The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (13 page)

We were going to set up
defense positions
on
the street, but as soon as we were out
in the open
,
the
shooting started—not a few random shots, but a barrage of bullets that rained on our vehicles and
hit
the road
around us
. I still remember the
initial
shock of seeing
all
those fiery barrels sticking out
from
the windows
of the health clinic
over the shoulders of
the
cloaked
wome
n
, who
remained s
eated
,
except that
now their hands
were
pressed to
their ears.

Chapter 13

Keera ran into Starbucks barefoot and turned to look out through the glass door. The motorcycle was gone, the street outside dark and quiet. She waited, expecting it to reappear, but it didn’t, and Ben was suddenly beside her, holding her, talking to her.
Everyone else—baristas and customers alike, circled her
with worried faces. Catching her breath,
K
eera
told them
what had happened
.

De
spite urging from the concerned baristas, she refused to
let
them call the police. “He didn’t touch me,” Keera insisted. “
Some a
ss, showing off, that’
s all. And I
’m almost sure
I got him with my shoes.”

After a cup of hot
c
hamomile, they got in
to
the Mustang and drove back to the club. Ben found her shoes on the stre
et. One of them had a broken hee
l, which was
nowhere to be found.

Ba
ck behind the wheel
, he said,
“We should call the hospital
s in the area
, check if a biker came in with a stiletto stuck in his chest.”

“I hope it’s in his eye,” Keera said.
“He was waiting there,
engine running, and
I thought it was you
. I was going to kill you
!
”

“I know you too well to try something
that
stupid
.” He
glanced over his shoulder and pulled into the road
. “
And speaking of stupid, this job isn’t for you. I want you to quit.”

Keera buttoned up her coat. “And how am I going to pay for med school? And my half of our expenses?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

She was quiet for a moment. “We?”

“I’m making good money.”

“Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t.”
Keera
fiddled with the radio controls, trying to clear up the static noise. “
Besides,
I like my job.”

“
You call that
a job?
” Stopping at a red light, Ben turned to her. “
Dancing
in your underwear
in front of
horny
men?”

“
A few women too. Good tippers.”

“I’m happy for you.”

The light turned to green, and he threw the clutch, making the Mustang squeal off the mark, racing through the next light as it turned yellow, and making 70 mph on the on-ramp to I-95. The convertible top rattled in the wind.

She reached across and
rested her hand on his knee
.

Ben
merged into the late-night traffic on the highway
and slowed down
to match the going pace. “Was it a BMW like mine?”

“The jerk
at
the club?” Keera shrugged. “Couldn’t tell in the dark.
All
motorcycles look the same to me
.”

“Did you get a closer look
when he passed you
?”

“Barely.
He went too fast. But
I think it was white, not yellow. Same with the guy’s riding suit and helmet. He flew by like a—”

“Ghost?”

“
Exactly
!
How did you know?
”

He hesitated. “A good guess.”

At home, Keera went upstairs to change and Ben turned on CNN, which was showing snippets from the presidential candidates’ debate
earlier
. A quick post-debate poll
showed Joe Mor
gan
six
points
ahead of the incumbent Democrat. A proven
record as a successful business leader gave
Morgan
advantage over the president’s muddled economic record during his
first term
in the White House
, and his frequent references to his deep faith resonated with church-going voters troubled by the secularist worldview of the liberal president
.
Noting the
polarized
electorate, t
he moderator asked whether this election, like the previous one, would come down to voters’ participation rather than preferences among those eligible to vote.

A writer for the
Wall Street Journal
, who often
participated
in CNN political shows, predicted that even Christian Evangelists would come out to vote for
Joe
Morgan
despite their ambivalence about his Mormon
faith
. “L
isten carefully to
his subtle message about Christian interdenominational brotherhood!”

A clip from the
debate showed Morgan responding to a question about the Middle East
.
“
Our spiritual roots
,” Morgan said, “reach all the way to th
at troubled region of the world
.
Like all Americans, I’m
enraged by
Islamic fundam
entalists’ attacks
on our fellow Christians
.
”
He pressed a hand to his heart.
“
When
a
Muslim Brotherhood
mob
burns down
a
church in Egypt, I feel as if my own church was torched. When
Hezbollah
fanatics
detonate a bomb during
Easter
mass
in
Lebanon
, I feel as if my
own
Easter
was
blasted
. When
Palestinian
terrorist
s shoot
at
Christmas p
ilgrims
in
Bethlehem
, I f
eel as if my
own
family
’s Christmas
was
fired upon
. Every attac
k
on our Christian brothers and sisters makes me feel as
if
our
Savior Jesus Christ
is under attack
.
A
s president of the United States,
I
will end
the current
administration’s failed
polic
ies
of
appeasement
and dishonor
.”

“He’s smooth,” Keera said
from
the staircase. “All those Catholic
, P
rotestant
, and
Lutheran
brothers and sisters
now know that Joe Morgan is a fellow believer in Jesus Christ.”

“It’
s not so simple
,” Ben said. “Mormon
beliefs are quite different
.”

She cuddled next to him on the sofa. “How do you know?”

He held up Zachariah’s
iTouch
. “The veteran who died today was a Mormon. I’ve been reading his journal.”

“What?” Keera sat
up
straight. “You can’t do that! It’s private!”

“Dead people have no privacy. His organs are probably
floating in pickle jars at t
he pathologist’s
office
right now.”

“That’s disgusting!”

Ben laughed. “Don’t be so sanctimonious. I know what you guys do in medical school to those poor cadavers.”

“
That’s totally different!
” She picked up the green-cased
iTouch
. “
You’re not going to publish it, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Then why are you reading it?
”

“He wrote it to ensure that his story is known in case he dies.”

“Then give it to his family.
It’s no
ne of
your business
!
”

“It might be.” Ben took Zachariah’s
iTouch
from her hand. “It might very well be my business.”

“Internet
voyeurism
business? More traffic for
Ray
?”

“
Fancy words, but
her fees
pay my bills—”

“
You’re too talented to have to stoop like this,
make a
buck on the back of this poor dead schmuck
.
That’s not business. That’s…I don’t know.
Greed
!
”

Ben held up the iTouch. “This is
important for me.
Way, way, way
more important than
money, okay?”

There was something in his voice that made Keera pause and
peer closely a
t hi
m
. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He
got up from the sofa. “
I
need
to
read the rest of it.”

Chapter 14

Z.H. Journal
Entry # 5
:

Being under fire was
n’t
new to me
after fighting
Iraqi forces throughout
Kuwait.
Conditioned by training
, my mind tuned out the noise and fear, and
I began to follow
the set routine
: Seek
cover
! Check self and others
for injuries
! Return fire!

Without thinking, I dragged the injured lieutenant with me behind one of the Humve
e
s
. Seven of us
made it to
this temporary
shelter
. The eight
h
was d
ead
on the street,
together with the
five
bodies of
the Red Cross members
.

I checked for injuries. There was a bullet in my thigh, another
had
passed through my left arm,
which was still functional,
and a third
had
put a hole in my right boot
, clear through my foot.

But I felt no pain.

The others were all
injured as well, and the Humvee
shook as hundred
s of bullets continued to hit it
on the
side
facing the clinic
.

It was time to return fire. I
dropped down and
rolled on the ground to the front of the Humve
e
, next to its oversize
tire, and peeked out until I had the first window of the clinic in my gun sights. But all I
had to
aim at were black-clad women
sitting
shoulder-to-shoulder, shielding our attackers, whose guns protruded through the win
dows between the women’s heads.

I tried to shoot, but couldn’t. My old demon—the mental block against k
illing—returned to paralyze me.
I tried harder, but my eyes were drawn to a
girl, maybe
two
years
old,
who
rolled off her mother’s lap. Her face turned toward me, twisted with screaming I could not hear.