The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (49 page)

“I feel the same,” Powell said.

“Suit yourselves,” Streep said. “The whole thing makes me want to puke.”

Ben laughed.
“
I’m with you, but i
f
entry criteria is
so
tightly supervised
,
how am I going to get i
n
?”

“Don’t worry.
” Powell
chuckled
. “We’ll take care of that part.”

“And then?
Once I’m in, what happens then?
I don’t want to look like an idiot.
”

“Patience,” Dreyfuss said. “The first thing you want to understand is that t
he
Mormon
t
emple is
designed
to resemble the phases of rising through salvation and
exaltation
to the ultimate godhood.
In other words, you’re in for a treat, Mr. Teller.”

Shocked by the hurricane of cold air, dazed by the jerky,
roller-coaster ride
toward the stop
lights and cross-traffic, Keera’s next move was born out of survival instinct rather than skill.
As soon as the front wheels reconnected with asphalt, s
he twisted the steering wheel to the right and held on while the Mustang screeched and groaned and
attempted
to
stand
on its left
wheels
.

Somehow, despite the
forward
momentum
, the car made the turn
onto Browns Bridge Road
. The sudden change in direction cut down its speed, bringing the storm of wind and noise to an abrupt calmness.

But not for long.

A cacophony of car horns
came
from behind, amplified by the missing roof
.
Keera knew
she should
stop and find the soft top
. A
s aged and cracked as it was, a new one would cost a
small
fortune. But she was too shaken to do anything but continue north on
Browns Bridge
Road, away from the scene of her
nearly
calamitous crash. Beside
s
, the Ducati must have scrambled to turn around and chase after her
on Rt. 216
, and its mosquito-like agility
would
allow it
to
pass through traffic much more rapidly than her Mustang.

She sped
up
.

Driving with an open top under the dark
ening
sky would have been pretty if not for the frosty air that swirled
around her
, reducing the ambient temperature to arctic levels. She cranked up the heat to maximum and crouched as low as possible in the
seat
, peering above the steer
ing wheel at the road ahead—a t
w
o
-lane twister that Ben loved to tear through on his GS
, with her
grasping
his
skinny hips
for dear life.

She
planned ahead in
her mind
. T
wo more turns
, a total of
less than three miles
,
and
she
would
reach
Rt.
32 West. From there,
it would be
twenty minutes to Fran’s place.

Keera pulled her sleeves down to cover her hands, gripping the steering wheel as tightly as she could. Her hair was flying around. She reached across to the glove compartment and found the wool cap that had been there since the fall, when she occasionally enjoyed open-top driving.

Approaching a stop
sign
at
Guilford Road
, she downshifted, slow
ed
down
, and after a quick glance to the right, made the left turn and
accelerated. Another
minute or two,
and she would be in the thick of commuter traffic on 32 West-North, lost to her pursuer. She imagined telling Ben about this little adventure, watching his bemused expression turn to concern and alarm at how close she had come to—

“Blue Mustang! Stop on the side of the road!”

Keera sat up and looked over her shoulder.

“Stop now!” The man’s voice on the loudspeaker was now accompanied by rolling lights—not on the roof, but on the dashboard inside the car, which was a large sedan of the type used by
unmarked
police. “
Blue Mustang
!”

She hesitated, asking out loud, “Who the hell are you?”

As if answering her question, the loudspeaker announced, “Maryland State Police. Please slow down, get off the road, and come to a full stop on the shoulder!”

She obeyed.

“Turn off the engine and keep your hands
on the wheel!
”

In her haste and cold, Keera released the clutch while still in gear, and the engine died. “Here,” she said. “Happy now?”

Rex came in
,
wearing a dark suit and a tie. “Blessing
s unto you, Brothers and Sister!
” He pulled
a laminated card
from his pocket and set it
on the table.
“
Welcome aboard,
Sampson Allard
!”

“You got him a Temple Recommend Card?”
Streep examined it.
“The face is
similar
, but
the hair
is wrong.
”
She
clasped
Ben’s
dark
mane with her hand. “
You’re not too attached to this, are you?”

“
My girlfriend is
,” Ben said. “Can we just color it?”

“Have you ever seen a Mormon with long hair?”

“Joseph Smith, Brigham Young—”

“Long hair,” Streep said, “
had gone out of fashion together
with plural marriages and
horse wagons.”

“I stopped at CVS
on the way.
” Rex
put
a
shopping
bag
on the table and removed
electric clippers and a box of
washable
hair coloring.

Be
n held up the Temple Recommend C
ard. “How did you get this?”

“I
spent hours
,” Rex said, “
watch
ing
people leav
e
the Mormon
t
emple until I saw a guy about your size and age with similar facial features.”

Dreyfuss looked at the card. “
Nice resemblance
. H
ow did you steal it?”

“Steal? That
would be
a sin
.
” Rex
grinned as he
took out his wallet
and
produced
a
business
card
.
The ivory paper was thick, embossed with a golden
Angel Moroni
holding
a trumpet. Below th
at familiar logo
, the card said:

Josiah L. Luntsman, Jr
–
Investigator

The Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints

Strengthening Church Members Committee

50 E. N. Temple., Salt Lake City, UT 84150

“I trailed the guy
,” Rex said
,
“
to a gas station in Virginia and approached him.
He went a little pale
at the sight of
my
business card
and had to sit down when
I told him that he was under investigation for certain
mocking
statements
he had made
.
He was contrite, assuming I was after him for telling jokes. But he professed his faith—he’d
dr
iven
all the way from West Virginia to serve as proxy in
receiving endowments
for the dead
.
I
assured him that
this was
a confidential
investigation, that
he
would
hear
from us
within one
week
, and that m
ost likely
he would be
restored after proper repentance
. B
ut in the meantime
,
he must hand over
his Temple Recommend C
ard.”

“And he just gave it to you?”

“Mormons are conditioned to obey,
especially to an
officious
s
aint
from
the Strengthening Church Members Committee.”

“What if he contacts his ward
’s
bishop?”

“Not after I made him take an oath of secrecy—normal procedure, I assured him, intended to protect his good name in the likely event that the issues ar
e
resolved without further action.”

“Your turn now,”
Powell
said
to Streep. “We have three days to transform
scruffy boy here,” he patted Ben’s stubby cheek, “from
an individualist photojournalist into a conformist fellow-religionist. Changing his appearance is
the
perfect starting point.”

“Let’s go.” Streep
led
Ben to the bathroom and sat him down.

He draped a towel
around
his neck.

She plugged in the clippers, whi
ch started with
quiet
humming
. “Say good
-
bye
.
”
S
he ruffl
ed his hair.

Ben sighed. “E
asy
now
.
Keera
is going to be upset
.”

The trooper approached from the rear on the right side of the car while traffic continued on the left.
He
held up an open wallet, showing her a
Maryland
State Police badge. “
What’s the rush
, young lady
?
”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Keera said. “Really.”

“Did you leave the stove on? Your husband’s dinner’s burning?

“I don’t have a husband
.
”

“No husband?” He
clicked his tongue. “A pretty girl like you?”

“I have a boyfriend. He’s a reporter.”

“Tell him you almost made the news.” He
held out his hand
. “License and registration, please.”

She handed both to him.

“Thank you.” He glanced at her driver’s license. “Keera Torrens. Occupation
?”

“
Student.”

“What do you study? Fashion design?”

“Medicine,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll
see
you
one of these days,
O
fficer, on a gurney at
the trauma center
.”

“
Maybe, but for a future doctor you’re showing
total disreg
ard for
other people’s wellbeing.”

“Excuse me?”

He gestured at the road behind. “Exceeding the speed limit. Passing on the right. Driving on the shoulder. Endangering fellow motorists. Leaving the scene of an accident.”

“An accident? What accident?”

“This.” He pointed at the remnants of the soft top, a few jarred pieces of black canvas still attached to the frame behind the rear seat.

“But I didn’t hit another car!”

“An accident involving a single vehicle is still an accident under Maryland
law
, and the driver involved may not leave the scene until law enforcement has completed its site investi
gation or until all debris has
been removed and the offending driver has verified that no other motorists require assistance or otherwise require police involvement.”