The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (23 page)

“The truth cannot be a lie, and hiding the truth cannot be a virtue. Gentiles are God’s children too. They
’
ll respect you for confessing.”

“You’re naive!
We’ve been at war with the Gentiles since they exiled the Prophet Joseph Smith from New York, Ohio, in Missouri
,
Illinois
—until they finally
lynched him and
chased us all the way to Utah
! A
nd they still await the oppor
tunity to pounce on us
again
! But in a
matter of weeks
,
as I become
p
resident-elect of the United State
s
, it will be the realization of
Joseph Smith’s
prophecy that
the Saints shall rule over America!
”

“God told me clearly that you must—”

“Why would God
want to destroy our
True Church’s
chance for a
divine victory over the Gentiles?”

“The truth
must be told
.
” I
shook
the floppy disk before him. “
Thus
saith the Lord!
”

“Let me look at it again
.
”
Morgan
reached for the disk
.

Stepping backward,
I
held it to my chest. It was understandable that
he would want to possess the only hard evidence of his involvement in assembling the list
.
I had
t
o keep it out of his hands
, or else
Satan
w
ould
make him defy
God’s will.

“Brother Zachariah!” Joe Morgan held out his hand. “Give it to me now! In the name of the Prophet,
as your apostle and church authority,
I order you!”

“Tell the
truth to the
Gentiles,” I repeated. “
Thus
saith the Lord!
”

“Stop saying
it
!”

“
Thus
saith the Lord!
”

Recognizing
my determination,
Morgan
turned and left the library—
to
call
for
reinforcement
s
, I assumed
. His only alternative to confession was
to take the incriminating floppy di
sk from me, by force if necessary, and destroy it so that no physical evidence remain
ed
to support my story
.
I had to hide it somewhere safe, a place that he and his people would never think of looking.

Palmyra
arrived home
shortly
after me
. They must have told her that I had slipped out via the library window
, but she dared not say a word
.
I show
er
ed, ate
a meal with my children
, and went to bed
. As far as I was concerned, I had delivered God’s
command
to Joe Morgan, and
he had to
comply.

For the first time in years, I sle
pt
peacefully, secure
in the knowledge
that
I had finally put things right.
And if
,
by the time
you
read
this
journal
,
Joe Morgan
has
not
complied with
my Medal of Honor revelation,
please do whatever you can to force him to confess publicly of his deed
s
.
I
believe his
confession
is
essential for my salvation—the
key to my
entry into the Celestial Kingdom
.

Chapter 30

Ben moved his thumb over the screen, trying to
bring
the text forward, but there was nothing more. The journal ended there, on the day after the GOP Convention. But what had happened in the
weeks
between the convention and Zachariah’s death on Sunday?
Morgan had not confessed
to
any posthumous conversions of US war heroes
. He
had
not
spoken of any details of his Mormon faith, for that matter. Had he managed to locate the floppy disk that Zachariah had hidden—or was it the item Porter had pulled from Zachariah’s body? Had Morgan somehow succeeded in silencing Zachariah to cease his demands for a public confession
, or was Zachariah killed in order to silence him
?

Ben
picked up the iTouch and searched for additional journal entries. There were none. Whatever events had led to the violent end of his life, Zachariah had left untold. It was now up to Ben to uncover the facts and find out whether Joe Morgan was involved
. He hesitated. The harassment of Keera outside the club last night
seemed to
have been a meaningless prank by one of the customers.
But what if it had been
the Ducati
from the
overlook
?

Dismissing the idea as preposterous, Ben began packing up his gear for the day ahead. The story had become irresistible.

Chapter 31

It was too early to go to Fran’s office, so Ben
rode
first to
Ironman
Cycles in Gaithersburg
. He had been there before
to buy
accessories
,
but today he went straight to the service entrance and asked for the Harley Davidson technician.

The lanky, gray-haired man was wiping h
is greasy hands on a blue paper
towel as he glanced
at Ben’s
GS.
“
A BMW? How about
switch
ing
to a real motorcycle?”

“My girlfriend already owns a vibrator.”

“Ouch!” The technician made
as if
he was
cowering. “That hurt!”

They laughed, and Ben
asked, “You heard about the accident
at the vets
’
ride
?”

“Tragic,” the technician said. “Always happens to the nicest guy.”

“You know him?”

“He was a customer
with a very special bike
. W
e
took care of hi
m
. Good guy. Real good. What a shame. Are you a friend of his?”

“
Not really. I’m a reporter
,
and having witnessed the tragedy, I thought it would be worthwhile to write a
piece
in his honor
.
”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m looking to
speak with someone who rode with him regularly
, learn more about him, what he was like, and so on
. Any idea?”

“Let me ask.”

Ben waited.

T
he technician came back
a moment later
. “My manager says you should talk to
Rex.
They rode together.”

“Do you have a last name
or a phone number
?”

He shrugged. “Can’t give it to you. Privacy, you know?”

“Can you tell me anything about Rex?”

“He works at Best Buy in Gaithersburg. But don’t tell him I said so.”

“Understood. Is he riding a real motorcycle?”

The technician
laughed
. “
Dyna Super Glide,
full dress,
black
with
solid chrome wheels
, l
ots of electronics.”

Ben rode around Best Buy to the
rear
. The employee parking was almost empty, only a used Kia and a small pickup truck. He realized the store wasn’t open yet and waited. A while later, more employees arrived
.
Finally a motorcycle
showed up—
not a Harley, but a skinny motocross with a tall seat and a symbolic headlight. The rider, a teenager carrying a Mac backpack,
waved
at Ben
and
yelled, “Nice ride, man!”

“Thanks.
I’m
waiting for
Rex.”

The kid changed direction and came over. “
They
texted
me to
come in to
cover for him.
He c
alled in sick or something.
”

“Really?”

“
Lame. Probably gone fishing
.” He
caressed
the yellow gas tank
of the GS
. “
Smooth baby. Didn’t know Rex rode with Beemer guys.
”

There was no easy way to answer this
implied que
stion without lying, so Ben just said, “
Do
you?”

“
Are y
ou kidding?” He pointed at his
motocross
. “This piece of
crap
won’t keep up with
real bikes
.
See ya!
” He headed for the service door at the back of the store.

“Hey,” Ben said, “what’s
Rex’s
sweet spot?”

“
North
Point.”

The sky was heavy with clouds. It was going to rain, and the temperature was dropping. Ben plugged
North
Point into the GPS, slipped the helmet back on, and rode off.

Chapter 32

It was drizzling at
North Po
int
,
which reached into the flat expa
nse of the Chesapeake Bay
east of Baltimore
like a thumb that had been flattened by a roller.
Ben rode through the main part of the state park, which was completely deserted. A second area, northward on the park’s shore, had a parking lot and a jetty reaching into the bay. T
here was
no Harley in sight
, only a
beige
Chevy pickup
truck.
Ben rode toward it, making a round detour
. It was an older model, but in spit-
and-shine
condition, with new tires, dark windows, and a few antennas on the roof. A single sticker on the rear bumper showed a Harley Davidson logo with the word
Freedom!
Ben parked next to it, got off the bike, and replaced his helmet with a Ravens cap.

A
lone fisherman stood
way
out on the jetty, his rod in a holder, his hands in his pocket
s
.
He heard Ben’s boots on the wooden plank
s
, glanced at him, and turned back to face the dark water.
But
he must have been
listening carefully to
the s
teps
because
,
when Ben got within a few steps of his back,
he
suddenly swiveled, launched himself at Ben, an
d shoved him against the railing
while pointing a
long, serrated knife a
t
his
neck.

Ben
grabbed the hand with the knife
.
“Hey!”

“
You following me
?”

“
I’m
…s
ightseeing!
”

“Don’t lie!” He pressed the tip of the knife
to the
skin.

“Are you nuts?
”

“
Talk
, or I’ll
spill your juice and feed you to the fish
!”

“I’m a reporter.
”