The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (46 page)

“Why?”

“Because the temple symbolizes the
soul’s
progression
to
the heavenly Kingdom of God, and a woman can’t get there without her husband’s ushering.
Marriage is a bit much to ask of
a hired mole
,
you agree?”

“So you lost both of them?”

“
Not only that,
” Dreyfuss said
,
“
but we have to assume that
t
hey
told the Mormons
everything about
our efforts
. Now the
s
aints are on to
us.
Our only chance is to move fast, get someone into the
DC
t
emple
, and expose
Joe
Morgan and his
Danite
henchmen
.
”

“How?”

Powell gripped Ben’s
arm
. “That’s where you come in
!
”

Keera wondered why
a motorcycle
should
be
park
ed
among
the cars
. T
here was a dedicated
covered
parking area for motorcycles
at
the
front entrance
of the
h
ospital
. Ben park
ed
there when
ever
he stopped by to have lunch with her
or bring her a treat when she was on call overnight
.

Keera walked across the cafeteria and out to the hallway, passing through several nurses’ stations and down
two
hallways, until she reached the southern end of the floor, which was the closest point to where her car was parked. Entering a patient’s room, Keera smiled at the woman in the bed, who had a tube in her nose, and went to the window.

Much closer now, she saw the motorcycle—a white sport bike—leaning on its
kick
stand
. Scanning the area around it, she finally spotted the rider in the shade of a tree in the green area near the outer fence.

Even from her distant observation spot, Keera could tell he was skinny and tall, wearing a white riding suit and a matching helmet, which he kept on—presumably because of the cold breeze. He was leaning against the tree trunk in a
leisurely
posture of a guy waiting for his girlfriend to finish working. But Keera knew he wasn’t waiting for his girlfriend, but for Ben Teller’s girlfriend.
For her!

Her
first instinct was to call
security
. O
r the police. B
ut what w
ould
she say? Anything she told them would involve Ben, perhaps even risk his life! She tried to call Fran, reaching her voice
mail instead.

The
white helmet was facing the hospital building
. Could he see her among the hundreds of windows?
Im
possible
!
The windows were mirrored
!
But s
till, she stepped back
and
left the room.

“Here, read this.” Dreyfuss handed him a book. “Better memorize as much as you can. We’ll test you
later
.”

Ben looked at the cover.
Mormonism for Dummies.
“Are you kidding me?”

“It’s a good start. I’ll give you a few more books later.”

“Give me all of them now, and I’ll choose which to read.”

“Trust me. My last job was at the Missionary Training Center in Utah. The
secret to the LDS success
is that most Mormons don’t know the true history of the
Church
or
the details of
its theology.
They’re too busy being happy.
” He patted the book with the photo of a temple on the cover. “There’s more here than anyone will expect you to know, if they ever question you.”

Opening the book
, Ben chuckled at a cartoon that made fun
of
the Mormon ban on cursing. “Is self-deprecation permitted?”

“Absolutely, as long as it’s light and not
directed at the leaders of the C
hurch.” Dreyfuss headed out of the
kitchen
. “Have fun.
Be
happy
.
”

“Hold on,” Ben said.
“
Why did they kick you out?”

Dreyfuss
stopped at the door and turned. “They didn’t. I left of my own accord.”

“After teaching
tens of
thousands of
boys
how to convert Gentiles to the T
rue
Church
?”

“I’m still a believer.”

“
Excuse me
?”

He chuckled. “
True faith is like true love. It makes no sense to others, but when
a man
fall
s
hard for a woman,
or a woman for a man,
completely and fully bewitched,
it never goes away. Have you ever tried to tell a friend that he’s in love with the wrong woman, that she’s not a good fit for him?”

“Wrong move.”

“Exactly. When a guy’s in love,
even if
his
friends point out
the girl’s
major flaws, it doesn’t matter. For
him
, she’s perfect, magical, heavenly. Right?”

Ben nodded.

“Same with
faith
. It doesn’t need to pass the test of logic or fact
ual accuracy
. It’s an emotional thing,
a spiritual
passion
,
a conviction that our souls are godly and eternal. It’s the faith I grew up loving, the faith I served with all my heart, the faith I taught to countless students. In my heart, my faith
is
true
. And it never goes away, you know? Even when she gets wrinkles, age spots, and silver hair, you still see her as she once was
—
the light source
of your universe
. It’s the same with my faith. I see the warts, but my heart still pounds with awe when I read the
Book of Mormon
.
Do you understand?”

“I’m beginning to.”

“Are you going to quote me in your article?”

“Anonymously, unless you tell me your
real
name.”

“I can’t do that.”

“If you still believe, why did you leave?”

“Faith is one thing. Church authorities and their heavy-handed tactics are another.”
Dreyfuss pulled
out
a photo
of a
boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, redhead
and freckled
, smiling into the camera
. T
he resemblance
was
unmistakable.

“Your son?”

“David was
a
great kid
. He
hit all
the
milestones for the perfect Mormon
youth
—Aar
onic Priesthood, Eagle Scout, Me
lchizedek Priesthood, sailed through high
school with top grades, certified by our local bishop for the honor of
a
two-year
m
ission. He was perfect in every way…but one.” Dreyfuss pocketed
the photo
. “He
had
managed to hide it well
. No one ever suspected. B
ut
the
Mission Training Center is very intense, and a brotherly embrace turned into something more
. T
he other boy report
ed it
,
and m
y
colleagues were in an awkward position
. B
ut the
rules were
cl
ear
.
David lost his mission assignment,
his
Temple Recommend Card was taken
, and
he
was sent
for
treatment.”

“Treatment?”

“
Of course.
”
Dreyfuss chuckled sadly. “Homosexuality is a
curable
mental disease
.
”

“He didn’t have to go, did he?”

“He was a good boy. He did what his father told him to do.”

“You had him committed?”

“
I
trusted my Church
.
Dr. Neibauer r
an
a clinic in Utah. It
wa
s very effective, according to him. Unfortunately, my David wasn’t part of that statistic.
” Dreyfus removed his glasses and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “He wrote m
e a letter, apologizing
for being a sinner,
for succumbing to Satan’s temptations.
He was determined not to ruin
our family’s
prospects
of spending eternity together in the Celestial Kingdom, to which he could n
ot
rise to join us unless, of course, he
was purified through the
ultimate
ritual
.”

“
Blood
a
tonement?
”

“Exactly.”

“He killed himself?”

“Suicide wouldn’t work.” Dreyfuss turned away
and held on to
the door frame. “He
made a fake gun from wood in the arts and crafts room,
went into the office during dinnertime, and called the police, telling them there’s a young man
who’s gone mad and was shooting at
staff
members and patients
. When the police arrived, he ran at them, aiming the gun. They shot him thirty-seven times
.
My poor David…
”

Back downstairs, the hours passed slowly. Keera barely managed to answer the professor’s questions about her dissection methods. His expression was even more dour than usual. He marked something on his pad and moved to the next cadaver. They continue
d
dissecting up the shin and around the knees. Each time the professor returned, she had to force her mind to focus, setting aside the thought of the white Ducati
that was
waiting for her outside. She kept thinking of ways to get her car and speed away before he could catch up, but every idea failed in the details
.
Like in a game of
r
ock
-
p
aper-
s
cissors
, a
sport bike always beat
an
old Mustang.
But when the three-hour class was finally drawing to a
close
, Keera looked at the skinned foot and came up with an idea that might just work.

On the way out, she grabbed a bundle of
white cotton
dressing. Crouch
ed
in the stairwell, she
took off her left shoe and bandaged her
ankle.

Limping through the lobby, Keera approached the security desk.

Sam
saw her and
got up. “What happened to you?”

“I tripped on the stairs,” Keera said. “Stupid me.”

He came around the security desk. “
Are you okay driving like this
?”

“Drivi
ng isn’t the problem. Walking is
.”
She fished her car keys from her pocket. “My car is all the way at the end. A blue Mustang convertible. Would you—”

“
You got it!
” He signaled the other guard, who nodded.

Moments later, her car pulled up in front of the building. Keera limped out and thanked
Sam, who
held the door open for her. She could tell he was wondering how she
planned to
drive a manual transmission in her condition, but she had bigger things to worry about. A dot of light appeared in her rearview mirror—far back, near the end of the parking area, the single headlight of a motorcycle.