The upstairs levels were just dorm rooms spilling over with piles of dirty clothes and sweat. Each floor had a small private kitchen and a laundry room—three washers and one dryer each. All of the machines were in use.

Rina climbed back down two flights, debating whether to go inside the bais midrash. Maybe Peter would need her help. She knew rationally that Moti Bernstein could translate anything Peter needed to know. Plus a lot of the boys here were American and English-speaking. Still, what if Bernstein chose to misrepresent something? Or there was a snatch of conversation in Hebrew that might be relevant to Peter’s case? Only Rina would recognize that.

She went inside.

The din was deafening, the sweat and heat given off by the hundred or so boys hitting her face. The walls were taken up by bookshelves, high dormer windows struggling to let in natural light. The room was made bright by the parallel lines of fluorescent tubing on the ceiling. Through a thick fog of black, Rina could spot Peter across the room, a too-small derby perched over his carrot-colored hair. The hat looked like a candlesnuffer trying to extinguish a flame.

On the left side of the room was a big conference table occupied by a group of twenty boys. The rabbi was giving them a lecture, his deep voice managing to project over the noise. The rest of the room was filled with lecterns and desks. Most of the boys had paired off with their chavrusas—their learning partners. The boys shouted at each other, locked in verbal combat. What looked like a hostile interchange was, in fact, just a routine method of learning Talmud.

Rina looked about, sensing that more than a few of the boys were aware of her presence. Some stared hungrily, others gripped their payis, as if holding their side curls would ward off their lust.

Decker spotted her and waved. She squeezed her way through black coats and desks, and found her husband.

“Any luck?”

“A blank so far. At least, I haven’t seen him. How many other yeshivas are there like this one?”

“In Jerusalem there are two others,” Bernstein answered.

Rina felt eyes upon her. The gravel-voiced rabbi who was giving the lecture was glaring at her. “Maybe I should leave.”

Bernstein nodded vigorously.

“I won’t be more than a few minutes, Rina,” Decker said.

Rina took a final glance around the room, espying the little old unkempt man. “I see the meshulach found you, Moti. Boy, are those guys persistent.”

“What meshulach?” Bernstein said.

“That little old man who’s walking out the door—” Rina’s hand suddenly flew to her chest. “Peter, catch up with that guy. He doesn’t belong.”

Reacting as a professional—actions first, questions later—Decker took off immediately, breaking through the wall of black clothing, just in time to see the little old man enter the stairwell.

“Hey!” Decker shouted out loud. “Hey! You!”