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Back 36 Righteous Men Save as PDF
Chapters (43)
  1. Cover
  2. BOOK ONE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. BOOK TWO
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. BOOK THREE
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. BOOK FOUR
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. BOOK FIVE
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. BOOK SIX
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. BOOK SEVEN
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. BOOK EIGHT
  41. 32
  42. SPECIAL THANKS
  43. ALSO BY STEVEN PRESSFIELD

What are you, deaf?

GLEASON

He phoned you. Why the fuck would he phone you?

YOO-HOO

I’m his cousin.

GLEASON

What?

YOO-HOO

I’m his fucking cousin.

Gleason glances to Silver.

YOO-HOO

We grew up two blocks from each other. I talk to him every day.

Even on the black-and-white video you can see all color drain from Gleason’s cheeks.

YOO-HOO

You guys didn’t know that? Holy shit.

You’re even dumber than I thought.

GLEASON

You’re his cousin?

YOO-HOO

Look it up.

GLEASON

You’re Nathan Davis’s cousin?

I don’t have to glance to Manning to know what he’s thinking.

Never overlook the obvious.

A day later, when this story hits network and cable, it will be augmented online by yearbook stills of Yoo-hoo and Davis at New Utrecht High School, Class of ’03, side by side on the varsity basketball team—the “Utes.” These photos will be accompanied by vacation video of Yoo-hoo, Davis, and their wives at the Ocean Club in Bermuda and several other high-end getaways.

The kicker, which I catch forty-eight hours later on CNN, is home video of a tuxedo-clad Yoo-hoo, eighteen months ago, beaming beside Nathan Davis’s thirteen-year-old son, Marshall, at the boy’s bar mitzvah at Temple Emanu-El on East Sixty-Fifth Street in Manhattan.

YOO-HOO

(to Gleason and Silver, on-camera in interrogation room)

Wow. You geniuses have fucked yourself in the ass big-time.

At this moment, a message box opens on my terminal screen. Uribe’s face appears. He looks flushed and frantic.

URIBE

Jimmy, it’s me. Grab your shit!

Behind Uribe I glimpse parked vehicles, two mechanics in overalls, a garage service lift. Manning asks, “Where are you?”

URIBE

At the Flushing impound lot, breaking down the girl rabbi’s vehicle. Since when does a congregation leader pack one of these?

On-screen Uribe holds up a folding-stock Uzi submachine gun and a fistful of high-capacity magazines. Ms. Davidson’s Hi-Top van is visible prominently behind Uribe, suspended on a lift rack with Uribe’s Crime Scene team excavating its innards.

URIBE

That’s only half of what we found, Jimmy. Get over here ASAP. This babe is in these murders up to her eyeballs.

BOOK FIVE

image

A TURNING TOWARD EVIL

17

IMPOUND LOT

RACHEL DAVIDSON’S VAN, which was impounded in Brooklyn, has been hauled to the Queens tow pound on College Point Boulevard in Flushing, a catchall for vehicles impounded during the arrests of their owners, or vehicles used in crimes and/or seized as evidence.

Uribe is waiting on subterranean Level #3 as the elevator doors open and Manning steps out. Uribe meets Manning’s glance. He rolls his eyes toward the spotlighted space in which sits the impounded Hi-Top.

Next to the vehicle stand Rachel and a striking-looking man of about forty whom I recognize at once, from his TED talks, as Dr. Amos Ben-David, the Israeli anthropologist and climate activist.

URIBE

(to Manning)