The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (22 page)

It was
late afternoon
when I
reached the
northern VA
outskirts of metropolitan DC,
just
in time for rush hour. Barely able to keep the bike upright through endless stop-and-go traffic, I finally
made it to Silver Spring
as the sun was setting.

T
here was a big crowd at the
Morgan
home, judging by the number of cars outside. A
black Chevy Suburban blocked the driveway
. T
wo men s
at
inside. One
of them
ca
me out as I approached and raised his hand. He
said something I couldn’t hear—
eighteen
hours with
the Harley engine
’s
drone
in my ears
had left me practically deaf.

He
waited
as I
dismount
ed
the bike and
struggle
d with stiff hands
to
pull
out
my wallet
. I
showed him my
driver’s license and my
Temple Recommend
Card
—the laminated card that identified me as a Mormon in good standing who was eligible to
participate in Temple rituals
.

“Ch
…church business.” I could barely speak after
all those
hours on
the bike
.

He took
my identification cards
, stepped aside, and spoke to his wrist. After a
moment, he handed
them back
and waved me through.

My legs ached as I paced up the long driveway and approached the
gate
, which was part of a wrought iron fence, well-concealed with ivy, that surrounded the
house
. The gate was unlocked remotely. I pushed it and went through.

T
he front door was opened by
an aide.

Clean shaven and wearing
a
white button-down shirt with sleeves folded to his elbows, Joe Morgan left a room full of advisors to greet me.
He smiled warmly,
glancing up
and
down at
my riding apparel
.
“Brother Zachariah
, w
hat can I do for you?”

“Con…gra…tu…lations!
”
I cleared my throat. “Sorry, I’m—”

“Dear Lord!”
He gripped my hand
s
. “You’re frozen!”

I nodded.

He
took me to the kitchen
, sat me near the stove,
and poured a mug of hot cider.

Emma
Morgan
must have called Palmyra, who arrived
moments
later.
Morgan
did
n’
t leave my side, even as his advisors kept
popping their heads
into the kitchen with growing frequency.

Somewhat recovered, I asked to speak with him in private, and we went to his library.
It hadn’t changed much in the years since I had last been
t
here,
back when he was the lay bishop of our Silver Spring Ward. The only change I noticed was on
a section of
the
wall between two windows
, which
was now
covered by
portraits
of men in uniform
. On closer examination, I saw that
each one
had a
small brass plate on the bottom of the frame with a
name
. It took me a moment to realize these were the names on the list I had given him
a decade and a half
earlier
. These were
the heroes who had been awarded the Medal of Honor by the president of
the United States more than once
, the heroes
Morgan had
served as
proxy
for
in their posthumous
baptism
s into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
.

He stood next to me, smiling brightly. “Nice, isn’t it?”

I
looked away from the portrait of the dark-eyed Marine captain.
“
A great achievement
—
winning
the nomination
.”

“Thank you.”

With a gesture at the portraits, I asked, “Do you think they helped you?”

He
smiled
.
“I
needed
all the help I
could
get.
Still do.
Winning against a sitting president is very hard.”

“
And the heroes have given you courage? It must be hard, with all
the nasty attacks and ugly TV commercials
.
”

“
Of course.
” He glanced at the photos.
“You know, any man who thinks himself capable of
serving competently as
p
resident of the United State
s
is either a fool or a madman. What irrational arrogance would
it
take to think you have the strength to command the largest armed forces in human history
? O
r
that you
possess the wisdom required to know when to turn the nuclear keys and unleash hell on earth?”

His sincerity calmed
me
down. Perhaps my task wouldn’t be so hard
.

“But someone has to do it, and it is an act of courage.” He touched one of the photos—a
n Air Force pilot in
World War One. “They helped me overcome my
doubts and seek the White House despite my
human
weaknesses.”

“That’s…humble.”

Morgan chuckled. “Remember what the
Book of Mormon
says in
Ether
, twelve?
‘I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.’
Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“
T
he real challenge begins now. The fate
of the country will be determined in
November
. B
ut
we have faith that God is on our side, don’t we, Brother Zachariah?”

“I had a revelation about it.”

“Really?
What is it?”

“Also from
Ether
, an earlier verse, in chapter four:
‘For the Lord saith unto me: They shall not go forth unto the Gentiles until the day that they shall repent of their iniquity and become clean before the Lord.’
God wants you to give testimony to the
Gentile
voters.”

Morgan looked at me politely, waiting for an explanation.

I gestured at the
heroes’
portraits.
“About them.
You must confess b
efore the elections.
”

To my surprise,
h
e
didn’t seem upset
at all.
In fact, he
laughed.

Fearing that my words were not getting through to him, I
spoke
more slowly and deliberately
. “
T
ell the
American
people
about
the
posthumous baptizing of
the
Medal of Honor winners.
You must give testimony to the Gentile
s
, whose votes you are seeking
.
Thus saith the Lord!
”

He
squeezed
my shoulder
.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Could he have forgotten?
But here were their faces, looking b
ack at us from his library wall.

“I’m talking about them.
” I pointed. “Tell the
voters
how you
ordered me to extract the
se
heroes’ names and copy their personal files from the database of the Department of Veterans Affairs. Tell the voters how you immersed
in
the sacred water
for the
se
heroes,
how you were
baptized
in proxy
for and on behalf of
each of
the
se
heroes,
how you saved the
se
heroes’ souls by giving them the True Gospel in the afterlife. A
nd
also, tell the voters
w
hat it meant for your own soul
.”

“
I have no idea
…what you mean.
”

The s
light hesitation was like a hairline
crack in his smiling
mask
, a glimpse of the truth
, which made my self-doubts disappear, now replaced
by incredulity: H
ow could he lie
so
blatantly to anot
her Saint?

“Brother Morgan!”
I pulled the floppy disk from my inside pocket and held it
out
for
him to see his own handwrit
ing
on it
, demanding that I add the last name to the list
.
“
Remember now
?”

His cheerful expression disappeared.
He
leaned
forward
and looked closely.

“
Well
?
”

He straightened up and looked away.

“
God wants you to come clean to the Gentiles.
God spoke to
me.
It was a revelation.
”

“Who are you to receive such a revelation? Have you forgotten the sin of presumption and arrogance?”

“I am a man of the priesthood, a
Latter-day
Saint, and therefore have the power of God’s revelation.”
Again I
quote
d
from memory. “
It says in
Doctrine and Covenants
, sixty-eight, four
:
‘And whatsoever they shall speak when moved upon by the Holy Ghost shall be scripture, shall be the will of the Lord, shall be the mind of the Lord, shall be the word of the Lord, shall be the voice of the Lord, and the power of God unto salvation.
’
Do you question the right of every Saint
—including me!—to
receive the Lord’s revelations
?”

“
You had a
f
alse revelation,” Morgan said.
He
reached up to the high shelf, opened the glass door that protected his collection of old books
,
and
pulled
out
the leather-bound first
edition of the
Book of Mormon
. “Let me read to you what the proph
et said about false revelations—
”

“You should fast and pray,
”
I said, repeating
the advice he had given me in times of distress. “Fast and pray, a
nd God
will
tell you as well.”

He put the book
down on a side table
.
“You’re crossing a line of secrecy that
must
not be crossed by a good Saint.”

“This should not be a secret.”
I raised the floppy disk.
“
Y
our own handwriting. Do you want me to hand it over to CNN?”

He didn’t answer.

“
You must give testimony to the Gentiles.
Thus saith the Lord!
”

“Any
fact
that doesn’t promote the True Church is a lie.
”