A lifetime ago, the thought would have terrified him. But now he couldn’t have cared less. Hashem was merciful. Hashem would let him live long enough to do his tshuvah. The only thing that scared Noam now, was how long it would take him to repent. If he was sincere enough, he could do his tshuvah quickly and die. If he wasn’t, he’d have to keep going, suffering for years, until it was done properly.

Every day, waking up to ask Hashem to forgive you. Every day, having to live with that horrible picture of that poor man burned in your brain, reminding yourself what you had done.

The pain was overwhelming, dwarfing any fear he once had of dying, any fear he once had of Hersh.

He would leave Hersh once they arrived in San Francisco. Just walk away from him on the open streets. If Hersh attacked him, killed him, so be it. But more than likely, Hersh would let him go.

He would never go back to his family—that would be too good for him. He would hide out somewhere, live on nothing. When he could pass for eighteen, he would find some weird ba’al tshuvah yeshiva that didn’t ask questions. He would become a nazir—a man who drank no wine, refused to touch a razor to his head. He would spend his remaining days in learning and prayer and repentance.

Noam knew he had only a slim chance for redemption. Still, a slim chance was better than none. That was what was so wonderful about Hashem. He was always willing to give you a slim chance.

After the thirteenth ring, Decker slammed the phone down.

Where in the bloody hell was Rina?

It had been almost an hour since MacPherson was to have picked up the fliers. If he hadn’t seen her, he would have radioed something back.

Calm down, Decker told himself. Taking a deep breath, he asked the radio operator to patch him through to MacPherson. The voice on the other end of the line was hoarse and thick with sleep.

Without introducing himself, Decker said, “Paul, were you sleeping?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then: “Pete, let me explain—”

“I can’t get hold of Rina. Did she go to the airport in your place?”

“I think so—”

“You think so,” Decker repeated quietly. “Buddy, I’m going to deal with you later. Now, I’m going to rush over to L.A. International and hope to God my wife is okay.”

MacPherson said, “Pete, I’m sure she’s—”