The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (39 page)

Hands went through his pockets, pulling out his iPhone and wallet. He heard the ping of the iPhone being turned off.
After that, there was nothing—no talking, no radio, no music, only the sounds of the engine, the wheels, and the howling air a
round
the moving vehicle.

Lying in this position, with yesterday’s bruises still fresh, became increasingly uncomfortable
.
It was hard to breathe inside the helmet
and hood
.
A
nger
built
up inside him—not only at his captors, but at himself for falling so easily into their trap. B
ut the boot on his
back
sent a clear message that any further attempt to r
esist
would be met with a harsh response.
Getting another
Taser
jolt would not help his
chances
.
He
stayed down and slowly flexed his limbs in small increments to prevent cramping and maintain alertness. They had not killed him yet, but
after the boot in the forehead at the
overlook
,
he had no illusion about their intentions.
Still, if
they made a mistake, he must be ready
to
tak
e
advantage and try to save himself.

After at least an hour on a highway,
they travelled
on country road
s that meandered through hills and valleys. He lost track of time. Eventually
the Suburban turned
on
to an unpaved road. It was rough, and the hard floor bumped him mercilessly.
A
staccato of wood beams
told
him that they were crossing an old
bridge
.

One
of his captors—a man—was overtaken by a coughing attack. Ben hoped
the others
would
sa
y
something
, provide a hint
about the
ir identities or intentions.
If they
pull
ed
over to
give
the
guy
some fresh air
,
it could
provide an op
portunity to attempt an escape.

But no one said a word, and the
man’s
coughing
subsided
.

The Suburb
an stopped, and one of them stepped
out, leaving a door open.
Rusty hinges screeched as
a gate open
ed.
The vehicle inched forward, more screeching sounded, followed by the bang of the
gate closing.

T
hey were movi
ng again down the unpaved path.

A
f
ew minutes later, they stopped
again
.

Doors opened,
everyone was getting out.

Someone
grabbed his arm and pulled him.

As he
was getting out of the Suburban,
Ben angled his head in a way that rubbed against the
back of the
seat
s
and
the doorjamb
, causing the hood to fall off.

T
he
Taser
appeared in front of the face
shield.

Ben recoiled. “Don’t!”

They
shoved
him
forward.

With the helmet still on, Ben managed only a brief look
a
t the surrounding farmland
and
a
white Ducati
near
a rotting
wooden bench.
The hood was pulled back on.

They
led him into a house
with creaking wooden floors
, made him sit in a chair, and
used a second pair of
handcuffs to lock his
ankles
to the
legs of the chair
.
He tried to move, but the chair was bolted to the floor.

Chapter 43

At first, Keera was angry. She had a brief window of time between getti
ng home
from the hospital
, changing
and putting on makeup
, and
getting
to the club on time. On the rare occasions
that Ben was running late
, he
always called ahead of time
to let her know. Sh
e would
then
t
ake
a
cab and le
ave
the Mustang at home so that he could switch vehicles and pick her
up
when the club closed. But tonight he wasn’t at home
when she arrived
,
didn’t call, and when she tried his
phone
, it
went straight
to voice
mail.

But by the time she had to leave, Keera’s anger
had
changed
in
to worry. She had waited too long and
had no time to call
a cab. Driving her Mustang, she tried Ben again,
reaching his
voice
m
ail. She hung up and called Mrs.
Teller
.

Ben’s mom picked up after four rings.

“
I
wanted to thank you,” Keera said, “for a lovely dinner.”

“My pleasure
, sweetheart
. And thank you for coming. How are you two doing?”

Keera sighed, her hopes dashed. Clearly Mrs.
Teller
didn’t know Ben’s whereabouts. “Everything is fine.” Before the conversation
could
go any further, she said
, “N
ext time you’ll come to us.
”

“I would love that.”

“Wonderful. Talk soon
. Bye.”

Next she called
Ray
, who
didn’t answer
,
but called back a moment later.

“Ben is missing,” Keera said. “He’s always at home to take me to the club
, or he calls to let me know
he’s late
.
But he hasn’t called
, and his phone is off. Do you know anything?”

Ray
hesitated. “When did you see him last?”

“This morning. He was still in bed when I left
. He
didn’t look like he was up to going anywhere, considering how both he and the bike looked.”

“Do you know what happened
yesterday
?”

“I assumed he slipped in the rain,” Keera said. “We
had
argued about the motorcycle only a day earlier.
All
I want is for him to get rid of the damn
thing
and buy a car
, s
o when I saw that he had an accident and didn’
t break any bones, I was almost—
”

“Happy?”

“
Right.”

“It wasn’t
exactly an accident,”
Ray
said. “It seemed like someone messed around with his brakes.
”

“
I knew it
!” Keera pulled in front of Wisteria’s Secret and beckoned the bouncer, who came around to take the car. “I told him to drop the Mormon investigation!”

“Same here.
It’s not worth it.
They tried to intimidate him, but
you know how he is. Everything is like football to him.
”

Keera hurried to the door of the club
, the phone pressed to her ear
. “What are we going to do?”

“Ben is resourceful. He probably got delayed in a meeting
with a source
, or he’s watching a target, waiting for the perfect photo opportunity.
G
ive him a few hours.
He’ll show up.
”

Chapter 44

Ben heard hushed
words
in the other room, but otherwise nothing happened for
an
hour
or two
. He sat with his helmet and riding suit on, sweating and on
the verge of peeing on himself.

Sounds of
foot
steps approached him, and t
he hood was pulled off
.
He saw a
woman and two men.
They were o
lder than he expected—late fifties or sixties. The woman
fiddled with the strap under his chin and removed
his helmet.

He was in a room that belonged in
an earlier century. The floor was rough-hewn planks, the
low ceiling
pitched with exposed beams,
and
the
small windows
covered
with flowery drapes.
The walls were whitewashed, now darker with age, except for a few squares of the original white where pictures must have hung until recently.
The
air was
musty
, with a smoky tang from an open fireplace, where embers still crackled.

Noise from the other room told Ben there was at least one more person to deal with.

A
black gentleman with gold-rim
med
glasses
and
a
crisp
manner reminiscent of
Col
in Powell
checked the inside of Ben’s helmet
.

“I need a bathroom,”
Ben
said.

“
Go ahead, w
et
your
pants.” T
he
woma
n aimed a gun at
Ben
.
Her voice was
thin
but
devoid of weakness
. She looked like
Mer
yl Streep
, but
with
longer legs and
straight,
silver hair.

Powell
removed
the
handcuffs
and stepped back
. “Strip down to your
undergarments
.”

The word choi
ce was odd
. Did Mormons use the word
“
undergarments
”
for every kind of underwear?
Ben
said nothing as he stood up on
wobbly
legs.

“One false move,” Streep said
, “
and
your stomach will be digesting lead.”

T
hey watched him take off his riding boots,
pants, and the two-layered jacket
.

Standing in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, he
shivered.
“
Can I go now
?”

They watched him for a long moment.

Powell asked, “Where’s your undergarments?”

“You don’t like my boxer shorts?”

“It means nothing,” Streep said. “He’s undercover.”

Ben pressed his knees together.
“I need to go!”

Streep point
ed
at a door.

The bathroom window
was too small for an escape, and t
he door remained open
. H
e u
rinate
d
and returned to
the chair
. He wanted to put his clothes back on, but Streep made him sit down and
cuffed
him
.
He
was
really
cold
now
—
and
out of ideas
.
They had not made a
single
mistake yet, and time was running out. He had to provoke them
further, but not far enough to make them
hurt
him.

H
ow?

One of them, a man
with
gray
hair
and
reading glasses
,
pulled a
chair
over
and sat down, facing Ben. “What’s your name?”