'Will, I'm not sure I'm right. And I know you: the moment I start talking, you'll run off and do something and it could be a big mistake. We have to get this right. One hundred per cent right. There's no room for guesswork.'

'OK, I promise I won't run anywhere. Just tell me.'

'You can't make that promise. And I don't blame you. Trust me, Will. Please.'

'So when am I going to find out?'

'Soon. Tonight.'

'You'll tell me tonight?'

'You'll find out tonight. It won't be me who tells you.'

'Look, TO. Seriously. I've just about had it with riddles. What do you mean, it won't be you who tells me?'

'We're going to Crown Heights. That's where the answer is.'

'We? You mean, you're coming with me? 'Yes, Will. It's about time.'

'Yeah, that's true, I mean it makes sense-' Will stopped himself. TO was staring at him expectantly. It took him a while to realize what her expression meant. She was waiting for him to ask another question.

'What do you mean, "it's about time"?'

'Haven't you guessed, Will? This whole weekend, everything we've been doing? You really haven't guessed?'

'Haven't guessed what?'

She was turning away, avoiding his gaze. 'Oh, Will. I'm really surprised.'

His voice rising: 'What are you surprised at? What are you talking about?'

'This is very hard for me, Will. I don't quite know how to say it. But it's about time I went, you know, back.'

'Back? To Crown Heights?'

'Yes, Will. Back to Crown Heights. I thought you'd guess ages ago. And I've been meaning to say something, but the moment never felt right. There's been so much to think about, so much to work out. The Hassidim, the kidnapping and… Beth. But you have a right to know the truth.

'So here is the truth. My name is Tova Chaya Lieberman.

I was born in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. I am the third of nine children. There's a reason I know this world, Will. I've always known it, inside out. It's my world. These crazy Hassidim? I'm one of them.'

Will could say nothing. He sat pressed against the back of the sofa, as if pinned there by a fierce wind. He listened hard, his mind trying to absorb everything TO was saying. But it was also racing, rewinding wildly through the events of the last forty-eight hours, seeing each moment in a new light.

And not just the last forty-eight hours, but the last five or six years. Every experience he and TO had shared now looked utterly, entirely different.