The Mormon Candidate - a Novel (56 page)

He kept
pacing
the hallways until he saw her leaving the ladies room on the second floor. He smiled at her, she nodded curtly
, and he
stopped, about to engage her in conversation
.

H
is private pager
suddenly
beeped.

She paused
, probably intrigued by the sound, which was different than the standard-issue pagers some of the old-fashioned troopers still carried.

Before
she had time to ask anything, Porter
entered
the men’s room
. Inside a
stall
, he
check
ed
the message. It was brief
:

Lost
BT. He’s too fast.

Porter
cursed, and s
omeone in the next stall cleared his throat.
Sitting down on the toilet,
he
typed a re
sponse
:

Where?

The reply came instantly:

495
W
@ Silver Spring

It took Porter a moment to realize where Ben
Teller
was heading, and then it all became clear. He typed quickly:

He’s @
the
t
emple
!
Stop him!

Entering the Mormon
t
emple, Ben found himself in an
entrance hall
that
was
painted white and furnished with heavy sofas and armchairs. A long
reception desk
was attended by
temple
workers, all of them elderly, devout volunteers
in white garb.
A line of people
waited to be
admitted
, m
any
of them holding
bags or
small suitcases.

When his turn came, he handed over
Sampson Allard’s
Temple Recommend Card
, which was about the size of a credit card, with the name and photo of the bearer in the front under the heading:
The Church of J
ESUS CHRIST
of Latter-day Saints
.
O
n the back of the card were the signatures of the lay bishop and
the
stake president, who had both verified his good standing as a churchgoer who avoided alcohol and caffeine drinks, didn’t smoke tobacco products, and avoided extramarital sex while remaining compliant w
ith tithing obligations
.

“Welcome!
Welcome!
”
The
elderly
s
aint smiled.

“Thank you.” Ben
returned the smile with as much warmth as he could muster.

“
How are you?
”
He held up the card and compared it to Ben’s face.

Ben forced an even bigger smile.
“Wonderful!”

“Hum.” H
e
key
ed
the information into a computer. “How
was your drive
, Brother
—”

“Samson.”

The man looked up
.

“Sampson
,” Ben corrected himself. “Sampson
Allard
. Yes.
The drive was
okay
, considering.”
He
touched his shoulder. “And you?”

“Good. Good.” He
leaned closer to the screen. “
Back so soon?”

“I’m not well.”

“Oh?”

“Minor surgery, but…we’ll see.” Ben looked away. “The pathology report will tell. That’s why…I felt the need for…coming.”

“Of course!
Of course!
” The man’
s creased face fill
ed
with compassion. He held Ben’s hand between his hands. “I will pray for you, Brother Sampson.”

Touched with guilt, Ben nodded.

“We can always use
additional
volunteers in the endowments for the dead.”

The comments didn’t surprise Ben because Dreyfuss had explained that they might assume he had come to
the t
emple to serve as a proxy in the second stage of salvation for the dead who had already had their baptism done earlier
in one of the wards b
y a different proxy. “It’s an honor,” he said.

“Brother Pat will help you now.”

A
nother
temple worker
came over.
This one was even older, his arms bony and covered with age spots. B
ut he walked with
a
military
posture, and his eyes were bright and intelligent behind horn-framed glasses.

Just as Dreyfuss had
described
, Ben was given a
plastic bag
containing the outfit needed for the washing-and-anointing part of the ordinances, and
B
r
other Pat
led
him
to
the changing room.

Ben
scanned the walls for the fire alarm. Along the way from the main entrance, they passed two fire stations, but he couldn’t trigger either of them in full view of
so many
s
aints, as well as
Brother Pat, who seemed to take his
sacred
job with great seriousness.

The dressing area offered limited privacy with white curtains hanging to create small stalls, each with a locker for
street
clothes and personal possessions.

He took off
the white shoes,
suit
, tie, and buttoned
-
down shirt, and got out of the
holy undergarments
,
which were moist with his sweat. Everything went into the locker, together with Streep’s bag.

Chapter 56

Keera
was standing in the hallway near a nurses’ station with the wife and son of a recently deceased patient. She
had spent the
whole
night in the Intensive Care Unit
assisting the resident physician. The patient’s
lung cancer had stopped responding to treatment
and h
is
ox
y
gen levels refused to rise
.
He had made it through the night and morning, but s
hortly after she had come back upstairs with a ring on her finger, the patient’s
heart
finally
stopped
. R
esuscitation efforts were not successful
, as was expected
.
The
patient’s
middle-age
d
son
had just arrived from California on
the
redeye and, as
was
often the case with uninvolved family members,
his
reaction was
hostil
e and
untrusting
.
Thankfully,
one of the nurses summoned Patient Relations
, and they took
over.

It was in this hazy state of tiredness and
defeat
that she found a voice messa
ge on her iPhone from Fran DeLac
ourt.

“Hi, girl. How’re you doing? We miss you.”
Fran
paused. “Been wondering
whether you’re
avoid
ing
us
. Are you
? Anyway, I got your stuff with me
in the car
, just in case you need a change of clothes
. And I’ve done some digging about Porter. Not much to go on, but
anyway, call me.”

Holding her iPhone, Keera
deba
ted whether or not to call Fran back. But the single shower stall at the medical
residents’ overnight room was available, the green scrubs she was wearing stunk, and she had no energy to speak to anyone, let alone a friend who might not be a friend.

In the p
lastic bag
Ben found
a folded white sheet
, which he shook loose. It had a
hole in the middle
for his head. T
he
sheet dr
aped his naked body l
ike an oversized Mexican poncho
.
The Mormons called it ‘A Shield,” but to him i
t felt thin and scant
against his skin. T
he bandage on the back of his shoulder created an unsightly hump.

H
e put on t
he white slippers
, which
were a size too big
.

Also
in the
plastic
bag were
a white hat
and
a
green
waistband
that was cut in a way that formed
a large fig
leaf in the front
, which he knew were for the later
rite
s
, only he had no intention of going that far.
He stuffed the plastic bag in the locker together with the rest of his stuff.
Having no
place to carry the Angel Moroni key ring with the memory flash
drive
, h
e
held it in his fist
.

Now he had to get rid of
Brother Pa
t, who
was waiting for him
with
a pleasant smile
,
rocking back
and
forth expectantly,
his fingers interwoven
.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Ben said.

“O
f course
.”
He pointed the way.

Ben walked over to a door marked with a male figure.
Inside, t
wo of the
ten
toilet stalls were occupied, and a young m
an
was washing his hands at the row of sinks.
On
the wall was a
glass-fronted
fire box
containing an ax,
a rolled-up hose, and an alarm handle. A sign above the box read
:

In the event of fire, kindly do the following:

1.
      
Open box and p
ull
alarm
handle.

2.
      
Assist disabled brothers and sisters.

3.
      
Proceed to the nearest emergency exit.

4.
      
Gather outside for prayer.

5.
      
Await further instructions.

Ben entered one of the stalls, closed the door, and listened
.

The water kept running for a minute or two. Finally i
t stopped
, and t
he paper
towel dispenser buzzed
.

Throat-clearing in another stall.

In the crack between the door and the frame, Ben saw
a figure
pass toward the
exit
.

A t
oilet flush
ed
.

Ben exited his
stall
and
walked
between
the row of sinks
and stalls
to the opposite wall
. He
pried open the glass door and grabbed the handle of the fire alarm
.

A stall door creaked behind him.

Gritting his teeth, Ben
shut the box,
swiveled to the last sink
,
and
turned on the water, pretending to
wash his hands
. From the corner of his eye he saw a figure leaving a stall and stepping to another sink.